Because of Bran's warning and his fairly quick exit from Winterfell, which neither he nor the Northmen with him tried to hide, Daenerys had no choice but to order her army to withdraw. Losing more of her people for the lives of others that didn't care if she did lose them, bothered her more than she let on. She had wanted to react strongly to their betrayal and wanted to burn them to ashes as they fled the castle; but, because of her love for Jon, she let them go.

As if he felt her emotions in that regard, Jon's hand found hers and held on as they stood in the rear staging area and planned their retreat. Thankfully, her army had always been a mobile one, and it didn't take them long to get everything reorganized for what would become one of their hardest fought battles ever. They knew they didn't have the speed to completely get away by this point, mainly because a good portion of their troops were still on the far wall and were doing their best to fend off the horde of the dead.

Once they were withdrawn, there would be nothing to stop the flow of the enemy, except for the high walls and maybe some luck.

“Do not worry, My Queen.” Greyworm, the general of the unsullied said. “My men will not fail you in this task.”

“I know you won't.” Daenerys said. “Carry out my orders.”

“Right away, My Queen.” Greyworm said and left her side. Missandei touched his arm as he passed and gave him a sad smile.

“You heard the lady.” Jorah Mormont said loudly. “Everyone! Move out!”

Everyone left to do their appointed tasks. Horses were quickly prepared for Daenerys and her entourage and they mounted up to ride at the head of the procession. Despite having so many people and troops to move, they made short work of it and left the safety of the castle. They were surrounded by troops in case the dead made it around the castle to attack them. They needn't have worried on that front, however.

Tyrion's tactics had been very effective against the army of the dead and had whittled them down to a fairly small number. They had been reduced from over three million to just barely under 500,000. If they had had a bit more time and perhaps another field of traps for the dead to cross, they might have stopped the army in its tracks. Unfortunately, all of the dead army that remained were at the castle walls and were trying desperately to get over them. With the unsullied thinned out from the retreat, their coverage of the wall was less effective than it could have been.

They fought bravely under Greyworm's direction and stemmed the flow to only a trickle; but, that trickle got through. Those who were still inside the castle and waiting for their spot at the end of the train of retreating people, came under attack. The troops guarding them fought the dead off and managed to only lose a few members.

“They're all out!” Someone yelled as the last of the caravan left the staging area.

“Light it and retreat!” Greyworm yelled and ran down the stairs to the ground as his last group of soldiers poured out the last of the oil on top of the walls and lit it, then followed their leader. As they ran, they lit the houses and barns that had been oiled up previously and created a firebreak to stop the dead from following them as a mass.

Greyworm and his elite platoon of troops double marched and slowly made their way up to their proper position with their queen. As they travelled, they met groups of the dead that seemed to have broken off from the main group and were easily defeated. They were wrong about them being a part of the main army, though. Once Winterfell had been set afire and became impassable for the army of the dead, they stopped trying to get in and waited.

Something was coming.

At the appointed time that Bran had warned them about, the sea of the dead parted for their latest member. The ground trembled as the massive dead creature crawled over to the defensive wall of Winterfell. The creature's glowing blue eyes glittered from the reflective fire on top of the walls. It looked at the stone and saw that the fire had weakened it somewhat, and if it could have smiled, it would have. It reared back and opened its large mouth, then let a steady stream of blue magical fire spew out. It slammed into the weakened wall and blew it apart.

Viserion, now fully converted to serve the dead, roared its defiance to a wall it could normally fly over. Its wings were still damaged from the ice spears that had taken it down and they would take time to heal. When they did, the world would learn what it meant to truly be afraid of the army of the dead.

With the wall down, the army of the dead no longer had to divert around the huge Winterfell castle and went right through it instead. There hadn't been time to set many traps or to dig more than a couple of trenches on the inside of the castle walls when the retreat was announced, so the dead had almost no obstacles between them and the other side of Winterfell and the large gate that everyone had fled through.

The dead flowed through the streets and buildings and searched for any signs of the living. They found none, except for a few stragglers that had thought they could hide while the army of the dead passed by. They were very wrong and then they too joined the army of the dead.

There were lots of bodies scattered about, both inside and outside the castle walls. Despite the unsullied and their mandate to treat all of their own dead the same way, decapitate and burn, there was no way for them to do that for everyone that had been on the battlefield. As the white walkers passed through the fields outside and then through Winterfell, a few wildlings, over a thousand unsullied, and about three thousand of the Northmen that had fallen, were raised up and joined their ranks.

That didn't seem like much in the full scheme of things, considering how many dead they had lost on the assault of the castle; but, now their only main obstacle was gone. There was no one left with any significant defense to oppose them. The dead didn't know that and wouldn't discover it until they did their own march to follow the retreating forces that had fought against them. Not that they cared. Their entire goal was to kill the living.

As they travelled south and encountered more and more people, their numbers would increase by the same amount, assuming they didn't suffer more losses. Considering the people they would meet were just normal people and not trained fighters, maybe one or two people will be lucky enough to make a stand... for a few minutes. Commoners and peasants didn't stand a chance against the relentless army of the dead. The army would grow as it moved across the countryside and converted every living being to serve the dead.

*

“Your majesty, please listen.” Qyburn, the current Hand of the Queen said.

“I don't want to hear it.” Cersei Lannister said as she gazed out of the top window of the Red Keep.

“But... the dead...”

“Yes, yes. I know.” Cersei said. “Your spies have already warned us that Winterfell has fallen to them and that the army of that... woman... is fleeing from them.” She said with a smile.

“Your majesty...”

“It will take them two months on horseback to get here.” Cersei said. “Since we know most of them are troops and can only march, it will take them that much longer. Another month at least.”

“We should make preparations for their arrival.” Qyburn said. “We only have a dozen of the large scorpion catapults ready.”

Cersei held in her sigh. Must I order him to do everything? She asked herself and turned to look at him. “Have all of the workers in the city concentrate on making more of them.”

“We are low on iron.”

Cersei actually sighed this time. “Have squads of the troops dig out the chains that were used to block off the harbour. Have the blacksmiths smelt the large links down and we will have all the spare metal we will ever need.”

“Of course, your majesty. It will be done.” Qyburn said and gave her a bow, then left at a fast walk.

I'm waiting for you. Cersei thought as she turned back to the window. You think you can conquer me, do you? She let a smile touch her lips. I've survived four kings so far, as well as several usurpers to the throne, and I am still here. She picked up a glass of wine and took a sip. Let's see you try.

*

Jaime Lannister had a lot of experience travelling alone the last few months, and had years travelling with squads of men and even with caravans. He easily traversed all of the inherent dangers that going such a long distance presented. Creatures, bandits, roving patrols of soldiers, and even desperate citizens who overreact when a stranger on horseback approached them.

None of that really concerned him, except for the fact that if anything happened to him, he wouldn't be able to get back to King's Landing. So, he diligently avoided all of the dangers and made his way to his final destination. He knew if he went back there, after the way he had left, he wouldn't be leaving again. Not that he cared about that. It would fit into his plans perfectly.

*

Daenerys, her army, and their entourage, marched south. They travelled hard to reach a defensible position. As everyone else rested, the soldiers hastily constructed a trench and used the dirt to make a short dirt wall in front of it, then added wooden pikes to the trench. It wouldn't slow the dead very much, since they didn't care if they lost thousands of their number to simple things like that. All the army was doing was trying to buy themselves time.

They were only half a day ahead of the army that was chasing them and they needed to keep moving. If they kept doing what they were doing, creating stop-gaps to try and stem the flow of the dead, they had a chance... a slim chance... to be far enough ahead to reach where they needed to go to try and fight off the dead again.

According to Jon, the next best defensible position was Riverrun at The Twins. Unfortunately, it was just over a month's travel away. Plus, neither he nor Daenerys controlled the area. Their position was precarious to say the least, especially if the people there decided not to let them enter and form a proper defense against the dead. If they wasted too much time trying to negotiate, then all would be lost.

When the soldiers finished their trench and wall, they rested for an hour, then the entire army moved on. They needed to keep moving. If they didn't, they would be caught before they reached anywhere, and no one wanted that to happen.

As they travelled, they passed several small castles. They were owned by the Northmen lords that had fled the battlefield with their troops before the retreat had been called. Daenerys was tempted to attack them to punish them for their betrayal, and Jon touched her hand.

“Look at their defenses.” Jon said.

Daenerys gave them an appraising eye and then she looked back at him with surprise.

“The dead will do the work for you.” Jon said, sadly. He hated that his people had turned on him and he couldn't deal with them himself. He had to let his sense of justice be settled by the same words. Their stupidity in not fighting the dead when they were supposed to, had led them to lose to the dead anyway.

Daenerys and her army moved on and when they believed they were far enough ahead, slowed down to a normal march. The troops were tired, the people were tired, and Daenerys was tired. It hurt her heart that after all of the people she had saved, and all of the slaves she had liberated, that she had to flee from a fight. Her dragons should have let her win the battle decisively, except that there had been so many of the dead to destroy. Her thoughts went to the one she lost, and tears came to her eyes.

Viserion. Daenerys thought and wiped at her face. I'm so sorry. She felt a hand take hers and she looked at Jon, who gave her a sad smile and then lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it.

“We will get through this.” Jon said. “One way or another, we will get through it.”