"You mustn't say that aloud..." Catelyn hurriedly told her daughter.
These Starks had not taken the field, but their direwolves had begun fighting on the battlefield.
The soldiers felt themselves being worn down to exhaustion, unsure when they would collapse under the wight horde's piecemeal attacks.
They had weapons of flame and steel, but human strength had its limits.
"Kill!"
"Kill!"
"For the king!"
"Long live King Gendry!" Thunderous hoofbeats and shouted slogans rang out one after another, cheers rising and falling.
On the Kingsroad in the vast North, a column of knights led by golden cloaks surged forward with roaring cries, heading straight for Winterfell.
Crack!
Crack! Thunderclaps sounded in the air.
The shapes of magic dragons appeared in the sky, originally no bigger than sesame seeds, then growing larger and larger.
Gendry rode Balerion, with Viserion assisting, protecting the cavalry.
The knights charged in a wedge, carrying spears, swords, and poleaxes, forming a torrent of steel.
"Long live the Storm!"
"Long live the Storm!" The knights carried yellow banners with golden backgrounds like gold leaf, embroidered with those surging images.
A black crowned stag with a warhammer, roaring three-headed magic dragons, freed slaves, and a free wolf pack.
The knights began their charge, their Blackscale Armor and weapons far from ordinary: the Storm Knights, brought specifically to fight the dead.
The Hound led them, roaring as he swung his sharp sword and hacked off a wight's head, then threw a torch over and took another.
"Let my lady taste dead men's blood." Lyn Corbray swung his keen blade, Lady Forlorn, dark as dust and smoke, slashing left and right.
Viserion circled overhead, watching for openings, breathing golden dragonfire down to sweep away the wight horde attacking the cavalry.
"Dragonfire!" Gendry commanded. Black-and-red spears of dragonfire danced wildly across