The Dragon's Sister || Game Of Thrones (Under Rewrite)

Episode 3: Battle Of Winterfell Part 1

The Long Night

Tyrion

The Hand of The Queen stood atop of the wall to watch the beginning of the battle. The Dothraki's weapons had soon been ignited by the priestess from Asshai, Greyworm spoke in Valyrian to command his soldiers in formation, and Jaime and Brienne prepped the Arryn forces to stand besides the Unsullied.

   Even if the army of the undead had come, he could not see them. They were there, however. Tyrion felt the crisp wind intensify with snow falling from the sky, an obvious signal that winter had finally come. 

   Then, a familiar face he recognized easily walked besides him. Ser Davos was to prepare the archers on top of the wall, yet, he was more of an advisor than a fighter. It was strange that he had survived so for long when unable to learn how to wield a sword, but here he was.

   "The survivor of the Battle of Blackwater and the Battle of The Bastards with little combat experience. Could this battle be your last?" Tyrion asked him, slightly worried that the old man's life would come to an end.

   "If luck decides to leave my side, which I hope it doesn't." Davos said, joking but nerved that the dwarf may be right of him of the battle. "How about you? What have you survived that I have no knowledge about?"

   "I survived the Battle of The Green Fork, Battle of Blackwater, the loss of a Trial by Combat issued by my father, the Liberation of Slaver's Bay, and the Battle for Highgarden. And yet, I have less combat experience than you." Tyrion replied.

   Ser Davos could only imagine. The son of the Great Lion had survived more battles than himself, but the majority of them were won without him wielding a blade. "Then that makes two of us. If our luck hasn't run out, perhaps we'll both survive this Battle of Winterfell." He stated.

   "If our luck hasn't run out." Tyrion reminded. "But yes, death is boring for old soldiers. Well, I'm not as old as you."

   The old man chuckled. "Then may the Gods give us pity for this one." He said.

   Tyrion silently agreed. Simultaneously, the two old enemies and now allies looked at the horizon to see the ignited Dothraki weapons burn brighter than the hidden moon.

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Theon

Theon pushed the wheelchair with Bran through the last hallway of Winterfell before they all entered the Godswood. Placing him within an arms length, the small band of Ironborn and Mormont forces circled around the last Three-Eyed Raven. If the Night King wanted him, he would have to fight them.

   Lady Lyanna looked at the young man, armored well despite her small size. She wanted to be with the others of her House, to fight besides them against their common enemy. But her cousin, Jorah, was fortunate enough to have convinced her that the Night King would focus his main attention to Bran, that he needed someone with the strength of the sigil of their house.

   With everyone in place and their arrows locked with ignited arrows, Theon took his place besides Lady Lyanna and Lord Alys Karstark. He took note that they were only kids, that they were too young to be fighting in a war that wouldn't show any mercy. 

   "Bran," he said as he looked at him, the boy he once controlled well with fear to take Winterfell, "I'm sorry, for everything I've done. I can't be forgiven, and I know I won't no matter what I do."