AN: I am sorry for all the cliffhangers, in so much as I am not sorry at all. I am sorry that the updates have been a little less frequent of late — I have had a few hectic weeks, and it's been difficult to sit down and write/proofread.

CHAPTER 21

-Daenerys-

Daenerys had not cowered in her cell, waiting for the script of her death to be ironed out as a suitable pantomime to entertain Cersei. Instead, she had done as she had always done. She had reached out with her heart, with her mind, with everything she had, beyond the walls around her. Once, those walls had been her brother, a cage of family duty. Reaching out had simply been daydreams and her imagination, little more than painting pictures of hope to keep herself from falling to despair. Once, those walls had been the age-old shield surrounding the slavers across the coasts of Essos, and reaching out had been to grasp the hands of those trapped inside and give them the means to fight as they longed to, to take their freedom that had been stolen from them. Once, those walls had been the sea between her and Westeros...but then, her reach grew far, so far, that the once-impassable stretch of ocean became but a merely raindrop in the sand.

If Cersei thought she could keep her dragons from her with some dark and demeaning sorcery as a Dragonbinder, she would see the Dragon Queen's reach spread across the sky as wings and bring the sky down upon the lion's small world.

It had taken time and distance perhaps, but she had seen the Dragonbinder's parasitic grip on Gryves fall away not long ago. She had no doubt the Drogon's indignation would shatter its hold soon, alongside with Daenerys' silent call to him. So it was when the roof shattered above her, and melted stone rained in a ring around her, framing a tooth-riddled maw peering down at her, Daenerys did not flinch. Clarity and calm had returned to Drogon's eyes, replaced with shared ire and wounded pride.

He would have his revenge, as she would have hers.

Climbing onto the great beast's back, the dragon obliterated his way out of the castle keep. Her first thought had been to bring Drogon to the walls, to ensure the Scorpions were destroyed before they could be manned in response to her escape. But as the sunlight exploded over her eyes and the world below slowly came into view, Daenerys realised it was already too late — smatterings of Lannister soldiers and Golden mercenaries were already at their posts, bolts pointing to the sky.

But not at her.

No, her appearance caused panic and shouts, some of the cumbersome Scorpions being slowly dragged to Daenerys' position in the sky. It wasn't long before Daenerys saw, or more accurately heard, what they had been fighting back before her arrival:

"Dracarys!"

The word was strange upon another's tongue, but the effect was the same — dragonfire, bright burning orange shot with ribbons of green, cascaded from the skies, removing Scorpions and soldiers beneath. Though she was grateful, Daenerys couldn't help the fear in her heart; they didn't have time for this. They had to flee, lest that damnable artefact in Cersei's claws turn her dragons against them once more.

"Jon!" Daenerys called over the flames crackling below. Rhaegal ceased his deluge of fire, with dragon and rider turning to face her. She pointed away from the keep with a sweep of her arm and a single command, "Go!"

He did not argue, and the pair made to escape, the sounds of Scorpion fire from those yet standing piercing the air beneath and behind them. Then, in one heart-wrenching moment, Daenerys heard a shot followed by the rending cry of one of her children. A bolt had struck lucky, tearing through Rhaegal's wing and drawing a screech of agony from the sage-scaled dragon. The bolt did not pass through, however; a cruel machination, a barbed end and a bolt attached to thick chains akin to the kind used to bring Gryves down in Winterfell. The bolt bound the wounded dragon in place, flapping frantically with his one good wing to resist the pull of the chain...and inadvertently keeping himself in place.

An easy target. Before Daenerys could bank around to attack the Scorpions herself, another bolt struck Rhaegal's other wing, finally bringing the creature down to the ground below them.

Below...where soldiers and people had gathered...all ready and eager to witness the dragon's fall…

She heard the people cheering as Rhaegal dropped from the skies…

She saw soldiers working to pull the chains tighter, bringing more to suffocate the sky-born creature to the earth...dragging Jon from his back, his sword felling many but unable to overcome an army on his own...Rhaegal squirming, crying…

Sound seemed to escape her ears, merging together in one thick, solid pressure against both sides of her head, muffling and stifling and sickly. Some looked up wearily to the bigger dragon screaming in anger above them, some dared to smirk, assured thatthe Dragon Queen would not rain dragonfire down upon them and burn her own...they were safe closer to poor Rhaegal...a captive...a shield…

The green dragon loosed a plume of fire himself, an orange burst restricted in front of him, harming none at the sides or those clambering on top of him. Daenerys' rage rose, filling her throat with prickling bile; filling her lungs with heavy, dragging breath; widening her eyes with fury and disbelief of the evils below her.

People with knives and blades, trying to pry dragonscales from the fallen, living creature. People trying to tear membrane from his wings. People simply watching the Lannister guards bind and capture a dragon before their eyes, entertainment for their whooping and cheering. Sounds that brought her mind back to the day Jorah was almost executed amid a symphony of similar sounds.

There is nothing to save here, she thought to herself numbly. I have reached out to these people to save them from their chains...and they have chosen to strangle me with them.

The thought brought a flurry of fast-firing screaming, whispering, sobbing, shouting thoughts into her head like a whirlwind, disorientating and all demanding attention:

...I would rather be the Queen of the Ashes than Tyrant of the Vermin.

Burn them all.

Build upon the ashes. Build a better world.

—can't you see? Why can't you see?

THEY HAVE NO PLACE IN MY WORLD.

Kill them all. Burn them all. They're rotten all, rotten all, rotten all…

—can I yet save them?

...do they want to be saved?

They are beyond saving, beyond my better world: burn them all!

The word was upon her tongue. Dancing behind her lips, ready to end the lives of all beneath her. To trample them into the foundations of her better world. She could have done it. One word would end the sneers up at her, end the cheering — they would still be smiling as though victorious, dead before they realised how false their success against the true Queen was.

A single word. One word. That was the power she had, Daenerys knew this well. A single word would set the world aflame, burning and cleansing away all the darkness and evil that had festered for so long. Perhaps the wound could not be healed. Perhaps she needed to cut away these tangled, rotting limbs that strangled Westeros. Save what she could...burn the rest...kill the infection. King's Landing was the heart of this rot, spreading out over the realm. She could end it here…

...I could.

But that's not me.

Daenerys felt the tense muscles of her face twitch and soften, her teeth trembling behind her lips, a mixture of anger and sorrow. A single tear spilled over her cheek as she looked below at the awful people scrambling beneath her like rats, like snakes writhing over each other. They had forgotten — no — they had been beaten and robbed of their better selves. Under a queen who sought only survival for herself, they had followed their leader. Survival was all they wanted, and they would strip away their pride, their honour, their morals to do so.

Despite it all...whether she loved or hated herself for it...Daenerys still wanted to save them. Daenerys still believed they could be saved from the long line of terrible kings and selfish queens. If only they could see a good and just ruler, for once in so many centuries. To see the truth of the better future within their grasp, if only they fought towards it together with her, and not lying bitterly in the dirt as one person clambers over the rest.

I am still a foolish girl who reaches beyond the walls with her dreams…

Such mercy was given to the world, yet not reflected back. In the chaos of Rhaegal's fall, the remaining Scorpions had been turned and aligned to her and Drogon in the skies. It broke her heart, but Daenerys was left with little choice but to move away, silently vowing to save Rhaegal once the skies were safe once more. Weaving from the bolts firing her way, Daenerys resolved to focus upon her true enemy — that Cersei would taste her full and focused fury upon the Red Keep.

She would not risk dragonfire upon the Keep, as she had no idea who may have been help captive after her own capture. At the very least, Tyrion may yet live and be within the walls, Daenerys thought. But the torn-down walls left the Keep without its defences: the Dragon Queen would not need dragonfire to bring this keep to its knees.

Cersei had lot lost her grip all at once, Daenerys realised as she entered the castle through one of the walls Drogon had torn away. It had slipped through her fingers like sand, and she was scrabbling to keep hold of as much or as little as she could. She wanted it all, and kept dropping more and more for her frantic grabbing.

Daenerys climbed down from Drogon, realising how unchallenged she would be; the majority of Cersei's soldiers were outside with Rhaegal. Would the Dragonbinder be called for? Would the false Queen ensnare another dragon for a moment of power? Daenerys did not know, but already the artefact's power no longer scared her. It could hold but one dragon for a moment in time, and as she knew well: the dragon must have three heads.

Her footfalls came quietly through the semi-deserted halls; a few soldiers tried to approach, but were sent running at sight of the black-scaled dragon peering in through the destroyed wall behind the Dragon Queen. But a look sent swords clattering to the ground.

Daenerys took her time, looking this way and that at the Red Keep. Twisted every way — Targaryen, Baratheon, Lannister...power claimed and smeared upon the walls, hoping to hide the emblems of the former kings and queens before them. Daenerys would see an end to that too. Whoever succeeded her would be proud to do so, would embrace the predecessor rather than be threatened by it. Lessons would be passed from queen to king down a line of true rulers, ones who sought to lead and not display power for the sake of gilding their name into history.

She was snapped from her reverie by a heavy footfall staggering into the room. Quickly, Daenerys crouched to scoop up one of the discarded swords, and turned on her heel to face her potential assailant.

"Are you really fucking mad after all?" Came the gruff and unchained voice of Sandor Clegane as he all but broke a door from its hinges to enter the hall. He gave Daenerys a despairing look, as though he had caught a daughter of his with her hand in a cake tin, rather than his Queen taking her castle. "Everyone grinding their arses into the ground to save yours, and here you are fucking running neck-first into Lannister swords! No wonder Mormont's got grey hairs..."

"The Lannister swords, you'll notice, are on the ground," Daenerys pointed out curtly, lowering the blade she had picked up to point at the discarded weaponry. Clegane curled his lip in what might have been half a smile, or indeed, a growl.

"Aye, can't imagine why," he said, jerking his head to Drogon's huge face peering in through the walls. "Maybe the big fuck-off, fire-spitting bastard behind you scared them more than Cersei."

At this Drogon gave a grumbling growl, leering in to the room a little more. Outside, Daenerys could hear a few Scorpion bolts begin clinging and clanging against the stone walls, or indeed bouncing from Drogon's scaly hide. There was no rider to try and dismount now, but the bolts still aimed towards him. They could not pierce his hide, but she could not risk his wings being savagely clipped as Rhaegal's had. Feeling her wordless command, Drogon turned his attention to her before taking flight once more, away from the sailing bolts in the sky and evading the onslaught with ease.

Daenerys' worries were swatted away to irritation as Sandor scoffed. "Right. And now that he's fucked off, what's your plan now?"

Turning, she arched a slender eyebrow at the much-taller man.

"You think my achievements were all wrought from my dragons?"

The man frowned down at her.

"You're as mad as your fucking father if you think they weren't. People don't love you; they're smiling at you so you won't turn them into bastard charcoal. They'd let you pull their sodding arms off and tell you they love you 'cause they know you've got bloody dragons!"

It was Daenerys' turn to frown then.

"If you truly believe that, why are you helping me?"

"Same reason I helped the Stag King to sit on his throne, and his little bastard to sit on it after him. I'll help you sit your royal arse on that throne, because I don't want to die," Sandor grumbled, before stomping off across the room. "You want Cersei, keep up."

Daenerys found the soldiers reacted to Clegane with much the same fear as Drogon. And yet, she felt this was something of an insult to Drogon — the Hound tore these men apart with far more monstrosity than her dragons ever would. Reaching the throne room was pathetically easy; an echo of Cersei's defeat already thick in the air around them. She had had her power stripped away, partly by Daenerys, partly by her people...partly by herself and her unreasonable demands.

Upon reaching the throne room, Daenerys discovered she was late to her own ceremony. Within the room, the looming Mountain stood dutifully by his Queen, and Daenerys felt Sandor tense like a coil at her side. The false Queen turned to face Daenerys, disgust already etched over her features, though whether it was for her or for the man she had been in heated discussion with, she didn't know: Jamie Lannister, standing to face Cersei and his back to Daenerys then turned to follow his sister's line of sight.

Behind Cersei, Daenerys noted to her surprise, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Qyburn was Varys. The bald eunuch, swathed in black silken robes, looked at Daenerys without any reflection of fear or worry — how in Seven Hells had he returned from the Wall? Had Ser Davos failed in his task? Questions for another time, Daenerys quickly decided, as her eyes fell upon her Hand next. Tyrion, looking ragged, beaten, and paler than she recalled was no longer in chains, but standing by—

Her bear knight.

Daenerys couldn't help but feel her heart lighten just a little, a smile threatening upon her lips. He had come to find her, of that she had no doubt. Of course he had…

Sandor moved forward from her side, and in response, the Mountain finally broke away from Cersei's side. At this, Qyburn called out in command: "No! Stay by your Queen's side, Clegane!"

The words brought the Mountain to a lurching halt, the Hound pausing in caution too. Daenerys watched as Jorah's hand gripped his sword at his side, Jamie following suit, Cersei trying to back away without sudden movement that might spur her brother to action. The Lannister man's eyes darted from the distance now between Cersei and the Mountain; was he judging his chances? He had said before he would kill a crowned ruler again in a heartbeat for the good of the people...Daenerys hoped her faith in her father's killer was not misplaced.

For the moment, Gregor Clegane seemed locked between his desire to kill his brother and the demand to protect his Queen. Qyburn had all but stripped the will from this monster of a man, but it seemed such things remained rooted deep within and could yet grow again…

Too late — Jamie's sword was drawn, arching towards Cersei with a cry. Shockingly fast, the Mountain moved to stand between the siblings, a hand grasping Jamie's sword-arm with enough pressure to audibly grind the bones beneath his grip. Sandor took this chance to run forward himself, sword drawn and crashing down upon his brother, the blade slicing through his armour and burying deep within his shoulder.

The man barely staggered back a single step, but turned slowly to face his sibling. Eyes locking with Sandor's, the Mountain gradually, deliberately, hoisted Jamie Lannister up by his mangled wrist, the man writhing and hissing to try and release himself. Sandor gave a growl of his own, pressing down on his blade that he might cleave his brother in twain, but the Mountain's free hand effortlessly struck across his the Hound's skull and sent him clattering to the ground without his sword in hand.

Daenerys could only watch as Jorah ran to stand between her and the monster that guarded a now-grinning Cersei, the Lannister woman's eyes sparking with confidence that could only have been born of a finally-shattered mind. If this was a victory, a success to anyone's mind, Daenerys could not fathom it.

Gregor Clegane moved again, removing his brother's blade from his shoulder with a sickening slurp of flesh, then turned to face the Lannister man hanging from his grip.

She'll command him to stop, Daenerys thought numbly, as the Mountain drew the sword back in preparation to swing the blade at the helplessly-dangling Jamie. She'll stop him before he can—

But Cersei's green eyes were locked upon her helpless twin's. And she was, to Daenerys' horror, still smiling.

She would cut her heart in half to mend her own pride.

"Gryves!" Daenerys felt the name burst from her throat before she could pause to think beyond impulse. The demand brought Jorah huddling into himself, stepping back with a gasp as silver scales erupted over his body and face. He began to stagger forward, enough of a sight to bring the Mountain's attack to hesitation. Arms twisted, horns coiled, teeth pierced out from an elongating skull, talons scraping over stones as limbs lengthened and, in an inelegant unfurling of scaly hide and snarling, the silver dragon rose, clawed wings flattening the great pillars of the hall barely large enough to hold him.

It had the desired effect, bringing the Mountain to pause before the great beast. Daenerys walked forward, stepping beneath the shadow of Gryves' wing to sand between him and the Mountain, violet gaze fixed upon Qyburn's monster. For a brief moment, she allowed herself to look at the shocked face of Cersei, a smirk peeling over her own face as she offered her precious shield a command, one Daenerys was sure he would follow and betray the Lannister for.

"Let him go," Daenerys demanded, her voice in harmony to the thunder-rumble growl of Gryves beside her. "And kneel before your rightful Queen."