Lost / Arya Stark

The Long Night.

(chapter 12)

Despite her mind being in an endless cycle of fear, confusion and anxiety, her feet somehow led her the way to where dothraki, unsullied and countless northern folk lined up as they waited for the battle to begin.

The dark gloomy sky offered no reassurance, it's once bright face that was coated in bright stars were hid under murky clouds, adding to the ominous atmosphere.

Standing between Gendry Baratheon and Sandor Clegane, Adelaide like everyone else at that moment, kept her eyes trained ahead of her.  Staring at nothing but darkness.

Suddenly a figure cloaked in shadows rode forth on horseback. Slowly it came closer and closer. A messenger perhaps? If it felt the heavy gazes of all present it didn't show it.
The red woman, Melisandre rode until she was but a few feet infont of ser Jorah. She only looked in silence for a single moment before her eyes drifted to the dothraki and back to him.
"Do you speak their tongue?" She asked.

Jorah only nodded in response.

"Tell them to lift their swords." The priestess looked at the dothraki then back to Jorah expectantly.
Jorah hesitated. Unsure if obeying would be wise. He contemplated his decision in his mind before turning on his horse and speaking in the language of the dothraki.

Following the command the dothraki lifted their weapons. Melisandre moved to the nearest horse rider and clutched her hand onto his arakhs. In return the dothraki looked at her in suspicion. The woman kept her focus on the weapon as she chanted in Valayrian.

To the shock of all witnesses the weapon burst into flames along with the rest of the arakhs belonging to the dothraki army.
Noises of shock and confusion along with admiration could be heard from all.

The act left wonder on all faces and kindled a spark of hope in all hearts.

Melisandre rode past, stoping briefly to greet greyworm and then heading for the gate of Winterfell.

Then it began. The Dothraki, lead by Jorah and Jon Snow's direwolf, Ghost, raced on their horses with their fire lit weapons to meet the army of the dead. Northern soldiers lit the stones on the the catapults and trebuchets and watched as they flew over the dothraki heard and crashed to the ground ahead of them.

The Dothraki screams could be heard over the thundering hooves of their horses.
They raced with their fire lit weapons held proudly. Everyone else watched in anticipation.

Then when the two armies were expected to clash, the screams of determination turned to noises of shock and surprise.
From the view of the battlement walls, their fire kissed weapons lost their glow fast. The screams gradually died down to silence.

"CEASE FIRE!"

There was nothing else to do but watch the glow of fire dance around until it went out completely, to listen to the sound of hooves and shouts and some other ugly cry that was no doubt the dead.
The view from Winterfell's gates went fully dark. It was deadly silent with no movement for a moment that seemed to those who waited, dragged on painfully.

Then the silence was broken by the cry of one riderless horse riding back in their direction, soon followed by another and then the once fearless dothraki army returned with many on foot, all with horror stricken faces.

Ser Jorah could be seen riding his mount back with haste, catching the eye of Tormund and confirming his fearful thoughts.

When the dothraki passed all attention was brought back to the darkness Infront of them. The hearts of all present beat with tremendous speed as they listened to the ugly cries make their way closer.  No one moved. A sickening feeling of nerves and adrenaline settled in Adelaide's stomach as she clutched the hilt of her sword.