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So this story is a little different than what you might normally find. Rather than each chapter be a separate episode, each episode is split into three or four parts. This is because each chapter (part) does not contain much plot, and, if each chapter were shown on TV as a separate episode, ti not only wouldn't work, but the thing is, each episdoe is mroe than an hour long, while each chapter is barely fifteen minutes.
So, my rendering of Season 8 has seven episodes, not six, each one split into several parts. The episodes:
Episode 1: The Blizzards of Winter
Episode 2: Winterfell
Episode 3: The Golden Company
Episode 4: The King's Landing
Episode 5: Winter is coming, Fire and Blood
Episode 6: The Long Night
Episode 7: The King of the Ashes
At current, six of the seven episodes are completed, with the seventh and final episode coming out soon. Also, there will be a sequel to this, called "Game of Thrones: The Next Generation", which will focus on the events forty years from these events.
So, without further ado, let's get into it!
Season 8 Episode 1 Part 1: The Blizzards of Winter
Winterfell
Sansa
The hearthfire of the Great Hall of Winterfell burned bright, but not bright enough to drive away the darkness or cold from the room. The surviving lords of the North were bickering among themselves, while Sansa Stark sat at the head table, keeping a face that did not show any of the inner turmoil within her.
Bran, she knew, would be warging with the ravens, She had tasked her brother with finding out where the Army of The Dead was. Bran had tried to argue that this would mean the Night King would know where he was, but Sansa informed him that that did not matter, not now, that the entire force of House Targaryen was marching north, to aid them, along with their two dragons.
Arya, Sansa knew, would be sulking, possibly training, or perhaps she could have killed one of the Northern Lords, and had already taken his face. Sansa shook her head, banishing this thought from her head. Arya was her sister, and they were family.
Jon was in a boat, somewhere near The Fingers, with Daenerys Targaryen, the Dragon Queen.
Which left her alone, to deal with the bickering northern Lords.
Sansa shook herself out of her stupor as she realized the northern lords had quieted, and were looking at her expectedly.
"My apologies, my mind strayed away from the meeting" She said, trying her hardest to keep her frustration at the bickerings of the lords out of her voice. "Please repeat your suggestion."
Ned Umber stood respectfully, and bowed. "My Lady Stark. I was requesting that the Last Hearth receive aid in bringing their grain supply here. While the combined forces of the Dragon Queen and the North stand a chance against the Army of The Dead, we do not have nearly enough grain to feed both armies."
Sansa paused, giving the illusion she was thinking over it, before stating, in her authoritarian voice, "Lord Umber, you will certainly receive enough wagons to transport the grain supply of Last Hearth to Winterfell. Now, If that is enough, my Lords, then shall we adjourn this meeting?"
There were surprisingly few grumbles from the denizens of the meeting, and, Sansa realized, Even the lords wanted the meeting to end fast. She waited until everyone had left, before deciding whether to go in the direction of the Godswood, or the Courtyards. She chose Godswood.
Sansa admired the state of Winterfell as she continued towards the Godswood. Only a few moons prior, it had been put to the torch, nothing but the great granite walls of Winterfell stood. And now, here it was, once again the greatest fortress in the north. Except for The Wall, that is. And the Wall had fallen to the Night King and his thrice-damned dead about the fate of the castle, she glanced down from the courtyard balcony, and saw two soldiers training, whilst a third watched.
"Your stance, Jon!" The third man shouted, above the din of clashing blades. Sansa blinked at her brother's - She refused to think of him as anything other than her brother, and certainly not that word - namesake, who attempted to proper his stance, but ended up tripping over himself, and falling. "Well fought, friend" declared the victor, walking over to his fallen comrade.
Sansa kept walking, adjusting her course for the Godswood, lifting her skirts as she descended the stairs, before entering the Godswood.
She found Bran by the Heart Tree, his eyes milky white, as they normally were. But.. something was strange about him. His face was never this sweaty when he warged, neither were his eyes so wide. And then his mouth opened.
And he Screamed.
King's Landing
Cersei
The exquisitely carved Myrish spyglass allowed her an excellent view of the Iron Fleet, which contained The Golden Company. Her army. Yes, her army. The army which would retake Westeros. The army which would kill the Dragon Queen, and her thrice-damned dragons. Yes. She would be the true queen, with no would-be usurper even dreaming of taking her thrones. She would reign supreme, and unchallenged. Cersei the Supreme. Yes, she liked the sound of that.
Cersei glanced back in the spyglass, over the mass of ships coming into the harbour, and saw the banners of the Golden Company of Essos. Good.
She commanded the guards to allow the Captain of the Company, Harry Strickland, her permission to enter. She walked down the stairs, headed towards the Throne Room, and seated herself comfortable on the Iron Throne. Or rather, as comfortably as was possible to sit on a chair made of swords. To her slight surprise, Euron Greyjoy entered along with Strickland.
"Your Grace" Said Strickland, bowing. Euron, however, nodded rather than bowed. "I have brought you the Golden Company of Essos, Your Grace" said Euron "It's captain is Mr Strickland"
Strickland kneeled on one knee, and spoke, his voice echoing throughout the large hall. "Your Grace, Queen Cersei, I Harry Strickland, Captain of the Golden Company, do hereby pledge to you my allegiance, and the allegiance of my men. In your service, I bring twenty-one thousand men, fully armoured, four-thousand elite cavalry, and 40 heavy siege catapults."
Cersei paused, swallowing this information, before speaking: "I was under the impression that the Golden Company constituted of Elephants as well."
"Yes, my Queen, but they are not suited to long sea voyages."
Cersei lowered her voice by a notch, her low voice reverberating around the Throne Room. "Rise, Lord Strickland, Commander of the Golden Company."
Strickland stayed bowed, confused. "My, Queen, I am not a Lord."
Cersei mustered all her authority as she spoke: "Yes, You are, Lord Strickland. You are Lord of the Vale, Lord Protector of the Easterlands."
Strickland rose, looking as giddy as a young child presented with a new toy. "Thank you, My Queen." He rose, bowed again to the queen, bowed to Euron, who watched with an eyebrow raised, and then left.
Euron spoke. "I have done exactly what my queen commanded of me. On top of that, I even went above and beyond her command, by nearly doubling the size of the Iron Fleet with ships from Essos. However, my queen still sees fit not to reward me."
"You truly doubled the size of the Iron Fleet?"
"Well, it was closer to a third more ships, but I got many more ships. And, I got my queen a new army. And yet, she still does not reward me."
"Arrogance does not befit you, Lord Greyjoy" Cercei paused, before speaking again. "I have one final task for you and your Iron Fleet before I reward you."
"And what is this task, Your Grace?"
"Daenerys Stormborn, and her fleet."
Somewhere near The Fingers.
Jon Snow.
The bitter cold lashed into him, searing him to his bones. The wind pierced all the layers of fur he was wearing. Jon grabbed onto a rope, trying his best to make it to the forecastle of the ship without being blown clear of the ship by the thunderstorm. Or rather, by the hailstorm. He glanced up just in time to avoid the melon-sized hailstone, which slammed into the deck, splintering the wood, before cutting through it, to the lower deck.
Jon leapt to the side, slipped on the wet deck, and nearly fell overboard, catching a rope at the last moment.
"Help!" Yelled Jon, dangling over the edge of the ship. "Help me!"
"Hold! Hold, Jon, Hold! I'm coming!" Jon heard a voice he didn't recognize, from up, around the crow's nest. Jon yanked himself up, along the rope, and then, he saw hands pulling him back onto the deck. Jon lay on the deck, gasping for breath, when suddenly, the man who rescued him fell on top of him, "Get off of me!"
Jon got out from under the man, and saw the hailstone stuck in his hair, and Jon suddenly became aware of the blood spilling all over him from the man's head. And then, he looked up, and saw the hailstones.
Jon abandoned all caution, and ran towards the forecastle, before a massive hailstone slammed directly next to him, causing the deck of the ship to crack open, a four-foot wide gash, into which Jon Snow fell, bashing his head on something hard.
One Week later
Somewhere near The Fingers
Euron Greyjoy
The small ships he had brought were not suited for the storm. His goal had been to catch the Silver-haired Bitch's fleet around The Fingers, but, to do so, he needed to catch up to her fleet, and take her by surprise. So, he only brought the small, fast, sleek ships he'd bought in Essos, along with the slightly larger ships with the streamlined sails of the Iron Fleet - not the entire Iron Fleet. But the darned storm was ruining everything. His ships had dropped anchor, to wait out the storm. So would the Targaryen fleet, although, since those ships were larger, they would be able to leave earlier than his fleet, thereby giving them a bigger head start than they already had.
Euron turned towards the Captain of the Sleek Splinter, Euron's new flagship, as the Silence had been left at King's Landing due to its large size and lack of speed. "How long will we have to stay here?"
"Until the storm ends, My Lord Greyjoy."
Euron paused to think. The storm would end in perhaps a few more days, but the Targaryen fleet was already around a hundred miles ahead of them If the Iron Fleet were chasing the Targaryen fleet down, that distance would take at least two and a half weeks, but, If, because of the storm, the Targaryen fleet had also cast anchor, they could complete that distance in less than a week.
But… Sailing in such a storm certainly had it's problem, he would lose many ships, perhaps even the whole fleet. But the Targaryen fleet would certainly be surprised by him.
Euron turned to the waiting captain. "Give the command to raise the anchor. We sail."
The Captain froze, before speaking. "Milord, have you been drinking? We will lose ships if we sail, possibly even the whole fleet"
Euron spoke, his voice colder than the bitter winds outside the ship. "I'm sorry. I gave the impression I cared." The captain swallowed, and then went off to give the signal to sail to the other ships.
Euron stared out at the storm, well aware that he was risking a large part of his fleet on this surprise attack.