(Erlend Mudd, Castle Black)
The spear had been the straw that broke the camel's back. Turns out that robbing the Night King of his prized tool had incensed him.
In response, he chose to amp up his ferocity at the insult levied and increased the intensity of the attacks. White Walkers and thousands of wights sent in what could only be described as suicide hits, ironic considering their nature.
Though good news was to be had.
The Walkers had been reported to be moving far less gracefully than normal. Their actions became more robotic and stiff as they lost some of the unnatural physical attributes they had previously been known for. The spear had likely been a conduit of some sort, granting them minor blessings that pushed them far beyond their already supernatural physique.
That had come as a pleasant surprise, as it meant that his best warriors wouldn't have to be sacrificed in their efforts to bring down the Night King's elite. That's not to say anything or anyone normal could take them on single-handedly, only that warriors like Arthur Dayne had a realistic chance of taking them head-on, without great sacrifices on their part.
Weakened as they were, they were still heads and shoulders stronger than the average human warrior.
Speaking of great warriors like Arthur, Erlend had recruited the surviving Kingsguard to link up with them and to take command of some of the lines. Their judgment might have been absolute dog shit, yet there was no denying their prowess and capabilities. He would not let such useful tools go to waste.
It did vindicate them that their dragon prince was partially correct in his ravings of the long night.
Two figures stood out within the Winter War.
His Uncle, who, upon equipping himself with the armor and weaponry gifted to him by Erlend, had become a nightmare on the battlefield, striking hard and true, leaving no room for the Walkers to react as they found themselves battling an abnormal human capable of fighting them evenly, even before they lost the spear.
Something they undoubtedly did not appreciate and had attempted to counter numerous times. Erlend always made sure to check on the old man, while sacrifices had to be made in this war, his father figure would not be one of them.
The second had been Ashara, his coitus enhanced lover had arrived North just recently and had already left her mark on the battlefield.
It was like watching a masterpiece at play, as his lover wielded Dawn with such ease that it made her brother pale in comparison. Purple light would bathe her every step, giving her an otherworldly glow as she cut right through their enemies without care. The 'Purple Death' many called her, and it was an apt title if he should say so.
Like with his Uncle, Erlend had made sure to keep an eye on her, though he refrained from interfering in her actions. Going as far as to place her in charge of the Dornish and a portion of the Northern forces, mainly those who wouldn't resist the fact that they were being led by a woman, no matter her skill.
It helped that Oberyn, his technical good-brother, had welcomed the change in command with open arms, and Benjen simply gave Ashara a pained but approving grunt.
Still, no matter how accommodating he was to his lovers, he would not truly let them face such dangers without the proper precautions in place. Therefore, there were protections placed to keep her safe should the worst occur.
Ashara had taken to command like a fish to water, channeling the martial prowess and command that her house was famed for.
Outside of the lines guarded by his dragons, Lorimas and Ahsara showed the most effective resistance to the unending attacks made by his foe.
Still, the increased ferocity dealt a fairly big blow to his forces in areas where the Banners and his vassals were stretched thin and lacked capable enough warriors to hold back the Walkers.
Erlend had responded by placing Jinhua and Verna in the most significant choke points. Denying the Walkers their goal in destroying their cohesion and leaving them unbalanced.
He could feel his foe's unwillingness in the face of these constant setbacks; sooner or later, the lost Stark would come personally to deal with him.
For now, though, the undead warriors could only relentlessly continue attacking his lines, hoping to do something that could potentially give them the upper hand.
He was unsure how the debuffs he'd placed in the site would interact with the unexpectedly weakened Walkers, perhaps stacking upon their losses?
The Night King had already lost some of his strength and rationality, it wouldn't be out of the question for the same to happen to them. Azor Ahai was supposed to be the bane of darkness, so it implied that his power should restrain the undead.
The main issue Erlend had with that reasoning was that the Night King had the direct support of the Great Other this time around, and for all his vaunted strength, Azor Ahai was still mortal.
In this situation, both sides had divine power backing them up, which meant that it all depended on who had the bigger stick, so to speak.
Suddenly, he felt a particularly sharp outburst of magic. Glancing to his right, he let his aura free, searching for the cause behind it, just in time to feel emotions wafting from Verna.
The most beautiful of his draconian children hadn't taken kindly to some of the Walkers using their brains, and attempting to sneak up on her, while their brethren tried to distract her.
Her response was particularly brutal, as she used her claws to rip through the sneaking Walker, while a poisonous wave of green fumes spread out from her skin and rushed towards the rest of the Walkers around her.
The men nearby did the best to provide support by firing at any Walkers. Though it did very little damage to the distracted Walkers, who had far bigger fish to fry.
This was an attack meant to make the enemy feel as much pain as possible, as they were welcomed into the cruel embrace of death. At least that should have been the case, unfortunately for his sadistic daughter, Walkers weren't exactly emotional beings; they could respond to it, but they did not feel it as a normal human would.
Their ability to think and plan, but not feel, made them quite dangerous. Their whole existence revolved around serving the Night King, nothing more, nothing less. Though it was a bit outrageous that they continued to repeat the same tactic. They were still undead, no matter how superior they appeared to be compared to a wight.
Thinking that it would be better not to inform her of the matter, Erlend let her have her fun. It would be rude of him to interrupt her after all.
Did they hope to try it enough times till they eventually get lucky? His dragons were far more intelligent than their Valyrian predecessors, and attempting to fool them with such basic tactics was insulting.
It felt like his daughter was more insulted about the repetition, rather than anything else. He certainly had no interest in dealing with a grouchy dragon.
…
"This…"
Val's pupils shrank, having just been made aware of Erlend's overall plan on dealing with the Great Enemy. Her eyes were glued to him, unwilling to take her eyes off him, searching for any sign of jesting.
Ignoring her gaze, Erlend focused on the other occupant of this conversation.
"You are one crazy kneeler King, I'll give you that." Tormund's booming voice spread throughout the chamber, unable to fathom what he'd heard.
Erlend's lips twitched at the compliment, he hadn't quite expected the wildling leaders to react to his plan so oddly…
It was fairly simple: attract the Night King's attention to a prepared battlefield and force a confrontation. Since the longer they waited, the stronger the Night King would become, and the more unknown variables like the spear could pop up.
The spear proved that his foe was empowered by the Great Other. The deity acted far bolder, now that R'hllor's was sealed and his existence was no longer hindering him.
He decided to bring them into the plan after realizing that he needed more reliable representatives among the wildlings. While Mance would obey, he'd only ever do the bare minimum.
It helped that they'd shown their worth when fighting the swarms of undead that constantly tested the defenses and nerves of humanity's defenders. So it made sense to show them some form of trust, and it would provide them a front-seat view of his capabilities when the time came.
Only a moron faught against a living god, and while they were incredibly bull-headed, the Free Folk weren't retarded.
Realizing she was likely to get nothing from staring at Erlend, Val let out a tired sigh. "Fine, do whatever you want, as long as you don't throw our people to the jaws of death, I care not for your plans."
Better than outright denial. "Fair enough, not the first time I've heard that."
Tormund snorted upon hearing his response. "Your kneeler high cunts just agreed to it?"
"At first? Not really, but quickly got over it."
"What of our homeland? You promised we could earn it back." Val queried about the matter that truly concerned her, worried that he'd go back on his words.
Nodding at her, "You'll have your land, but the Wall won't be needed after all this is done and dusted with. I'm sure you'll make the right decision when the time comes." Erlend said his piece.
Trust was trust, but if they chose to discard it, then they could only blame it on themselves. Deciding to leave it there, Erlend no longer paid any attention to them.
For their part, the two wildling leaders turned to each other, unsure of what to make of his last statement.
Regardless, the implied threat wasn't lost on them. They would have to talk with the other chiefs before they could make their next move.
…
"I don't mean to question your decisions, your Majesty, but should we be trusting the savages?"
Erlend eyed the poor lord who was bold enough to say what everyone was thinking. "They've already proven themselves by not running with their tails tucked between their legs. As far as I'm concerned, they have the right to know."
The living sacrifice didn't dare continue, quietly averting his gaze from the King, and nervously rubbing at his hands, whilst glancing at his fellows awkwardly.
Another lord, seeing that their fellow lord wasn't going to continue that line of thought with their undoubtedly prepared questions, chose to take the plunge. "Your Majesty, your wisdom naturally shines bright as always."
"I suggest that the lands beyond the Wall be granted to the most deserving once the Long Night is dealt with under your esteemed leadership. It would be a shame to give it to those unproductive savages who'd only waste its potential."
He did not doubt that the the 'most deserving' happened to be none other than the greedy fucks who stood in front of him.
Erlend didn't need to look to his side to notice Val and her allies looking ready to tear through the greedy fuckers right than and there. It was only his presence and the bannermen stationed around here that stopped any bloodshed from being spilled.
Perhaps realizing he might have overstepped, "Of course, we would be open to guiding our… Northern allies in bringing order and prosperity to their lands." The lord quickly backtracked.
The hesitation on the man's face was obvious to all, but no one spoke.
The wildlings preferred to stare at him with nothing but death on their faces. Their southern-northern cousins felt nothing less, as the idea of soft schemers getting any hold of lands nearby appalled them.
Erlend did not doubt that the minute everyone returned to fighting the undead, many of these lords would be meeting their maker.
Just for names for the monument, he supposed.
"What happens to the lands beyond the Wall will remain up to me. I appreciate your most sincere advice, but that is a matter for later. We have far more pressing issues to deal with," Erlend stated, uncaring for the dissatisfaction hidden in the man's eyes.
Struggling to maintain his simpering tone at the blatant refusal. "Of course, Your Majesty. I only live to serve." The man knew a losing battle when he saw, choosing to back off for now.
To Erlend, it always surprised him just how fast the vipers and snakes managed to regroup after suffering such great losses. More sacrifices needed to be made.
Many a brave lord and their support base had found themselves dying at the hands of the undead. Sacrificing their lives for the greater good, unfortunately, just like the unending hoards of corpses that they were fighting, sycophants and scorpians continued to multiply and appear from all corners of life.
Humanity has always been an ambitious lot, even in the worst situations.
…
(Lorimas Mudd, Beyond the Wall)
Unnatural blood coated his sword once again.
The senior Mudd had to wipe it off his glistening blade as he finished off the last of the attackers. Scattered all around him and guarding his back was the formerly titled 'suicide squadron'.
Their ever-fanatical loyalty prevents them from taking it easy. His nephew certainly knew how to inspire loyalty; that was a fact that couldn't be denied.
Lorimas had never felt so alive as he did now, his strength having reached a level that would make the heroes of old turn green with envy. Perhaps he was exaggerating.
There were, of course, other times he felt alive. Dalia was one such reason.
The tension and frenzy amongst the Walkers could be felt in their attacks. They were less coordinated, like animals cornered and ready to lash out at the faintest source of danger.
It was admittedly concerning as time went by, letting this simmer for too long could eventually blow up in their faces.
Humanity had to do something to force their leader out, especially while he was still weak enough. Although Erlend had reassured him that he could face the Night King head-on without difficulty, something that Lorimas agreed to an extent.
It would still be best if they could finish him off as soon as possible.
They could not give the Night King any room to maneuver. That would easily backfire on their faces and could potentially leave Erlend in danger.
The thought of a Walker version of his nephew put the fear of the gods into the aged Mudd. There was no doubt that such a phenomenon would mean the end of this world as they knew it.
Such nightmares haunted his waking moments. Therefore, Lorimas was prepared to sacrifice his own life to ensure his nephew's safety, no matter the difference in strength.
Knowing that he was letting his fears get the best of him, the aged warrior decided to distract himself and stare at the pile beneath him.
It was surreal knowing that this pile of ice was one of the most deadly beings on this continent. His nephew had confirmed that they had been weakened to a certain extent, and that was certainly a relief.
Lorimas understood the clear difference between him and the average warrior. Not to come off as arrogant, but he was indeed one of the greatest warriors alive, and even he would have struggled against their unnatural strength had it not been for the unique armor and weapons he wielded.
The same could not be said about most men, who'd be like lambs to a slaughter when faced with such an inhuman creature.
Arthur, for example, put on a respectable showing, the man as deadly as always and likely taking his anger and frustration on the Walkers. Still, there were occasional missteps here and there on the Sword of the Morning's part.
He would not blame the brat fully for nearly dying. Ashara, on the other hand, didn't care. Once her brother got too overconfident, she didn't hesitate to show him his place, much to the lad's embarrassment.
It still baffled him when he recalled the remarkable turnaround the Dayne girl went through once she and Erlend got together.
Initially, it wasn't obvious. The changes were more in her attitude than anything else, but as time went by, it became more apparent that she was firmly in the special category.
Her skin had become paler, her eyes, if previously described as haunting violet, could now be called stars in their own right. She had also visibly grown taller and more intimidating. Giving off an aura of otherworldliness that he could not quite describe.
Occasionally, should she become emotional or active, a visible purple light would slowly surround her body. Radiating pure power that left many breathless in its wake.
The best comparison he could make was that she exuded an unnatural beauty that surpassed even Rhaella and Daenerys. Which said something, considering they were Valyrians.
Visenya didn't count. That girl had never been normal in the first place.
In terms of status, despite arriving years later than the Tyrell girl, she already had a better standing than her. Erlend affectionately called her his elven star. Lorimas did not get the reference, but he could only assume it was something magical.
Granted, it was always something magical when it came to the brat.
More importantly, it made her by far one of the most effective fighters against the Walkers, second only to the dragons and him. The results spoke for themselves, she had slain more Walkers than any other individual outside of the Mudds.
Some lords dared to proposition her once they realized her true worth, harboring thoughts of ambition and power beyond their station. It was safe to say neither Erlend nor Ashara was amused, and both hadn't even hesitated to kill the people stupid enough to do so.
The fools had probably planned to kill off young Edric should they have succeeded in their propositions.
It was a rare moment that Erlend would just outright kill a lord, rather than find a legitimate excuse to do so or arrange for it to happen down the line. Ashara was even more straightforward, choosing to castrate the man who dared to boast that their 'blood' combined would create the greatest warriors this continent had ever seen.
According to his nephew, it was his 'reverse scale', an eastern term for his bottom line. One he would never show mercy to, if anyone dared break it.
There was overreaching, and then there was committing suicide. Some people just couldn't help themselves and took pleasure in flirting with the Stranger.
Coughing politely to gain his attention, one of the men spoke, "Sir, there doesn't seem to be any trace of the Walkers and their followers."
"Place the traps, and we'll return to the main lines. I doubt any more will be arriving soon."
Acknowledging the order, the rest of the men swiftly moved to carry it out.
Lorimas gazed northwards, patiently waiting for the traps to be set. While they wouldn't do anything to hurt the Walkers, it would at least hinder them.
He knew Erlend planned something that would finally draw out the Night King to an open battle. Hopefully, his nephew wouldn't overreach.
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Note: I'm back, mfs! Anyways, I'm working on the battle between the two. You could say a fairly sizeable portion of the White Walkers have already been killed, but keep in mind, the fucker has had thousands of years to prepare, so there's still more than enough to go around. Like an all-you-can-eat buffet, where the mother has yet to bring out the big guns. Her outrageously clown-car-like handbag!