Useless?
Blades and bows, the weapons men relied on to fight their enemies-how had they become a joke before that silent army outside the walls?
Ser Damon Lannister braced himself against the cold battlements and felt his legs begin to weaken.
He stared at the "soldier" below, an arrow lodged in its eye socket, its body still utterly motionless. A helplessness unlike anything he had ever known welled up inside him.
This was not war.
This was a curse the gods had laid upon House Lannister.
Gods knew how they had provoked such a terrifying horde of monsters!
"Lock up that meddling boy."
Damon dared not let fear spread through the ranks.
"Tell everyone that anyone who acts without orders will be hanged on the spot!"
The orders went out, but fear bred wildly within the enclosed castle.
The soldiers no longer dared look outside. They huddled in little groups, lowering their voices as they exchanged frightened glances.
They spoke of devils from the North, of ancient legends, and of the man who had single-handedly set all this in motion: Lynn.
In their telling, Lynn was no longer mortal. He had become the embodiment of the Long Night, a warlock king who could command the souls of the dead.
In Westeros, even five-year-old children knew the legend of the Long Night.
Yet these corpses had actually become their enemies.
Could anything be more absurd?
And so, in a terror that seemed almost frozen solid, Casterly Rock endured the longest nights in its history.
When the light of dawn finally struggled through the morning mist over the sea, the lookout on the walls cried out in delight.
"Reinforcements! Reinforcements! I can see their banners!"
Damon Lannister all but scrambled up the tower on hands and knees.
He looked toward the hills