Chapter Text
The wind whistles violently in Daenerys' ears. Her dragon beats its powerful wings, soaring over the ocean, passing through thin layers of clouds along the way. Her heart races, her blood boils in her veins. She forces herself to stay calm. She must destroy them, all of them. The hatred rises, slow, but burning. She urges Drogon to dive, and finally spots him. There. On the sea of oil. Euron's fleet.
A wave of rage takes hold of her. You'll see. You are all going to die. For Missandei. For Raeghal. She comes straight toward the hundreds of boats. She doesn't even need to shout. She whispers "Dracarys." And Drogon sets the first ships ablaze in the blink of an eye. It shouldn't, but the men's screams relieve her for a moment.
They start by destroying an entire row of vessels with astonishing speed, forming a long, orange and reddish burn on the shimmering blue of the waves. The fury rises even more within her. She will kill them all. She will turn this fleet that took away those dear to her into ashes.
Jon's words suddenly echo in her head. "Be careful." They spread through her, like a soothing breeze in the midst of her anger. She forces herself to breathe more calmly and to think logically.
Aim for the scorpions, she orders herself. Drogon rises a bit, then unleashes his searing flame upon the ships possessing the weapon. It takes them far too long to try to turn these to follow his movements. They can't even reload a single stake before they ignite in a fiery explosion, sending flaming debris onto the neighboring boats.
She massacres them all. They desperately try to reach her with their giant crossbows, but she gives them no respite, and burns the last ones they had left. She sets the boats ablaze in a fire that ravages the ocean, leaving behind a sea engulfed in flames. She destroys the last remaining vessels, which end up burning in an incandescent blaze.
But she's not done yet. She turns Drogon, and heads straight for King's Landing, toward the fortifications right by the sea. She hears men shouting, but she doesn't pay the slightest attention. They are finally above the first walls, and Drogon demolishes the few Scorpions in an instant, carrying the soldiers into the inferno.
She couldn't say if unleashing herself like this relieved her or, on the contrary, made her even more hurt. I must exterminate them, she tells herself. All of them. Her jaw clenches involuntarily, and her already rapid breathing quickens even more. Drogon flies above the walls, setting them ablaze with his incandescent fire.
They leave a veritable brazier behind them, and the smellof burnt flesh and ash now hangs in the air. Columns of smoke and flames rise everyplace they go. They raze the walls, literally.
Daenerys and Drogon continue to assault their enemies, plunging them into a massive fire. She clenches her teeth. It will soon be over. Soon, it will all be over. And she will free all those who have suffered like her from the hands of these tyrants.
***
Jon clenches his fists until his knuckles turn white. He can't reassure himself. Has he ever worried this much about someone in his entire life ? Probably not.
What if Drogon got hit? What if Daenerys never came back? What if they waited for her, waited for her signal, but it never came? He forces himself to calm down, aware of the futility of the anxious thoughts swirling in his head, and stares at the walls rising before them.
The Northern army, the Dothrakis, and the Unsullied stretch out at the foot of the small hill on which he stands. And facing them, the Lannister army also waits patiently. The men look at each other like dogs, only the sound of clanking weapons and the neighing of a horse disturbs the heavy silence reigning over them all.
- If the bells ring... recall your men, Tyrion whispers, abruptly snapping him out of his stupor.
Jon turns to him, his gaze hard. He suspects that the Hand's intentions are not bad, but that he allows himself to give him orders as if he were Daenerys and, above all, to imply that he doesn't know what he should do strongly annoys him. In fact, he is simply consumed and excessively worried by the wait. His patience is lower than dirt. Nothing hurts him more than waiting idly while Daenerys risks her life.
He merely stares at Tyrion with a cold face.
- I know, thank you, he grunts.
He descends from the hill and positions himself at the front line, in front of his troops. A sudden explosion makes him prick up his ears. Several, in fact. Distant, but muffled, rumbling, making the ground vibrate beneath his feet. The men stir.
The noises are getting closer, and even from this distance, Jon sees the Lannisters breaking ranks a bit to look behind them, anxious. And suddenly, a tremendous explosion demolishes a huge section of the wall, accompanied by a torrent of flame, instantly burning hundreds of Lannister soldiers.
Others are buried in an instant under the flying stones as the wall collapses. Jon feels an immense relief wash over him. Daenerys. And Drogon. His gigantic, imposing silhouette emerges from behind the smoke screen, casting its shadow over the men who flee, screaming.
The Unsullied cry out in turn, overtaken by the Dothrakis, who charge and pour into the city through the gaping hole in the fortifications. Jon quickly regains his composure and launches his troops into battle as well.
The Dothrakis execute the remaining poor soldiers in an instant, leaving behind a long trail of agonizing bodies. The former King of the North also enters the city following the charge. There is clearly no need for his intervention. The Lannisters are getting slaughtered. He ends the suffering of several of them still agonizing from fatal burns, but not enough to cause immediate death.
Grey Worm and Davos move alongside him. He raises his head for a moment, looking for Daenerys. She and Drogon are still setting the walls ablaze, exterminating every remaining soldier, every last threat. He is still slightly worried that she might get hit, but from what he sees, she has finished burning all the crossbows. He takes a deep breath and focuses on what lies ahead.
They continue to move forward, and Jon catches up with the group of his men who have suddenly stopped.
- Move ! he growls, roughly pushing one of his soldiers aside.
He stands in front of his troops and stares at the bulk of the Lannister army facing them. The Northmen and the Unsullied continue to arrive behind Jon, filling the streets. Silence falls. The Lions face... the Wolves allied with the Dragon. They all look at each other, waiting. A signal. Jon holds his breath. For pity's sake. Make the bells ring. Make it so we don't have to face them.
He knows that in any case, with Drogon by their side, they will prevail. They are also superior in numbers. But he doesn't want to fight again, and spill even more blood... for nothing. He suddenly sees Drogon flying over the city, getting closer to them. He hears the crowd screaming in the distance as it passes, completely panicked. The immense dragon then lands on one of the still-standing sections of the wall and lets out a thunderous roar. Silence falls, broken only by his hoarse roars, which even Jon finds frightening. He stares at the Lannisters in front of them. He knows how to recognize a man's fear. He sees it very well. They are terrified.
And suddenly... the sound of a weapon falling to the ground. One of the soldiers dropped his sword, which bounced on the stone with a slight metallic sound. Then a second weapon joined it. A third. A fourth. The swords fall, raining on the ground, as the Lions surrender.
An intense feeling of relief washes over Jon. They finally have the hope of ending this endless war without a last bloodbath. The silence is deafening, heavy, broken by the sound of weapons thrown onto the cobblestone streets. And by cries. Distant, but increasingly louder.
"Ring the bells ! For pity's sake ! Ring the bells ! »
***
Daenerys breathes heavily, perched on Drogon. She tries to catch her breath, her face covered in ash and soot. Her anger is not appeased. Cersei must pay. The bells do not ring. She told Tyrion she wouldn't wait. But she can't coldly burn an entire city she wants to liberate, when it's only the queen who refuses to surrender.
She listens, desperately, even though she knows very well that if the bells rang, she would hear them. She perceives the screams of men shouting at the queen to give up. The silence is heavy, heavier than ever, punctuated from time to time by supplications.
And finally, a sound. Deep, resonant. Then a second one. The entire city seems to shake as the melody of the bells breaks the heavy silence, filling the air with hope. Daenerys felt an intense relief wash over her. There is only Cersei left. She no longer has to face the others. She doesn't move for a moment, relaxes, savoring her victory, and above all, she wants to make it clear that they won't attack anymore, now that they have surrendered. They are not their enemies. She...
A sharp, violent pain suddenly tears through her side. She cries out in pain, a white veil falls before her eyes. She clenches her teeth, tries to regain her composure, and lowers her gaze. An arrow is deeply lodged just below her ribs, and blood is already oozing from her wound. She remains frozen, unable to comprehend what has just happened. She just got shot. Now ? She won. After all that. Why now ?
She looks around for what could have, who could have done this. And she spots a Lannister, a few dozen meters from her, buried under the rubble. But alive, given the crossbow he's pointing at her. Ah. She was careless. She should have checked, made sure they were all dead, been certain.
They had surrendered, so she had relaxed for one second too long. This man was part of the Lannisters, and they had gave up, but she had condemned him to certain death. He will have had his revenge. Drogon spots him, and lets out a roar before setting him ablaze in an instant. I should have checked, she cursed herself, desperate.
The wound is extremely painful, but to her great relief, the blood is flowing less than she would have thought. On the other hand, the slightest twitch makes her groan. She has no choice. She can't give up now. She suddenly has an idea, which she will probably regret later. But for now, she doesn't care. She must show strength.
She grabs the shaft of the arrow and breaks it, leaving only two or three centimeters sticking out of her side. She screams in pain at the sharp movement the tip makes in her stomach, but at least, the wood is almost no longer visible. She covers the wound with a fold of her dress. The blood has only slightly seeped through, and on the dark fabric covered in ash, the scarlet liquid goes undetected. No one will notice. Perfect.
She will get through it. She needs to settle this once and for all, and only then will she be able to rest. She urges Drogon to take flight. The crowd stirs, she hears them scream in fear, and she orders her dragon to gain altitude so they no longer see her as a threat. She flies over the city at about a hundred meters above the ground, and finally lands at the foot of the Red Keep.
The square is fortunately deserted, the people fled screaming at her approach. She waits, extremely vigilant now. She won't be fooled a second time. Finally, Jon, Grey Worm, Tyrion, and Ser Davos arrive, followed by an escort of Unsullied and Northmen.
Jon. An intense relief washed over her. She knew he would make it, but she couldn't help worrying about him all along. A slight sense of guilt seized her when she thought he would believe she was fine, while she had an arrow stuck in her side.
She gets off Drogon and walks toward them.
- It's almost over, she breathes, stopping herself from grimacing.
Walking is ten times more painful than flying on her dragon, which was already frankly miserable. She pulls herself together, adopts a firm voice.
- Then let's finish this once and for all, she concludes.
They nod, and enter the Red Keep, leaving Drogon outside, who takes off to land on one of the castle's towers, roaring. Jon had tried, when they had discussed what they would do after reclaiming King's Landing, to tell Daenerys to wait with her dragon on the steps of the Red Keep, while he and his men would go and ferret Cersei out of her castle and bring her back. She had refused. She wished to see the expression on the false queen's face when she saw her, Daenerys, advancing with her men, dragging her down to be executed. She wanted to see what defeat looked like on the face of the one who had killed her sister.
They progress through the maze of corridors. They come across a few men, who surrender immediately, but clearly, the Dungeon had already been almost deserted.
Despite herself, Daenerys worries that Cersei has fled. She needs to take revenge. She will kill the Queen in front of the people, thus freeing them definitively from the Tyrant's reign. A deep hatred rises in her heart.
- Did you close the doors properly ? she suddenly inquired.
- Yes, and we have placed trusted men where the walls have collapsed, Jon asserts. Others will encircle the Keep, to block Cersei if she tries to leave.
That was what they had agreed upon, so that no Lannister soldier could flee now that they were prisoners. Daenerys doesn't yet know exactly what she's going to do with them, but she knows she'd rather not have them scattered all over Westeros.
She suddenly feels Jon's gaze on her. He knows her too well, and if she continues to walk in this slightly hesitant way, he will immediately understand. She bites the inside of her cheek and forces herself to take a more confident step.
They continue to move forward, and pass thru several large rooms. Climbing the stairs literally destroys Daenerys, who holds back from screaming in pain with each step. She suddenly feels Jon take her hand, firmly intertwining his fingers with hers.
- Are you okay ? he murmurs with concern. You look...
She hates herself for having to do this, but she knows that if she gives in now, she won't be able to stand up anymore. She removes her palm from his, but still smiles at him.
- I’m alright, don't worry, she asserts, her voice fortunately as firm as she had wanted.
She turns and walks a little faster to avoid catching his eye. Suddenly, the smell of blood assaults her nostrils. She accelerates even more, a strange premonition rising within her. She emerges into a large room, at the edge of the stairs, which must have served as a reception hall. About twenty soldiers have obviously been killed, given the pool of blood in which they lie, their throats cut. Each one has the same cut. Their execution was done methodically. A shiver runs down Daenerys's back.
Qyburn, the Queen's hand, also lies on the ground. And further away, someone is holding Cersei against a wall. A not-so-tall figure, with black hair, her usually so cold face contorted with anger. Daenerys feels like she's delirious.
- Arya ?!