Chapter 60: The Long Night

Torrhen stood on the walls of his castle once again, facing the snowy North as the sun was thankfully still in the sky. Behind him men in their thousands were getting their last meals or relaxing before the storm was due to hit, but his focus was solely on the horizon to the North. Balerion was beside him, the Direwolf now armoured up as much as he could be without restricting movement, his back and belly was covered in plate, as was the tip of his head. Torrhen leaned over to rest against the large beast.

"Soon, Bal. I'll need you to fight in this one." He said quietly. He sighed, placing his hand on Balerion's nose. "But don't die, ok? I can't lose you."

"What about the rest of us?" Robb's voice sounded from the left of Torrhen. With his elder brother came Arya. "Are we expendable to you?"

Torrhen shrugged. "It depends how much you annoy me now." He jested.

Robb smirked, walking over to Torrhen and standing beside him. "The waiting is the worst part." He muttered. "If the Walkers were here at least we'd be fighting, instead I'm thinking about all the different scenarios. What if they come over the wall, where will I be? What if they break through the gate, how do we repel them?"

"You think too much." Arya muttered. She pulled out one of her axes and stroked the wooden handle with her spare hand. "If something is in front of you, you kill it. It's simple."

Torrhen shook his head. "If only." He told her. He looked back out to the distance. "We have hundreds of thousands of Dragonglass arrows. Firstly we will hold them off from the walls, making every arrow count."

"We hold them there until the Riverlords come." Robb nodded. "That's why we came to find you, they've entered the Causeway.

Torrhen nodded, but that wasn't overly helpful. "Then they're a couple of days away at best, and this weather isn't going to stay calm."

"You're so miserable." Arya smirked. "We've prepared, we're ready."

Torrhen knew that, but the phantom scar of the Night King's blade piercing his torso began to itch. Robb noticed his uncomfortable look and gripped his shoulder tightly. "Calm, Tor. Think on Mira and Asher as I am Wylla and the boys. They're what will keep me going through this." Nodding, Torrhen did as he was told. He pictured Mira on the battlements of Riverrun, she would be almost bursting by now with what Torrhen silently hoped was a little girl with her hair. The smile on his face was obvious, and Robb nudged him with a grin. "See, they'll keep you going."

"Have we had any word from Bran?" Arya asked. Robb glared at her for bringing the conversation back to war, but Arya shrugged nonchalantly. "What? I don't have a wife or any little shits to worry about, I may as well worry about him."

Torrhen shook his head. "Not since they resupplied at Lannisport." He admitted. "And that was weeks ago." He looked out once more to the Northern horizon and checked the sun, noticing that it was slightly lower in the sky than it had been the last time he checked. "Arya, go and warn Father, dusk is coming." He told her gravely.

Arya had to check for herself of course, but quickly she was running away back down into the courtyard, leaving Robb alone with Torrhen. "No matter what happens…" The heir to Winterfell said shakily.

"We will make it." Torrhen said, more confidently than he felt.

"No matter what happens." Robb repeated firmly, using his hands to grab Torrhen by the face. "Know that I am grateful for you being my little brother. I thank the gods every day that you were sent back, and I thank them for giving me more time with you."

Torrhen felt emotion well up inside him. "I thank them too." He nodded, his voice barely a whisper. "Don't die, Robb. I can't do that again."

Robb shook his head. "I don't plan on it." He said calmly, pushing his forehead against Torrhen's as the brothers embraced.

The Black Betha had turned into the command ship after the sinking of the Fury, and Bran was armoured up stood at the bow of the ship watching as Jon and Daenerys destroyed the final remnants of the Iron Fleet. The Ironborn were no match for the combined might of the Crownlands, the Stormlands, the Reach and the Westerlands and the minor naval battles that had been fought between Lannisport and Great Wyk had been nothing more than routs.

With a roar from the sky, Bran watched on as the trio of dragons regrouped for a moment before they disappeared in the direction of Great Wyk. Bran took that as the sign and turned to the crew that were all gathered on the deck. "Lower the rowboats." He commanded, and a roar of approval went up from the crew.

Davos was over by the ships wheel during this, but the Hand of the King descended to the main deck as the crew were lowering the boats and stood beside Bran. "This could still be a trap." He commented.

Bran shrugged. "They have no more ships, Euron can't run. If it is a trap let them spring it, he will die all the same."

That was all he had to say, as he moved over towards the nearest rowboat and got inside, his personal banner being passed to him as the boat filled up with crew, including the surviving Kingsguard. In the sinking of the Fury both Ser Arys Oakheart and Ser Robar Royce had been lost, while Ser Barristan had managed to grab onto a piece of the wreckage and stay above the waves keeping the unconscious, newest member of the order, Ser Imry Florent, afloat for almost a full night before being picked up by a Redwyne ship and Ser Rolland Storm had been with Renly near the back of the armada and was unharmed. With two of the order in King's Landing that left only the three in the invasion force. Bran handed Ser Imry his banner, and then sat silently in the boat as it was lowered into the water and then sailed towards the shore through the burning wrecks of the Iron Fleet.

They made landfall and Bran didn't waste time in getting out the boat. He joined Jon and Daenerys on the beach, and once Renly Baratheon had also joined them, Jon gave a scouting report. "The only movement we could see was by Hammerhorn." He explained. "We let out a volley of fire, but we'll have to take it by land."

"Then we will." Bran nodded, watching as Tyrion Lannister waddled over to them. "Have all the men march for the castle and begin to set up a siege."

"A siege?" Renly asked. "We don't have the time…"

"But let them think we are settling in for a siege and they will react as such." Bran countered. "We set up a siege to surround the castle so that none escape, we keep hitting them with dragon fire to weaken the walls, and once we breach the castle, we kill every single Ironborn inside."

Bran didn't leave any room for arguments as he stormed off away from the beach, following the soldiers further into the island towards the castle of Hammerhorn. It took a couple of days, with Hammerhorn being one of the rare Ironborn strongholds that was actually in land, but eventually the force were gazing upon the Hardstone Hills, and within those hills was a dark and dingy castle sitting atop the mines and caves that granted House Goodbrother their ore. Bran ordered the siege to be set up, and then it was a case of scouting and waiting. Two nights into the siege the first wave of excitement came, and Bran left his tent to see that the Lannister party had captured a dozen or so deserters.

"Ah, Lord Stark." Tyrion greeted when Bran arrived to see that the Lannister had the men and women bound and put to their knees, awaiting judgement. Tyrion had a red bladed longsword in his stubby hands. "House Drumm decided to abandon the Crow's Eye."

Bran surveyed the captured men and women. Most were servants and sailors, but the three with the smarter armour caught the Stark's attention quickly. Bran leered down at the elder of the three, Dunstan Drumm. "You must be hating this, you've been defeated by a dwarf. Your sword was taken by a dwarf."

"Do what you want." The elder Drumm spat. "You won't take Euron alive."

Bran took a deep breath in. "I don't plan on it." He said icily. He turned to the Crownland guards that had followed him. "There's a lake around an hours ride away from here if you head towards the ships." He told them. "Drown them all."

A moment of silence followed the command. "My Lord?" One of the men asked for clarification.

"You heard me, Ser Jason. Reunite them with their God." Bran told him forcefully, before raising his voice to all that could hear him. "Any Ironborn scum that we capture, we follow King Stannis' wishes and eradicate them all."

The Crownlander knights looked uneasy, but they began to drag the prisoners away. Bran took another deep breath and was about to walk back to his tent when Tyrion stopped him. "I remember the first Rebellion, when Greyjoy ships sailed into Lannisport and burned our ships at anchor. I remember how angry my Father was at the sight of his flagship burning and sinking, vowing to end every Ironborn man involved." Tyrion placed a hand on Bran's arm. "He never mentioned hurting the women."

It was meant as a caution, but Bran didn't care for his words. "I remember a story also, My Lord. A story of a red lion that grew too big, a red lion that ended up drowning in his own castle with the women, children, and even the servants that had done nothing to offend Lord Tywin Lannister. Forgive me if I don't take morality lessons from that man." He spat. "King Stannis made his wishes known, and until Shireen is officially crowned and orders me otherwise, I will follow his wishes." He looked down at the dwarf. "Enjoy your prize, Lord Tyrion. House Lannister has long wished for a Valyrian Steel sword. May you use it to strike down as many Ironborn as you can."

Tyrion rolled his eyes. "I don't think I'll be the one wielding it." He muttered, but Bran wasn't interested in sticking around for more conversation, and the Stark retreated back to his tent, willing the assault on the castle to come quicker.

Two nights and three dozen drowned Ironborn later, Bran stood at the head of his forces fully armoured, waiting. Jon and Daenerys had gone to the dragons and were somewhere in the distance looking down on the castle, whilst the entire Westerosi force were geared up. The bodies of the Ironborn deserters had been loaded into hastily built trebuchets, and all Bran was waiting for was for the bloated bodies to be flung into the castle. Renly had been in charge of the siege engines, and Bran was getting impatient with the oldest Baratheon for dragging his heels.

"What's taking him so long?" He muttered impatiently.

Ser Barristan stood beside him. "Patience, My Lord." He said calmly. The first noises of the engines being fired filled the air. It was dark, so Bran couldn't see the bodies flying overhead, although he did hear vague cries of surprise and splatters as the bodies impacted the castle inside. He almost made ready to move then, but a gauntlet on his shoulder held him back. "Not yet."

Bran nodded, it was his plan after all he felt foolish for forgetting the main part of it. Another wave of bodies flew overhead, and then it was time for the true devastation to begin. A trio of roars from the sky filled the ears of everyone within a few miles, and Bran grinned darkly when the flash of dragon fire smashed against the walls of Hammerhorn. "Now!" Bran roared, and he was among the first to run forwards up the winding path to the castle. Another run from the dragons caused the top of the main keep to explode outwards, causing debris to come crashing down onto those inside the castle. Bran just kept running, and as they turned the last turn before the gates, he lifted his shield to cover his body and withdrew Nightfall. He felt one arrow embed itself in his shield, but the dragons had done their job in collapsing the outer walls, and Bran was the first one to step foot inside the castle, hacking Nightfall through a Goodbrother man and splitting him in two.

More men from the mainland had joined him within the castle walls relatively quickly after that, and the onrush of Stormlanders, Reachmen, Westermen and Crownlanders proved too much for the already skeleton Ironborn garrison. Bran slashed and parried and slammed his sword into the flesh of the Ironborn whenever he needed to, and by the time he had forced his way into the main keep of Hammerhorn he was covered head to toe in the blood of the Ironborn.

The large doors of the main hall were kicked open and Bran was again the first to walk in. He spotted Euron Greyjoy lounging on the Lord's chair, his feet hanging over one of the arms as he was being fed grapes by a buxom young woman dressed in Hewett fineries.

"Brandon the Merciless." Euron called. "I had wondered if the stories were true. I hear you've been drowning women, Stark. What would daddy say?"

"In the name of King Stannis of the House Baratheon, First of his Name. King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men. Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm." Bran snarled. "I, Brandon of the House Stark. Lord of Summerhall, do sentence you to die." He flexed the hilt of Nightfall in his fingers.

Euron Greyjoy just smirked. "See, those words mean nothing to me, boy." He quickly pushed himself upwards and grabbed the woman by the hair, a knife resting against her throat. "Your king died at my command."

"And you will die at his." Bran growled.

"Let her go!" A voice called from behind, and Bran recognised it as Jon's.

Euron just grinned. "The dragon rider!" He exclaimed happily. "I enjoyed your display."

"Let her go." Jon repeated. "Nobody else needs to die."

Euron looked at Jon, cocking his head and surveying him for a moment before he shrugged. "You're right." He nodded, pushing the woman towards Bran and Jon, slicing her neck as she went. The woman dropped to the floor, gasping and choking for air for only a moment before she fell still and silent. "Oops."

A sword was unsheathed. "You'll pay for that." Jon growled.

Euron smirked, walking behind the throne and grabbing an axe. "She was a good fuck, but really fucking dull." He commented. "I wonder, after I kill you will the Dragon Queen be a good fuck?"

Jon rushed forwards with a roar, Blackfyre swinging down towards the head of the Greyjoy, but Euron easily swatted the blow aside and bashed Jon away with the handle of his axe. Bran rushed forwards then too, eager to put the Greyjoy down. The Greyjoy was no fool however, and he quickly reached behind his back and threw a throwing knife towards the younger Stark, who had to throw himself to the left to dodge the blade. Then it became a case of dodging the heavy axe head as Euron laughed manically, swinging it in the hope that it impacted with Bran. The only time it did thankfully, was when the Stark's shield was in the way. Euron ripped the shield off of Bran's arm and slammed his axe to the ground, shattering the Ironwood, but that gave Jon time to rush Euron once more, barrelling them both to the ground. Bran used the advantage and rolled to his feet, using his now free hand to push the axe away from Euron, and in the same movement he roared and slammed the point of Nightfall down through Euron's armour and torso.

Euron cried out in pain, though he still had a grin on his face and the look angered Bran. He growled, bringing both of his hands onto the hilt of Nightfall and he ripped it out of Euron, before slamming it down into him again. The Greyjoy cried out again, and Bran repeated his action one last time, slamming his sword down into the Greyjoy's leaking torso. Bran then twisted the sword, causing Euron to begin choking in pain.

"The only thing you'll be fucking." Bran panted as he knelt down on Euron's stomach, still twisting his blade and enjoying the Ironborn's agony. "Is a pyre as your body is burned. You won't meet your God, you won't meet your ancestors, you will become ash, forgotten in history."

Euron was still grinning, though his eyes were squinting in the agony. "I killed a king, boy. History will always remember me."

Bran's face contorted again in rage, and he forced himself back up to his feet and slammed the sword through Euron's chest plate again and again, before strong arms wrapped around him and pulled him away from the body, sword still planted deep within it. "That's enough Bran." Jon's voice sounded in his ear. "That's enough."

Before darkness captured the Northern sky the storms started. Snow barrelled down from the skies in thick clusters and the cold was excruciating for the majority. Torrhen stood silently on the walls in his marked position quietly, his Stark blood ensuring that he wasn't worried about the cold, although the Dornish archers atop the walls looked to be struggling. There were dozens of braziers on Torrhen's section of the wall that was above the Winter Gate, the stretch between the Umber's designated Giants Tower and the Karstark designated Seal Tower, and in between each brazier stood five men from all over the continent.

"Have the Dornish nearest the fires." Torrhen ordered, and the men of Moat Cailin under his command shifted so that the Dornish were closest. "The fire arrows are your responsibility now."

He didn't want to look around for his family. He knew that Robb was with the House Manderly forces somewhere in the courtyard and that Arya was with Maege Mormont on the western flank facing North West, whilst Ned was somewhere on top of the Giant's Tower in command of everyone. Even Balerion had a role, protecting Gregor Forrester for now.

He could still hear his Father's final speech in his mind, instructing the men of the North and Dorne to focus on the White Walker's when they come into the battle. Torrhen flexed his gloved fingers on his Weirwood bow to try and wake them up, thinking now of embedding a Dragonglass arrow deep into the icy skin of the demons coming for them.

He thought of Mira down in the South again, hoping that she and Asher were ok and safe. He thought of his Mother and Sansa, begging the Gods in his mind that they made it to Riverrun too. He thought of Bran and Jon, hoping that they were on their way quickly.

The sound of a horn blast cut the tension with a knife, as the men on the walls began shifting nervously. Another horn blast blew, followed by a third and final one. Torrhen took a deep breath and turned to the man beside him, although he projected his voice along with all the other commanders on the walls.

"EVERYONE NOCK YOUR ARROWS!" He cried, doing the same. He placed his arrow into the brazier and let the end catch fire before he pulled back on the bowstring, breathing calmly as he felt the direction of the breeze whilst also watching the horizon for signs of movement. The noise of the wights came before the sight of them, and Torrhen began whispering a small prayer. "Please, Old Gods let the flame last. Don't go out again." He muttered quietly, before the first wave began to come into view, before the wights stopped just before the traps.

"Do they know?" Torrhen heard someone mutter from beside him, but the Stark's attention was solely on a lone figure that was making their way to the front of the wight forces. His chest ached once more as he saw the Night King for the first time since his own death, and he scowled towards the demon and relaxed the bowstring.

"Hold." He commanded, trying to portray a projection of strength to his men. The Night King seemingly found his eyes at that moment though, and it was all Torrhen could do to not break the staring contest. As the pair stared between one another, another figure stumbled to the front. This one wasn't a White Walker, but a wight that looked like he had lived hundreds of years ago. His skin was cracked, and bone stuck through his cheeks, whilst he still somehow had an overly bushy beard that the Mountain Clans would have been proud of. Torrhen looked solely at the new figure now and watched as he reached behind him and pulled out a horn.

"Fuck! It's Joramun! He brought down the Wall!" Someone cried from down the lines, and Torrhen sucked in a breath as he remembered the tales of Joramun's horn from his time with the Wildlings.

"Keep it together!" Torrhen cried out, but realistically even his legs were shaking. He looked down momentarily at the 100 feet drop from the battlements on top of the Winter Gate to the snowy Kingsroad below and winced, and that was when the horn blast came.

The high pitch screeching that came out of the horn was unnatural, and Torrhen immediately shut his eyes and tried to cover his ears as best he could, anything to keep the horrific sound away. The walls underneath his feet began to shake slightly, but once the horn blast stopped, they were still intact. Torrhen opened one eye and noticed the Night King looking frustrated and he held his flaming nocked arrow in the air and cheered.

That cheer caught on, and soon the hundreds of men atop the walls of Moat Cailin were making their own triumphant sound. That didn't please the Night King however, who simply raised a hand and allowed the wights behind him to charge. Torrhen quickly got back to his previous stance, pulling the bowstring back as he waited for a moment and counted to five slowly, allowing the wights to enter the bogs where the oil and traps had been laid, and once he reached five, he released the arrow. The flaming projectile soared outwards towards the North, the flame flickering quickly, before the tip embedded itself into the frozen ground and an explosion of fire lit the ground.

Torrhen breathed a sigh of relief and watched as the orange flames began to surround the castle as the rest of the wall cheered loudly. He could hear the grating sound of guttural screams coming from the burning wights, and he continued his commands. "DRAW!" He called out. He nocked another arrow, Dragonglass this time, and drew the string back once more. He could see wights forcing their way through the flames before falling in heaps, but after a few minutes, a wight with no legs clawed its way past the burning and began to make for the walls. An arrow from the Giants Tower claimed its undead life, but soon more began to break through. "PICK YOUR SHOTS! LOOSE!" Torrhen roared, and arrows began to fly away, slamming through undead bones and rotting flesh. Torrhen killed three before he stopped to survey the scene, and all he could notice was that from 100ft in the air, he could see more and more wights begin to claw through the flames and rush towards Moat Cailin.