The Great Battle of Winterfell
Tyrion and his family were admitted into the crypts of Winterfell where they would remain there until the battle was over. But that was not the case anymore. Tyrion, using his God’s Eye, teleported his wife and daughter to Casterly Rock.
“Keep my family safe,” Tyrion told Genna. His aunt nodded.
Before Tyrion could teleport back to Winterfell, his aunt grabbed him by the arm, kneeling a bit. “You have to understand that your little brother, the King of the Rock, ordered us to remain watchful of Cersei’s movements. It’s the reason why I’m not giving a single man to fight in the north. Should Cersei send his army up, Daven, Forley, Lyle and several others will march to the capital city.”
Tyrion nodded then, sighing. “I understand. Just keep my family safe, aunt.”
“We will.” His aunt assured him again. As Tyrion prepared to teleport, his aunt said something. “Good luck, Tyrion. I hope he returns soon. And I do hope that you win the war against the undead.”
He then teleported back to Winterfell. This time, he was at the battlements of Winterfell with Lady Sansa Stark, Lady Arya Stark and Ser Davos Seaworth. He didn’t care what his queen’s order to remain in the crypts, he was needed here and he could use his eyes to help in the battle.
“What are you doing here, Lord Tyrion?” The Lady of Winterfell asked. “Shouldn’t you be in the crypts?”
“I’ll be more of a use here than I will in the crypts.” Tyrion replied back, smiling a bit. “Like I did in Blackwater Bay.” Like Braenden and I did. “I’ve been storing enough energy that I can make use of my eyes. Besides, my wife and daughter are safe.”
They waited then, on the battlements. The men on the walls were anxious and cold, their breath froze against the air. The Unsullied remained strong and stubborn, but there were too few left to go against the Night King and his armies.
Whatever manpower they had here wouldn’t be enough to win the battle, but the Starks would be damned if they were to lose their ancestral seat again. Tyrion had suggested that they should retreat down south to Casterly Rock, where his aunt Genna would welcome them with no threats. And that they had a big Lannister army stationed in the westerlands.
But they refused. Saying that they would retreat to the westerlands as a last resort of defences against the Night King.
“Are you going to use your eyes, Lord Tyrion?” Arya asked, her eyes looking beyond Winterfell.
Strange, indeed. Very few knew about Tyrion’s eyes and even fewer knew about the powers and abilities of his eyes. It was as if she knew about it after all. “I will make the best of it. Seeing my stature like this, I wouldn’t be able to do much.”
“It will be invaluable in this battle tonight.” Arya replied, turning her head to him. A slight smile appeared on her face. “I suggest you wait until he arrives.”
“He?” Tyrion was perplexed. Who was Arya referring to?
“You’ll know soon enough.”
The cold winds from the north was blowing even more harder and colder now. Tyrion remained warm thanks to his eyes. His body was heating heat too that it provided warmth to the Stark sisters and Ser Davos Seaworth.
Tyrion knew Jon and his queen were ahead of the battlefield for reconnaissance with their dragons Drogon and Rhaegal. When the battle starts, they would fly high above in the sky and battle against the dead while the defending forces ready themselves.
His left eye alerted him after a long half an hour of silence and coldness. They were coming now, en masse. “They’re here.” Tyrion said to them around him. “The undead is here.”
The horn of Winterfell sounded three times.
Ser Davos bellowed his command to the archers to tip their arrows on fire and nocked their arrows with their longbows. Tyrion could sense the fear and shakiness in the archers’ face but they stood steadfast. Who could blame them? The fate of humanity would be decided here, in Winterfell.
Drogon and Rhaegal rode out and roared in the skies. They flew their way back and joined their forces, hovering over the Unsullied forces outside of Winterfell. Tyrion’s heart began to race.
“You should go down to the crypts, Lady Stark.” Tyrion said. “You’ll be safe there.”
“I’ll go down there,” She replied, her voice trembling. “when the situation becomes dire.”
“Go, Sansa.” Arya supported Tyrion. “You’ll be safe there.”
Reluctant, the Lady of Winterfell walked down the battlements and went for the crypt. “She’ll be safe there, with the Hound, Gendry, Ser Beric Dondarrion and the Brotherhood Without Banners guarding it.” Arya only hummed in response.
The Night King and his undead armies came into view over the distant. He had a number of undead giants and mammoths with him as well. Tyrion had never saw them. He thought they were only myths and legends that were only told in stories of children.
But now, seeing them with his own eyes. Tyrion was both in awe and horrified. In awe because they were real, horrified because they served the undead, and they were undoubtedly and intimidatingly big.
Not yet. Tyrion told himself. Use it when they are near the walls of Winterfell.
The dead got closer and closer every passing minute. The battle started when the trebuchets and catapults hurled clayed pots of lit black oil where it reached the destination and impacted the ranks of the dead soldiers.
The archers echeloned behind the Unsullied were armed with composite bows and dragonglass arrows and normal arrows, supplemented with short sword made of dragonglass. Ser Davos bellowed the command to loosened their fired arrows upon the undead. Barrage after barrage of arrows, the undead seemed to not care at all. Ser Davos’s archers were doing their job but it wasn’t enough. The undead numbers seemed… limitless.
The dragons hovering above the Unsullied roared ferociously and flew forward. Daenerys rode Drogon and Jon rode Rhaegal. They unleashed the dragonfire on the wights, burning them in the many but the dead kept on advancing. Those who were leading the undead forward seemed to not care about the dragons above them.
Tyrion saw that some of the wights were carrying withered bows and worn arrows. When the wights were in range, they also return barrages of arrows unto the defending forces. The Unsullied were under attack, they pulled their shields up to protect themselves. Even the left flank under Ser Brienne’s command held their shields above their heads.
The Dothrakis, however, didn’t have shields to protect themselves, and they were the ones who were absorbing most of the damages. They had no other choice. It was either retreat behind the Unsullied’s protection or charged forward. They did the latter.
Ko Qhono lead the charge head-on with their battle-cries echoed in the cold air. The wights retaliated by running head-on while the lieutenants of winter stayed back and watched the onslaught. The Dothraki Bloodriders made contact with the wights.
The Bloodriders made the first devastating blow because of the charge’s impact. But more and more wights joined in the fray that the dothrakis had to fight on foot. Many of the wights fell to the combat prowess of the bloodriders, but also the bloodriders to the undead.
A horn sounded outside of Winterfell. The Unsullied locked their shields together in close ranks, their spears protruded out of the protection of the shields. The Unsullied began to move forward very slowly towards the undead in three columns of two rows. The rear flanks remained behind to prevent any flanking manoeuvres by the wights and the white walkers.
The giants and the mammoths joined in the battle against the dothrakis. With their tree clubs and tusks, many of the bloodriders flew up in the air and landed hard on the ground, breaking their neck.
“Archers!” Ser Davos bellowed. “Nock your arrows! Loose!”
The archers on the battlements release their arrows from their longbows on the command of Ser Davos. It was useless after a few barrages that Ser Davos told them to release their arrows at will. Even some of the arrows from the wights managed to get passed through and hit some of the archers on the battlements.
Grey Worm and his Unsullied under his command were now engaging against the endless wights. Though the fight between them seemed to be in a stalemate, the wights couldn’t break through their phalanx wall. It was until they all massed on top of each other that the frontlines of the Unsullied began to crumble and the first lines of Unsullied were forced to fight in hand-to-hand combat.
This is the time. Tyrion thought to himself. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath in, then exhaled out heavily. Blaze Release! Tyrion opened his left eye.
It unleashed a massive black flame in the centre of the undead army, engulfing countless of wights and many of the white walkers. Focusing his left eye again, Tyrion expanded the black flame, setting fire to the undead who came into contact with it.
But Tyrion was just a dwarf. His stature affected his energy. Soon, his left eye began to stream blood. The black flame slowly, and gradually, began to dissolve. He felt his head dizzy and feeling faintingly. Tyrion willed himself, panting. His left eye starting to hurt a bit now.
The Dothraki bloodriders were left to almost nothing. They retreated back behind the Unsullied’s shields. The situation got even dire. The wights were releasing arrows on the dragons above them, on Jon and Daenerys.
Tyrion closed his eyes again. This would be his last contribution to the battle. Opening both of his eyes, the right one activated. Ethereal skeletal structure began to form around Tyrion in red colour, forming the ribcage and the arms. Once the full skeleton was made, musculature and skin formed the rest and a complete humanoid-like avatar was shaped.
Blaze Release: Great Fire Annihilation! His avatar blew out the black flames from its mouth in the shape of a crashing waves that covered a wide range of the battlefield. Tyrion carefully adjust the black flame’s direction to not hit the living and aimed for the dead.
It was a precise hit, and a devastating one as well. Tens of thousands of wights were burnt for good and it gave the living force a space to breathe. But for Tyrion, he fell to the ground; his avatar began to undeveloped on its own because Tyrion could no longer support his eyes with the remaining energy he had left stored in his body.
Lady Arya Stark knelt before him, her hands on his shoulder. “Are you alright?” She asked. “Do you need me to carry you to the crypts?”
“No!” Tyrion replied back, panting. His vision was blurry and moving around. He shook his head to forgo the effects but it was for naught. “I will… I will remain up here…”
“Are you sure? You don’t look so good.” Arya was genuinely worried about him, to Tyrion’s own surprised as well. “Besides, you have done your job in helping turning the tides but I have to guess that it is not enough. You have done more than enough, Lord Tyrion.”
“Not… not enough?”
“The undead are pushing forward again.” Arya said, peering over the wall to observed. “The Unsullied’s phalanxes are being pushed back.”
“Whatever it is that you did,” Davos chimed in, his expression stern. “it’s best that the both of you get out of the battlements. I’d wager the wights will crawl up the walls of Winterfell soon.”
But Tyrion and Arya were stubborn. They remained on the walls and watched the battle progressing towards the side of the undead. The living was losing ground to the point where they had to retreat back to the ditches they had dug before the northern walls of Winterfell.
There was a big land of space between the forces of the dead and the living, with the living dead scattered in the middle. Litters of dead dothrakis, Unsullied, Northerners and Valemen and countless of wights littered the battlefield.
That was when the Night King stepped forward in the centre. All living soldiers stopped dead in their tracks. He lifted his hands up to his shoulder level. That was the moment where Tyrion said, “Fuck me.” Even Arya was shocked at the revelation.
The dead soldiers on the living side had their eyes open and turned glowing, cold blue. They rose from the ground and reanimated into the Night King’s army as wights, forever to serve in their king’s will. Those who side with the living and gave their lives in this battle now served the Night King.
“Dracarys!” Daenerys shouted above. Drogon’s flame lit up the ditches that had oil poured in them.
“Retreat!” Jon shouted to the men below outside the walls. “Defend the walls!”
The White Walkers screeched then, and an all-out assault on Winterfell began. The wights, giants, mammoths, and – all of the sudden of their appearance in the battlefield – giant ice spiders were charging towards the castle in frenzy.
“We should head towards the crypts now.” Arya said, grabbing Tyrion’s right arm. “Now, Imp!”
But something stopped them. A massive, dark spiralling portal appeared before them outside the walls of Winterfell, facing the undead. It expanded gradually until it covered the entirety of the battlefield. All of the sudden, the air felt warmth and nice, and Tyrion felt himself strong as the Mountain, his energy returning to him.
A voice boomed: “Where ride the horsemen, death shall follow!”
And thousands of thousands of knights in flaming, black armour and hellish-looking steed charged head-on against the army of the dead with their spiky, flaming maces, crashed against the dead. Stampeding over the wights, and giants, mammoths and spiders were all burnt to death by the projectiles threw by the hellish-looking knights in blackest armour.
The sea of black flame scourged over the white ice, but it didn’t belong to Tyrion. It belonged to someone else who had the same eyes as his. And that person was leading the black knights.