[King's Landing]

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm hue upon the Seven Kingdoms, Queen of the North, Morgana Baratheon, stood in the main solar of the brothel which had been one of the locations provided as temporary living for the living army.

Her emerald eyes scanned the city of King's Landing, taking in the hustle and bustle of its people as they went about their daily routines.

The living had been forced to retreat from Winterfell following their battle against Night King and his undead army.

They had arrived in King's Landing, a motley crew of Northern soldiers, wildlings, Dornish soldiers, Velaryon soldiers, Baratheon loyalists, Daenerys and her advisors, plus Drogon and Rhaegal, the Dothraki and Unsullied.

Now, they found themselves given temporary accommodations in the city, and the queen was preparing for the Night King's arrival.

As Morgana stood there, she felt a strange sense of calm wash over her. It was as if the chaos and destruction of the past were mere dreams, fading further and further into the distance with each passing moment. The weight of responsibility that had been pressing down upon her shoulders seemed to lift, if only for a brief instant.

She took a deep breath, letting it out slowly, and closed her eyes. In that moment, she felt the power of the dragon surge through her veins, a fierce and primal energy that made her feel invincible. It was as if she could hear the words of the ancient prophecy, whispering in her ear, urging her onward.

Morgana knew that she was different from the others. She was the reincarnated version of the warrior maiden, a figure from a prophecy which said she was destined to aid the Prince That Was Promised, who she learned was Jon Snow, defeat Night King. Her magic was not like any other sorceress in the realm; it was a part of her very essence, a gift from the gods themselves.

She had scoured tomes, looking for more ways to use her magic, so she could be more useful. The night before, she had a dream, where a woman was speaking to her. She couldn't see anyone and had never heard this voice. The woman told her that she was see her soon.

The thought of the dream brought a smile to her lips. It was as if the woman was her own personal guide, leading her towards her destiny. As Morgana stood there, lost in thought, she felt a sudden tap on her shoulder. Startled, she turned around to find Ser Davos Seaworth, the former smuggler and now known as the Onion Knight, standing beside her.

"Your grace," he said, inclining his head in respect. "I was hoping I might have a word with you."

Morgana smiled warmly at the knight. "Of course, Ser Davos. How may I assist you?"

Ser Davos hesitated for a moment, his expression grave. "I've served your uncle, Stannis Baratheon, and now I serve Jon Snow. I just wanted to say that I think you're doing a good job, Your Grace. You've already done a great deal in advancing the North."

"All of which will be for naught if we don't defeat the Night King." She responded. "I've been reading tome after tome, searching for something to help us. Something to magnify my powers. Then I had that weird dream..."

"Dream?"

"The voice of a woman, speaking to me. But, I couldn't see anyone. I was hoping it had something to do with my role as the warrior maiden. That I could find something in one of these tomes. But, nothing."

Morgana paused, her emerald eyes distant as she tried to recall the dream. "She said she'd see me soon. I don't know if it was a vision or a premonition. But, I feel like it's important. That whatever is meant to happen, will."

Ser Davos studied her face for a moment, his expression thoughtful. "I've always believed that there's more to you than meets the eye, Your Grace. Perhaps you should trust your instincts. They've served you well so far."

Morgana nodded slowly, feeling a shiver of anticipation run down her spine. "I will. Thank you, Ser Davos. I'm grateful for your counsel."

She watched as Ser Davos bowed his head in acknowledgement before turning away. Something about his words, his demeanor, made her feel as if he knew more than he was letting on. It was almost as if he had secrets of his own, secrets that he was keeping close to his chest. She filed this away for future consideration, certain that the day would come when she would need to know whatever it was he was hiding.

In the meantime, she would continue her search through the tomes, hoping against hope that she would find something, anything, that would help her in her quest to defeat the Night King.

She continued to peruse tomes, until she came upon a page that caught her attention.

At the top was an illustration of a woman clad in armour, and as it was the beginning of a new chapter, it was titled 'Maiden Inheritance'.

Morgana gasped, her heart racing. This was it. This was the book she'd been searching for. She quickly scanned the pages, devouring the words as if they were sweet honey. The book spoke of the ancient prophecy, the warrior maiden and the Prince That Was Promised, and how their fates were intertwined. It detailed the powers that Morgana possessed, powers that had been passed down through the generations, waiting for her to rediscover them.

She had already learned that she had power over the elements and the ability to conjure protective barriers, not to mention summoning a dragon from her soul, in her role as a Dragon Soulbinder.

Bt, as it turned out, there was much more.

Morgana's heart skipped a beat as she read of her true destiny: to ignite the ancient sword known as Lightbringer, forged from a meteorite that had fallen from the heavens eons ago. The sword was said to have the power to cleave through the shadows cast by the Night King, the only weapon capable of killing him. It was her destiny to forge Lightbringer so the Prince That Was Promised could use it to end the Long Night and restore peace to the Seven Kingdoms.

As she read on, she learned of another power that she possessed, one that was even more awe-inspiring than her control over the elements. It was the power of prophecy. She could see glimpses of the future, granted to her by the gods themselves. She could use this gift to guide her decisions and prepare for whatever challenges lay ahead.

This was why she suffered from all those night terrors. It was her powers awakening.

Morgana couldn't believe it. She was meant to forge Lightbringer. She was meant to help the Prince That Was Promised defeat the Night King. The weight of responsibility that came with this realization was crushing, but she knew she couldn't shirk it. She had to prepare herself, to hone her abilities and become the warrior maiden that the prophecy foretold.

The tome also spoke of how the warrior maiden's abilities were passed along from generation, not necessarily remaining in the same family.

The previous warrior maiden would only die when the next person set to inherit her abilities was born.

Did that mean she already had the spirit of the warrior maiden within her?

If so, why didn't she feel like she had realized her maximum potential?

Was there something specific she had to do? Was the previous warrior maiden somehow still alive and that was preventing her from optimizing her abilities?

Morgana couldn't help but feel a sense of urgency now. She had to find the previous warrior maiden and ask her these questions, or at least learn as much as she could about her. The more she thought about it, the more she felt that there was some sort of hidden connection between them, a bond that transcended time and space.

But, she couldn't help but feel it was too late.

The Night King and his army were undoubtedly marching towards them. She had no time to go on an adventure, especially when she wasn't even sure where to start.

She was pulled out of her thoughts by a hand on her shoulder. When she looked up, it was her husband, Robb.

She smiled. "What is it, my love?"

"Jon wishes for everyone to gather."

"Very well. Let us go."

Setting aside her tomes, she accepted Robb's hand and they made their way outside, where everyone had gathered.

As the Northmen, wildlings, the Unsullied, the Dothraki, the Velaryon, the Martells, Baratheon loyalists, Lannisters soldiers, and the Vale knights gathered around Jon Snow, they knew that the stakes were high. The threat of the Night King loomed large over them all, and they needed to come up with a solid plan to defeat him before it was too late.

"We cannot meet in the open," one of the Northerners said, his voice low and urgent. "It would be far too dangerous. We need to find another way."

Jon Snow nodded in agreement. He had been thinking the same thing himself. "I think we could learn from Dorne's playbook on this one," he suggested. "Why don't we pretend not to be here when they arrive? Let them think we're elsewhere, and then launch a surprise attack when they least expect it?"

The others looked at each other thoughtfully, considering the proposal. It was risky, but it just might work.

"What do you think, Tyrion?" Daenerys asked, turning to her trusted advisor. "Do you have any ideas how we could make this work?"

Tyrion rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Well, I have a few ideas," he said slowly. "Wildfire. It's our only hope. We can use it to clear a path through the undead hordes and gain ground."

Wildfire was a powerful and dangerous substance, one that had been used in the pasr to defend King's Landing from invaders. But it was also unpredictable, and its use came with a high risk of casualties.

"Do you know how many lives we would lose?" Ser Davos asked, his voice heavy with concern. "The wildfire could consume everything within miles."

There were murmurs of agreement among the assembled nobles and soldiers, but one figure remained silent. Daenerys Targaryen, the Mother of Dragons, looked troubled by the suggestion.

"I cannot in good conscience agree to this course of action," she said finally, her voice firm but hesitant. "Using wildfire would result in countless civilian casualties. I cannot bring myself to sacrifice innocent lives just to further my own ambitions."

Jon understood her reluctance, but he also knew that they couldn't afford to be sentimental here. This wasn't a time for niceties or moral dilemmas - this was a war for the very survival of humanity.

There were murmurs of agreement and hesitation among the group. It was true that wildfire had been used effectively in the past to defend King's Landing from invaders, but it was also incredibly dangerous and unpredictable. The last time it had been used, it had nearly destroyed the city itself.

Daenerys spoke up, her voice firm but measured. "I cannot agree to using wildfire. We do not know what kind of damage it might do to our own forces or the city itself. And even if we defeat the Night King, those who survive may view me as no better than my father, the Mad King." She shook her head. "No, I will not risk becoming the Queen of Ashes."

Tyrion nodded thoughtfully. He knew that Daenerys was right, but he couldn't help feeling frustrated. They needed a way to gain an advantage over the Night King and his army, and wildfire seemed like the only option.

"Anyone who survives this battle will see me as just another tyrant, like my father. And that benefits you, Jon. As a male, you have a stronger claim to the throne as Rhaegar's son." Daenerys told him.

Tyrion frowned, sensing the futility of his argument. He knew that Daenerys was right, but he also knew that the cost of doing nothing would be far higher than the cost of taking action.

"Fine," Jon interjected. "We will draw tokens." He produced a small pouch. "It's how they decide the next Lord Commander in the Night's Watch. If you pull a triangle, when the undead breach the walls, your assignment is to retreat and lure them into the city. If you draw a circle, you will barricade yourselves amongst the abandoned houses and wait for the wights and launch a sneak attack."

He held up the pouch, giving it a good shake, before the men lined up and began drawing tokens.

The first soldier stepped forward, his hand trembling as he reached into the pouch and pulled out a token. He looked at it nervously, then nodded and handed it to Jon. It was a circle.

Jon smiled grimly and gave the soldier a nod of approval. "Good luck, sergeant. May the Old Gods guide you."

One by one, the soldiers drew their tokens, some receiving circles, others triangles. As they did so, Jon could feel the weight of the decision settling upon them like a heavy mantle. They knew what was at stake - their lives, their comrades', and the very future of Westeros.

The tension was palpable as the soldiers prepared for the impending battle against the dead. Amidst this uncertainty, one woman stood out for her unwavering determination and strength - Aelinor Targaryen, the wife of Jon's uncle, Daemon Targaryen.

In addition to studying tomesm Morgana had enlisted the help of her friend, Hela, and the duo spent days in her workshop, carving intricate wooden talismans adorned with ancient runes from Old Valyria. These talismans were not just mere decorations; they held the power to protect their wearers from the darkness that loomed ahead. As the rumors of the Night King's march towards King's Landing grew louder, Morgana knew that time was running out.

One by one, she handed out these precious talismans to the people of King's Landing, explaining the significance of each symbol etched into the wood. She spoke of the ancient magic that infused the runes, passed down through generations of dragonlords who once ruled the Seven Kingdoms. These runes could shield their bearers from the dark magic that sought to consume all living souls.

"These talismans will not guarantee your safety," Aelinor cautioned those who accepted them. "But they may give you a fighting chance against the Night King's army of the dead."

As more and more people received their talismans, a sense of hope began to spread throughout King's Landing. People looked at each other with newfound determination, knowing that they might have a chance to survive the coming battle. And though the Night King's forces still marched relentlessly towards them, the citizens of King's Landing felt a glimmer of optimism, thanks to Morgana's unwavering faith in the old magic of House Targaryen.

As Theon Greyjoy made his way through the crowded streets of King's Landing, he couldn't help but feel a sense of unease. The city was bustling with activity, but the tension was palpable. Everywhere he looked, he saw soldiers preparing for battle, and the sound of drums and horns echoed through the air.

Theon had drawn a triangle token that morning, signaling that he was part of the group tasked with falling back and acting as bait if the wights broke through the walls. It was a dangerous assignment, one that many would not survive.

As he walked, he noticed a young, nervous-looking soldier standing off to the side, fidgeting with something in his hand. Curious, Theon approached him.

"What have you got there?" Theon asked, nodding at the object in the soldier's hand.

"It's a circle token," the soldier replied, his voice trembling. "I drew it this morning. It means I'm supposed to stay behind and barricade in one of the abandoned houses."

Theon felt a pang of jealousy. He had dreamed of being chosen for such an important mission, but instead, he had been given the still dangerous task of falling back and fighting off the wights. But, hiding in the abandoned houses seemed likelier to give him what he wanted.

Then, an idea struck him. If he could swap his triangle token for the soldier's circle token, he might just get what he wanted - death, where he might find absolution.

"Hey, do you want to trade tokens?" Theon asked, trying to keep his voice casual.

The soldier hesitated for a moment before nodding eagerly. "Yes, okay. I don't want to stay here and die."

Theon took the circle token and handed over his own triangle token. As soon as he did, he felt a strange sensation wash over him. It was as if he had been given a new purpose, a new reason to fight.

He turned to the soldier and smiled. "Good luck out there. May the gods watch over us all."

With that, Theon set off towards one of the abandoned houses in the city, ready to face whatever dangers lay ahead. Perhaps, in those crumbling structures, he might finally find the absolution he so desperately sought.

As the sun set over King's Landing, casting long shadows across the crowded streets, Jon Snow and his forces prepared for the final battle against the Army of the Dead. The bells tolled ominously in the distance, signaling the approach of the Night King and his undead horde.

Jon stood tall, his hand gripping the hilt of Longclaw, the sword that had been his constant companion throughout the Great War. He knew that this would be the most difficult fight of his life, but he was determined to protect the people of Westeros from the darkness that threatened to consume them all.

At his side stood Tyrion Lannister, the dwarf who had once been a prisoner of Daenerys but now stood alongside Jon as one of her closest advisors. Tyrion's sharp mind and quick wit were invaluable assets in the coming battle, and Jon trusted him with little hesitation.

Behind them stood the Unsullied, their armor gleaming in the fading light. These eunuch-soldiers were some of the finest warriors in the realm, trained from childhood to be unyielding and loyal. They had proven themselves time and again in battles, and Jon knew they would not falter now.

To the left of the Unsullied stood the Dothraki, their horses snorting and pawing at the ground impatiently. These wild horsemen were fierce and savage, their eyes burning with a desire to kill the enemies of their Khaleesi. They too had proved themselves in countless battles, and Jon knew they would be instrumental in the upcoming fight.

But even with these formidable allies, Jon couldn't help but feel a sense of unease. The Night King was a powerful foe, capable of raising the dead and controlling them like puppets. If he could break through the defenses of King's Landing, the consequences would be catastrophic.

"They're here," he said quietly, his voice barely audible above the din of the bells.

The others looked at him with grim determination etched into their faces. They knew what lay ahead, and they were ready to face whatever horrors awaited them. For the sake of all living things in Westeros, they must stand strong against the darkness that seeked to destroy them all.

And so, as the bells continued to toll, Jon Snow and his comrades prepared themselves for the greatest battle of their lives. But even as they steeled themselves for what was to come, they couldn't help but wonder if they would be enough to stop the unstoppable force that now stood before them. The fate of the realm hung precariously in the balance, and only time would tell which side would emerge victorious from this epic struggle between light and dark.