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Chapter Text

The Wights and the blue-faced skeleton-horse riders stared at the waves under which the dragon and the man that Night King rightfully thought he would have to face at the climax of the story in a spectacular duel of which people or corpses would speak in awed voices for countless generations (but fuck all centuries old prophecies, Princes that were promised, Azor Ahai, burning swords, plots, red-threads, premonitions and callbacks when we can have SHOCK VALUE and subverted expectations and Stark Girl POWAAA, AMIRITE? Cause why continue to be a mastervillain with a big arc and epic story and intrigue and danger and angst when you can be just a simple goon that get's one-shotted and quickly forgotten?) had disappeared just minutes ago.

The Night King just stood there, probably crowing silently in victory, but none of the dead could confirm since no-one ever looked anywhere but far into the distance. Besides, his face never changed from the expression of someone who just had a bull fart in their face, so how could they know?

Then as one they entire army straightened, forming up in perfect formations, moving in unison more perfectly than a military squad that had trained for weeks for just that, because... you know, they were dead and with being dead they received mad marching powaz! And FUCK YOU FOR JUDGING THEM and their skillz!

They didn't march far, in fact just behind the nearest corner, because they were limited by HBO budget and director (in)competence (or maybe was it haste to burn the show quickly so they could get to ruin Star Wars even more as well?). There they found, lo and behold:

"Oil tanker anchor chain." the Night King sent the telepathic message to his ass-licker, er, subordinate when he looked at him askance what the fuck they were looking at, lying there in the snow in the middle of nowhere, not even a bit of rust anywhere and shining like brand new out of factory (factory that wouldn't be able to exist for at least a millenium and a half).

"You know, to raise the dragon they so kindly gave us, cuz plot." he went on to explain, completely forgetting that he could raise dead bodies on a distance and the undead dragon could just simply swim out of that small pond under his own power. Cause fuck canon that's already been established for years and fuck logic and reason even more.

The dead blue-faced mofo just nodded, cause it made perfect fucking sense to find huuuuge steel chains (the size nobody in Westeros would even try producing because there would be no use for them, except to raise a freaking dragon or anchor a 300m long ship that didn't exist yet) lying around randomly in the middle of a frozen fucking wasteland beyond the Wall where there is no civilization and especially no humans or ships that would have need of anchor chains!

The drones grabbed the chains and dragged them the short way to that shitty small pond where a small group of hoomans managed to hold their own against an army of 100.000 dead humans, giants, mammoths, spiders, etc. for days on end until fearsome reinforcements arrived.

Fearsome reinforcements that millions had feared so much they pissed in their pants at merely hearing them roar, reinforcements that annihilated entire armies within minutes, turned a human into ash within seconds, reinforcements that were born of fire and magic, defying all laws of biology, physics, chemistry and so on.

Reinforcements that were brought down by some old mofo throwing a spear with more force and range than a fucking ballista (he probably worked out daily in the local undead gym to get those huge biceps) and who could plot interception point of a completely random flight-path (that's physically impossible to plot interception cause random) with better speed and accuracy than a fucking S-400 complex cause NIGHT KING FUCK YEAH! That fearsome dragon, a Weapon of Mass Destruction (or is it Mass Facepalmism?) that millions had feared so much they pissed in their pants, WMDs that annihilated entire armies within minutes, turned a human into ash within seconds and so on; was then killed after 30 seconds of looking fucking awesome by a latest generation heat-seaking missile masqueraded as a simple spear made of ice puncturing through the dragon's throat right where most of the fire was building and there was several thousand degrees Celsius that totally wouldn't melt that ice within milliseconds.

Cause it's well known to everyone that ice will always defeat fire, dontchaknow?

But there was another hiccup. Everyone had already forgotten  that falling into the water was basically a red card and timeout for the rest of the game.... er... episode. Probably because their brain had already rotten in their skulls (together with brain of those who came up with this shit).

How to get that huge fucking chain, weighing a couple dozen tons down to the dragon and tie him up if no-one could get down there, much less do the job?

But Night King and double-D wouldn't be so fucking amazing if they didn't quickly come up with an answer to this quandry!

Night King, cool AF, reached into his saddlebags and pulled out underwater floodlights and two sets of diving equipment complete with "life jackets", regulators, fins, weights and everything else that was needed. Then he touched the heads of two of the wights, gifting the complete knowledge of underwater operations in complete darkness to them cause Night King was just that fucking awesome!

Night King and D&D for PREZIDENTS!!!

Why would dead corpses need all this scuba equipment? Well, why then do you think did they die when they fell into the water? Obviously that even though they're dead they still have same limitations as if they weren't.

The wights were quickly suited up, buddy-checking each other while chanting Blonde Women Really Are Fun and were jumping into the freezing cold water with hands to their masks and regulators, not even losing a hand or something else dangling that was still barely hanging on with rotten meat, cause they were based AF. Knowing they were heroes they dared to scream "Boomer!" at the Night King as well and send him a birdie. He forgave them, knowing they would stay down there forever (he didn't give them knowledge on how to get back up to surface just for shits and giggles).

Even before Jon Snow/Aegon Targaryen (cause there were not enough Aegons in the family already) managed to get his frozen ass back to the woman who loved him and sacrificed her dragon for him, that he would soon betray for his treacherous bitches of cousins and the actual Great Other masquerading as a crippled cousin and then stab her to death on the cusp of achieving her life work based on the words of a drunkard and a whoremonger; and faster than Arya could tell her boytoy blacksmith "I'm not a Lady" (and gush over Sansa how brilliant the redheaded bitch was - probably for cunningly eliminating all rightful male heirs for the Norther Throne as competition, cause fuck Robb's Last Will and Testament and inheritance laws and customs and following strength and leadership of battle-proven commanders when you can follow a power-hungry, fratricidal woman that clearly doesn't care about murdering thousands of her wannabe subjects through starvation and poverty in the coming longest winter in history by demanding independence from the only people that could give them food) the two Super Wights had already managed to hook up those huge chains around the dead dragon so he could be pulled out.

Don't even dare question how a couple of wights managed to manipulate chains that heavy, you dirty unbelievers!

As the huge eye opened and the chilly blue colour flashed in front of his stupid face the Night King let out a characteristic girlish giggle, elated at the stupidity of (for now)-living humans sending half a dozen completely unprepared braindead morons (on foot even!) to try to steal one of his corpses right out of an army of over 100k! Cause none of the other 99.999 dead minions totally wouldn't notice Walking Food stealing one of their pals...

It sounded almost like.... nah, it couldn't be, he shrugged. The idea was proposterous! But it did! It almost sounded like something devised by some really shitty directors with some idiotic idea of subverting fans' expectations (cause trendy) and shafting those fans up their collective asses with sharpened morning stars as payment for all the millions of ka-ching they gave them. Nah, no-one could be that morally corrupt.

Could they?

Chapter Text

BRAAVOS DAILY, 17th of Last Seed

PANTOMIME SCHOOL BURNT DOWN

In a horrific fire that raged for hours the "House of Black and White" burnt down last night, leaving no survivors.

From what it can be determined, all teachers and students of what is believed to be a pantomime school struggling in obscurity were present in the building at a time, engaged in what looked like to be a ritual at the time of death. This is the deathknell of this ancient institution that has strangely always been shrouded in mystery. How the fire started is as yet unknown.

Investigators say there is no evidence of foulplay, but neither can they explain the cause of the fire nor the accelerant used that baffled with it's intensity our citizens who bravely fought the flames. Some eyewitnesses claim to have heard a roar just before the blaze broke out, but these claims are of course treated with appropriate skepticism as the witnesses are of lower classes.

A bard from the local Bard College commented: "I've been repeating for years now that art in this city is threatened by greed! Do you see it now? I told you so! It's the merchants, I tell you! They're coming for you next! Everyone who loves art should fear for their lives!"

The Merchant Guild denies all accusations while the City Watch cautions against theories that could incite unrests and reminds citizens that riots are punished with quartering.

The office of the First Sealord is yet to comment.