Just started watching the show a week ago...I get this reference!

Victory was at hand.

The blood-air filled mine own lungs, souring the tongue. Twas’ natheless sweeter than the coldest ale. Shouts drawn deep from the gut thundered through the vale. The glint of steel shimmered atop the thousand dead men festering under the travelling sunne. The slaughter was nearly done. Our great king hath won us glory.

Still and all, the price was paid. For when many of theirs lay dead at our feet, many of ours shared the same fate. Carrion birds swirled above. Below the cries that roared from the living, there were the moans of the dying. Squirming like worms unearthed from the soil, uncountable men writhed in their blood. Banners emblazoned with the Great Houses lay tangled among the pagan script of those savages.

One of them, with false breath still about him, was supine beneath a comrade-in-arms. His neck was open from which his lifeblood withdrew. His eyes were frantic, spelling the words which his mouth had failed him.

I refused to read them. With my spear I struck betwixt the eyes. The steel lurched past his skull and met his brain, ending the conversation.

A powerful horn sounded. There were more.

As quick as a dagger, silence fell on us. Heads turned to the forest. One by one, they stepped out from between the trees. Armed with iron-hewn spears and round bucklers, they marched forward. Unlike their fallen kin, there was no formation, each man his own.

Somewhere, the voice of our commander rose.

“They walk once more to their deaths! Arms!”

The training in our bones seized us at once and those who were left trudged to his side to form a line. Rows and rows of spear-teeth faced their reinforcements in unison. Looking to mine own sides, the men were toilworn, breathing like dogs in the sunne. I was the same.

A long trumpet blast rattled our battleworn shields. This would be quick. They were few. If they were like their dead, they would again taste steel.

They were not. Among their ranks were men with bearskins upon their shoulders, the maw of those beasts atop their crowns. They wore little armour. But among all their differences, it was their eyes.

There was nothing but hunger in them.

The haft of my spear fell limp in my hand. The sinews in my limbs unravelled to strands. My gaze turned to the ground without a command, yet their howls struck mine own ears all the same. The once-brave men around me whimpered like day-born whelps.

Their warriors stopped and began to shiver. Their teeth chattered and their faces swelled red. A soundful fury clamoured in their throats, bellowing forth from their foamed lips. Their teeth sunk into the edges of their shields, and they began devouring them.

We knew what was coming as if our minds were one. Our hearts had left us and fear gripped what was left.

The slaughter was nearly done.