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Brienne of Tarth stood atop the Wall with her spy glass, checking the horizon for the army of the dead. As the head of Queen Sansa’s personal guard, the king and queen gave her command of the roughly 2,300 soldiers belonging directly to Winterfell and the surrounding lands, and the brevet rank of Brigadier General. It would be her duty, along with Lady Mormont, Lord Glover, and Lord Manderly to lead the defensive action on top of the Wall. Though she was a skilled fighter, and had been a member of King Renly’s Rainbow Guard, but it was Brienne’s first time leading troops in battle.
It was only a matter of hours at best before the dead arrived, and as many precautions as possible were being taken. King Jon had sent engineers to build fortifications along the perimeter of Castle Black within a moon of the Battle of the Bastards. Trees were cut down, chopped up and sharpened into abatis, coated in pitch, and placed on either side of the three lines of trenches that had been dug, with more sharpened spikes inside the trenches that hopefully would slow down the Wights.
Catapults, trebuchets, and scorpion ballista lined the top of the Wall. Burning braziers stood beside them to light the various projectiles these weapons would be launched at the dead. Boys too young to have their first traces of peach fuzz worked alongside men whose beards were more grey than whatever their original color was to bring up projectiles and check to make sure the weapons worked properly. There were women and young girls filling buckets with arrows next to the braziers to be lit a used by the archers should the dead get passed the third trench, though the gods knew everyone hoped they would not get that far.
The final line of defense was the Wall itself, and the defenders within, armed with iron weapons. After much scouring of records based largely on stories passed down through spoken word, there was some indication that wights and the Others were vulnerable to iron weapons, which is why the old Stark kings had iron swords placed with their statues in the crypts. Upon learning this King Jon had every statue inspected only to find all the iron swords had either turned to rust, or decayed all together. He had them all replaced with newly sharpened and oiled swords of iron, and replaced the steel swords of the later kings and liege lords as well.
Taking another look Brienne saw the remaining scouting party galloping toward the gate, giving their horns three blasts to indicate the enemy had arrived. After crossing the bridge over the first trench, the cut the bridge down, lit the pitch on fire, and preceded to do the same at the other two trenches before riding through the gate. She stood beside the direwolf banner of House Stark which had been placed to indicate the direction of the wind, and addressed the forces under her command.
“Warriors of the North!” Brienne called out, getting the attention of those around her. She pointed to the southeast. “Behind us are the lands you call home. Your families are out there with Queen Sansa who will protect them at all costs.” Brienne then turned to point north. “And beyond the army that challenges us is King Jon and Princess Arya, who are taking the fight directly to the Night King. They will do all in their power to protect us and our people, and we must do the same!” Brienne drew her new iron sword, having lent oath-keeper to Ser Davos for the attack on the others. “Our king and queen fight for us. For the living. Will you all do the same?!” They all cheered loudly. Calling out for King Jon and Queen Sansa. Some simply shouted “Stark! Stark! Stark!” over and over. Some even shouted “avenge King Robb! Avenge Lord Eddard!” Which wasn’t technically accurate, but the sentiment clearly showed their hearts were in the right place.
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The team Jon had taken out in search of the White Walkers was running out of steam. They had covered 50 miles of ground. Riding for nearly eight hours, with only ten minutes rest every two hours. Despite the bitter freezing cold and the storms that picked up the closer they got to the enemy, his horse was drenched in sweat. Jon wished he could take some of the heat from the poor beast. The chilling winds and bitter cold had gone straight through his plate armor, chainmail, boiled leather jerkin and pants, wool shirt and settled in his skin and bones not unlike a certain house guest Jon had been forced to host not so long ago.
Tormund had stopped grumbling when Bran’s raven left his head, and perched on Jon’s shoulder. Edd was doing his best not to strangle Sam as he went on about Gilly, Little Sam, his time at the Citadel, and of course, how he killed a White Walker. Ser Davos was asking Meera Reed about her years beyond the Wall with Bran, and how she came into possession of a Valyrian steel sword. She told him the Bloodraven had gifted it to her as the protector of the new three-eyed-raven, and it was in fact, the famous Targaryen blade Dark Sister which Bloodraven had kept after being sent to the Wall. Arya was testing out her new spear. Through some miracle, House Wull of the mountain clans found a supply of dragon-glass weapons consisting on ten daggers, five spearheads, and a dozen arrowheads. The arrows had been left with the defenders at the Wall in case any White Walkers came along with the wights, and the three remaining daggers had been given to Ser Brienne, Lady Mormont, and Ser Podrick again as a last resort. Of the seven riding out, only Jon and Sam did not have spears. Jon thought Longclaw was enough for him, and Sam felt it would be better served in another’s hands.
Though he tried to focus on the task at hand, Jon’s thoughts kept drifting to his lost family members. How his father would have used Ice to cut his way through the army of wights and the White Walkers and driven the Valyrian steel blade straight through the Night King’s chest into his heart if he had one. How Uncle Ned would have made King Robert see the coming danger, and faced the dead with weapons made from the cache of dragon-glass underneath Dragon Stone. Jon’s only regret about the damned Targaryen queen is he couldn’t mine the glass she had no use for herself to use for his people. He thought how Robb would have personally lead the Northmen and the men of the Riverlands into battle beyond the Wall. With Greywind at his side and the Stark banner waving proudly behind him.
But sadly, they were all gone, and it was up to Jon to lead his people in this great conflict. When he first told Sansa his fears of a lack of an afterlife, stating he’d only seen darkness after being murdered, she came to the conclusion that his soul had not actually departed for the afterlife since the gods knew he would return after his death. Jon hoped Sansa was right, and if anything went wrong, he’d be reunited with them all…
No! He would not allow himself to think that way. Jon had made a promise to Sansa. He knew she wanted children, and he would give her as many as she wanted. He imagined a little Brandon, Ned and Robb running around the courtyard with wooden swords in hand. He could see Sansa with a little Catelyn and Lyanna making clothes by the fire. The thought warmed him for a moment before the literal cold of reality overtook him.
The raven Bran controlled cawed loudly to get Jon’s attention. Through the whipping snow he could make out the piercing blue of the White Walkers’ eyes. Suddenly a group of thirty Others, all mounted on their dead horses were less than 100 yards from them. The snow had let up just enough to see them. It seemed like they wanted a fight. Their swords and spears of ice in hand as they began to charge. Jon drew Longclaw and began to charge. He and Arya both let out a battle cry of “Winterfell!” To his left Meera Reed shouted “Greywater Watch!” to his right Sam and Edd called out “Castle Black!” Tormund, somewhat confused, yelled at the top of his lungs, “THE BIG WOMAN!” and hollered like a banshee. As their horses plowed through the snow Jon gripped Longclaw tightly with both hands, and swung hard into the first White Walker’s chest, turning him into ice shards.
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As predicted, the wights were entangled in the spikes and flames of the first trench, slowing their advance as they tried to get through without burning, and failing miserably. As the army of the dead piled up along the first trench, they were in perfect range for the catapults and trebuchets, which launched their flaming projectiles that burst upon impact, into the massed forces of the dead. Thousands upon thousands were now burning. Those that didn’t immediately collapse upon catching fire ran into their comrades, making them burn too.
Yet there were still tens, if not hundreds of thousands just out of range, waiting to get into the fight. Already the dead were piling up in the first trench, and others tried to climb over their fallen comrades to get through to the next line, only to catch fire. “Prepare the scorpion ballista!” Brienne cried out as crews began sighting in the artillery pieces, and loading clay pots of flaming pitch to be launched at the attackers. After nearly four hours the first trench was about to be breeched and Brienne prayed they could hold off until the Night King was destroyed.
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Jon had cut through six White Walkers already, but there were still more to come. After the first wave another twenty White Walkers had arrived, and joined the fight. Jon wondered if they had stayed back because they were controlling the dead that had been destroyed at the Wall, and were now free to join the fray.
In each White Walker Jon fought he saw an old enemy. The first one had been Ser Alliser, who’d orchestrated the betrayal that caused Jon’s first death. The next was wielding a sword of ice, and became Ser Meryn Trant, whom Sansa told him was the kingsguard who beat her most frequently, and seemed to revel in doing so. Jon literally disarmed him, slashing into his shoulder with great force. The one after was a bit smaller, and in Jon’s mind was Joffrey who had never deserved Sansa’s affection or to treat her how he had. Jon cut his head off with a clean swipe. When two White Walkers attacked him together, they became Rhaegar and Aerys Targaryen. The two Targaryens who took his family from him. Jon drove Longclaw into the belly of one, took his dragon-glass dagger, and shoved it into the neck of the other. The last was Ramsay Bolton, trying to kill his horse before Jon slashed him across the back.
Jon surveyed the field to see how the rest were fairing. Meera was being chased by no less than eight White Walkers. Her broken spear in one hand, and Dark Sister in the other. Arya was to the side of them, trying to stab into them with her own spear, and slashing away their weapons with her Valyrian steel dagger. Edd, Sam, Davos and Tormund had all had their horses killed, and now stood in a tight circle, with their backs presses together, and were fighting off the four mounted White Walkers, and the three who had lost their horses as well.
As Jon made to help his men Bran pecked at his helmet, and pointed his beak to the northeast. From the snowstorm emerged the Night King himself, riding at a casual pace, as if out for a pleasure ride. He dismounted just as casually, and Jon charged with what little energy his horse had left. The Night King took a spear of ice from the side of his horse, and hurled it at Jon with incredible speed and strength. Jon tried to steer his horse away from the projectile, but the poor beast was too tired, and took the spear just below the neck, killing it instantly. Jon rose, only to see the Night King grab another spear, and beckon him over, as if wanting this fight as much as Jon himself. With that Jon’s vision went red, and with a sound almost like the howl of a wolf, he charged with Longclaw at full force.
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Note: This next section will be directly taken from Chapter 21 of “I of the Storm” by Kit_Kat21, which this is meant to be an expansion of
Sansa stands on the balcony of her room, the fur thick and heavy around her and yet, she still shivers.
The sky to the North is such a dark grey, it’s almost black. The Wall is thousands of leagues away from Ramsgate and yet, she can see the sky and the clouds from here. Her stomach is knotted so tightly, she feels sick and she’s so scared, tears are stinging her eyes.
She’s Queen and she can’t be scared. She must be strong for all of her people and yet… she’s a wife whose husband is fighting under those clouds; a sister whose brother and sister are under those clouds; Brienne and Pod and her friends are under those clouds, all fighting the dead to keep the rest of them safe; willing to die to keep the rest of Westeros safe.
And Sansa hates the thought she has next, but she can’t help it. Most of the people in Westeros don’t even deserve the brave men and women of the North fighting for them. None of them have any idea how close they all are to death and even if they do know, would any of them care?
It’s a horrible thought, Sansa knows, but she can’t shake it from her mind. She saw the common people of King’s Landing first hand. They’re not that much different from the common people of the North; just people working through each day, doing what they can do to take care of themselves and their families. They deserve saving, too. They have no say in who sits on that Iron Throne or who kills who over it. They are just mere pawns, always caught in the crossfire. They are innocents.
Sansa knows all of this. Sansa reminds herself of this because clearly, she has forgotten it.
Yet… she can’t help, but think… even if the people South of the Neck know of the dead and the North fighting against them… how many of them would still think that it isn’t their problem? The North will take care of it. It’s no worry of ours.
Just thinking of it now and looking at those dark clouds, bringing a snowstorm with it, Sansa clenches her jaw to keep it from trembling. It should be everyone’s worry. All of Westeros can be lost if the North falls and then what will anyone do? Will that Dragon Queen fly in to save Westeros if it is being marched over by the dead? What is the point of an Iron Throne to the Kingdoms if everyone in those Kingdoms are dead?
If everyone survives, they will all return to Winterfell, safe, and they will all stay there…
And have Cersei and a Targaryen to deal with.
No. The time to think of that will come later and with Jon, they will think of what to do together. Sansa has promised him that if he falls, she will go to Essos and she means to fulfill that promise. She never thought she would ever leave the North again, but if her husband – her husband who she loves – is to die, she already knows she won’t be able to bear to live here any longer. Let Cersei and the Targaryen rip each other apart for the throne. If Jon dies, Sansa won’t care about anything anymore.
She hears a knock on the chamber door behind her, back in the room, and she knows it’s Lord Royce and either Meg or Aggie with the tea. Perhaps it’s both girls today. Meg had clearly let Aggie know about the shared lemon cake and now, the girls seem to take turns to serve the tea and see what sweet it is that day.
Sansa certainly doesn’t mind. She has told Lady Manderly to stop using the sugar just to make her sweets to have with her tea, but Lady Manderly likes to remind her that “You’re the Queen, Your Grace” – as if that’s the only explanation needed. Sansa is more than happy to share sweets with both girls.
But, honestly, she is not ready for tea or company. She wants to remain on this balcony, shivering, and watching the black clouds thicken so far in the distance to the North.
What if Jon can sense her, even with all of the distance between them, watching? She won’t leave him.
She closes her eyes. “Jon,” she whispers and lets the wind carry her voice away.
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After hours of continues launches, the catapults and trebuchets were starting to run out of projectiles to fire. More than half of the dead had been destroyed, but that still meant the living were outnumbered more than 80-1. The scorpions were still launching flaming pots of pitch into the dead who filled the space between the first and second trench, but the dead were still trying to get through. The abatis were covered in the burning remains of the dead, and yet they still tried to get through. No one had run yet, but some had tried to stop loading the scorpions, and go for their bows, only to have Lady Mormont curse them out and get them back on the line. Brienne was happy to have the little bear on their side, but she was also starting to fear that the wights would get through. She had seen masses of the dead collapse without being struck by anything, meaning the White Walkers who controlled them were destroyed, but with so many still coming it meant their king had not been stopped yet.
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Jons limbs felt like lead. The adrenalin was leaving his body. The Night King swung his spear with force Jon had never faced before. He had started out strongly on the offensive, but had been forced onto the defensive for survival’s sake. Bran seemed to be able to distract the Night King some. Swooping down just out of reach, making the monster stop to try and swat at him. Jon was vaguely aware that more of the White Walkers had gone down, but he couldn’t take his focus off the battle at hand. He would not die. He refused to die. His arms felr as though they were on fire, yet he would not stop, he wouldn’t give the Night King an inch.
“Jon” his name seems to blow in on the wind. It’s Sansa’s voice, his wife’s voice. The voice he so desperately wants to hear in person once more.
A loud caw from Bran followed by Arya calling “Jon!” as well, though clearly its meant to get his attention. She and Meera had taken out most of the group after them, with Arya driving her spear into the last of them as Meera goes to flank the White Walkers attacking the rest of their party. Arya tosses her Valyrian steel dagger into the air for it to be caught by Bran. The Night King seems to understand what’s about to happen, and pushes his attack harder. Jon pulls his own dragon-glass dagger, and throws it at the Night King, forcing him to dodge, and give Jon and opening. Bran drops the dagger into Jon’s waiting hand. He used the blade to deflect a final blow from the Night King and Jon stabbed Longclaw through his chest, turning him, the remaining White Walkers, and the entirety of their army, into ice, dust, and rubble.
Jon turned to his companions who stared at him in awe. Bran is circling overhead, and Arya is saying something he cannot hear. Jon falls to his knees and whispers out “Sansa” before collapsing into the snow.