All Game of Thrones universe belongs to GRRM, DB & DW
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Stones. Rubble. Ruins. Ashes.
This was all that was left of the Throne Room of the Red Keep, almost completely destroyed, like the rest of the castle.
The room must have been beautiful once, thought Jon Snow as he entered, but there was almost nothing left of it.
Most of the columns had collapsed under Drogon's onslaught.
The slabs were cracked, broken, split, blackened by the flames.
The ceiling had completely collapsed, revealing the dark, almost smoke-black sky. The ashes were falling into the room like snowflakes, and covered the floor with a powdery layer.
Only the Iron Throne remained intact, as frightening and uninviting as what Old Nan had told him since he was a little boy, with swords pointing in all directions, as if the Throne would pierce anyone who tried to sit on it without being worthy.
The throne of Daenerys.
The one she had conquered by fire and blood.
But Jon Snow remembered what she had been told.
You are Aegon Targaryen, the fifth of your name, son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark, and rightful heir to the Iron Throne.
So, according to Sam, his brother, sisters and Varys, it was his throne, not Daenerys'.
But he didn't want it from the throne. He was convinced that Daenerys would be a good queen.
A righteous queen. A magnanimous queen. A merciful queen. A benevolent queen.
He had told her so. He had not stopped telling her.
You are my queen.
He wasn't so sure anymore. Did she deserve to be on the throne? Was she better than all those she had called tyrants, torturers, now that she had decimated almost an entire city?
Unfortunately, no one was there to give him the answer anymore.
But he found part of it when he saw two black shapes on the ground, two shapes that looked nothing like the fragments of wall and ceiling that littered the floor.
Two bodies.
From a distance it was impossible to guess the identity of the two people, but it was when he approached that he recognized them.
Cersei and Jaime Lannister.
Covered in blood, dust, and ashes, they seemed almost peaceful under the sky, as death had fallen upon them as misery fell upon the world.
It was something else, however, that caught his attention.
Crying.
A baby crying.
And it was when he leaned closer to the two bodies that he saw a screaming baby nestled in its mother's arms.
What was he supposed to do? If he left the baby here, he would surely die. But if he took it with him, what would Daenerys' reaction be? Would she let Cersei Lannister's son or daughter live? No, certainly not.
But as the baby continued to cry, he knew what he had to do.
He took the infant, pulling him from Cersei's deadly embrace.
The newborn's crying stopped immediately when he was in Jon's arms.
The baby opened his big green eyes and put them on him.
Jon continued to look at the baby, not knowing what he would do with it, or how he would hide its existence from Daenerys.
''She seems to like you, Jon Snow.''
He was startled when he heard the voice, a voice he'd only heard once, but he recognized it anyway.
The voice of Cersei Lannister.
He looked at the queen, and saw that she had opened her beautiful green, emerald green, wild fire green, and that she was now watching him hold her daughter.
''You are not dead.''
It wasn't even a question. It was a simple statement, as useless as it was.
''Finely observed," Cersei replied sarcastically.
Her breathing was panting and labored, she was wounded, gravely wounded, it was obvious, and yet she continued to fight, to fight death, as she had always done, a true lioness, to the very end.
''You're going to die.''
''It's likely. In any case, if I don't die within the next few hours, your queen will.''
And Jon knew that too. He had seen what Daenerys did to his enemies, to those who opposed her and to those who refused to bend the knee before her.
She herself had told him so.
I have no love here. I have only fear. But so be it. Fear will suffice.
Fear. Fire. Blood.
And that's exactly what awaited the queen. Fire and blood.
He was interrupted in his thoughts by Cersei.
''I always thought it would be one of my brothers. Tyrion, to be precise. But it seems I was mistaken.''
When she told him this, Jon Snow understood what she meant.
But he couldn't. If he did that, he would betray Daenerys. He would betray her, by not giving her one of her enemies.
He would betray his word. He would betray the word he had given her, the oath he had taken on his honor.
But, after all, could he let yet another person suffers? A person who, despite all the atrocities she had committed, remained a human being? Could he let another person perish in the fire of the dragon? Could he let more blood flow?
Fire and blood.
The motto of the Targaryens. The motto of Daenerys. His motto.
"I know what you're thinking.''
Jon looked at Cersei carefully.
''Your father was a man of honor, too. I had a lot of respect for him. But he was an idiot. An honorable idiot, yes, but an idiot all the same. And idiots can't win at the game of thrones.''
''I don't want to win at that game.''
'''You have no choice. When you play the game of thrones, you win or you die, there is no middle ground.''
''This game is over.''
''This game never ends and will never end. Many people have tried to end it, but they have always failed. To stop it, a good monarch would have to sit on the Iron Throne.''
A good monarch.
He had been persuaded that Daenerys would be a good sovereign, but was he always sure?
And that's when he knew what the right choice was.
He looked at the little girl in his arms and laid her back against her mother.
He pulled out Longclaw, and, holding it before him, he asked:
"Cersei Lannister... Do you have any last wishes?''
With all the pain and sorrow in the world over her bruised body, Cersei unhooked her pendant from her neck and removed the golden hand from the lifeless body of her twin brother.
''Take our daughter to Tyrion... He will take care of her. Give him these, and tell him to give them to her when she is finally old enough to know what really happened. When she asks to know more about her mother and father.
Jon nodded.
''And make it quick, Aegon Targaryen. My brother is waiting for me.''
He nodded.
A rising sword.
Blood. No blood flowing, only a thin stream.
A tiny bit of scarlet blood that flowed through the golden hair of the queen, the last lioness, when life escaped from her body.
It was a few days later, when the few remaining bells rang to announce the death of Daenerys Targaryen, stabbed before she could ascend the throne, and Sansa Stark and Tyrion Lannister were proclaimed Queen and King of the Andals and the First Men, that Jon knew that Cersei was wrong.
Every game has an end.
Especially the game of thrones.
To stop it, a good monarch would have to sit on the Iron Throne.
And now, good monarchs sitting on the Iron Throne were not one, but two.
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Don't be too hard on English, it is not my mother tongue.