—Outside the gates—
Riding atop Drogon's back, Daenerys—wide-eyed and fighting a frantic energy—continued having her dragon unleashing torrents of flame across the ground – engulfing much of the royal forces either fighting Dothraki and Unsullied or avoiding to flee the chaos, laying waste to any aspects in her path. With the scorpions and other long-range artillery along the parapets disabled, the Dragon Queen needn't worry about any distractions or threats posing to her or Drogon.
Hours had passed. Yet despite it snowing, the blood of the sun pierce through the heavy, thick clouds and grey skies as if were set on fire.
"Dracarys!"
*WHOOOOOSSHH!*
Drogon unleashes more powerful streams of flame, decimating the surrounding lands near the ruined city gates and consuming both soldier and militiamen of the royal forces alike. Just beyond, innocents within the city witness the fighting grow increasingly closer and flee as quickly as they can—screaming and panicking. Drogon turns sideways to make another pass, constantly spewing his deadly torrent of flame. Inside King's Landing, buildings and the surrounding structures alike that remained ablaze with wildfire collapse.
Despite the fate of the Seven Kingdoms hanging in the balance, the battle wages on and the military defense of the city continues to mount. Mercy or ruthlessness… these notions had no sway within such a pivotal moment. On the ground, Grey Worm breathes deeply, cold relentlessness in his eyes as he engaged with Brienne in a fight. As they did so, Olyvar continued to do battle with Jaehaegon—clashing steel against each other. One by one, bells rung loudly throughout King's Landing—not indicating surrender, but instead meant to act as a rallying cry for the city's defenders/saviors.
"*Raaaaaaaaaaarh!*" Drogon roared.
Daenerys, as a commander, observed the battlefield below. Still they resist, still they fight with such vigor. The aura of defiance, she studied. The Dragon Queen landed in Westeros to retake the Iron Throne and be a leader she promised she would be; but the longer the war waged on, the losses continued to mount, the more Daenerys slowly came to realize the cold, unfortunate truth: the people hate her. She was deeply loved and admired across the Narrow Sea in Essos by former slaves she freed, but here in Westeros? It was the opposite. I don't have love here. I only have fear, she realized. No one loved her, no one supported her. She was both hated and despised. Despite her contribution against the Night King's undead army at Winterfell, she now understood the Westerosi people's coldness and lack of love towards her. To them, Daenerys will always be portrayed as an evil, foreign invader and her rival claimant Daveth Baratheon will always be their beloved monarch. And the recent revelation that Jon Snow's real name is Aegon Targaryen, last surviving son of her eldest brother Prince Rhaegar, his claim to the throne is much stronger than hers – despite him abdicating his position. You lied to me, Viserys. Illyrio. Connington. All of you lied to me! You left me with nothing!
"You weren't made to sit on a chair in a palace," she vaguely remembers Daario Naharis's words. "You're a conqueror, Daenerys Stormborn."
"All right, then. Let it be fear," she quietly conceded. I will take what Khal Drogo promised me. With fire and blood, I will take it.
If they will not follow her based on love like she hoped, then every man, woman and child in Westeros will follow her out of fear. And the Dragon Queen will instill fear and submission among the populace here today; and after the royal armies were scattered, Daveth will be next on her list.
"*Raaaaarh!*" Drogon roared again.
*TWANG!*
*ZOOOP!*
A ballista bolt shot through the sky and swished past Daenerys and Drogon, narrowly missing them both. Someone had taken a shot at her! Swiftly turning her head to the right, Daenerys spotted an adolescent young militia firing off a single yet still functioning long-range artillery weapon. His eyes immediately widened and quickly backed off but fell backwards onto his butt and scurried away before realizing he was close to falling off the city's parapets.
Giving a long, hard death glare at the youth, Daenerys has Drogon fly down to confront him face-to-face. "You would lay your hands on your rightful Queen? So be it then. You will be punished accordingly. I, Daenerys of the House Targaryen, the First of My Name," she begun, "Breaker of Chains of Mother of Dragons, sentence you to die…" She motions to Drogon. "Dracarys," she commands.
Drogon's huge brow lowers and its pupils dilate, raising its lips over its teeth as long as short swords. The dragon rears its head back and slowly opens its jaws. From there, a fiery build up is seen deep in its throat. But before Drogon can burn the militia youth alive with dragonfire, the dragon is suddenly hit from the side with tremendous force.
*WHAM!*
"*Wreaaaaaaahhh!*"
With the impact nearly equivalent to that of a massive tidal wave, Drogon screeched in surprised as it was flung throughout the air trying to steady its balance. Daenerys exclaimed and held onto her dragon's spines, groaning as she tried not to fall off. Once fully stabilized, an enraged Drogon beat its wings in the air and hissed, turning in the direction to where the surprise attack came from. Subtle at first, yet unmistakable. Its snout easily picks up the scent. Daenerys was just as shocked, heartbroken yet furious all at once.
"*Raaaarraooour!*"
Shaking its head, the assailant was Rhaegal – with Jon Snow hanging onto its spines. The smaller dragon hit its brood sibling dead in the center of its body, throwing Drogon's enormous weight in a tumbling motion in the skies. But being relatively larger and more powerful, Drogon quickly recuperates.
"You…!" Daenerys seethed.
"Stand down, Daenerys. It's over," Jon called out to her. Even though they were enemies, the White Wolf had at least hoped to at least reason with his aunt peaceably. "No one else has to die for one party's bid to claim the Iron Throne. Call it off. The world we need has to be a world of mercy."
"Oh, it will be, Aegon… my dearest nephew," she retorted, "but it will be done by my hands. I'm here to free the world from tyrants and remove those who stand in the way of making the world a better place, removing those who despoil it with their filth. The Iron Throne, the Seven Kingdoms… all of it is mine by right! This is my kingdom! MY destiny! Dracarys!"
"*Raaaaarh!*"
*WHOOOOOSSHH!*
Drogon shot a blast of fire at Jon and Rhaegal; the smaller dragon let out a high-pitched shriek as it swerved sideways to dodge the blast and flew off. But Daenerys wasn't one to let any potential threat to her ambitions—her dreams—get away. With that, she and Drogon gave chase after them. For the first time since the Dance of the Dragons in between 129-131 AC, dragon fought dragon in the skies.
"*Reeeeeeeee!*" Rhaegal chirped.
Like Balerion the Black Dread and Quicksilver, there was a distinctive size difference between the two modern dragons. Like Balerion, Drogon was much larger and stronger compared to Rhaegal—who was smaller and weaker than its brood sibling, but made up for it with its speed and maneuverability. Jon and Rhaegal hadn't had the time to bond as the green dragon bonded with Daveth at Winterfell yet had no choice but to learn fast.
*WHOOOOOSSHH!*
Jon grips Rhaegal's spines tight above the devastation below and guides the dragon along the coastline away from King's Landing, taking stock of the battle. At the same time, he occasionally glanced over his shoulder to see Drogon and Daenerys closing in on their position; both rider and dragon acted with smooth fluidity and perfectly that Daenerys mastered Drogon for several years. Flapping its wings hard, Rhaegal roared as it tried to desperately outrun Drogon. It again breaths an arc of fire behind the duo, who try to speed sideways and away. Jon gasps for breath and strains against the inferno threatening to swallow him and Rhaegal.
I can't keep going in a straight line like this. They're too well synchronized and coordinated in their movements. I've got to find a way to shake them off, the White Wolf thought to himself. Veering his shoulder to the right rather roughly, Jon directed Rhaegal to take a sharp right turn. The green dragon maneuvers to weave an evasive path with incredible speed, its right wing barely skimming against the Narrow Sea's surface.
*WHOOOOOSSHH!*
Drogon never took its eyes off Rhaegal and belched another flame, making the ocean boil and sending up a gout of water walls so high into the air, specks of salty seawater splashing against the faces of both combatants. Drogon's fire-breath filled both the skies and the water it was thought the entire Narrow Sea and whole sky was aflame. From a distance, it appeared as if it were an unfair aerial duel. No matter how fast Rhaegal flew, Drogon would almost always close the gap just as quickly.
Such disobedience. I believe some discipline is in order. Aegon, Rhaegal… what you two need is some tough love, Daenerys glared at them.
Closing in on their position, Drogon's jaws snapped shut within inches of Rhaegal's tail. Both dragons screeched, shrieked and roared; one tried to get away, another tried to ensnare its opponent. Straining, Jon steered Rhaegal left and right to move away from Drogon's teeth, every time the larger dragon's teeth clamped again at its brood sibling's tail.
"*Reeeeeeee!*" Rhaegal screeched.
The sounds each dragon made could be heard from a dozen miles away. Seeking to get away, Rhaegal raised its tall up and slammed it down hard against the ocean's surface. The impact splashed Drogon and Daenerys in the face; the larger dragon roared in anger as it shook its head from side-to-side. Taking advantage of the distraction, Jon leaned back – motioning Rhaegal to fly upwards.
Daenerys wiped the seawater out of her eyes to catch sight of Jon and Rhaegal flying high and directed Drogon to pursue them. They had already gotten a significant distance ahead of them; it was a straight ascent into the sky. Daenerys shields her eyes as she looks for where her adversary went to. Once she and Drogon flew past the clouds, the scenery reminded her of the battle at Winterfell. Peaking left and right, her senses were on high alert. No sign of Jon or Rhaegal yet.
Until…
"*Raaaaaaaaaah!*"
Hearing the faint cry from behind, Daenerys turned her head – but was blindsided when Jon astride Rhaegal had the smaller dragon rammed Drogon again from the side with incredible velocity. Both dragons let out a shriek as Rhaegal quickly raised the claws on its feet to latch on to the unprotected left flank of its larger brood sibling, locking the two dragons in a vicious mid-air melee above King's Landing, flying jerkily closer towards the ground; Rhaegal was racking with both claws and fangs. Although Drogon screeched in a mixture of pain and anger, its scaly hide was thick and tough. Otherwise, the damage looked relatively minor.
"*Wooaaaaaaarr!*" Drogon roared.
"Get off!" Daenerys yelled. "Dracarys!"
*WHOOOOOSSHH!*
Shaking its body, it was easy for Drogon to shake Rhaegal off and turn to face the smaller dragon before belching another stream of fire. Swerving to the side, Rhaegal countered with flame of its own. Both dragons proceeded to dodge and burst fire across the sky. Raising their wings back, Drogon charged and gripped onto Rhaegal's shoulder and thigh, swinging its body mid-flight before releasing—sending both Jon and Rhaegal spinning in a tumbling motion.
The wind howls, clouds of snow hang in the air. Both Jon and Rhaegal tailspin out of control from the force of Drogon's throw and fight to regain their flight; it was a long descent before Rhaegal managed to regain control, until Drogon dove down upon them again. The larger dragon sank its teeth onto Rhaegal's tail, shaking its head left and right until it swung them away again. Daenerys was still not satisfied; disappointed with Rhaegal as she was, the Dragon Queen remained ever so determined to finish off another rival… even if that rival is indeed her only nephew.
"*Raaaaaaaar!*"
"*Woaoaaaarouuu!*"
Rhaegal screeches in pain as it spun out of control again and struggled to continue flying. Jon strained trying to keep the green dragon hovering; glancing down, the White Wolf noticed that King's Landing was quickly coming into view. They were on a collision course! Jon grunts as Rhaegal regains control, nearly being thrown off in the process, but such recovery was brief as again Drogon flew around behind them from the cover of snow clouds and sank its claws into Rhaegal's shoulder. Jon found himself getting caught in between large, meat-shredding claws digging into Rhaegal's scales and ripping away at it.
"*Wreaaaaaaahhh!*"
Exercising the muscles in its powerful jaws, Drogon bit down on the base of Rhaegal's head and continued racking him – causing Rhaegal to shriek in terror and pain.
Below, whatever few defenders remained in King's Landing scrambled trying to rescue civilians from the blazing buildings or looking for whatever few siege weapons remained to keep the Unsullied and Dothraki forces at bay. A small team of engineers climbed a center tower in the middle of the capital city, luckily managing to acquire a still-functioning scorpion with nearby bolts ready to be loaded.
"Finally!" they sighed.
"Look!" one of them pointed towards the two dragons locked mid-flight.
"Load 'em up!" the captain shouted. "Let loose when ready! Hit that dragon!"
"Which one, captain?!"
The lead engineer smacked his comrade in the back of the head. "What do you think, ya dumb stunted fuck?! AIM FOR THE BIG ONE!" he yelled.
Above, Drogon continued racking its teeth and claws deeply into Rhaegal. Blood was pouring from multiple wounds being inflicted on the smaller dragon. Jon strained and shouted, knowing he was literally stuck in a death grip. Daenerys looked down at them; having been forced to make the decision to sacrifice a disobedient dragon of hers to realize her dream of seizing the Iron Throne and completing her dreams.
"It pains me to do this, Rhaegal… but as my child, you forced me to do this," she said.
*TWANG!*
*ZOOOP!*
"*Raaaaaaaar!*" Drogon roared.
Confused, Daenerys blinked and is distraught when she felt her dragon being forcibly nudged. Drogon eventually released its grip on Rhaegal, allowing it to break free and fly backwards to get some distance. The Dragon Queen glanced down to see three bolts soaring through the air, one missed, but another had pierced through the membrane of Drogon's right wing while the other plunged deep into the flesh on its knee. The mighty dragon lets out a screech of agony and hovers lower close to the ground, remaining midflight. Glaring at its attackers, Drogon hovers right in front of the engineers and incinerates the tower with his fire, incinerating both them and the scorpion with its fire.
Hovering in the air, Drogon latches on to the bolt still stuck in its knee and yanks it free. But in that time, Rhaegal swooped down hard and fast head-on to tackle Drogon. Both Daenerys and Jon grunted and groaned with equal determination.
—At the Eel Alley—
Sansa and the others panted; everyone was moving as fast as they could towards the Old Inn. Behind them, portions of the Red Keep were on fire with a few towers collapsing. Still carrying Daveth's arm over her shoulder, the Wolf Queen's face was filled with worry. By the time she, Tommen, Myrcella, Lyonel, Cassana, Trystane, Robb, Arya, Sandor, Tyrion, Margaery, Ariyana, Lucius, Jaime were racing to reach the Old Inn, Daveth himself was barely conscious. The long descent down Aegon's High Hill was taking a large toll on the Young Stag himself. He had lost so much blood and was leaning forward; Daveth was practically dragging his feet. His ruined clothes were torn and stained, leaving behind him a trail of bloody footprints in the wet marble stones.
"Ngh! Hold on, sweetheart. We're almost there," Sansa tried reassuring him.
Silence; just silent yet weak breaths. His eyes were flickering, but slowly started closing.
"Just hang on, brother," Myrcella stood close to them, "you're going to be all right! We'll get you the help you need! Please don't die on us!"
Passing by the streets, Baratheon, Lannister and Stark men yell while the citizens are scattering in multiple different directions. Nearby, a building collapses from the wildfire; the acrid green explosions speckle the burning city. Ser Davos, having broken through the attack and made it further into the city, had arrived and lent his assistance.
"Come, the inn's not too far from here," the Onion Knight's voice strained as Daveth's weight against his body got increasingly heavier. Poor lad's not gonna last this long until we get him some help.
"Thank you, Ser Davos," Sansa said appreciatively.
"Mama! We're scared," the twins whimpered.
"I know, sweetlings. I know. I'm scared too. We all are."
The entourage pushes as more people rush past them, nearly knocking them over. Lyonel and Cassana squeezed their mother's dress tightly, almost losing their grip but Arya was quick to catch them and held them close to her; Sandor moved ruined debris aside to clear a path; Lucius raises a shield and holds it over the royal family's head for protection.
"Your Grace, over here!" Nora, a local resident, waived them over. "This way! Come on! Come on!"
Sansa and the others quickly hurried over to the Old Inn, carrying a barely conscious Daveth over with them. Pushing their way past fleeing residents, they made their way inside. The Old Inn had apparently been temporarily converted into a makeshift infirmary; dozens of people, wounded and dozens burned—young and old alike huddling in corners—sometimes on the floor; they all writhed in agony, shouting and moaning while little children were wailing. Women wail, cradling their mortally wounded loved ones. Nearby septons and septas prayed, Silent Sisters oversaw funeral rites for those of more serious cases. The pain was bad, but the smells were worse—it stank of ash, death.
"Please fetch me more clean cloths. Fill that bowl with hot water," a woman called out. Upon further inspection, the person in question issuing commands to the scrambling healers was Rosyn—the first female High Septa of the Faith of the Seven appointed to her position two years prior. "Check on our emergency rations."
"We can't go out there! There's a dragon out there!"
"Two! There's two of them?!"
"If we stay here, we'll die!"
"By the Mother, what are we going to do now?"
"Your Holiness, we've lost another one!" a septa cried out.
"That's terrible… May they find solace in the light of the Seven." Rosyn noticed Sansa and the party. "Your Grace! What are y—oh by the Mother!" she noticed Daveth's worsening condition. "Clear the table! NOW! Septa Alora, clear the table! We have an emergency!"
"By the Gods, the King?!"
"Needle and thread! Needle and thread!"
"Get some milk of the poppy!"
"Your Grace, set him down here. Quickly!"
Sansa didn't need to be told twice, straining with Ser Davos to carry Daveth to the nearest table—now cleared of any obstacles. His head slinked to one side, his body didn't move; his eyes were nearly shut, and his breathing remained shallow as evidenced by his chest rising and sinking ever so slowly. It was a race against time. Once they gently set him down, Rosyn rolled up her robe's sleeves and went to work.
"Take off his shirt," the High Septa instructed.
Placing her fingers on the silver clasps, Sansa undid Daveth's black faux leather jacket and spread them further apart to reveal his bare chest. The interior of his clothes was stained with blood which still slowly drained from multiple cuts, but most of it emanated from Daveth's two stab wounds on his left and right flanks—both of which were relatively easy to detect. Still, the sight of it made Sansa's heart ache. One of the elderly septas brought a vial to the King's lips.
"Here, Your Grace," she motioned. "Drink. It's milk of the poppy."
Daveth couldn't even respond.
"Gods, he's still so young," one of the middle-aged onlookers observed.
"Please, Your Grace. Drink."
He opened his mouth slightly; the septa brought the vial and tilted it back. Daveth coughed and choked as the warm white fluid poured down his throat. Within moments, his head felt heavy and disoriented as the anesthetic began taking effect. It was a relatively high dose, meant to intent to induce a state of unconsciousness so Daveth could undergo emergency surgery. Sansa massaged her delirious husband's hand, kissing the top of his knuckles as the septas begun stitching the open wounds; however, the two deeper ones were a much serious issue. Blood was still leaking, and it didn't seem like it would stop any time soon. High Septa Rosyn swore to the Seven she felt her nerves racing. So much bleeding, cleaning gashes…
"Ignore these minor cuts, sisters, focus your attention on these two right here!"
…Du-dum…
"By the Gods, Your Holiness, he's losing too blood!"
…Du-dum…
"His Grace should have sought medical attention sooner! Why did he wait so long?!"
Rosyn inhaled sharply and pushed the needle through to do the first stitch.
"NNnnnngh!"
…Du-dum! Du-dum!…
"What the?" one of the septas exclaimed. "The milk of the poppy should have put him to sleep by now! He's not supposed to wake for a few hours!"
"Daveth?" Sansa hushed. She was doing her best to keep spirits lifted among the panicked populace whilst remaining by her husband's side. "Daveth, shhhh, it's okay. You're going to be all right. These good people are here to help you. I know it hurts, but—"
"Nnnnaaaaah!"
It's… its not stopping. He's lost too much blood. Why, Daveth? Why did you have to do this?
…Du-dum! Du-dum! Du-dum!…
Daveth's body twitched as the needle again punctured his skin; his eyes flickered open and closed, his vision whited out and he gripped the edges of the table hard as some volunteers tried to restrain him so the High Septa could do her work. Rosyn felt her hands grow increasingly wetter, stained with red; the High Septa again threaded the needle through the first open deep gash while Daveth again shouted in pain. She stopped momentarily to wipe his skin—which at this point had become increasingly pale—clean before pressing against them with gauze and wet, hot, damp cloth.
…Du-dum! Du-dum! Du-dum! Du-dum!…
…Du-dum! Du-dum! Du-dum! Du-dum!…
…Du-dum! Du-dum! Du-dum! Du-dum!…
"San… sa…" Daveth uttered weakly.
Sansa blinked at the mention of her name and noticed it was Daveth calling out to her. By the Gods, his face looked so haggard and pale; his blue eyes looked up at her yet were barely open and his breathing was rapid and shallow. The Wolf Queen felt her heart breaking; though she mustered her courage and bravery, she couldn't deny the fact she herself was afraid. The thought of losing her family was constantly on her mind during this pivotal moment as she could still hear the battle raging outside. Still holding one of Daveth's hands in hers, Sansa reciprocated the gesture with a squeeze and places her other hand onto his cheek, brushing her thumb across it.
"I'm here," she replied. "You shouldn't be awake right now. We're getting you cleaned up, see? Everything's going to be all right."
"*Hah, hah* So… sor… ry…"
"For… for what?"
"I… *Hah, hah* I tried my best…"
Sansa shook her head. "Wh-what's there to be sorry about? Don't talk like that. There's nothing to forgive. Listen, don't even try to talk right now. Save your strength." She glances at her children who had by now approached. "Lyonel, Cassana, Torrhen, and our unborn baby, they're going to need their father. So for their sake, try to get some rest. Her Holiness the High Septa's patching you up."
"Where… *Hah, hah* where are they? *Hah, hah*"
…Du-dum! Du-dum! Du-dum! Du-dum!…
Lyonel sniffled. "Here, papa," he approached the surgical table.
"Here, papa," Cassana echoed.
The Young Stag sees his children, yet was still too weak to move.
"Sansa," Arya spoke up. She tried not to bring the mood down, but had to tell her the truth. He's pushed himself too hard this time. Save yourselves the heartache. "Sister… look at him. His wounds are too deep. They're mortal ones."
"Arya!" Robb interjected.
"Don't say that!" Myrcella shouted.
"My brother is NOT going to die!" exclaimed Tommen.
…Du-dum! Du-dum! Du-dum! Du-dum!…
Daveth, severely weak, slowly his head – ignoring the needle threading in and out of his skin. "No… *Hah, hah* no, I… it'll be soon…"
"Daveth—"
"No, it… *Hah, hah* it's alright." He brings a free hand up and places his fingers beneath the golden lion medallion around his wife's neck. "*Hah, hah* I remember… when I gave this to you… How… *Hah, hah* how long ago was… *Hah, hah* was it?"
"Seven years," Sansa answers.
"Seven years," Daveth repeats quietly. "It's been that long already… *Hah, hah* Thank you…"
"For what?"
…Du-dum! Du-dum! Du-dum! Du-dum!…
"Everything. *Hah, hah* I got to have you… You… *Hah, hah* you gave me a… a reason to… to keep going… *Hah, hah* Acquainted seven years, married for four, three children with… another on the way, *Hah, hah* you all gave me purpose again." Daveth squeezed Sansa's hand. "I… *Hah, hah* I want you to know why I… why I came back for you. Why… *Hah, hah* why I couldn't let you die up there."
"Love is poison. A sweet poison, yes, but it will kill you all the same. Or… it would kill my son," the Wolf Queen remembered Cersei's words echoing throughout her mind. At that point, Sansa felt a single tear slide down her cheek. "Because you love me," her voice began to crack. "Me, Lyonel, Cassana, Torrhen, our family… you loved us all." She clasped Daveth's cheeks. "It's okay. You'll be all right. We're together now. Everything's going to be fine. You'll see."
…Du-dum! Du-dum! Du-dum! Du-dum!…
"I… *Hah, hah* I wish I could believe that," his said skeptically. His grip on Sansa's hand was slowly sliding. "But… at least I… *Hah, hah* I got to see you again…"
"Brother," Myrcella choked up.
"I… we won't let you give up, brother," Tommen pleaded.
The High Septa shook her head. "I… I'm afraid there's nothing left we can do," she said sadly. "The King has lost too much blood. Just… just make his final moments peaceful."
"But— There must be something we can do."
…Du-dum… …Du-dum… …Du-dum… …Du-dum…
"Perhaps not all hope is lost just yet, child," Vaeraleah made her presence known. The High Priestess of R'hllor glanced out the window to see Drogon and Rhaegal locked in a mid-flight duel; the dragons were starting to plummet closer to the ground. "There could be another way to save his life."
…Du-dum… Du-dum… …Du-dum…
"How?" Rosyn insisted. "Our medical supplies are almost depleted, King Daveth has lost too much blood from his wounds. In his present state, he will not survive by nightfall. We've got many here facing the same situation."
"You again," Tommen remembered her. "Please, can you help us? Like you did before?"
"Before?" the High Septa asked.
"It's not that simple," Vaeraleah stated.
"It is! It's that simple!" the Young Cub insisted. "You've said your magic healed him before. Twice you've done so! Now Daveth is…" His face dropped. "Daveth is my brother, not just my King."
"I know, child." The High Priestess's red amulet blinked. "But I'm afraid I've used up much of my power against the Night King's army in the North."
Tommen and Myrcella's face further dropped. To them, it was as if they're last chance of saving Daveth's life was slipping out of their grasp. However…
"But," she continued, "there may yet be another way. A way out. The loop in your hole. Whatever fate falls before your brother now, it does not need to be."
"How?"
Vaeraleah sat down next to Sansa and Daveth. "I know a spell, yet it is an old one. Ancient magic from a time before the Doom consumed all of Old Valyria. One so rare it has not even been performed ever since. Those of us in the upper echelons of the R'hllor faith have known about this magic, but there are only two left in the world who know how to cast it properly. I am one of them."
"And this… this magic," Sansa spoke, "it can save my husband's life?"
"It can. But at a great price. Yet that price need not be son unbearable, especially if there is much to be gained in the long run."
"Whatever the cost is, I'll gladly pay it."
"No, child. You misunderstand me. Only death can pay for life." The High Priestess turns to Arya. "Valar morghūlis (All men must die)."
"Valar dohaeris (All men must serve)," Arya replies in High Valyrian.
Vaeraleah redirects her attention towards Sansa. "The mōrī vūjigon. It means 'last kiss,'" she explains. "I will transfer the essence of life I have inside of me to your husband. Like a cleansing fire, it is a bright gift that brings about new life."
"You… You mean you're giving up your own life? For Daveth?" Myrcella looked stunned.
"Preposterous," Rosyn said doubtfully. "Such 'magic' has been a topic of gossip, a spectacle for the locals."
"No, Your Holiness. We've seen it work before. Twice she brought King Daveth back from the dead, and her magic even helped us against the Army of the Dead at Winterfell. Yet… this is the most unorthodox method."
"As usual, you're missing the bigger picture," Vaeraleah said. "It is true that Daenerys Targaryen, Daveth Baratheon and Jon Snow were all three sides of the same pyramid needed to vanquish the darkness plaguing this world, but… only two are needed to save the world from an even greater threat. Daenerys is that new darkness. The greatest threat to your people. Balance must be maintained. To maintain such balance, Daveth Baratheon and Jon Snow must prevail."
"But why must it be them?" Robb interjected. "They've both given more than they possible could and still you ask more from them? How long must this back-and-forth debacle go on before all this… this conflict comes to an end."
"Aegon Targaryen—the man you once called 'Jon Snow' believing to be your bastard half-brother carries with him an intelligent sense of honor and adapts his mindset in a changing world, but is just as stubborn as the man who raised him. Daveth Baratheon is ambitious and wields the same intellectual cunning of Tywin Lannister in his own way, yet is too hard on himself and carries the heaviest burden of them all on his shoulders. Both men carry key tools to make this country's society functionable and tolerable."
"That doesn't answer my question."
"How old is your friend?"
"24."
Vaeraleah placed a hand on her ruby pendant. "I've been carrying on, dragging a body that should have long since faded to dust. 700 years. So many centuries. I yearn for an eternal rest. Let the old sacrifice their lives so the young ones can live."
…Du-dum… …Du-dum…
Daveth turned to face her. As the High Priestess of Asshai began enacting a ritual, vague memories from his past came back. Slow at first, yet her face was now all too familiar. "It was you…" he gasped. "From… *Hah, hah* from that day when I… was sick…"
"Ah. So now you finally remember me," she replied. "Yes, my child. But I'm afraid this will have to be the last time I will help you. Just lie down and go to sleep. It will all be over momentarily."
…Du-dum… …Du-dum…
"Wha… *Hah, hah* what are… San… Sansa…! Something's… *Hah, hah* something's…" the Young Stag's gasps shook and his body trembled. His hand suddenly gripped Sansa's tighter. "*HAH!* SAN— *Cough!* SANSA, DON'T LET ME GO! DON'T— DON— *Cough, cough!*" With each violent cough, blood spurted from his mouth. In a minute, Daveth's eyes slowly rolled back and was unresponsive.
The voices surrounding him faded and sounded like distant humming.
…Du-dum!...
"Daveth!" Sansa screamed.
"Brother!"
"He's going into shock!" Rosyn exclaimed.
…Du-dum…
Removing the ruby pendant from her neck, Vaeraleah felt her powers diminishing. Acting quickly, inhaled and leaned down close. The High Priestess's throat brightened with an orangish-red; using her fingers to pry Daveth's mouth open, Vaeraleah opened hers and within moments flame was being transferred from the High Priestess to the Young Stag. All who were in the Old Inn watched in astonishment as the Last Kiss begun. Sansa watched, still holding on to Daveth's hand while her other wrapped Lyonel and Cassana close to her; Ser Davos looked on – knowing it was a more powerful version of the resurrection spell he witnessed at Castle Black, but remained guarded.
Sansa then glanced down to see the various wounds on Daveth slowly healing themselves, each making a sickening sound as muscles, nerves and bones repaired themselves and put back into position; scratches and gashes slowly faded along with the scars. Feeling her body's strength fading away, Vaeraleah spat out the last of the flame down Daveth's throat and pulled away. Her red hair quickly turned snow white, her robes slowly slid off her shoulders—aging countless years in a matter of seconds.
"It is done," Vaeraleah sputtered weakly. "The future… is yours to make… Live… the way… you… want to…"
Before she could hit the ground, the High Priestess's body gave off a cloud of dust until finally emaciating into a lifeless pile. Her ashes collapsed into a pile and blew across the wooden floors. And like that, Vaeraleah—the powerful High Priestess of the Asshai Red Temple—was gone.
Sansa, having witnessed everything, returned her gaze to Daveth. He still didn't move. Leaning her head sideways, the Wolf Queen pressed her ear against his bare chest listening for a heartbeat. She didn't hear anything at first. But…
…Du-dum…
He's alive! Sansa smiled.
"*RAAAAAAAAAaaAHH!*"
The sound of dragons roaring loudly outside caught everyone's attention; leaning outside to get a closer look, Ser Lucius's eyes widened as he saw Rhaegal and Drogon with their claws and teeth locked onto each other. They were in a fast descending dive towards the center of King's Landing close to the Red Keep.
"INCOMING!" the Old Bull yelled. "BRACE FOR IMPACT!"
Sansa immediately held her family close, using her own body as a shield to protect her children as Lyonel, Cassana and Torrhen wailed; Jaime, Ariyana and Davos protected Tommen and Myrcella; Nora guarded her daughter Vicky; High Septa Rosyn and the other Faith of the Seven clergy prayed for safety and deliverance. As they closed their eyes bracing for the inevitable, it arrived… but was fortunately further away.
*WHUUUUUUUUMP!*
Chapter End
Author's Note: The Dance of the Dragons 2.0 with Jon Snow and Daenerys Targaryen, dragon versus dragon. It became apparent that both Targaryens had different results; one's coin fell on the side of madness, the other seemed to spare the other from their fate. Although Drogon was larger and more powerful, Rhaegal was faster and maneuverable—yet this was a closer battle between these two creatures. With both of them crashing into buildings, tons of rubble are more likely to collapse on top of them. Which dragon do you think survived? And with Daveth, he went into hypovolemic shock which is caused by severe blood/fluid loss caused by a traumatic bodily injury making the heart unable to pump enough blood to the body. With the last kiss and Vaeraleah's death from it, how will this affect the outcome as we get closer to the end? Stay tuned for more updates!
Dragon Whistler: Aw damn. The suspense is killing me! Please say he lived!
—The last bit should've been more obvious
The Three Stoogies: A great chapter keep up the great work but how many more times can he die
—It was the third and final time
Turner1416: wow I thought Daveth was going to die and the unborn baby was going to be name after him
Lex-in-Affex: Yay! Daveth lives! Had me going there for a second.
ABEBAOBDU: man I know this isn't the right time to say this but I loved this story really from start to finish it was an epic journey, one filled with betrayal but also one of love it's nice to see a fanfic in which the hero struggles a bit before overcoming the odds. This story was the first fanfic of GOT I read and I have been following jt ever since.
The ride is about to end but this story will be one I always will jeep close to my heart literally my first and favourite story.
THANK YOU for dedicating so much in this story.
Bvh: Great chapter on trials and tribulations of the oathkeeper so can you please put up the next chapter to the story now please
Guest #1: Nice
C.E.W: So Daveth lives after all, how wonderful.
The Dance of the Dragons still rages as Jon riding Rhaegel and Daenerys riding Drogon battle each other. Daenerys fights for control and will gain it at any cost, and Jon fights for his loved ones and the safety of the people of Westeros. There is only one way this battle ends, either Daveth dies, or Daenerys does.
Daveth has been saved from death one last time. The Unsullied and Dothraki still attack King's Landing, if Daveth can recover quick enough he can rally his forces to defeat them. Like Thorin Oakenshield against Azog the Defiler at the Battle of Five Armies in the move. Grey Worm leads the ground assault while Daenerys battles Jon, so if Daveth can kill Grey Worm then it can cripple the leadership of Daenerys' army. Ultimately however, Daenerys has to die so that her armies to scatter without her the unity of the Dothraki and the Unsullied dies.
RHatch89: Such an awesome update :)
Bio RL: I thought that Sansa will die with the kiss xd
—Nope. She's alive.