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The Humiliation of Lyanna Mormont	By : Meowshi Category: G through L > Game of Thrones Views: 13433 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not own Game of Thrones or A Song of Ice and Fire, nor any of the characters from these series. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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After several nights of intense battles, the armies of the living finally began to overwhelm the Night’s King. . His attacks on Winterfell grew more frenzied and desperate, his forces dwindling with each defeat. Whatever unholy power he'd been using to replenish his ranks seemed to be diminishing. Every day there seemed to be less and less wights for Jon's army to cut through. The dead began attacking in the dead of night and in the brightness of day--but each time they were beaten back and driven off further from their goal. The final battle between the dead and the living happened not in Winterfell, but rather in the small winter town just beyond its gates.
The armies of the living chased back the undead creatures through the streets of the town, leaving behind mounds of bodies in their wake. No quarter was given as blades clashed and dragon fire seared through the air, until at last the mighty Others were forced to join in the fight. The mysterious creatures proved far more difficult to kill than the wights, as they evaporated into mist whenever someone managed to get too close to them. Regardless, Jon pushed his forces forward, street by street, promising that this would prove to be the final confrontation with the dead, where victory would ultimately belong to life.
Arya Stark, brave and small, managed to slip behind the enemy ranks under the cover of darkness. Armed with her braavosi training and her valyrian steel catspaw dagger, she managed to assassinate five of the Others before they even realized they were under attack. The valyrian weapon sliced through the shimmering, glass-like armor of the Others with ease, almost as if the dragon lords had forged for this exact purpose. The ice wraiths eventually managed to reconvene and overwhelm the poor girl -- yet not before she managed to take out half a dozen more enemies. Surrounded by a pile of those who had underestimated her, she breathed her last with a smile on her face.
Without his generals to help him control the teeming tides of undead in his army, the Night's King soon found his control over the ravenous creatures waning. During several battles against the living, the shrieking ghouls began attacking each other indiscriminately and without warning. Even the Night King's giant began to break free of its mental restraints, scooping up handfuls of wights and plopping them greedily into his mouth.
Tormund Giantsbane, living up to his name, used this moment of chaos to strike at the giant with his great axe. He raised the massive weapon and swung with all of his strength at the giant's face. With a wet crunch, his axe plunged into the giant's skull and sank deep there. A fountain of grey ooze erupted from where the ax struck home, covering giant and wildling alike in a foul-smelling glop. The giant watched its rotting brains dribble out of its skull with a dumb expression on its face before it moaned once and then fell on top of Tormund. The defenders of Winterfell assumed he was dead, but he emerged from beneath the massive corpse several minutes later, covered in gore and demanding a long, cold glass of milk.
Viserion, the Night King's great and terrible ice dragon, had been bombing strategic locations with its ice breath and flying away. But once it was freed from the corpse-king's control, it began swooping down to snatch up men and other tasty morsels in its jaws. The panicking soldiers scattered like mice, running for their lives through the ruins of a besieged city while the beast twisted its long neck in every direction searching for more dinner. Unfortunately, this brought him within striking distance of the Lightning Lord, Beric Dondarrion. Beric seized his opportunity and rushed at the wyrm, waving his flaming sword aloft. The smoking blade cut through the dragon's hard scales like a hot knife through butter. It only took a single swing for Beric to decapitate the beast and kill it for the final time. Unfortunately, beheading the creature caused a flood of frigid pale blue blood to erupt from out of the stump of its neck. The icy blood splashed against Beric like a bucket of water, and the unkillable soldier immediately froze and shattered into a thousand frothy, pink pieces. There was no coming back from that.
The carnage happened so fast that neither he nor Viserion noticed what had been done to them, but the Night's King quickly realized that things were going poorly for him. His ground forces had been decimated and routed, his air support had been beheaded, and his generals had been slain in their own quarters! So in one last desperate effort to sow discord and fear, he ordered his remaining wights to launch a surprise attack against the women and children hiding behind Winterfell's walls. The small contingent of soldiers that had remained behind in the keep managed to repel the attack, but not without incurring a great number of casualties. It was during this attack that Theon Greyjoy, the Maimed Prince, valiantly gave his life, protecting Lady Sansa Stark in the crypts. The girl had been grief-stricken and inconsolable for weeks afterward, vowing that her firstborn child would bear her protector’s name. Tyrion Lannister jested that he would like to be in the room when she announced this to her future husband, but he wisely waited until his former wife was out of earshot.
After this attack failed, the Night's King had no choice but to retreat into the Wolfswood forest, abandoning the rest of his army and his ambitions to take the north. The armies of the living followed him into the dense woods, but alas, the corpse-king had one more weapon left in his arsenal. As the armies of the living cut their way through the trees, they were suddenly beset by a dense fog that seemed to blanket the entire forest all at once. Despite the fact that the northerners were familiar with the Wolfswood, they became hopelessly disoriented in the thick mist. Rangers who had traveled in and out of the wood every night for years, suddenly forgot which direction led out. The army was trapped, and for days they were forced to travel through the woods, blindly hoping to stumble upon the exit.
Not only could the armies not find their way out of the wood, but the mist seemed to be killing off and poisoning all the animals as well. Soon the rations were growing low and the men had no way to replenish them. Any animal carcass they stumbled upon was bloated and purple with parasites. Without warning, the armies soon began to get separated from each other in the dense mist. First, the Brotherhood Without Banners went missing. And then Yara's Ironborn raiders. And finally, Daenerys vanished with her Unsullied and Dothraki. Only the Northern army, the combined forces of the Free Folk and the Night's Watch, and the Knights of the Vale were left by the time Jon declared that no one else was to go to sleep in the mist. But the mist had an intoxicated effect to it, and each night, more and more soldiers vanished into its depths only to return as shambling corpses filled with rage and intent on killing. When the undead Bronze Yohn stumbled into Jon's tent and tried to tear him limb from limb, Jon knew he had to act before his entire army succumbed to the same fate.
To help him decide what to do, Jon prepared to convene the war council—but most of his most trusted advisers had disappeared into the mist. Just as he felt a sense of hopelessness wash over him, Bran appeared in his quarters without being called on. The boy, who had eerily taken to calling himself The Three-Eyed Raven, told him that he alone was impervious to the Night King's tricks and that he wanted to defeat the dead then he had no choice but to enter the misty forest and find the Night's King himself. That night, in his typical fashion, Jon staggered into the darkness without informing anyone, letting intuition guide him.
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The Humiliation of Lyanna Mormont