Lost in Sothoryos | A Game of Thrones Fanfic

Battle of Blood and Snow

(Location: Fist of the First Men)
(Time: Midday)

The Night's Watch rushed to defend their fort at the Fist of the First Men, their hearts pounding with a mix of anticipation and fear. The chilling wind whipped through the ancient trees, carrying whispers of impending danger. In the distance, a formidable army of wights marched relentlessly, their hollow eyes gleaming with a malevolent glow.

Jeor Mormont, the Lord Commander, bellowed with urgency, his voice cutting through the frigid air. His words echoed with authority, commanding the attention of every man. "Shore up the defences! Reinforce the barricades!" he roared, his voice filled with determination. The brothers of the Night's Watch swiftly responded, scrambling to fortify their position.

Amidst the chaos, Jeor's piercing gaze swept across the courtyard, his eyes falling upon a stockpile of torches. Realizing their strategic advantage, he issued a crucial order. "Light your arrows! Set those torches ablaze and rain fire upon them!" His voice carried a sense of desperation, knowing that every arrow had the potential to turn the tide.

The Night's Watch heeded their leader's command, hastily lighting their arrows from the flickering flames. The sound of steel against flint filled the air as sparks ignited, casting an eerie glow upon the grim faces of the defenders. The warm, crackling light danced against the encroaching darkness, momentarily pushing back the shadows.

With weapons raised and arrows aflame, the brothers of the Night's Watch formed a steadfast line. Jeor's voice thundered once more, echoing with a blend of resolve and warning. "Hold the line! Stand firm and let none pass!" His words reverberated in their ears, fueling their determination as they prepared to face the onslaught.

As the army of wights drew near, their bone-chilling presence seemed to freeze the very air.

Daeron positioned himself at the makeshift gate they had hastily constructed, his Valyrian steel sword already drawn and gleaming with a silvery sheen. He surveyed the landscape before him, his eyes scanning the approaching horde of wights with a mix of anticipation and trepidation. The eerie silence hung in the air, amplifying the tension that gripped his heart.

As Daeron stood on the precipice of battle, his grip tightened around the hilt of his blade. The Valyrian steel sang a song of ancient power, resonating with his bloodline. He took a deep breath, grounding himself in the present moment, preparing for the imminent clash.

The hoard of wights loomed ominously, their lifeless eyes fixed on the fort like predators stalking their prey. Daeron's mind raced with strategies and calculations, searching for the best way to defend their position.

None of the senior members of the watch were doing anything, the only one shouting out commands was Jeor and he couldn't do it alone, someone needed to take command.

With a resolute nod, Daeron's gaze met the eyes of his fellow defenders, who stood there in fear. His voice, firm and steady, cut through the silence, carrying the regal barring of a king. "Prepare yourselves! Steel your hearts and stand tall! The night is dark and full of terrors, but we are the shield that guards the realms of men!"

His words resonated, bolstering the spirits of the Night's Watch as they took their positions. Torches were lit, casting flickering shadows on their faces, while the night breeze whispered warnings in their ears. Daeron knew that every decision he made would determine the fate of their stronghold, the lives of his brothers, and the fate of the realm.

"Archers, take your positions" he commanded, his voice echoing with authority. "Light your arrows with the torches! Let our enemies be bathed in flames!" The archers swiftly obeyed, igniting their arrows in the dancing flames, ready to rain fiery death upon the encroaching wights.