Jon

"You are my queen, now and always," Jon Snow promised. She stood in front of him, her white hair decorated with braids. She was happy - Jon could see it in her blue eyes. He wondered, briefly, if his eyes betrayed his emotions the same way. Could she see the pain I feel? If she did, she would be worried. Instead, she leaned forward and kissed him. For the final time, Jon kissed her back. His eyes were shut, his mouth still pressed to hers, as he unsheathed his sword. He heard it's metal, but she must not have. She trusted him. She kissed him harder, pulled him closer.

Jon plunged the blade into her abdomen, flinching as he did. Her kiss froze until, very slowly, she pulled away, looking down at her wound. There was nothing else for Jon to do. Her eyes rose up to meet his. Confused, betrayed, upset? He couldn't read her eyes anymore. Perhaps it was a mix of the three. He almost apologized, but he stopped himself. He only stood, his arms around her, without anything to say. Wide eyed, Daenerys fell.

Catching her body, Jon lowered her gently to the ground. Her breaths were short and quick; her mouth moved as if to speak but there was no sound. Blood appeared at the corner of her lips, then at her nose. The life faded from her slowly.

Daenerys fell limp in his arms. Unmoving, unbreathing. Only then did Jon realize that he had not been breathing himself. He took a gasp of air. His quick breaths turned to sobs. "I'm sorry," he whispered into her chest, holding her close to him. "I'm sorry."

He looked down at his sword, the handle bearing a wolf, the symbol of Winterfell, but it was not Winterfell that brought this action to him. It was not the words of Tyrion Lannister, or even the warnings of his sisters, Arya and Sansa. With all those voices in his ears, Jon was surprised to find that the loudest of all was Jeor Mormont. It had to be seven years ago now that Jeor spoke in front of the Night's Watch. Seven years ago that Jon stood beside Sam and so many others, most of whom are dead now. Yet it was Jeor's words that echoed in Jon's mind: "A man of the Night's Watch lives his life for the realm."

"I am a shield that guards the realms of men," Jon whispered his pledge to himself. That was the vow he had made, the one he planned to live by. He had a duty to the realm. Jon looked up again to the ashy sky. The realm was burning still. In the streets of this very city, Jon had witnessed the men, the women, the children burning, burning at his Queen's command, after the bells had rung. It shouldn't have come to this. They wanted Varys to be wrong, but Varys put the realm first, and that what Jon had sworn to do too. It was his promise to the Night's Watch that drove his sword into Daenerys.

Below the Great Hall, Jon could hear Drogon stirring. The dragon let out a screech and stretched his wings. He would have to go now, Jon knew. If he stayed, he would die. A new thought filled Jon with horror: Is the dragon controllable? Perhaps he had just created a new problem for the realm. After all, when has death truly ever solved any of this kingdom's problems? Without Danerys, what could stop the beast from burning down village after village, from Sunspear to Castle Black?

Another cry from Drogon echoed along what was left of the Red Keeps walls, and again Jon told himself to go, leave Daenerys here before the dragon finds his mother dead in Jon's arms. Jon didn't move. He stayed on his knees, holding her body.

The ground beneath him shook as Drogon climbed the wall. The dragon's head stretched close to Jon, taking in the scene and finally, with no time left to leave, Jon set her body down gently atop the ash. Drogon growled, staring down Jon as he stood up. It was too late for Jon to take his sword back, but what chance would a sword have against a dragon?

The beast sniffed his mother, nudging her body with his nose. Soft cries escaped Drogon until his face rose with anger. He bared his many sharp teeth at Jon, growling, and his mouth opened. The thought to run did not cross Jon's mind. First, he had seen the power of dragon fire and knew that there was no point in running now. The flames would reach him. In addition to that though, he stood ready to face his crimes. Jon had murdered the queen, and now he would burn for it.

The dragon screamed to the sky first, his large wings raised, and then he looked back down at Jon. Jon's eyes lowered, looking straight ahead. He didn't want to see the fire strike, he only waited for it. The hiss of flames came first, followed by warmth. The fire surrounded him, engulfing him. His clothes, the black leather armor he wore, caught fire and shriveled until they fell to the floor. And yet, Jon stood, feeling only warmth.

Eventually, Drogon's fire stopped coming. The flames still surrounded him, growing smaller now. He looked down at his own hands first. They were black with soot, but unharmed. At his feet, Daenerys lay still, untouched by Drogon's fire. Jon looked to the still smoky sky. "Why?" Jon called out. "Why spare me again? I'm ready to die! I've done my duty." Jon fell to his knees in front of Daenerys. "I have nothing left to give this realm."

Drogon curled up beside Daenerys, his nose laying inches away from her body. The dragon lay there looking sadly at his dead mother and Jon, naked, knelt in the ashes to cry over her as well.

He didn't hear Arya approach until she spoke. "Stand up," Arya commanded. She held out her own cloak, putting it over his shoulders.

Jon glanced over his shoulder, looking at where she stood. "Stand up," Arya repeated, her dark eyes shifting over the room.

"How long were you watching?" Jon asked, unmoving.

"I wanted to make sure she didn't kill you," Arya replied. She looked down at Daenerys. "Stand up," Arya said again. "We can't stay here."

"You go," Jon said. "I'll face the consequences for my actions when they come for me."