There were two babes in the Tower of Joy.
Two babes tied so closely to their parents, Ned had to make the decision.
One with hair like raven feathers, eyes as grey as steel, and a face of a true Stark. The other, with hair like moonlight, eyes lik...
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The cries were like nothing she had ever heard before as Rhaenar stood rigid to her spot. Long and drawn out, filled with a terrible fear; they seemed to echo, unsure entirely of where they had come from but heard by all those at Winterfell. She knew they would live with her forever, that the cries she heard would reply in her mind like a song in the deep recesses of the night. Some men had just met their fate, but others? She had never heard screams of fear come from the mouths of the Dothraki but as the indigo widened and her face twisted with horror, the silence took the fields once more.
Her family, her men. Her own cry threatened to slip from her throat as her teeth pulled back over her lips, the distress taking her as she slipped from Oberyn before moving through the ranks of the soldiers. That couldn't be it, that couldn't be the end of them. "Ceasefire! Ceasefire!" Voices echoed from the other side.
They waited. For anything and nothing at the same time. Horse hooves dug into the snow as they turned, Jon riding over on his horse as he approached her. Her spine grew straight, her jaw tight as her eyes met his. "What's happening?" She asked, confused.
"The Dothraki have been attacked at the North point, some of them have made it out, but they've had to ride back." Rhaenar's breath grew louder, her movements growing slower as she nodded. They'd been hit, hard. But at least they still had the Dothraki here, and the element of surprise. "We need to move these troops North, they're wasted bodies here." Not when Rhaenar had counted the pykes.
"No. They stay here. You and Aegon ride the dragons, reduce the numbers. I'll command this point, with Ser Barristan and Oberyn." The South was at a disadvantage, they didn't have the catapults that the North side had but they did have the Marcher Lords. They'd have to wait until the dead were close before firing.
He shook his head. "The Night King is coming." He told her as he clasped her forearm, as though she didn't already know. They may have wanted to hit him the most, to see his body hit the ground; but unless they got the dead to some manageable level, they'd be wasting lives.
She hissed, tugging it back. "The dead are already here." She reminded him. "Go back to your station, and do your job." It was harsh, but the words Jon had spoken earlier had left a distaste in her mouth as she left him behind, Oberyn watching with cautious eyes as Jon sighed.
Rhaenar didn't wait to see him go as she turned back to her men, knowing they witnessed it all. Clearing her throat, she gazed out. One by one, the pykes began to go out; growling and snarling through the air as her back straightened. They were coming. "Archers!" She cried out to them. "Ready!" Making her way back, Rhaenar watched as Leirion held down his shoulder for her, her boots quickly taking her up before grasping the chain. She needed to burn some of them before they could make it to the defences.
