The Humiliation of Lyanna Mormont
It Be Mercy
Lyanna's axe flashed in the moonlight as the wights broke themselves against her strikes. Each swing carried the full weight of her resolve, shattering the undead with bone-crushing force. She roared triumphantly with each enemy felled, the sound drowned only by the thunderous cacophony of battle. Blood splattered upon her armor, mingling with the dirt and grime, as she danced amidst the chaos.
Wights fell and scattered like autumn leaves, trying to find an opening in her defenses that simply wasn't there. She was smiling now, her teeth gleaming wet and red as their wretched existence was snuffed out by her sharp axe. The glinting axe in her hand was not made of valyrian steel, the only such blade that her family had ever owned -- Longclaw -- now belonged to Jon Snow, The King of the North. Nevertheless, the axe carved a path through the wights as effectively as any precious metal sword from old Valyria.
“End their torment!” Lyanna let out an unladylike bellow as she parted the endless sea of monsters with her axe, blood spattering everywhere in its wake, “It be a mercy to end them!”
In that fleeting moment, adrenaline surged through her veins, and the taste of victory lingered in the air. Lyanna, the little she-bear, dared to believe that the forces of the living could triumph over this unending nightmare. She envisioned herself returning to Bear Island, adorned with the laurels of triumph, regaling her kin with tales of their glorious victory—a testament to the indomitable spirit of the bear folk.
And then the north gate exploded into a thousand tiny splinters.