It didn't take long for the army of the dead to arrive at King's Landing's outskirts. They hit the field traps just as mindlessly as they had at Winterfell, filled them with bodies, and moved on. The army estimate that Jamie had told Cercei was a little off. It wasn't a bit more than when they hit Winterfell.

It was double.

Over six million dead flowed over the traps and through the earthen berm dividers like a river. If the defenders hadn't quadrupled the number of traps and the amount of land they used, they never would have had a chance, even with dragon glass. As it was, the army of the dead was whittled down the further it went across the traps. The local militia fought valiantly... and died needlessly.

What seemed like random arrows flew from various places and destroyed the dead in droves, some lit the trenches of oil and burned thousands of the dead, both the army and the defenders, and the battle continued on and on. Minutes became hours, then a day... and another.

The commander of the local defenders sincerely regretted not accepting the conquering army's offer of free weapons that would deal with the dead. He sent out several scouts to try and beg for the now much needed weapons, and the scouts didn't return. He started to grow desperate as the army of the dead appeared in sight of his position.

“Send... send everything! We have to stop them, no matter what!” He said and waved at the people around him. “Use the scorpions as well.”

“Sir, those are for the...”

“DRAGONS!” Someone yelled and everyone turned to look. They stared as two massive dragons seemed to appear out of nowhere and then they unleashed a fiery hell upon the army of the dead. They strafed back and forth and decimated the dead by the thousands.

“Sir! Do we fire?” One of the men asked.

The commander thought about it... seriously thought about it... then made a decision. “No.” He said, to their surprise. “Let them deal with the dead.”

“But, sir! Our orders...”

“I know what our orders are.” He said. “When the danger seems to be passing, then we take the dragons down.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Sir! The scouts have returned!” Someone said and ran over to him. “They have carts filled with dragon glass weapons, sir!”

“Have them given to the men! Quickly! We don't have much time before they overrun us!” The commander exclaimed and most of them left him alone to fill his orders. “Perhaps it might be in time.”

“We can only hope so, sir.” The man beside him said.

*

“I can hear the sounds of battle.” One of the thousands of Unsullied said from their hidden positions.

“Don't worry, brother. We will soon join it and bring glory to our Queen.” The Unsullied beside him said. “We only need to wait for the rear guard to hear from the scouts.”

Suddenly there was a loud clamour and a short horn burst.

“ATTACK!” Someone yelled in their native language, and every single Unsullied that was concealed burst out from their hiding places, immediately formed ranks, then charged into the side of the army of the dead. In their eyes, it was a glorious battle to fight for their Queen.

*

The leader of the splinter army of the Unsullied gave the charge order, and every single fighting troop ran forward. The young Lord of the Vale saw them rush forward and ordered his men to follow and fight. The horsemen kept pace with the troops until within range, then they rode at their best speed to engage the enemy.

“This is it.” Tyrion said as nearly the entire army he was with ran towards the battle to end all battles. He looked at Jon on the horse next to him and waved towards the running troops. “I believe you have a date to get to.”

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Jon gave him an odd look, shook his head, and kicked his horse into a trot and then a run.

“Was that wise?” Varys asked.

“To goad him into fighting, or to send him after the white walkers?” Tyrion asked.

“Yes.” Varys responded and Tyrion smiled.

“We both know his type. He was going no matter what I said.”

Varys nodded and they watched as Jon caught up to the troops, passed them, then he joined with the Vale horsemen just as they hit the army of the dead from behind and slammed into the sparsely protected white walkers.

*

If the army of the dead could suffer from disarray, it would have. It was being attacked on all four sides by experienced troops and none of the dead knew where they should be fighting to be more effective. They were dead and were being controlled by the white walkers, who were also under attack and were unsure as to how to effectively defend themselves without their dead meat shields to protect them.

There were only about twelve hundred of them and ten thousand horsemen with dragon glass covered weapons attacked them fiercely. Just as they started to recover from the charge of the horsemen, the ten thousand troops charged into them as well. As each white walker was slain, hundreds of the dead would lose their direction and become mindless automatons. Some would drop on the spot, some wandered around and were easily killed, and others who were already fighting kept fighting, except they didn't care who it was they were fighting and turned on the other dead.

The tide of dead started to slow down as it approached the local defender's command area, thanks to the efforts of the dragons, and it seemed that the time was approaching for them to turn on the enemy of their enemy. Before the order could be given, the two dragons paused in their flaming assault of the dead army and took one long circular loop in the air and over the defenders.

The dragons had done this every ten minutes or so, the commander assumed to rest their throats from fire breathing, then suddenly short bursts of fire shot out from both dragons and precisely struck each and every wagon that had a concealed scorpion in it.

“By the old gods!” Someone yelled as the wagons burst into flames and lit the large and mostly wooden weapons on fire as well. “They are gutting us!”

“The old gods be damned.” The commander spat. “They should have let the dragons stay extinct!”

No sooner had the words left his mouth when there was an ear-splitting and ungodly roar from the middle of the army of the dead. The army didn't part cleanly like it had before, since a few of the controllers were dead, and the dead dragon that used to be called Viserion opened its mouth and a large gout of blue mystical flame shot straight out and consumed the dead that hadn't moved out of the way. It also destroyed a lot of the field traps right in front of the army of the dead.

“Viserion.” Daenerys whispered sadly as she circled Drogon around and saw what had become of her beloved child. It broke her heart as she saw it stumble over the pits and things in the fields, then it suddenly turned its head and looked right up at her. It's bright blue glowing eyes glistened, then it let out a roar and a short spout of flame. Viserion flapped its wings once and wind gusted out from under them.

“No... don't... don't be healed.” Daenerys said and saw the dragon duck its head down and flap its wings again, then again and again. It earnestly tried its best to take off from a standing position and then it hopped up into the air and flapped its wings. “No!” She yelled and turned Drogon towards it. “Dracarys!” She said the command to spit dragonfire, and Drogon didn't. “Dracarys!” She said again. “Drogon, please! Dracarys!”

Viserion took to the air for the first time since he had been hurt at Winterfell. Even dead and infused with the Night King's energy like it was, it still felt the need to be in the air. It was a dragon after all and its desire to rain hell upon the world was just as strong as it ever was. This time, instead of doing it against oppressors to save the downtrodden, it was upon all life that exists. It was fine with that and turned towards the defenders.

“We are so fucked.” Someone said near the commander of the defenders, and he didn't even realize it was his own mouth that said it. In the next moment, his words proved true as the blue mystical flame incinerated him almost instantly. The tide of the battle started to turn then.

The white walkers were still being decimated in the back, and yet, their destruction didn't impact the dead army very much. The army continued forward and everyone fought bravely to try and stop them. Viserion did the same strafing move and decimated the local defenders and the remaining pit traps, which cleared the way for the army of the dead.

Daenerys did her best to try and stop Viserion from doing that, while at the same time attacking the dead army. Both were proving fruitless and she didn't understand why Drogon wouldn't attack Viserion. Every time she tried to command him to use his dragon breath, he wouldn't, even though she knew he was dominant to the smaller dragon. He had attacked him when alive to prove that dominance as well, so this turn of events stumped her. It wasn't until one of her failed attacks at Viserion that she saw something that might have made the difference.

Someone rode on Viserion's back.

That shouldn't be possible. Daenerys thought in surprise. Only members of the Targaryen family can ride a dragon!

Daenerys started to think that maybe after it had died that the restriction might have been lifted, when her mind snapped back to several months ago back in Winterfell and the battle she was currently in faded from her perception. She hadn't clued in at the time, mainly because she was so besotted with her new love, that she had completely missed the fact that Jon had ridden Rhaegal several times.

By the old gods and the new. Daenerys thought. My love... my Jon... is a Targaryen.