Game of Thrones: Lord of the Flames

Chapter 510: Chapter 511: The Broken Line of Defense



Samwell soared on the white dragon Cleopatra, flying over the endless army of wights.

The dragonfire Cleopatra unleashed carved blazing orange-red paths through the dense ranks of the undead below, filling the snow-laden wind with the acrid stench of charred corpses.

Even as he fought, Samwell couldn't shake his shock at the sudden disappearance of the Wall.

In just one week away from the North, the world had turned upside down.

He still didn't know how the White Walkers had managed to collapse the Wall, but they had struck a crippling blow to humanity's defenses, catching everyone unprepared.

The Seven Kingdoms were far from ready for this.

The advance forces sent north from King's Landing hadn't even reached the Wall.

The North was vast—its territory nearly equal to the other six kingdoms combined. Despite being sparsely populated, it took at least a month and a half for an army to march from King's Landing to the Wall's northernmost point.

Only Samwell, riding a dragon, could traverse such distances in two or three days.

With the Wall gone, there was no longer any hope of stopping the White Walkers' advance into the Seven Kingdoms.

The inevitability of this weighed heavily on Samwell's heart. He could only sigh inwardly, steady his resolve, and focus on the battle before him.

The tide of wights poured out of the northern blizzard, their grotesque howls echoing across the frozen landscape as they surged southward.

The Night's Watch and Wildling warriors had fortified positions around Castle Black, using its structures as a makeshift stronghold.

"Archers, ready!"

A black-clad officer barked the command, his voice barely steady as he faced the overwhelming tide of the dead. He inhaled deeply, trying to quell his fear but failing.

Above, the white dragon flying overhead gave him a sliver of hope.

"Take aim! Loose!"

With the order, the archers lit their arrows and fired into the sky.

Thwip! Thwip! Thwip!

A rain of flaming arrows arced through the air before descending in a fiery cascade upon the approaching wights.

While the White Walkers themselves were impervious to fire, their undead thralls were not. Flames spread rapidly among the wights struck by the arrows, toppling many in the front ranks.

Yet these abominations were unnervingly resilient. Even as their bodies burned, they clawed and crawled forward, shrieking until they were trampled into ash by the wights behind them.

The wights lacked human instincts or fear, knowing only a single-minded drive to destroy all living things.

After three volleys of arrows, the tide of undead finally reached the human defensive line.

"Hold the line! Don't retreat!"

Lord Commander Eddard Stark wielded the Valyrian steel greatsword Ice, leading the charge at the front.

"Roar!"

A wight lunged at him, clawed hands reaching for his throat. Eddard's blade swung in a deadly arc, cleaving the creature in two.

The halves of the wight dissolved into liquid before they hit the ground, a testament to the potency of Valyrian steel against the undead.

It was said that Valyrian weapons were imbued with fire magic when forged, making them deadly against the wights.

Unfortunately, such weapons were exceedingly rare.

And while dragon glass was a viable alternative, it had yet to be fully distributed. This left most human soldiers at a severe disadvantage against the wights.

Ser Denys Mallister, a seasoned knight, decapitated a wight with a powerful swing. But its headless body continued its relentless attack, forcing him to hack it apart piece by piece before it finally fell.

Worse still, the wights' infectious nature made them even more terrifying. Any soldier killed by a wight would soon rise again to join their ranks, turning on their comrades.

This created an ever-growing army of the dead—an unending nightmare.

For any ordinary soldier, such a scene was enough to shatter their spirit.

Fortunately, the defenders at Castle Black—Night's Watch brothers and Wildlings alike—had all faced the undead before. They stood firm, mounting a coordinated resistance against the relentless tide.

And overhead, Cleopatra's presence bolstered their morale.

The massive white dragon's wings cast a shadow that encompassed Castle Black, and her fiery breath incinerated thousands of wights with each pass.

Her devastating power ignited hope among the defenders, even inspiring deserters to rejoin the fight.

Meanwhile, Jon Snow led the evacuation of noncombatants—Night's Watch support staff and Wildling women and children—southward.

They knew the grim reality: the Wall spanned thousands of miles, and even if Castle Black held the line, other sections of the collapsed Wall offered no such protection.

The Night's Watch lacked the manpower to defend the entire length, and not even Caesar and his dragons could erect a continuous wall of fire across the frozen expanse.

The disaster was inevitable.

Their only option was to save as many lives as possible before the undead tide consumed the North.

"Move! Faster!" Jon urged the evacuees onward.

Yet the thought of his homeland falling to the undead filled him with anguish.

He yearned to fly to Winterfell, to save everyone within its walls.

A sudden scream snapped Jon out of his thoughts.

He turned to see a handful of wights that had slipped through Castle Black's defenses attacking the rear of the fleeing column.

"Don't panic! Keep moving!" Jon ordered, then shouted to his companions, "Edd, Grenn, with me!"

The three mounted men charged through the snow, their horses trampling the wights and scattering their bones.

Thud! Thud! Thud!

Jon's group made several passes, clearing out the stragglers.

But as Jon paused to catch his breath, a Wildling corpse unexpectedly reanimated.

Caught off guard, Jon's horse reared, throwing him into the snow.

The wight pounced, pinning him to the ground.

Its foul breath reeked of decay, filling Jon's nostrils as he struggled beneath it.

Summoning all his strength, Jon managed to shove the wight off and roll to his feet.

Before he could retrieve his weapon, a spear flew through the air, impaling the wight through its throat.

The creature's blood sprayed out in frozen droplets before it collapsed.

Jon looked up to see Val, the so-called "Wildling Princess," standing nearby with her spear raised.

"Thanks, Princess Val," Jon said, catching his breath.

"I'm not a 'princess,'" she replied curtly.

Jon shrugged, knowing many Night's Watchmen referred to Val as the "Wildling Princess" due to her connection to Mance Rayder.

But this is actually a misunderstanding.

The wildlings have no strict class system, and even the King-Beyond-the-Wall is not hereditary.

Val would indeed be respected among the Free folks, but she would never enjoy privileges like a princess.

But Val's commanding presence and grace did lend her an air of royalty, despite her rugged upbringing.

"More wights are coming," Val warned, interrupting Jon's thoughts.

Jon turned to see more undead approaching.

Before he could act, Val spoke up again:

"I'll lead my spearwives to hold them off. You focus on leading the evacuation."

"You?" Jon hesitated, glancing at Val and the women warriors behind her.

Her glare silenced his doubt.

"Don't underestimate us, Crow," she snapped. "We Free Folk fight just as fiercely as you Night's Watchmen."

Without waiting for his response, Val led her group toward the advancing wights.

Jon sighed, knowing there was no time to argue.

"Once we've gone, join the main force at Castle Black," he called after her.

"Got it!" Val waved dismissively, signaling him to move on.

---

The evacuees continued south along the Kingsroad, eventually reaching Mole's Town.

"Warn the villagers," Jon instructed his men. "Tell them the Wall has fallen and the White Walkers are coming. If they want to live, they must head south with us. Search every cellar—don't leave anyone behind."

As his men dispersed, Jon pressed forward with the main group, knocking on doors to spread the grim news.

It wasn't long before a peculiar sight stopped him in his tracks.

In the snow, he saw two figures. One knelt, almost buried beneath a layer of frost.

The other figure lay limp in the kneeling man's arms.

"Kingslayer?" Jon muttered, barely recognizing Jaime Lannister.

Jaime's head turned slowly at the sound of his name, but he said nothing.

"Come with us," Jon urged. "The White Walkers are coming."

Although the Lannisters and Starks were enemies, Jon had a relatively good impression of Jaime.

This stemmed from the time when Tywin Lannister, then holding temporary control over the North, sent messengers to Castle Black demanding the return of his eldest son, Jaime.

The Night's Watch, under normal circumstances, would not dare refuse such a powerful demand. At that time, House Lannister controlled not only the Westerlands but also the North and much of the Riverlands, making them the most dominant force in the Seven Kingdoms.

But to everyone's surprise, Jaime refused to leave.

He had donned the black cloak, sworn the oath of the Night's Watch, and insisted on fulfilling it to the end.

Many were skeptical of his words. After all, Jaime Lannister, the "Kingslayer," was infamous for breaking oaths. What value could his words hold?

However, Jaime proved them wrong.

Even when Tywin's men tried to forcibly escort him away, Jaime escaped from their clutches and returned to Castle Black.

Since then, many Night's Watch brothers began to see him in a different light, Jon included.

In the Night's Watch, a place filled with outlaws, thieves, and murderers, Jaime Lannister's past deeds no longer stood out as unusual.

The Night's Watch was a gathering of society's outcasts, tasked with carrying out the duties of heroes.

"Come with me," Jon urged once more. "The White Walkers are coming. You need to move."

But Jaime remained silent, still cradling the body in his arms.

"Who is that?" Jon asked.

After a long pause, Jaime spoke, his voice hoarse:

"Cersei. She blew the Horn of Winter and brought down the Wall."

Jon's eyes widened in disbelief.

"She… blew the Horn of Winter?"

"Yes," Jaime said, his tone lifeless. "And I killed her with my own hands."

Jon stared at him, stunned.

"You… killed your own sister?"

"Yes," Jaime replied, a bitter smile playing on his lips. "I killed my sister. My lover. The mother of my children.

Tell me, Snow, do I deserve to live?"

Jon didn't answer.

He hesitated, torn between offering comfort or telling Jaime the truth about the Horn of Winter.

But what was the truth?

Had Robb really blown the true Horn of Winter? Had Cersei?

Jon couldn't say for certain. The past few days had been filled with events so bizarre that his grasp on reality felt tenuous.

And yet, looking at Jaime—this man who had once seemed unbreakable, now on the brink of collapse—Jon feared that revealing more would only shatter him completely.

"Cersei and I are more than siblings, more than lovers," Jaime said. "We are two halves of the same being. We shared the same womb. I carried her feet into the world. When we were together, I felt whole.

Now she is dead, died in my hands...

But she won't be alone.

We came into this world together, and we will leave together."

Hearing this, Jon realized that the other party was determined to die.

So, he turned and walked away.

The column of evacuees soon left Mole's Town, heading further south.

Jaime remained in the snow with Cersei's body, the world around them growing colder and quieter.

Through the swirling snow, Jaime began to see shapes emerge from the storm—five figures, mounted on spectral horses formed from frost and mist.

Their faces were obscured by closed helms, but Jaime didn't need to see them to know who they were.

They were his brothers of the Kingsguard, those who had served alongside him during the reign of Aerys II Targaryen.

Ser Oswell Whent. Ser Jon Darry. Prince Lewyn Martell. "The White Bull" Ser Gerold Hightower. And finally, "The Sword of the Morning" Ser Arthur Dayne.

Among them stood another figure—a man crowned with blood and sorrow, wearing the haunting visage of Prince Rhaegar Targaryen.

"You swore an oath," Ser Arthur Dayne said sadly. "I laid the sword on your shoulder with my own hand."

"I put the white cloak on you with my own hands," Prince Rhaegar said disappointedly.

The spectral Kingsguard dismounted, their swords unsheathing with a soundless motion.

Jaime remained kneeling, unmoving, as their blades descended.

But the swords never struck him.

Instead, they dissolved like snowflakes, vanishing into the storm.

Moments later, a group of wights approached Mole's Town, drawn by the scent of living flesh.

Yet, as they neared the siblings in the snow, they paused.

The wights avoided the Lannister twins entirely, circling them with wary movements as if sensing something far more terrifying in their presence.

(End of Chapter)


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