12

Chapter 12: Chapter 11

Chapter Text

Tommen

There was a time when things like sleep, relief, and satisfying his hunger were common things in his life. Most of the time it was when he was just a little boy in the halls of his castle, growing up and playing while Joffrey was being brought up to inherit the crown. Then Joffrey died and the crown came to him. Those things he loved were still there, in fact they had grown for a time when he was made King and wed Margaery.

All of those things and more were once important to him. And now, he felt nothing mattered. When it came to sleep, he would sometimes go days without until his body just couldn't take it anymore. The same went for hunger, even with the best of food anyone could ask for, it was tasteless. And relief, he lost it all when he saw the Great Sept blow up in those diabolical green flames. The Faith was wiped out in a single morning and by his mother's command the Faith Militant who were not there that day all put to the sword by the City Watch.

From the reports given, many of the people were warned about the doom they had been trapped in and escaped. A group of knights cut their way in to save as many as they could. But Margaery, Loras, Lord Tyrell, Uncle Kevan, Pycelle, and some of his cousins had all died that day. House Tyrell suffered it worse, they were completely wiped out except for Lady Olenna.

He couldn't bear it. He never felt so empty in his life. Why should one live if they were nothing any longer? He had placed his crown away, for what purpose does a failed king need a crown for? He went to the window and was just one step away from finding release from all of this. But some form of spell came over him, causing him to faint. He told himself it was all the misery weighing him down. Why put him to sleep though, why not just kill him if not the fall? The old him might think it was the gods stopping him, that there was something more he had to do. But the gods were all ash and rubble now.

He woke up in his room days after and hasn't ever left since. His Kingsguard stood outside and brought him his meals. He was bathed, groomed, and dressed by his servants like any other day as if nothing happened. The only company he had that he did not send away was Ser Pounce. His cat would come to him every afternoon and every night to sleep with him.

His mother tried to see him everyday. The only order he gave since the day of the Green Death, as the people called it, was commanding that she not see him.

She did this. Margaery tried to warn him, Uncle Kevan tried to warn him, Grand Maester Pycelle tried to warn him but he didn't listen. His head was buried too deep in the words of the High Sparrows teachings.

Alone in his bed at night, he lay with Ser Pounce curled on his legs over his blanket. He stared blankly up at the canopy. No thought nor idea passed through his head. His right hand settled over his beating heart, the rhythm reminding him that he was alive yet he wasn't living. His left hand always trailed over to where Margaery used to sleep. He didn't have the servants wash the sheets, otherwise it would have robbed them of Margaery's scent.

He felt Ser Pounce move on his legs, raising his head up.

"Good evening, your grace." A man's voice said.

Tommen turned his head to the balcony and saw the figure of a man and a woman standing outside his room. He slowly pulled himself up to sit. The moonlight outside gave some light to the features of the intruders. The man had black hair that was tied in a knot and a short beard, pale skin, a sword at his side with a white beast pommel. There was something familiar about him though. And when Tommen's eyes focused better, he could see the image of Sansa Stark but more grown than when he last saw her.

"Hello Tommen," Sansa said gently but did not get a response to her greeting.

Tommen looked over to the man with her. "Who are you?" he said without any care in his voice at the man. A part of him hoped this was an assassin that could help him end things finally.

"My name is Jon Snow, your grace. We met once before, years ago at Winterfell when Robert Baratheon came to choose Ned Stark as his next Hand of the King."

Tommen remembered now. Jon Snow, the Bastard of Winterfell. Joffrey made a few jokes and mean remarks about him when they were in the North.

Jon Snow entered and pointed to the chair of the desk in Tommen's room. "Do you mind if I pull up a seat?"

This was strange. "What purpose does an assassin need a seat for? That's why you're here isn't it? To get revenge for your father and brother?" He shook his head. "Just get on with it, please. I won't fight."

Jon Snow grabbed the chair and brought it over to Tommen's bed, but gave the spot to Sasna who sat down regally. "I'm not here to kill you, Tommen. The ones responsible for my father and brother's deaths are gone. A son should not have to suffer the sins of the father or the brother."

And here Tommen thought honor and reason was gone from the world. "If you're not here to kill me then why are you here?"

Sansa looked at him with a certain kindness in her eyes. "To talk and find peace. But you should know first that Margaery and Loras both survived the wildfire explosion."

Tommen's next breath was heavy with hope and relief. He started gasping for more air before tears streaked down his face and he began to cry in both joy and from the pain in his chest. Margaery's alive, but how could he face her? How could he present himself when his inaction nearly killed her?

"Is… Is she alright?"

Jon Snow paused. "She is alive. But she was touched by the fire. She's healing right now and will be for a while. Her burns were great. And Loras was never there. I had him smuggled out the night before. I tried to warn the Tyrells as fast as I could but it wasn't fast enough. I'm sorry."

"Why are you sorry? You did something while I did nothing! My wife was nearly killed because I did nothing!" His raised voice must have been heard by his guard, Ser Preston and Ser Osmund, because they burst into the room shortly after with their swords drawn.

"Your grace! Is every-" They saw Jon Snow and Sansa, "back away from the King!"

"Stop!" Tommen ordered. He pointed to the door. "You are to return outside and speak nothing to anyone!"

"Your grace-" Ser Preston started but Tommen did not want to hear anything from him.

"Now!" He yelled.

Ser Preston and Ser Osmund both looked at each other before sheathing their swords and walking out of the room and closing the door.

Tommen looked back at Jon Snow and Sansa. "Do you know where my wife is?"

Sansa shifted. "Things are complicated right now as you know. She's in a delicate state. She's being brought back to Highgarden until she's well again. But Tommen… she can't take it anymore. She won't wear the crown or be Queen."

The joy and relief he felt had begun leaving him. Of course this would happen. Why would she come back to him after he wouldn't protect her when he had the chance? "It's all my fault."

"Aye, it is," Jon Snow said without hesitation.

"Usually that's when someone says it wasn't."

Sansa looked him eye to eye. "Is that what you want? Excuses to avoid the responsibility of what happened? Your mother set the trap but you failed to act, Tommen. You are the King and a King's word is absolute." She never broke their locked gaze. "If you wanted Margaery freed when she was in prison then all you had to do is give the order but you didn't. If you wanted your mother freed and saved from her Walk of Atonement then all you had to do was give the command."

He almost laughed, but only at the irony of his failure to listen. "Uncle Jaime said something like that when I dismissed him from my Kingsguard."

"He's not your uncle, Tommen."

Tommen looked at Sansa.

Jon Snow stepped forward. "I think you've known it deep down. Your sister did. She confessed it to him before she died."

Were he standing, he would have backed away. "How do you know she did?"

"I can't answer that yet. It won't make sense. But if you ask Ser Jaime, he will tell you she did."

Sansa had reached over and placed a warm hand over his. "All of this is hard on you, I know, believe me I do. The weight of inaction tears us up and leaves its scars on us. But they don't make us. The things we do after are what separate those who need pity and those who become revered even after they fail. You have a chance to do that."

"How?"

Jon Snow breathed deeply, preparing for what he had to say. "You need to step down as King, Tommen. By right, you're not the true King. I am."

"What? How can you be? You're a bastard from the North."

"I'm not Ned Stark's son. I'm his nephew. My mother is his sister, Lyanna Stark. And my father is Rhaegar Targaryen. He had his marriage to Elia annulled and married my mother in secret in Dorne. Lyanna died giving birth to me and made my uncle swear to hide me. If Robert Baratheon found me… you can guess what would have happened."

It would have been another babe's body lying with Rhaenys and Aegon's corpses.

"There are currently two thousand Tyrell knights waiting underneath the Red Keep and another ten thousand hiding to follow them. Their orders are to wait for my signal. There are dark things coming for us all, Tommen. I can show you them if you let me. The whole of Westeros needs to see them, to know what the real threat for years has been."

Tommen looked down to his hands. He was shaking from so much confusion. "What kind of decision do you want me to make?"

Cersei

It wouldn't be long now. Tommen was shutting himself away but soon her little cub would come back to her. She was all he had left now, she was all he needed. Father, the High Sparrow, and the Bitch of Highgarden were all gone. The world was finally without the vultures to sink their talons into him.

Everytime Cersei needed something to help her feel joy, she thought of the great green flash of wildfire as she watched the Great Sept explode and burn. She reveled listening to screams echoing all the way to her. Annihilation was such a beautiful thing.

Until her baby boy finally came to his senses, his duties were hers now which she was glad to take on once again. And the amount she had to do today was great but all of it trivial to handle. The realms would now look at the crown with fear once again after enough time.

She had a candle lit so she could finish her work at her desk. But all she could think of was her beloved brother. He would be home soon after dispatching the brigands in the Kingswood and would surely take joy with her over the death of their immediate enemies. All who were left were Olenna, and Oberyn's whore and bastards. Once they were all dead she could finally take pleasure in his company again. And then after, they would destroy the Starks.

A knock sounded from her door before it opened and Ser Boros stepped through without her permission. "I beg your pardon, but the King has summoned you to his chambers at once."

Finally, she could see her baby again. She set her quill down and made for the door with a delightful smile.

"Pardons again," Ser Boros raised a hand up to stop her, "but he has also ordered that Ser Gregor remain. He commands that I escort you and you alone."

Poppycock. Ser Gregor was the only one who could protect her. But for her son, she would oblige. He would soon come around to him. "Ser Gregor, wait for my return." There was no response, the Mountain just stood as he did when Cersei left with Ser Boros.

They walked through the darkened halls of the Red Keep with only the moonlight through the windows illuminating the way. When they got to his door, she had to stop and take a breath. She hadn't gotten to see him since that day she freed him. Was she truly ready to see how changed he was?

Ser Boros opened the door for her and they both entered the room. Cersei stopped when she saw there was someone else in the room, someone she almost mistook for Ned Stark. But it wasn't the dead lord, just someone that looked like him. But that still raised the question who he was. She had never seen him before.

But the one sitting down next to the bed, the light of the moon peering in revealed just enough of the red hair for her face to twist into anger. But before she could get a single word out, a curse, a call for guards, Tommen spoke first.

"Mother…" Tommen started, "Is Jaime my real father?"

She was taken back by the immediateness of the question that she didn't hear the sound of Ser Boros' sword drawn. A sudden pain struck the back of her head and she blacked out with the last thing she saw was a great anger on her son's face.

Arya

Whomp!

For such a light woman, Cersei certainly fell hard.

"Finally," Ser Boros said before removing his smelly gilded helm, "this thing smells terrible." He reached up to his chin and grabbed at the skin.

With one soft tug, Arya removed Ser Boros' face from hers and returned to herself. The Kingsguard's armor immediately weighed her down and she started undoing it as quickly as she could. "And this one was one of the more respectable knights?" She gave a questioning look at Sansa.

"Borros the Belly? He's not Meryn Trant, but to describe him as detestable is more like it," Sansa corrected, not trying to hide the smile on her face as she peered down at the fallen bitch.

"She's still alive?" Tommen asked as he scooted out of his bed.

"Unfortunately, yes." Arya told him. "Be grateful to my brother. If I got here before he did then this bitch's head would be on a spike and then your father's after." With as much strength as her small body could muster, Arya hoisted the armor off her body and stood lighter in loose clothes. "I thought you were kidding when you said you would climb the tower. I don't think even Bran could have done it when he had his legs, let alone with Sansa on your back." Jon wasn't tall for a man, among average heights he was a thumb's length shorter, but he was indeed stronger than he appeared. "Did you give the signal?"

Jon nodded. "Tommen ordered the host to be granted entry. Once the Brotherhood gets up here… pray that we can take the Mountain fast."

"If what you said about him's true, I think the Hound's the only one who can." She waited patiently with Jon and Sansa, taking some of Tommen's wine and not making eye contact with the bastard. Arbor Gold, not bad, but she liked Dornish Red more.

Cersei was right there, unconscious and unprotected. All she had to do was take the dagger from the scabbard at her hip and stick the golden hair bitch. Her top name would be crossed off her list after so many years. But everytime her hand twitched to do so, the memory of Jon's promise flashed in her mind.

"You cannot deny me this!" She almost screamed at him earlier that morning. "She's mine to kill!"

Jon had looked at her coldly in the eyes, the gaze was so powerful she felt like a child again after being caught for doing something improper and also ashamed of it. "You will, but not today."

Those words made her shiver, for they made her remember when she witnessed Beric Dondarion's revival in the cave. Jon knew exactly what he meant to her with those words and all she could do was listen.

She thought they could have been closer now that his vows to the Night's Watch were gone. She barely got to be his sister and he her brother before everything went to hell. But now it felt like he was a complete stranger standing across the room instead of her brother. Maybe he truly had abandoned his heritage as a Stark and embraced the Targaryen in him.

But for right now, in the night that all that mattered was happening right now, she had to brush these feelings aside. Arya took the rope from inside her tunic and bound Cersei's hands behind her back, not shying from being a little extra tight for a painful awakening.

"How long do you think we'll have before the Mountain might come snooping?"

Jon shrugged. "If Cersei ordered him to stay… I hope he does. But once Beric gets here, we'll be ready. Just make sure you don't do anything to piss off the brute or he might cave your head in for failing your duty, Ser Boros."

"Right," Arya agreed, "just stay behind him then."

Jon had gone over to Cersei, picked her up, and slumped her over his shoulder. "Sansa, head down with Tommen now. I'll wait with Arya in case Ser Gregor does come sooner than planned."

Sansa nodded, walking out with Tommen almost as his escort rather than the other way around. "It will be alright," she told the bastard.

Looking back at Cersei, Arya's hate for her burned hotter than wildfire. Joffrey was dead, Meryn Trant was dead, Walder Frey was dead… Ilyn Payne was just a tool for them to use… all her anger and loathing for each of that miserable family had focused upon her. She wanted to kill her. She needed to kill her, but Jon wouldn't acquiesce to her vengeance.

Perhaps a different tactic was needed. "Jon, we don't have to risk the Mountain fighting us. Let me take Cersei's face…"

"No," Jon said evenly. "I'm not stupid, Arya, and I know what you're trying to do. You're not killing Cersei today. I promised Sandor he can have his chance to kill his brother, and Cersei will live as a prisoner in the Black Cells, a hostage against the Westerlands."

"Obviously not Tommen. He's still nothing more than a tame housecat." Tommen's little cat walked across the room without glancing at her. "Even that cat is more threatening than him."

"We all have to start somewhere, Arya. Cersei just made it harder for him."

"Or she never let him even try."

Jon opened his mouth, but then nodded in agreement. "Would you rather Cersei die now, or live to see all her power crumble first?"

Arya froze before she smirked at him. "I know you're playing me, but you're right." she said right as a familiar one-eyed arsehole appeared in the doorway.

"We're ready," Beric announced.

"Good," Jon nodded, "Arya, good luck." he said just as Arya pulled the face back on followed by the armor.

Ser Boros Blount donned his smelly helm once again, waiting enough time for everyone to get to the throne room. It was a genius idea, he had to admit. In such close quarters, long weapons like Jon's sword would hardly be wise even though the Mountain carried a blade of larger size. The giant's strength alone was all he needed in close quarters. He'd hate for a death like Oberyn Martell's to happen once again.

Clearing his mind of the thoughts of Arya, embracing the man he appeared to be, Ser Boros broke into a sprint with his sword drawn. Up the steps he went, already panting because of the weight of the armor, until he returned to the door of Cersei's room and burst through. "Clegane!" he cried in panic and the Mountain immediately broke his motionless vigil. "The King and the Queen Mother are in danger! Intruders! To the throne room!"

The Mountain suddenly rushed forward and Ser Boros had to dodge aside in order to not get trampled over. He chased down after with the monster leading the way, white cloaks fluttering behind their feet.

Ser Boros was glad that the brute's senses had not sharpened at all, or else the brute may have deduced this to be strange since Ser Boros was not injured at all, abandoned the King's side for any reason, and many more obvious give aways.

They entered the Throne Room but Ser Boros stopped at the entrance, now acting as the guard to keep anyone from escaping. The Mountain though was now surrounded by over fifty Tyrell knights in plate armor, the Brotherhood without Banners, the Hound, and Jon, all of them with swords drawn.

The Hound stepped forward and the Mountain stopped in his place.

There was a heavy stillness and silence in the entire room that lasted only a few seconds yet felt like several minutes. "What the fuck did they do to you? I don't need to see your face to know your fucking uglier than I am now." Ser Boros almost thought he caught a glimpse of a smile nearly making its way onto the Hound's face. "You've always known this day was coming, brother. No one will come to save you."

The Mountain drew his enormous sword and Beric stepped forward but not getting in the way. "In the name of King Robert and as charged by Lord Eddard Stark, Hand of the King, I sentence you to be brought to justice for your crimes against the realm." He and Thoros of Myr both ran their hands on the blades of their swords and ignited them in fire, but it didn't even faze their enemy.

"Remember the plan," Jon shouted as the Hound took the lead, advancing with sword up and ready.

Both men of House Clegane stood alone, the only sound came from the Mountain, a growl so low it might shake the ground. Sandor took the first step, Jon gripping Longclaw tighter as he watched, and the Mountain went to meet him.

A mighty growl came from the Hound as both brothers of House Clegane clashed steel and began their fight while all others stood by at the ready. This was a fight only Sandor would be able to handle, as Jon said, everyone here was meant to watch and be ready to step in if they needed to and also wait for the moment to come when the chains were to be thrown and clasped to the monster.

This was the Hound's fight to have. This was his one chance to take his revenge he wanted and kill his brother. But should the Hound fail then Ser Gregor's life would be in Jon's hands. But Ser Boros, while only a spectator, could perfectly envision Arya Stark in the Hound's place. What she would do had the privilege been granted to her.

The Hound roared as the swords clashed together, echoes of ringing steel going all throughout the Red Keep, and went on the full offensive. He wielded his sword with two hands, both white knuckled in grip, for more powerful blows the same as his brother and with such strength as theirs, the blades chipped as the edges met. At times he struck at the Mountain's armor hard, denting it but that was as far as he would get.

Ser Boros felt his heartbeat start to race a little. Despite how sluggish both men were, the sheer power in such a fight was of epic proportions. Any normal man caught in the middle would be torn to shreds and the feeling was almost exhilarating.

There were times his limbs twitched at certain movements of the Mountain's as if it were he instead and how he… how Arya Stark would move instead.

The Mountain slashed mightily for the Hounds head but only cut a few strands of hair as the Hound ducked under the blade just in time to rise up and bash the hilt of his sword up at the Mountain's head, clanging into the helmet and knocking it off.

Many gasped at what they saw in the light of the torches, even Ser Boros. Arya Stark has seen many faces of death, but this was not anything close to it. This was an abomination. A dead, infected face with eyes redder than bloodshot and without a will behind them stared only at the Hound. The Mountain's mouth oozed with some black gunk from pale lips that opened to reveal snarling black teeth.

"Fuck," the Hound hissed in utter disgust, "what did those cunts do to you?" There was no sympathy or concern in his voice. This didn't stop him. He pursued his fight but the Mountain now had an aura of anger and rage in his movements. Neither man was on the offense or the defense, it nearly felt like a stalemate except he Mountain's strength was greater.

Ser Gregor parried a high strike down and using his left fist, punched the Hound hard into the gut, stumbling his brother back. A high strike from the Mountain came down hard to meet the Hound's sword only to break the top third of the blade off, leaving the Hound with a flat-tipped shortsword now.

Ser Boros was growing angry watching this. These two men were strong but so slow. Were it him, or Arya Stark for that matter, and Needle, she would be able to sweep and duck under their bulky figures with ease and great speed. She never shrugged off her practice with a blade. She could stab every vital point between the gaps of armor with ease.

But he also felt the great urge to disregard the Hound's isolation in the fight and get in there himself because little by little it was becoming clear who would become the victor of this fight the longer it went on.

The Hound stepped back, switching his grip from hilt to blade and bashed the pommel into the Mountain's temple, sounding a loud crack and splattering not blood but more of the black ooze. Half-swording, not a bad strategy at this point, the Hound fought on with all his might. Most men avoid doing this technique out of fear of having their hands cut but they have yet to try it and learn that such would not happen as long as the blade does not slide in the grip.

And yet the Mountain did not react to the hit at all, or the hits to the unprotected joints. Growling, he drew his dagger and after parrying his brother's sword, stabbed it under the Mountain's armpit in what could have easily been a mortal blow but again, Gregor did not shirk from weakness.

"Why won't you fuckin' die?!" The Hound shouted, hitting the Mountain's sword out of his hand but also having his own pulled from his hand, the blade cutting his fingers and palm. Looks like his grip wasn't tight enough, or rather had it been tighter then the ground would be littered with fingers and half a hand

The Hound hissed, but did not stop his attacks. He punched Gregor hard in the face with his bloody fist and his clean one, over and over. "Fucking die!"

The Mountain grabbed his brother's arm and headbutted him hard in the face, sending the Hound down to the ground with a bloody and broken nose.

Ser Boros caught the movement from the spectators and saw that Jon had enough. "Move in!" He ordered

"No!" The Hound objected but it was ignored when the Mountain picked his brother up by the neck and started squeezing. But this sole focus was the most foolish thing the brute could have done, otherwise he may have stopped or dodged the dagger that was thrown by Ser Boros and pierced him in the neck.

Damn, he missed the artery. It was this armor and chunky finger that brought his aim off. But what changed the temporary criticism of skill into terror was when the Mountain turned his head over to Ser Boros with eyes of evil and rage pearing past the face at the one behind it.

A thick rope was thrown over the Mountain's neck and pulled him backwards, dropping his brother.

Two more ropes were thrown and tightened over the Mountain's arms and held by fifteen men each as the Hound coughed and staggered to his feet.

"He's mine!" The Hound wheezed when felt a firm hand on his shoulder.

"I gave you a chance," Jon told him, "and you had it."

Ser Boros wanted to get into the fight, but with how much the Mountain was thrashing about, easily pulled the men holding him down off their feet, not even he as Arya Stark would attempt to fight him right now. Maybe when there was no one to get in the way. The Mountain's strength wouldn't compare to how fast Arya Stark is. A few stabs in the right places, and then one right in the center of an eye, and he would drop dead fast.

Stepping back into the darkness, Ser Boros pulled back at his face and Arya was back to being herself. Pulling off the smelly helmet and the armor for good this time, she sighed and decided to go join Sansa and Tommen wherever they were. The fight was over and she had no interest in it. If Jon was taking the Mountain alive… or whatever one would call that thing, then perhaps she would have the chance to cross off the last two names on her list, someday.

Daenerys

Volantis, the center of the Red God's faith in the common world. And one of the last places where slavery lurked. The final defeat of the Masters and their foul practices caused a wave across the Bay of Dragons and the lands surrounding. One by one, cities that held onto the ways of slavery were abolishing their ways in reform to the new world.

While not as high in practice as Lys, victory would send the final wave and message across the Free Cities once met and surrendered to Daenerys and her might. The Dothraki surrounded the city walls on both sides of the Rhoyne, the Unsullied disembarking in formation on the beaches, and Daenerys astride Drogon in the air over the city with Rhaegal and Viserion behind her, roaring their presence to all. They banked over the city three times and on the last, sent streams of fire into the air as a warning of what would be awaiting their resistance.

Daenerys guided her children to land on the hillsides outside the city, overlooking her Dothraki and Unsullied, waiting for a sign.

And then, she heard them. The bells. The city was full of bells ringing over and over. That was it, a surrender. Without a single drop of blood spilled, she had taken Voltanis with the mightiest force in history without a battle.

She gazed silently at the city in contempt of her victory, but also wondered how a battle would have gone had the city not surrendered for one last attempt of standing firm against an enemy.

The damn Masters within, how it would have been good to seek out those who would crucify children and rip them out, root and stem. There were those that did deserve second chances of course, but the ones that didn't deserved the worst. How easy would it be to bring her dragons over the city and burn them all if she had some mystical power to know precisely where evil was hiding?

Daenerys noticed that Rhaegal had brought his head closer to her, a strange feeling coming over her when she met eyes with his. It snapped her from such brutal thoughts. She stroked his snout as he growled lightly. Those thoughts were not what she needed to consider at the risk of a possible indulgence one day. She was better than a conqueror, and Westeros would know it soon too.

The gates to the main bridge opened and three large elephants came out in a steady but strong walk. Atop them were gold and purple palanquins. The Dothraki parted ways respectfully as the elephants closed in. Many of the warriors cheered in victory of the city's surrender, rubbing in the power of sheer presence.

Daenerys dismounted Drogon when the elephants reached the foot of the hill she was on but remained on top as those riding in the palanquins disembarked when the elephants lowered themselves down. There were five people, two of which were women, one who wore crimson robes and a ruby pendant at her neck. She was the only one who smiled at the sight of Daenerys while the other four, the other woman and a man both in glamorous robes of blue and green and the others in simple clothes of matching colors, clearly servants, looked at her dragons nervously. They all came forward, the nobleman and woman tucking their arms into the wide openings of their sleeves and the red woman softly clasping her hands together as though in prayer.

At a safe distance away but still close enough to converse together, all of them fell to their knees with their heads down.

'Oh Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen,' the noblewoman spoke in High Valyrian, the tallest of them and hair of a brilliant auburn red neatly combed, 'We do hereby surrender the city of Volantis and present you with a token of war for which you have spared us,' she removed a beautifully decorated dagger from within her robes and held it out to her. Daenerys stepped forward and accepted it in silence, admiring the design and detail of the scabbard and hilt for what little time she was allowed. 'And as penance for not welcoming you with open arms as we should have,' both leaders pulled the sleeves of their left arms up to above their elbows and their servants came forward with little oil lanterns they had lit just before, 'we give an offering of blood to our Lord for our sin.' The lanterns moved under the noble's arms to mark them with flame, but Daenerys refused to have such.

'Do not touch your skin to those flames.' She demanded. 'I would not have you harm yourselves for agreeing to peace as you have wisely done.'

'This offering is not for you but our god, Daenerys of House Targaryen.' The servants proceeded to burn the lantern flame under the two nobles' arms and with setting, they bore through it for three grueling seconds. They did not cover their wounds or seek aid, they went on as if nothing happened but with tense expressions. 'I am Jaenaera Vhassar of the Volantese Triarchy, and this is my colleague Parquello Vaelaros, and the High Priestess of the Red Temple, Kinvara.'

The Priestess Kinvara bowed, still smiling fondly at Daenerys.

'And where is the third?' Daenerys asked, 'or does a Triarchy only consist of two in Volantis?'

'Malaquo Maegyr was the cause of our delay. He refused to consider a surrender and said that the city must stand with every man, woman, child, and slave before surrendering to the likes of you. We attempted discussion for two days. On the third, today, he sought to rally our forces without our consent, breaking a high law of the triarchy. He was executed and now we are only two.'

Daenerys cocked her head. 'Very well. I would seek a place of peace other than this lonely hill outside of the city.'

'Tradition would have it we hold such a meeting within the temple of the Lord of Light. Lady Kinvara shall be your guide and has much she wishes to speak about, rather urgently i might add.'

'I was brought up with no gods so I hold none before myself. But I shall adhere to your traditions,' Daenerys said calmly. She waved off her dragons, a signal of sorts that they had learned to mean to go and all three took to the skies once again. She then joined Kinvara atop the elephant she had rode on and found the ride into the city pleasant.

"You once met with my advisors, I believe," Daenerys began, returning to the use of the common tongue. "A deal was reached. I would be remiss if I didn't personally inspect any deal my councilors created in my name."

Giving a tiny smile, Kinvara kept her hands pressed together. "I did not seek to make any deal for the sake of Tyrion Lannister or Lord Varys. Only with the Mother of Dragons. Your accomplishments have put many pieces together in terms of the manifestation of our Lord's will."

Still not comfortable in the dictates of zealots, Kinvara was supposedly on her side so Daenerys nodded. "Through your cooperation, it enabled us to establish calm in Meereen for most of while I was departed. While I would have agreed to such a deal with you though, I must be very clear about this." Her gaze hardened. "I do have certain objections when it comes to religious faiths uniting the common people. I've heard that such took an unsettling turn in King's Landing in the name of the Seven."

Kinvara didn't falter in her posture. "Our brothers and sisters sent to Meereen guide those who desire a path to follow and your's was indeed the Lord's chosen. If they wish to seek those of another they are free to choose. We do not force ourselves onto others, we stand with open arms to those that would seek."

A fair enough stance. "And if a different faith that followed the way of peace rose up above yours in the Bay of Dragons?"

It was now that Daenerys noticed a subtle change in Kinvara's expression. "Then such is the Lord's Will." Her words had a certain lackluster to them. And as if sensing the suspicion in Daenerys, Kinvara went on. "For hundreds of years our Lord has blessed us with gifts to aid in the rising of his kingdom. When the day came that your dragons entered the world, the power within grew like never before. Our visions are more distinct, but our ability to read them is limited to our own minds. But recently, they have been… muddled, like rippling water distorting the image and we can only find certain details but not the picture." Kinvara's smile crept back to how it was before. "You will have the chance to see for yourself, Daenerys Stormborn."

Daenerys had nothing else to say on the matter. Instead she turned her attention to the dagger gifted by Jaenaera. She freed the blade from the scabbard and found it mirror polished and clean. "Valyrian Steel. I can't believe a noble family would bring themselves to part with something like this."

"The token of surrender was provided by we, the Red God's followers." Kinvara clarified and showed no offense to the assumption. "One of our temple's oldest relics of Valyria before the Doom." She sat up and gazed off, regaling the details. "It would have remained in our vaults were it not for a young acolyte's glimmer of sight in the flames. She saw a woman standing against a snowstorm wielding Valyrian Steel. That is our only blade. Carry it well for while your strength of will and bravery is mightier than any, your strength of limb may find the other blade too heavy."

"What other blade?"

Kinvara smiled. "You'll enjoy it more when you discover it yourself. Trust me." The words were not that of a priestess, but of a woman excited with her secrets.

The rest of the ride was silent between them, but it became quite obvious when they entered the city. The great noise of bells had diminished and was replaced by the cheering of the former slaves in the streets. It was just like when she first conquered Meereen.

It didn't take longer than she thought it would, but the elephants finally came to their halt and Daenerys disembarked in front of the home of the Red God. From above, it wasn't that impressive just like every other building when on dragonback, but on her own feet in front of the looming structure, she was in awe.

The Red Temple was by far one of the most imposing and yet the most beautiful structures Daenerys had ever come across. The stone that made it was a light grey and two enormous braziers of gold and orange flames burned at a constant atop two twin pillars. At the top of the temple, barely visible but the most distinct feature was a shining red glint that was an enormous sculpted ruby in the shape of a burning heart.

The inside, however, far surpassed the exterior. Every wall was carved with figures of people and animals, all in the design of images in flames, and that was only the atrium. In the Grand Hall of the temple was a dome ceiling of beautiful red colored glass windows that turned everything within to a bright red. There were dozens of acolytes gathered in prayer around a blazing brazier of what she almost couldn't truly believe to be Valyrian steel. It was remarkable and impressive too. The fire was the fullest she had ever seen before.

"Are we to negotiate terms here then?" Daenerys asked, finished with taking in the beauty of her surroundings and returning to the diplomatic mind she needed right now.

"The tidings of politics and men must wait. The dealings of God will not." Kinvara led Daenerys to the base of the brazier. "You who have walked through flames unscathed, but never looked into them. Look now and tell me what you see."

Daenerys, with the reminder of being the Unburnt, did without second guessing and looked into the fire, at the flickering, at the light, and beyond them at what images lay within.

She saw a woman's pregnant stomach, and two hands caressing it gently, one of them belonging to the woman herself, and the other belonging to a man, the father. And then, Daenerys heard the voices as if they were whispers right next to her.

"I hope it's a girl," the father said, "and when she is born, the dragon shall have three heads once again and the prophecy shall be ready for fruition."

"But what if it's a boy?" The mother asked. "I thought you said it was the Prince who was Promised shall bring the dawn."

"In High Valyrian, it can be a prince or a princess. But my research led me to find that it is quite possible that it does not mean one or the other, but a prince and princess together."

"Still," the mother continued, "I hope it's a boy."

The flames flickered the image away and now Daenerys was looking at a snowdrift in lands far to the north. Atop it against the blowing snow was a lone wolf. The creature looked back at Daenerys with powerful blue eyes before trodding over the snow over to a figure almost invisible except for a large, faint outline. A mighty dragon of white outstretched its wing and covered the wolf from the storm, it too looked at Daenerys.

A sudden shiver ran through her body. Something felt wrong. The vision she saw had suddenly blurred and she could see a pair of eyes looking at her. It wasn't the wolf's or the dragon's, but a man's. One eye was dull blue but the other was that of a glowing, cold blue that almost looked as though it was pure ice. A faint sniggering could be heard before the flames roared up from the brazier, extinguishing the vision and making Daenerys tep back to catch her breath.

"What you saw was for yourself to see, Daenerys Stormborn," Kinvara said, "the answers are for you to learn, the path is yours to walk."

Daenerys straightened herself and found it in her to at least inquire of the imagery she saw for possible meaning the priestess may know. "What are the Prince and Princess that were promised?"

Kinvara's expression tightened in an almost reluctance. "And?" She inquired.

"I heard a man's voice say it to a pregnant woman. A prophecy of a prince and a princess who will bring the dawn together."

Kinvara's mouth fell slightly agape and she was at a loss for words at the time, eyes darting to the floor in thought. "Of course," she whispered and looked back at Daenerys. "You are one half of this prophecy. The Lord of Light gifted you with your dragons, fire made flesh. And unto the other, he gifted a second chance to finish the task set upon him."

"Who?"

The doors to the Grand Hall opened and in walked Daenerys' followers. Tyrion, Varys, and Missandei.

Kinvara looked at her one last time. "Our sister in Westeros, Melisandre, told us only what she bore witness to. She will have the answers that we do not. You will meet her when you return home. But for now, there may be another who can enlighten us." She nodded over to a pair of attending women who curtly bowed to her and went off.

"Tis a very fine place," Varys began, "rich in decor, air clean of burning flesh. How did you manage to clear it away so quickly?" His gaze was directed solely at Kinvara as if she herself was the entire religion.

"None were for nothing, all were for everything." Kinvara said without clarification to what that proverb could mean.

Daenerys could not admit innocence from such a topic after all. Mirri Maz Duur, the blood given for her dragons' lives. The witch who cursed her and murdered her husband and child. She deserved the screaming death she was given. But were those burned by the Red priests deserving of such death?

Once again, Kinvara spoke as though hearing the thoughts of those around. "To give one's life for the Lord of Light is the highest of honor and never in vain. We do not take life, we set it free."

Varys narrowed his gaze at her but all were shifted focus to a pair of soldiers in red bringing forth a prisoner and followed by the two acolytes, one of them carrying a large bundle.

Presented before her was a man dressed in all black clothing. He was older than Daenerys, maybe in his thirties. Light brown hair in a thatch of curls, an unshaven face, and a pout when he looked at her.

"You have no right to chain me up!" He demanded with a shake of his wrists, the chains jingling as he did. "I am on official business of the Night's Watch!"

Kinvara's brow arched up. "And does that protect you from the laws against theft? Breaking into a manor and stealing property."

"If it's something no one knew was there in the first place, then it's no one's. If the manor's a crumbling shitpile with no one in it, then it's not trespassing! And I'm just doing as the Lord Commander told me to! I don't even know how he knew it was there."

Tyrion voiced his thoughts on the matter. "I can't imagine a man like Jon Snow giving such a command. Bastard or not, he is his father's son and commanding this type of action is beneath him."

The Night's Watchman sneered at Tyrion. "You don't know half the things he's done, Imp! Write to him if you must then! He gave me my orders in person with a note of instructions!" The man's gaze peered down.

"Unless there is someone here who knows Jon Snow's handwriting then I'm afraid credibility is lacking." After Tyrion said that, one of the acolytes returned with the heavily wrapped bundle.

The acolyte brought it before Daenerys and knelt down to her, placing it gently on the ground. "This is what he had with him," the acolyte said and began to undo the wrappings. It took some time but the shape was becoming distinguishable. A sword?

When the wrappings were gone, Daenerys had guessed right in that it was a sword, but not one she expected to ever see in her life. The hilt was the most decorated she had ever seen from a sword. The blade rested in a red and black leather scabbard with silver fittings engraved with details of dragon scales. There was a ruby as big as an eyeball held by dragon claws in the pommel that gleamed in the light of the fire. In the center of the guard was a dragon head and the rippled pattern on the blade was like fire spewing from the mouth.

Daenerys grabbed the black leather handle and let out a breath she didn't realize she was holding before drawing the blade out. She never held a sword before but expected them to be heavy for her. This was lighter than she expected, certainly because of the blade's material.

"Blackfyre," she whispered. "Where did you get this?"

"I told you," the Night's Watchman began, "it was in an abandoned manse in the city. Real decrepit and filthy but not enough to burn it down I suppose. I didn't think I'd find anything there but there it was, wrapped up and exactly where Snow said it would be hidden in the walls. I just wish his visions foresaw that stupid patrol when I was leaving."

"What visions?" Daenerys asked.

The man opened his mouth, but then closed it with narrowed eyes. "I ain't speaking more to any of you! I demand to be returned to Eastwatch! I fulfilled my orders. If you have someone to punish, then let it be the one who I was honorbound to obey!"

Tyrion shrugged and nodded. "He is correct but this does seem overly suspicious." He looked at Kinvara. "Would you consent to handing him over into our custody? When we return to Westeros, we can get a proper answer and have this resolved quickly."

Kinvara nodded and waved away the acolytes and soldiers. The prisoner was taken away, but it wouldn't be the last they saw of him, Daenerys thought.

"Well," Tyrion said with a clap of his hands together, "this was a lovely experience and most incredibly generous of you to return House Targaryen's ancestral sword to the rightful owner. But we do have to continue accepting a surrender."

"Of course," Kinvara said. "The Triarch will be arriving shortly with several other high officials. Please, this way." a few different acolytes than previous had appeared to guide the guests of the Red Temple elsewhere, but Daenerys remained, looking back at the Valyrian Steel brazier and thinking on the things she saw.

"Are you coming, your grace?" Missandei asked.

"In a moment. I shall meet you shortly." Her friends continued on and by Kinvara's order, all others emptied from the room, leaving the two of them alone, gazing at the fire. Daenerys could not find any image in the flames anymore, so she turned her eyes to her family's blade. She pulled Blackfyre a few inches out of the scabbard, admiring the beauty and sharpness. Aegon's blade, it was hers now. But Kinvara was right before, she was not sure if she had the strength or the time to gain the skill to wield such a sword.

"What do you feel, Daenerys Stormborn?" Kinvara asked.

Daenerys did not know. In the moment, what she saw, the blade she held, it was all a mix right now. "Are you asking so you may foretell my future?"

"I foretell nothing except what the Lord of Light shows unto me when I look into the flames. But when I look into your eyes, I can see something inside that has held onto you for so long. A darkness rooted deep within."

What sort of darkness did she mean? "And must I ritualize myself in flames to disperse it?" Daenerys humored a guess. She had faith in the potential of prophecy and magic, but sometimes it was taken too far.

"It is not something you can do yourself. Only light can break the darkness, but only you can allow it into yourself." The Priestess approached and gently gilded her fingers along Daenerys' face, tracing her jaw. "The loss of your dragons had left your House bitter, a shell of its former self. Gaining them brought back your power, yet without the centuries of tradition and control that protected your ancestors from letting their power consume you."

Daenerys stared back, unaware of what truly to say.

Kinvara took the silence as an invitation to continue. "Let go of your desires, your animosity, and your fear. Only then will you find the chance to break free and regain what you have lost, and only with the others will you be able to accomplish this."

Daenerys straightened herself. "I am not afraid," she said proudly, for it was true.

"Not of men, or army, or blade, or blood. But there is one thing that shall test that fear." The ruby at Kinvara's neck glowed suddenly for only a brief instant before fading back. "A name."