The King upon the Iron Throne sat, and waited.
The steel blades were cold and sharp, but they...
The steel blades were cold and sharp, but they...
The Long Night is Come. Now we must give the Battle for Dawn [ASoIaF]
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The Long Night is Come
Namer
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- He/Him
The King upon the Iron Throne sat, and waited.
The steel blades were cold and sharp, but they didn't prick him. They hadn't pricked him once in years. The wind howling outside was biting and freezing, but the cold was banished outside, blocked away by glass and wooden shutters. The fires in the braziers burnt low. Lower with each passing minute. All fires, save Dragonfire, would die.
It meant the time was drawing near.
"Do you remember, Jon? Those days back upon the wall." The Hand of the King said, looking towards his oldest friend.
Jon Targaryen looked up from his contemplative pose at Samwell Tarly. "Yes."
Longclaw, the former sword of Jeor Mormont, lay beside him, the Valyrian steel sheathed in its scabbard, leaning against the Iron Throne. The hilt was in easy reach. He had carried it for the better part of seventeen years.
"We can't think of those now, though." Jon continued. "We just need to survive what's coming."
"We'll survive, Jon. Don't doubt it." Sam spoke, some veiled alacrity in his words.
Jon looked away. "Azor Ahai had armies wielding spellblades and spell-armour. More dragons and dragonriders fought and died each day of the Long Night than in the entirety of the Doom of Valyria. The Children of the Forest stood beside the First Men. And we almost lost. We managed to reach up and claw through mountains of cold, dead things to reclaim our Sun, just by a sheer stroke of luck"
He stood up, snatching up Longclaw. He began to pace the room. His boots made little noise on the carpeted walkway up leading up to the throne.
"Now? What stands against them now, Sam? Squabbling lords and lesser men! The Andals, the Rhoynish, the Essosi, they don't even believe in the Others! The Targaryens waste away their dragons in futile wars in the east!"
Sam stood quietly, listening to his friend's outburst. "We have Naherion."
"It took three dragons to create the Field of Fire. It took one spear to kill Meraxes. They're not immortal, Sam. They're not gods."
The door opened. A harried looking man came in, half running, though stately enough to keep some propriety in front of his king.
"Y-your Grace!" He knelt down as Jon turned with one hand on the hilt. Somewhere beyond, in the distance, he heard Naherion roar. The windows to the left lit up dimly for a few moments before fading.
"We just had word. They… they're saying the Wall has f-fa-fallen!"
Jon looked at Sam, who stood resolutely, mouth lined grimly. Once upon a time, the fat Tarly couldn't have looked imposing even in full plate and armament. But now he looked strong and confident, almost of a height with his father, stocky rather than plump.
"As expected." Jon spoke with a calm, clear confidence that he didn't feel at all. "Go, find Ser Tully. Tell him I have need of him."
As the messenger scampered away, he turned to his Hand.
"So, it begins."
Jon nodded. "Go, Sam. Find Grandmaester Alleras. Send out the ravens."
"Is there anything specific I should write?"
Jon shook his head. "Just tell them that..." He paused for a moment.
"That the Long Night has come. Now, we must give battle, if we are to ever live to see the Dawn again."
Who are you?
The steel blades were cold and sharp, but they didn't prick him. They hadn't pricked him once in years. The wind howling outside was biting and freezing, but the cold was banished outside, blocked away by glass and wooden shutters. The fires in the braziers burnt low. Lower with each passing minute. All fires, save Dragonfire, would die.
It meant the time was drawing near.
"Do you remember, Jon? Those days back upon the wall." The Hand of the King said, looking towards his oldest friend.
Jon Targaryen looked up from his contemplative pose at Samwell Tarly. "Yes."
Longclaw, the former sword of Jeor Mormont, lay beside him, the Valyrian steel sheathed in its scabbard, leaning against the Iron Throne. The hilt was in easy reach. He had carried it for the better part of seventeen years.
"We can't think of those now, though." Jon continued. "We just need to survive what's coming."
"We'll survive, Jon. Don't doubt it." Sam spoke, some veiled alacrity in his words.
Jon looked away. "Azor Ahai had armies wielding spellblades and spell-armour. More dragons and dragonriders fought and died each day of the Long Night than in the entirety of the Doom of Valyria. The Children of the Forest stood beside the First Men. And we almost lost. We managed to reach up and claw through mountains of cold, dead things to reclaim our Sun, just by a sheer stroke of luck"
He stood up, snatching up Longclaw. He began to pace the room. His boots made little noise on the carpeted walkway up leading up to the throne.
"Now? What stands against them now, Sam? Squabbling lords and lesser men! The Andals, the Rhoynish, the Essosi, they don't even believe in the Others! The Targaryens waste away their dragons in futile wars in the east!"
Sam stood quietly, listening to his friend's outburst. "We have Naherion."
"It took three dragons to create the Field of Fire. It took one spear to kill Meraxes. They're not immortal, Sam. They're not gods."
The door opened. A harried looking man came in, half running, though stately enough to keep some propriety in front of his king.
"Y-your Grace!" He knelt down as Jon turned with one hand on the hilt. Somewhere beyond, in the distance, he heard Naherion roar. The windows to the left lit up dimly for a few moments before fading.
"We just had word. They… they're saying the Wall has f-fa-fallen!"
Jon looked at Sam, who stood resolutely, mouth lined grimly. Once upon a time, the fat Tarly couldn't have looked imposing even in full plate and armament. But now he looked strong and confident, almost of a height with his father, stocky rather than plump.
"As expected." Jon spoke with a calm, clear confidence that he didn't feel at all. "Go, find Ser Tully. Tell him I have need of him."
As the messenger scampered away, he turned to his Hand.
"So, it begins."
Jon nodded. "Go, Sam. Find Grandmaester Alleras. Send out the ravens."
"Is there anything specific I should write?"
Jon shook his head. "Just tell them that..." He paused for a moment.
"That the Long Night has come. Now, we must give battle, if we are to ever live to see the Dawn again."
Who are you?
[ ] The Stark in Winterfell.
[ ] The Last Knight of Summer
[ ] The Striking Viper
[ ] The Queen over the Water
[ ] The Shadowbinder
[ ] The Dying Knight
[ ] The Blackfish
[ ] The Bronze and Bold
[ ] The Flayer of Men
[ ] The Whitefish
[ ] The Crow that Watches
[ ] The Last Star
[ ] The Bearer of the Horns
[ ] The Drowning Kraken
[ ] The Last Son of Valyria
[ ] The Burner of Kings
[ ] The Swamp-Dweller
[ ] The Knight of Onions
[ ] The Forsaken Blood
[ ] The Saviour of Men
[ ] The Priestess of R'hllor
[ ] The Pale Falcon
[ ] The Burned Priest
[ ] The Man in the Tree
[ ] The Master of Spells
[ ] The Unmanned Man
[ ] The Scarlet Lion
[ ] The Faceless Child
[ ] The Lightning Lord
[ ] The Knight without a Banner
[ ] The Princess of Stone
[ ] The Last of His Kind
[O] The Bringer of the Light, Bearer of Flame
[O] The King upon the Iron Throne
[O] The Lord Commander of the Night's Watch
[O] The Stallion that Mounts the World
[O] The Dragon with Three Heads
[O] The Prince Who Was Promised
[ ] The Last Knight of Summer
[ ] The Striking Viper
[ ] The Queen over the Water
[ ] The Shadowbinder
[ ] The Dying Knight
[ ] The Blackfish
[ ] The Bronze and Bold
[ ] The Flayer of Men
[ ] The Whitefish
[ ] The Crow that Watches
[ ] The Last Star
[ ] The Bearer of the Horns
[ ] The Drowning Kraken
[ ] The Last Son of Valyria
[ ] The Burner of Kings
[ ] The Swamp-Dweller
[ ] The Knight of Onions
[ ] The Forsaken Blood
[ ] The Saviour of Men
[ ] The Priestess of R'hllor
[ ] The Pale Falcon
[ ] The Burned Priest
[ ] The Man in the Tree
[ ] The Master of Spells
[ ] The Unmanned Man
[ ] The Scarlet Lion
[ ] The Faceless Child
[ ] The Lightning Lord
[ ] The Knight without a Banner
[ ] The Princess of Stone
[ ] The Last of His Kind
[O] The Bringer of the Light, Bearer of Flame
[O] The King upon the Iron Throne
[O] The Lord Commander of the Night's Watch
[O] The Stallion that Mounts the World
[O] The Dragon with Three Heads
[O] The Prince Who Was Promised
Rickon - I
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The Stark in Winterfell
"Brace the gates!"
"The west wall! We need archers up on the west wall!"
"They're coming in through the Godswood!"
"Fire! We need more fire!"
"Lord Stark, they're coming up the east wall! What we do?"
The courtyard of Winterfell lay in utter chaos. Armoured men, bearing torches and long swords glistening with sleet, ran about.
Rickon Stark stood alone at the centre of the tumult. A dark figure sat beside him: a direwolf as black as night, whose shoulders reached up to Rickon's head.
The Lord of Winterfell glanced at the east wall. Dark shapes were fighting atop it. A man toppled from the wall, arms flailing, mouth open to scream, but his voice was lost in the blizzard.
He sighed.
"Shaggy." He gestured to the direwolf beside him.
As swift as an arrow, Shaggy ran, Fangs bared, the direwolf moved as a blur of shadow. Men scarpered away from him as the direwolf tore a bloody path up to the top of the wall, tearing apart wights with every bite and slash.
Jon said he would come.
Jon and Naherion.
He didn't remember his half-brother turned cousin very well. He only had fleeting, childhood memories of a boy named Jon Snow who ran and played with his brothers.
But Jon Snow was not Jon Targaryen, the Dragon-King come again, with a dragon great enough to tear Balerion the Black Dread from the sky with nary an effort, proclaimed by believers as the Prince Who Was Promised.
"Others!"
That name snapped Rickon out of his reverie. "Where?" He barked, finally baring Ice, reforged eight years ago from the Lannister swords in Naherion's flame.
Ser Kynar Tallhart ran up, holding a bow. Three dragonglass arrows stuck out of his quiver. Three, from the fifty that every man had been given. "All sides! We have the west wall covered, but there are many Wights there too and it's hard to place our shots. They're focusing at the gates too. If an other reaches the gate, it won't hold. But east wall and Godswood are vulnerable.
Shaggy fought on the east wall. But if they breached the gate or entered through the Godswood, Winterfell would fall. Without Dragonglass, Ice was the best weapon they had against the Others.
Rickon…
[ ] ...ran towards Godswood.
[ ] ...ran towards the Gate.
[ ] ...headed towards the East Wall
[ ] ...headed towards the West Wall
[ ] ...waited. The situation wasn't so dire yet that he would risk Ice.
[ ] ...called for a retreat. The Keep would hold far better than the outer walls.
[ ] ...Write-in.