Silver Stag

Second Wave

[King's Landing]

The first wave of wights had been defeated, but the survivors had retreated, leaving behind a trail of death and destruction in their wake.

As the second wave of wights poured into King's Landing, the soldiers knew they needed something more than just swords and arrows to take down the undead horde. They had heard rumors of a weapon that could pierce through the wight's unnatural armor - the scorpion ballista.

Theon Greyjoy, once the prince of the Iron Islands, now a broken man after his torture at the hands of Ramsay Bolton, was tasked with manning one of these powerful machines. He climbed up onto the wooden platform, his heart racing as he looked out over the battlefield.

"Ready?" shouted the soldier next to him.

Theon nodded, gripping the lever tightly. He could see the Night King, perched atop Viserion, leading the charge. The dragon's eyes glowed blue, its scales gleaming in the sunlight.

"Fire!" roared the commander, and Theon pulled the lever, sending a bolt soaring towards the dragon. At the last second, Viserion swerved, avoiding the bolt, disappearing in the sky.

When he reappeared, the Night King was not on his back. Where he was, was anyone's guess.

Theon wasted no timr, and loaded another bolt into the scorpion. He aimed and waited patiently for an opportunity to present itself.

When it had, he pulled the lever, releasing another bolt.

It struck true, embedding itself deep into Viserion's wing. The dragon let out a deafening roar and began to plummet towards the ground, its wings flailing wildly.

To many, it was a beautiful sight, but also a dangerous one - for if their allies dragons came too close to the scorpions, they risked being struck by the deadly projectiles.

So, Daemon Targaryen and Aelinor Baratheon made the difficult decision to send their own dragons, Loki and Freya, away, to avoid them being accidentally, or purposefully, killed in battle.

They also had no idea who had ordered the attempt on their lives. One of the most powerful things for a Targaryen was their bond with their dragons. It's why people say the Targaryens are closer to Gods than men. Because of their dragons. Without them, they're just like everyone else.

As the two dragons flew off into the distance, their riders watched anxiously from below, knowing that they would not be able to protect them from the safety of the ground.

As the sun set over King's Landing, casting long shadows across the blood-soaked streets, the sound of clashing steel and screams filled the air. The second wave of wights that had arrived, were far more ferocious than the first.

Daemon and Aelinor fought side by side, their swords flashing in the dim light as they battled against the undead horde. Their most trusted soldiers stood beside them, but even their bravery and skill could not hold back the tide of darkness that threatened to consume the city.

In the midst of the chaos, Aelinor saw her half brother Gendry fall to the ground, a look of shock on his face as he was stabbed by an unknown soldier with no sigil. She rushed to his side, trying to save him despite the danger all around her.

"Gendry, no!" she cried out, tears streaming down her face as she tried to stop the bleeding. But it was too late. He looked up at her with empty eyes, and then went still.

Aelinor felt a cold rage fill her heart, and she rose to her feet, determined to find the one responsible for her brother's death. She knew that she would nevr rest until justice was served.