39

Euron

Standing upon the outlook of the godswood of Darkspell Castle, Euron peered out with both eyes at the faint outline of the mountains far off across the sea at the end of the horizon.

"I must admit, Lotho," Euron complimented, "it is quite a view I wish Pyke had. Being able to see the mainland like that is like the nipple of a firm tit peeking out of a corset just enough that you want to grab it, Don't you think?"

He turned his axe so that Lord Upcliff's head impaled on the kraken spike faced him and made it nod.

"If this island wasn't such a small pile of shit, I might've considered settling here. But then again, building a castle is no quick task." Behind him, the last tower of Darkspell Castle collapsed and the echoes of screams coming from the fall were replaced by a crash into the main keep.

Pulling Lotho Upcliff's head off, Euron grabbed the thin head of blonde hair and spun the damn thing like a sling before throwing it far over the cliff and into the sea. This view he had of the Vale of Arryn was the only thing he truly took pleasure in taking. The Upcliffs had their treasures, but no women. Lady Bertha was a fat mess with hair just as thin as her husband and not a single noble daughter was to be found, just a few sons to enjoy killing.

Euron laughed at the memory of watching the eldest son getting ripped to shreds by the dragons. He never knew just how many new wonderful ways to watch men be executed there were with dragons. Bodies always sank deep into the sea before the sharks took their meal. It was like watching silhouettes even the best trained night eyes could only see.

Setting his axe against the stone railing of the outlook, Euron walked over to Daenerys. She was aimlessly looking out to the mainland as well, as if a simpleton without an original thought, but once her master came to her side she looked at him… with the same aimless expression.

Seeing the mighty Dragon Queen rendered into his slave made his eyes sparkle and cock hard. "How do you feel?" Euron smiled as the two of them looked at the destruction they had wrought.

"I don't." Daenerys replied, rather dryly.

Euron's smile turned. Her spectacle on Dragonstone was because he influenced her to act that way, but under his power, her own will that remained was bland and empty. It partially took the thrill out of having her. Euron felt powerful at having humbled her, but the lack of the proud resistance took some of the fun out of it. If only the Drowned God could've left her personality intact but her will still bendable to him.

His smile grew and he reached down and grabbed that lovely ass of hers and squeezed it to his delight, hoping she'd squirm or at least show some discomfort. He enjoyed just how plush the grip was, but still she didn't react. "They say nothing beats a good fuck after a good fight."

"There was no fight… only death."

Grumbling, Euron shrugged. "I guess you're right." He took her chin in his other hand and kissed her, taking all of her. But she was just standing there.

He released his touch from her, disappointed and upset. This wasn't doing anything for him and she was right, this hadn't been a fight. He needed some real battle, clashing steel against steel and taking heads of men with the look in their eyes of that sheer confidence he loved proving wrong. Then afterwards… he'd release his hold on his mistress when they were alone, and then he'd take her when she saw the destruction she did. Then, she would break without the Drowned God's power.

He looked out to the horizon again, eyeing the Vale intensely.

"King Euron," came the voice of Erik Ironmaker from behind him, "Witch Isle is empty and ash. What is our next course?"

Euron smirked and turned around, watching Lord Ironmaker flinch at the sight of his eye, his blessing of the Drowned God. "I think it's time I let you boys have some of the fun as well. Axes sharpened are best used before dust settles. I'm splitting a hundred ships for myself. Have Captain Harlaw and Lord Drumm and yourself prepare the rest of the fleet. Take your pick of the isles and do what you want with them. But come sundown, we sail for our attack on Driftmark."

"Yes, my King," Erik bowed and Euron put his hand on the back of Daenerys' neck.

"Why don't we find some real innocents to burn?"

Andar

Everything was a ruckus now that word got out about the attack on Daenerys Targaryen by Euron Greyjoy. Though it had remained unclear until this afternoon whether or not she and her dragons were killed. Now, even worse news was held secret by Andar Royce and his close circle who were there to see the message for themselves.

The duties he had organized for the Vale's fleet to carry troops and supplies to the North had been changed to prepare for war at sea. An initial wave of ten ships were sent out with three thousand men on their way Gulltown, but the bulk of the fleet remained for a stronger force on its way from Runestone and the Eyrie.

"You can't be taking the raven seriously, my lord," Ser Harald said as he walked at a brisk pace with Sers Lucius and Vincent behind Ser Andar across the docks of Gulltown.

"As you so arrogantly demanded, Harald," Andar argued back, "You stayed here with your cock buried in the brothel instead of coming to King's Landing. I saw the beast and know full well King Aegon wouldn't say such a claim and not mean it. If Daenerys Targaryen is under some spell, then she is and her dragons are Euron Greyjoy's weapons of war."

In truth, Andar Royce wanted to laugh as loud as he could that a raven such as that came from King's Landing. But that would have been before he met King Aegon, before Lamentation was returned to him, before he saw the proof that the bloody White Walkers were real. He couldn't dishonor his loyalty to his King, never until his own death. Were his duty not being the heir of his House, he would have joined the Kingsguard like Robar did for Renly, or gone to Wall like Waymar. Anything truly honorable he could do now that he knew.

"We're going to war finally, Harald," Ser Lucius Templeton brought up, "or have you just been sharpening your sword for the tourneys and glory?"

"Against Ironborn," Ser Harald said with such honesty and confidence, "Those idiots couldn't put up a decent fight unless they have a puddle of water to stand in. The puddles they'll have are the ones they piss for themselves once they meet my steel."

"Shut it!" Andar exclaimed. "Save your spouts for the fights ahead and get to your ships. I want to be at Dragonstone by nightfall-"

"Lord Andar!"

Andar and his men turned to see Ser Lymond Lynderly riding to them at fast speed.

"Message from the eastern watchtowers. Witch Isle burns and the Ironborn sail for Gulltown."

Andar's jaw tensed. "All of them?"

"No, only a hundred ships."

Damn. That was still more than enough against the twenty they had at port here and now. "What about dragons? Were there any dragons with the fleet?"

"Not that was said, my lord."

Andar shook his head, praying to the Seven that the mighty beasts were with Euron and his other nine hundred ships. "We should still assume they're coming and prepare for the worst. Order an evacuation inland of the smallfolk, and send out a raven to Driftmark. Plead for the Velaryons to send aid."

The warning bells high in the lighthouse began to ring loudly. All eyes went out to the sea, looking past the docked ships.

Andar didn't wait for his men as he ran down the dock and boarded one of the ships to get a better view. There it was, the Iron Fleet on its way.

"Too late," Ser Lucius intoned.

"To arms!" Andar shouted, running to the rear of the ship to shout over the docks. "All men to arms! To arms!" The orders were carried out and echoed throughout the docks and ships.

"What do we do?" Harald said, the confidence gone from his voice and panic starting to enter. "We're only five hundred men here. The reinforcements won't arrive until a few hours at least!"

"Then keep away from puddles if you're so worried." Andar hissed at him. "Vince, lead the battalion getting the women and children to safety. Get them out of the city and into the hills."

"It's done," Ser Vincent rushed off after drawing his sword.

A hundred ships… there'd be at least two thousand just to man the bloody things, but how many ruthless killers were onboard? The Ironborn lost a fair portion in its attacks on the North, but most of Balon's attacks were just plundering the coast. Euron had the majority of the Iron Islands and might have conscripted every single boy and man into war…

And that didn't count the dragons.

"We hold out for as long as we can." Andar gripped Lamentation's hilt tightly and drew his sword, shouting to the men preparing for battle. "No more waiting for war! It's on our doorstep! We fight!"

The Iron Fleet was still far off, but it wouldn't be long until the city would be in range of their catapults. In the time they had, Andar made the decision to order a blockade with the ships they had to stall for more time once the Ironborn were within landing distance. The advantage they had was that Gulltown was built on a valley between cliffs, making enemies unable to land on the flanks for an attack.

Together with two hundred Men, Andar stood ready for battle, waiting for boulders and burning pitch to be cast into the air at them… But nothing came, even when the Ironborn ships were closing in on the blockade.

The answer as to why was made clear by the roar that erupted from the sky. Two dragons descended from on high in the clouds. All strategy, all hope for lasting out long enough for allies had been crushed then and there.

Daenerys

"Are you ready to set fire to the world?"

Her eyes were closed as she felt her lips being pressed, a tongue invading her mouth with the rough lust her… guardian was fond to express. Something he certainly expected to arise a similar lust, or terrified revulsion in which he'd then have to conquer. But no, he would not be so fortunate with her.

Not that she sought to stop him. The pull that guided her, the rage and anger and fire that both consumed her and seemed as if an otherworldly force from an alien world left her in the body of Daenerys Targaryen to fail to resist. And yet…

She felt nothing.

She held no desire.

She held no fear.

Only numbness and death. Only a drive to vengeance that even her remaining consciousness refused to understand.

When his kiss finally ended, her eyes drawing open to reveal his grin, Daenerys merely nodded. Movements fluid as she walked to the waiting dragon perched atop the ship with her master. "Fire and blood," she replied without realizing she was speaking, words fitting the circumstances. Fitting what she desired.

Euron's grin widened. "You heard the Mother of Dragons! To war!" His words drowned out around her, not that she wanted to hear them. Or really could hear them beyond his voice. All there was before her was the dragon and her desire.

A great whistle rang out and another dragon had passed by in flight, but it was not her dragon.

All that mattered was to fulfill the words she had spoken. Fire and Blood, wherever and whoever Euron would lead her to. That was all she needed to do, all she was allowed to care for.

Drogon rested as well, reacting not as Daenerys climbed up his spines. She sat astride Drogon with ease, feeling his heat underneath her. But there was no sense of comfort, no sense of belonging as there had been since the very first time she mounted her dragon. Drogon was simply another thing that was around her.

The comfort brought by the heat that halted her from her commands.

'Fight him.'

She stilled, hearing a faint voice that echoed in the back reaches of her mind but as though it came from a person standing in front of her. A great sense of familiarity gripped her for only a moment as well as a feeling she had but could not remember the source.

'You must fight him.' The presence was more prominent, and Daenerys had a flickering second that her own will was able to think and recognize the voice as her own. 'If he wins, our family will be lost to us forever.'

As soon as the first voice began, another emerged. Just as emotional, but far harsher. The presence of this authority weighed on her mind and gripped at every muscle within her into submission to its will. 'Dracarys.'

She heard Euron bellow from across the ship saying something but whatever it was passed by her mind like a quick breeze. All she felt was rage flooding her mind, vengeful and angry rage at the noise of bells echoing all around her.

Commanded by her cold enthrallment to act as she had, She grabbed ahold of Drogon before he took to the skies and held on as she only looked on ahead, shutting out everything else around except what was before her that must burn.

A flicker of emotion, a tiny spark in her core that covered her with warmth in the face of the cold wind - not the rageful inferno of dragonfire but something comforting, like a hearth. Daenerys' cold facade cracked, her lips curving ever so slightly upward at the majesty of ascending to the sky. Of being connected with her dragon.

'Just fly away from here…'

"The blockade!" Euron's command echoed into her ears. "Blast them down!"

Daenerys' lips pressed into the same flat line she'd known when not playing the last mummer's farce for her master. Odd, she remembered nothing but her orders to play a part. The words she spoke, though none of the faces she spoke to even registered. But it didn't bother her.

Nothing bothered her but the urge to stoke the anger that seemed so alien to her. As if her, but not her at the same time. Daenerys' mind couldn't comprehend it, yet wasn't put out by that. She simply did, and was.

Daenerys didn't notice anything, guided only by instinct and drive when Drogon dived down fast. There was a scene of large ships set in a formation in the water. Daenerys ignored all of it. Focusing on where instinct guided her, to obey Euron's orders. The enthralled Drogon knew exactly what to do, merely waiting for Daenerys' command.

Euron's command through Daenerys.

"Dracarys." Flashes of memory of that word, the majestic flame it delivered that incinerated flesh and vaporized rock. Of when she delivered fire and blood to her enemies. A wraith-like warlock, determined to chain her and her sons. A greedy Good Master of Astapor, one whose hands held the chains of a hundred thousand men, women, and children… an ungrateful people with weak knees to whoever they feared more, people who ignored the dark deeds of a tyrant and saw her as the real enemy despite all she had done for them.

Blazing forward through the trail she had created was Viserion, her master on his back. Euron's blue eye glowed bright and such a glow only forced her will into submission more when she saw it. Daenerys heard his sadistic laugh as Viserion's flames touched down upon whatever was below. Him visible through the fog of her mind. Her master. Her master.

'You will never become the Promised One.'

Daenerys heeded the voice. Spurring Drogon forward, the black dragon's massive wings propelling them both towards something unseen. She thought she could hear screams, the cries of the dying or terrified over the roar of an inferno as the howl of the wind bracketing her gave some level of grounding, tearing out her braids - leaving her soot-streaked silver hair whipping in the gusts. Undoubtedly she made for a terrible sight, fearsome and powerful. An altogether incomparable beauty so glorious in majesty and death.

A Targaryen Dragonrider like the Valyrians of old, burning all before them.

Drogon's maw glowed orange-red, ready to ignite at the command dancing at the tip of her tongue. One simple command she had never been so reticent to inflict on her foes. On the foes of her master…

Regret and sorrow gripped at her heart, tighter than it ever had. 'You can change. I couldn't, so you'll have to do it for me.'

Suddenly she cried out, her head exploding in agony. Drogon roared, banking away from the screams and the flames and the death. Daenerys grabbed at her head, the first flicker of emotion filling her expression as she wailed. Begging for the agony to stop.

'Change, Daenerys.'

A voice so powerful, filling her with pain but also a sense of revelation. Guiding her soul away from its cold prison. Daenerys blinked, and blinked again, animation returning to her violet eyes.

A great cry of a dragon filled the air, taking her attention for the mindless task to Euron and Viserion. Struggling to not hurl off to certain death below. Licking flames from a massive gout singed her black riding leathers, Drogon getting some but most bracketing Viserion. Nothing the bronze dragon couldn't handle.

Euron had angled Viserion so that the dragon's belly was in the way of the tongue of flame spraying upon him. "Come and take her then, bastard!" Daenerys' groggy eyes focused on the new threat.

Rhaegal.

Mounted atop was Aegon. He was dressed in black armor and the ruby pommel of Blackfyre glinted in the light of the fire. "Daenerys!" he called out as the dragons began to break apart, wingbeats hurling them away from each other. Voice drowned out by the wind but somehow she heard.

'A dragon is no slave.'

'Kill him!'

"Burn him!" commanded Euron, circling Viserion around to dive upon Rhaegal.

Drogon glided above Gulltown, heat radiating off of him. Knowing he needed to fight but the command refusing to emerge from his rider. Daenerys sat astride him feeling the terrible pressure of voicing pounding in her mind against resistance in her heart.

'Kill him! Burn him! Burn them all!'

Paralyzed, carried only forward by Drogon's beating wings, suddenly Daenerys felt the greatest cold she had ever experienced. One that seemed to extinguish even the slightest flicker of flame in her core. Daenerys fought it, tried to at least, but not before it reached her very mind. Consuming it all.

Bran

It was horrible, simply horrible. The knowledge that this wasn't a memory, but true events in the making added to the pit in Bran's stomach as he watched the destruction of Gulltown from an overlooking rocky cliff.

But the awesome terror of dragons in battle took hold of his senses. Never in his life had he ever thought that he would bear witness to such battles that had only lived now as text of records and memories of stories in history.

"What do we do?" Bran asked.

"We save them," Bearded Bran said, sitting upon a large rock off to the side, not to relax and spectate, but because his strength was stretched so thin. "I freed Rhaegal on my own, but I can't do it again for the other two and Daenerys. Not by myself." Bearded Bran vanished from the boulder and appeared behind Bran, placing a hand on his shoulder. "It's time," He said quietly, looking up to the dragons overhead in their battle.

"Are you sure about this?" Bran asked. "Freeing Rhaegal practically turned you into a walking corpse. What if this is it for you?"

Bearded Bran sighed. "Then you better be ready, Bran. Because I will have done all I can. So let's hope I only look worse than I really feel. Now, are you ready?"

Gulping Bran didn't know what to answer. "How do we do it?"

"It won't be like warging into Summer or Hodor. This will be like trying to push the Wall itself to move forward."

Bran looked at him incredulously. "So it's impossible."

Bearded Bran looked back at him. "Not if we do it together. Your strength is what will make up for my weakness. You just have to follow."

Together, both of them looked upwards to the battle and began to pour their strength into their power of sight, meeting the force against them that was the Night King's power.

Sensation that could not be described to a normal man cascaded and fought against Bran as he fought his way with the Three Eyed Raven against the Night King's power. He felt himself being in the middle of an endless ocean under a powerful storm, being swept by the waves and crashed underneath into the dark depths.

But Bearded Bran was with him, and amongst this great and dark magic, there was a sliver within its force, a single thread they needed to grab hold of to tear away a piece of the Night King's control.

"Do it now," Bearded Bran hissed.

Bran reached out with the sight and found the crack the Wall, the place he needed to apply his strength to most to truly break through. And he did.

The dark magic fight against him slipped by and Bran was able to warg into a dragon and great and powerful strength became his to guide and command. Through the dragon's eyes, he saw Jon and the green dragon circling around, and the black dragon flying to attack them. This was Viserion, the bronze dragon that Bran had freed.

"What are you doing?" A man's voice shouted, and something akin to a rabbit scuffling was happening on the back of the dragon. Was Viserion being hit and beaten?

Flying down suddenly at incredible speeds, Viserion banked around Euron Greyjoy's fleet and began to fly erratically.

"Enough you damn beast!" Euron shouted, but it was in vain.

Though Euron's grip was strong, it was not unbeatable. Viserion dived down again, this time crashing into the ocean itself and suddenly rising back up and taking to the skies again. Craning his neck back, he could see that Euron Greyjoy was left in the water…

Bran felt himself return from Viserion's mind. The Dragon's instinct pushed him away then.

"We did it!" Bran cheered. "Bran, we did-" When he turned to look at his older self, he lost his breath and almost whimpered at the sight. What he saw could hardly be described in a way that could be believed. It had to be seen.

Bearded Bran had fallen to his hands and knees, gasping for air he did not breathe, and his body was turning to ash. It was like he was disappearing from existence. Dark veins formed all over his figure and they began to crack away into nothing, drifting away. His middle and ring finger of his right hand had vanished, the right side of his neck was like a scar of emptiness, and the left side of his belly was falling apart.

Rushing to the side of his older self, Bran helped Bearded Bran on his feet but found that there was no strength in him to stand.

"Not yet," Bearded Bran croaked, "I'm not done yet." He grabbed onto Bran's doublet with his left hand and squeezed it tight. "Neither is our work." His arm shook as he pointed out to Drogon, flying overhead and chasing Rhaegal. "We have to wait to get him back… but you have the strength to free Daenerys."

"What? No, I might destroy her mind like Hodor's!"

"You can do it… it's time you played by His rules, Bran." The Raven vanished, not into the emptiness of whatever death it was that came close, but away from the sight, out of the moment and into memory to rest.

Bran looked up and focused on the small figure that was Daenerys Targaryen. The Night King's rules? He knew exactly what to do.

Jon

That was it then. One more dragon freed from the Night King's control, but Viserion was not lingering to fight. Wounded and battered from what he and Rhaegal had to do, there was no strength left in him for this battle. Wings beating hard, he flew away from it all.

But there was no time to pay any heed to the bronze dragon - he was alive and free and that was all that mattered - for Jon and Rhaegal had to focus on Drogon who was at Rhaegal's tail, snapping and roaring after his brother.

A flash of silver visible on his back, one that Jon couldn't bring himself to dwell on.

Rhaegal dived down, avoiding a blast of fire and swooped hard over a cliff by the sea, the force of it all almost made Jon black out. It was so intense.

"Jon…" The Raven's voice came, filled with such exhaust. "It's time. You have to face her."

Drogon roared and the whoosh of another gout of flame enveloped Rhaegal's tail. He felt his dragon lurch forward as the heat bathed his back.

Taking in a breath, Jon steered Rhaegal to a hill that overlooked the city. The dragon landed fast and Jon dismounted even faster, sliding off the side. "Go on, Rhaegal." Jon said, pointing to the trails of the Iron Fleet that was following at the tail of their leader.

Rhaegal roared and jumped back into flight, chasing after the Iron Fleet and burning the black sails bearing the Red Eyed Kraken.

With the departure of one dragon, another came down and took its place, shaking the foundations of the earth when it landed.

Jon stood alone amidst smoke and flame. The enormous being that was Drogon blocked out all view of the scenery behind him even at the distance away from him. Those enormous teeth were bare and sharp, some still stained faintly with red blood. Daenerys stood next to her dragon with eyes that were paler than he knew them to be.

Jon didn't give the dragon a single glance, for his eyes were on Daenerys. Those eyes and the wicked smile she bore, neither were hers. Damn the Night King and Euron Greyjoy to their doom after death.

"Don't falter…" The Raven said.

He clenched his fists, standing just as he did long ago when he felt the skin of Drogon for the first time after the dragon charged at him. He was utterly terrified that day, knowing one wrong move would be his last.

"Dany!" Jon shouted for her.

Daenerys didn't flinch at all. The only movement was that of her lips forming one word. "Dracarys!"

Drogon unleashed a jetstream of fire that encased Jon and burned through everything it touched, meeting the earth and stone, disintegrating leather and wool.

But Jon remained steadfast, untouched by the flames. Anyone would be marveling at the event, but he pushed forward into the force of Drogon's fire. He held his arms in front of his face, keeping the flames out of his eyes. He didn't even realize at first that he wasn't burning. His heart was racing so fast that it was the only thing he could feel as his armor and clothes burned into ash and the weight of Blackfyre fell from his side.

"Dany!" Jon shouted again, only louder.

Drogon's fires stopped once the breath finished. His amber eyes were still glossed over with a hazy white.

"All your efforts," Daenerys shouted with such fury in her voice, "everything you have done for them will burn and wither before my arrival!" These words… they weren't Daenerys' and neither were they Euron's. It was him, the Night King. "Your efforts to save them are as vain as your existence!"

Jon was now in distance of Drogon simply opening his great mouth and swallowing him whole, but also close enough to Daenerys that he did not think about the Night King, the dragon, or anything except the woman he saw in front of him.

"I didn't come back for them!" Jon replied, "I did it all to save you, Dany."

There was a pause. Daenerys rose up from her seat on the dragon, still glaring but with a deeper interest.

"I came back for you."

The snarl vanished, then reappeared, then she jolted. Twitching… rage to calm to rage to calm and then to some sort of pain… Her eyes blinked, color seeming to return. Daenerys' lip quivered and a tear rolled from her eye. Shaking, her eyes shut, as if she convulsed… Suddenly, Daenerys winced and cried out, eyes flying open as she grasped at her head.

Daenerys

This shroud that obscured her thoughts tore away. All the lucidity and weariness was leaving her and memories began to fill her thoughts and feelings entering her heart.

"This Jon Snow," Ser Davos announced after Missandei had given both men a grand introduction of her Queen in the throneroom of Dragonstone. "He's King in the North." Davos added as though that were supposed to help which, to be fair, didn't at all.

"If you use them to melt castles and burn cities," Jon Snow said on the beach outside the Dragonglass cave as he looked out to her dragons flying over the bay, "you're not different, you're just more of the same."

"I suppose you stare at him longingly because you're hopeful for a successful military alliance," said Tyrion in the War Room of Dragonstone.

"If I don't return, at least you won't have to deal with the King in the North anymore," Jon said, his playful pessimism making her smile.

"I am true to my word," Jon said as all eyes of those in attendance in the Dragonpit looked at him in hope that he could deceive Cersei with one lie, "or at least I try to be. That is why I cannot give you what you ask. I have already pledged myself to Queen Daenerys of House Targaryen…"

"You're not like everyone else. And your family hasn't seen its end. You're still here."

"Ah!" Daenerys screamed as the hold over her mind was ripped away. Her body collapsed and she fell from Drogon onto the ground.

"Dany!" She heard Aegon's voice, but a sudden shake in the earth stole her attention, as little as she could give it through this stabbing pain in her head. But then she felt what could have been large arms wrapping around her body. At First she thought it was Aegon, but peaking her eyes open and letting her tears fall free, she saw it wasn't. Aegon was thrown back near the scorched earth and Drogon scooped her in his talons.

"NO!"

Jon

Falling to his knees, Jon found his arm still reaching out after Drogon. She had been right there in front of him. If only he ran faster then he might have been able to get to Daenerys.

"Bran!" Jon called out to the Raven but did not get a response. "Bran!"

"Jon?" The voice from the sight came, but it wasn't the Raven's… and at the same time it technically was.

"Bran?" This was his brother's voice, not the magical being of memory he knew. "What's going on? Where's the Raven?"

"He's resting Jon, he has to. If you could see him as I do, you would be in shock. It's like he's slowly weathering away like a stone statue."

Jon swallowed. Then that meant the Raven's remaining power was almost exhausted and he would fade into nothing. And the last connection he had to the present would be gone forever.

"Are you able to help then?"

"Help how?"

"Is Daenerys free of the magic? Is she in control of herself?"

"I think so, and so is the dragon Euron had. My other self and I freed him before I did the same for Daenerys. I don't know if I can do that with the black dragon without help. I'm sorry."

"Can you see what's happening?"

"I don't know what to look for." Bran confessed.

"Euron, Daenerys, anything that tells me what's happening!"

"Right. I'll be as quick as I can be."

Turning, Jon saw the grassy rise still smoking and in embers. His clothes were ash in the wind but Blackfyre… The scabbard and the hilt had burned and melted. The blade remained, but the temper was ruined. And the ruby eye of the pommel was cracked in the ashes of the grass.

Jon sighed, cursing in his breath and picked up the pieces from where they laid. The second best sword he ever wielded, now a ruined thing. A sacred monument of House Targaryen. The Iron Throne was one thing, an object of vanity, but a sword is a sword, and Valyrian Steel was more than sharp.

As he walked down the hill in silence, he saw a small troop of horses on their way to him. One man jumped off and removed his cloak. It was Andar Royce.

"Your grace!" Andar came forward and wrapped his cloak around Jon, finally giving some dignity to the situation. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine." He looked back at the rise and was starting to acknowledge what had just happened. He did it. He stood against fire and didn't burn. But that wasn't enough to get Daenerys back completely. But it was enough to get close. She was out of Euron's control, out of the Night King's control. Now all he had to do was rescue her from Euron's captivity. "Secure the city first, hunt for survivors, put out the fires. We have to recover from the flames."

"We hastened as many of the smallfolk out as we could, by the Mother's Mercy." He wiped some sweat off his brow. "I'll have some clothes found for you, your grace. Perhaps it's best if you wait here-" Andar was interrupted by a horn blowing from the city and all eyes turned.

"What's that mean?" Jon asked.

"Enemy ships approaching. Euron must be coming back for more!"

"Jon, wait!" Bran's voice came suddenly. "It's not Euron Greyjoy, it's his niece, Yara."

"Those ships," Jon pointed at the Greyjoys banners now visible through the smoke of the city, "those are not Euron's ships. Those belong to Yara Greyjoy. They lack the red eye on the kraken."

"Even still," Andar said, "I've had enough of Ironborn where they don't belong!" Andar drew his sword but Jon grabbed his arm.

"They're not here to fight. They're here to help. The Gods know we need whoever can get now." Andar didn't relax. "Please, trust me." Jon said and it seemed Andar was surprised that permission had been asked at all. Reluctantly, he nodded and sheathed his sword.

"Make safe the city!" Andar mounted his horse and rode back where he and his men came.

Pulling the cloak over his shoulders tighter, Jon sat himself down on the grass, feeling his energy all but leave him. He felt as if he just fought the Long Night all over again, and yet he didn't even raise his sword once.

Half of Gulltown was almost in flames as Kings Landing was. If only he'd gotten here faster, he could have met Drogon and Viserion in the fight.

All was just another reminder of the truth before him. Even with his knowledge, his status, his skill, everything he gained throughout his whole life, he couldn't save them all.