A new dawn had settled upon Dragonstone. It had reached the afternoon and Bruda was becoming restless. Nothing particularly interesting had occurred and his hands itched for some excitement. He had chosen to wander the grounds of the castle, something he had done regularly since their arrival at the fortress. He wondered if he would discover something that would reveal a dark history about Dragonstone. So far, he had found nothing apart from the crazed drawings in one of the cells underneath the settlement, presumably from a long dead prisoner.

He was humming to himself whilst he walked down a light corridor, the sun poking through windows high up in the wall. He was ambling along when he heard a commotion around the corner ahead of him, promptly stopping from his musical activity. He gripped his staff tightly as he edged towards where he had heard the sound. Peering round the wall, he was met with the sight of an Unsullied guard crumbling to the ground, a sword piercing his stomach. He was surrounded by three soldiers, clad in dark armour that the warlock didn't realise. The one who had killed the guard pulled his sword slowly out of the dead man, scraping it across the wall in the vain attempt of cleaning it. This wasn't good. He couldn't see any other bodies littering the floor but for them to have got this far inside the castle meant that others would surely be dead.

Shaking his head at the situation, mentally telling himself to stop what he was about to do, he rounded the corner to face them, his cloak billowing slightly due to the movement. The three of them stopped murmuring to one another to examine the new threat. Bruda could see one grin underneath his helmet, probably assuming they were being given an easy target to slay.

"I'm really hoping there has been a giant misunderstanding and you just happened to trip into that man you just killed," he shouted out to them. There was no more than twenty feet between them and, if they were young, they'd probably be upon him rather quickly for his liking.

"Yeah, that's what happened. Now why don't you hobble away before I have to trip into you too," returned the assailant in the middle of the trio. Southern accent. That was interesting. Bruda gave a tired laugh as he flexed his fingers around the metal.

"You probably already realise that I can't possibly do that. You seem like such fine gentlemen so I apologise profusely for having to kill you." That wiped the smile ofs their faces. They charged as one, with the middle soldier sprinting ahead slightly. That helped Bruda in that he could focus on him first. As the sword came down, he raised the staff up to meet it, the sound of metal hitting metal ringing out across the corridor. He tried a low attack next but again Bruda parried. He was soon faced with three swords coming at him at once but his staff was long and so, by holding it out horizontally, he was able to hold all of the attacks off. Yet it was taking a lot of effort. He brought it down quickly to put them off balance, taking the opportunity to land a blow across the side of the head of the man to his right. It sent him sprawling across the floor, Bruda seeing him spit blood as he was on his hands and knees. With a wave of his hand, the man was sent flying across the corridor, his body making a sickening crunch as he impacted with the stone wall. That made the other two take pause, frantically looking as their partner lay dead on the floor. They looked back at Bruda, fear in their eyes now.

"What? Did you expect me to play fair?" They attacked him with renewed vigour for his actions. He had to duck one wild swing but as the arm went over his head, he brought the staff up to the elbow with a high force, causing the soldier to drop his sword. It landed by Bruda's feet but he didn't have time to pick it up as the middle fighter forced him into a late parry once again. He was stronger than the mage and the sword was getting dangerously close to Bruda's neck. He sent of spiral of blue energy crashing into one of the high windows, sending shards of glass raining over the floor by their side. The force of it had caused the soldier to step backwards, giving Bruda enough time to wave his hand in the direction of the glass. The shards began to float ominously as he moved his hand around. The attacker's eyes grew wide and he tried to run away but the warlock shot his arm out, his hand opening, which sent the broken glass flying into his back. He instantly fell to the ground. Bruda had a dangerous look in his eyes.

The final assailant hesitated in front of the wizard. Energy seemed to crackle around him. He was without a sword, which Bruda didn't like. He kicked the sword towards his final opponent. When he didn't bend down to pick it up, Bruda told him to do so.

"Look, I'm not going to kill you when you're defenceless. It's a matter of honour, I'm sure you'd understand." This time he did pick up the sword but, as he stood up, Bruda once again gestured with his staff, blue energy circling the man. He floated an inch off the ground, his hands reaching towards his neck as he couldn't breath. "Why are you here? Who do you fight for?" His voice was loud and authoritative but no answer came. "Fine then. You'll make do as a message to whoever that may be." With that, the man disappeared in front of him, a garbled scream following him. Bruda wiped his hands on his cloak but then noticed something outside the broken window. He looked through the hole and his face became ashen. He began running to the throne room, desperately needing to see Daenerys.

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Varys was sat in his room, hunched over his desk as he so often was. There had been a flurry of notes from across the kingdom, ravens constantly pecking at his window to be let in. It unnerved him that his spies' activity had increased so much since it indicated that the Realm was descending into chaos. And chaos always damaged the Realm. And a damaged Realm meant people would die.

The pile of letters sitting on his desk didn't seem to be shrinking. He had been sat there for a few hours, corresponding with his people out there. There was one letter though that stood out. It wasn't signed off in a way that he recognised instantly, which was the case when he looked at messages from his spies. He took a small dagger and cut through the thin thread that tied the piece of paper before he unravelled it. As he read the words, his hands became numb and he dropped it to the floor. Sweat began to form on the top of his bald head. Always one of such refinement and dignity, Varys forgot all that as he hurried out of his room in search for the Queen.

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Bruda and Varys reached the doors at the same time, coming from opposite directions, but hardly paid any attention to each other as they slammed the doors open to storm into the throne room. The people inside, namely Daenerys, Jorah, Davos and Ser Barristan Selmy, all looked at the two of them quickly in concern. By the looks on the faces, you could tell they already knew something was wrong due to their surprise entrance. Daenerys walked down the steps from the raised dais at the end of the room, rushing to get near Bruda. The warlock looked his age, a couple of scratches on his face and a stance of him bending over in pain showing the discomfort he was in. She stopped next to Jorah as she asked them what was going on and why they had barged into the chamber.

"We're under at…" Bruda began shouting but, before he could finish, a cannon ball came crashing through the wall right next to him, sending debris and the two of them flying across the room. The air became filled with dust from the destruction as they raced over to their comrades. Barristan, Davos and Jorah began removing stones and rocks that were piled around their bodies and were relieved to see that they were still breathing. It was the Scot who removed a particularly large piece of rock near Bruda's head, who coughed and sputtered loudly at the exposure to the dirty air. They were helped to their feet, both of them in a daze.

"What's going on?" Daenerys practically screeched. Jorah looked outside through the hole made by the impact and saw the cause. A large armada surrounded the castle, bearing sigils of different houses. From here he couldn't make them out properly but was sure most of them had the Stag of the Baratheon house.

"Khaleesi, it doesn't matter right now. What matters is that we get you out of here alive." He began directing her to the open doors but Bruda stopped them after a couple of steps.

"No, no," he choked out. "People...in the castle. Soldiers. I fought three off but there's bound to be plenty more."

"Then what do we do?" Daenerys asked the group. She tried to ignore the concerned look Jorah was giving her.

"Dragons," the mage whispered, before sending a ball of blue energy careering towards the back wall, creating a large, gaping hole. He staggered after doing it and only remained upright by leaning heavily on his staff. "Daenerys...call Drogon. Or one of the others. Fly away. Get to Winterfell."

She stared dumbstruck at the plan. "No! I've never flown one of them before. And I'm not leaving all of you!"

"He's right, Khaleesi," Jorah admitted. "If you die, then there's no hope for any of us. It's too much of a risk to take you with us through the castle."

"Why can't you get on with me?" Her voice was frantic.

"If there's more of us on the back of a dragon," Selmy began, "then we're an easier target for the people attacking us. It'd be easier for them to fly with just you on."

They heard a roar from close outside and looked over to see a black wing briefly cover the new hole.

"I think he agrees with that plan," Davos said. Jorah had to force Daenerys near the ruin, not looking at her eyes filling with unshed tears.

"I can't leave you," she whimpered to him.

"You have to. I'll see you at Winterfell."

"I'll protect him," Bruda added. He didn't currently look in any state to do that. Reluctantly, she turned around and hesitantly reached out to the wing. Using uneven scales and horns, she managed to get a solid purchase on it before she began climbing up, making sure not to look down. Not long after, Drogon had lifted off, leaving the four of them alone.

"We need to head down. As deep into the castle as possible. We can use the more obscure route to the beach," Bruda suggested.

"What's on the beach though?" Davos asked.

"I made sure to have something in place if an event like this happened. But I fear that that route was the way these soldiers got in."

"Meaning we'll have to fight our way out," Jorah said, pulling out his longsword from its place on his hip. Selmy did the same and picked up two more, handing them to Davos and Varys. The old man looked at the eunuch.

"Can you fight?" he asked bluntly. Varys eyed the sword carefully, frowning at the way it moved.

"I'm going to have to."

"I'm not much of a fighter," Davos said lightly. Bruda walked up to them.

"Neither am I. At least that means we can't let each other down." Davos nodded at the strange attempt at reassurance.

"What about the others?" Jorah realised. He was met with a grim look from the old warlock.

"Their rooms are lower down so hopefully we'll come across them, whether they're alive or dead. Most of these men will be on those boats, meaning that they won't have sent many here. That isn't their goal." Another cannon ball destroyed an unknown section of Dragonstone in the distance. "As you can tell, they just want to destroy this place. So hopefully they won't focus too much on us when we get outside. When we do, all we can do is pray that my plan works. Although, no doubt they'll be distracted."

"By what?" came the obvious question from Selmy.

"We just told a fiery woman to climb on top of a dragon and leave. Jorah, you know Daenerys quite well. What are the chances of that happening smoothly?" They shared a knowing smile before they all moved towards the doors to face whatever stood between them.

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Daenerys clung onto the neck of Drogon as they soared through the air together. She held on tightly to two well placed horns on his scaly back but her initial fear had melted quickly into brief euphoria. That was before her eyes focused on the ships below and filled with an unprecedented rage. Rhaegal and Viserion had joined them quickly, sensing the large threat of danger. Feeling the scales on the back of her dragon, she was soon able to guide him to where she wanted. He took a sharp right turn, diving downwards towards the enemy fleet. She had no clue who these ships were fighting for but saw their sails filled with krakens, stags, towers and huntsmen. It was an eclectic mix, something that gravely concerned her. As they got ever closer to their targets, all she could see was fire. She wanted to make that a reality. They were soon a top the ships, cannon balls flying wildly through the air but all three of the dragons were always able to easily glide out of the way of the weapons.

"Dracarys."

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Tyrion and Missandei had been having one of their regular chats when chaos had ensued from outside. They had felt the castle shake as it was bombarded with projectiles and they had quickly stood up from their seats. The dwarf had no idea what was happening so could not reassure his companion. They both shared a look of fear before they edged towards the closed door. Once opened, they were met with an eery quiet that had no place in the distant destruction. Looking at one another once again, they slowly walked into the corridor before turning left. It was a maze this far deep in Dragonstone, which made it hard for them to predict where the others would be.

A few minutes had passed before Missandei suddenly stopped Tyrion after they had turned round a right corner. His eyes followed hers to see a soldier in front of them. He had his back to the duo so hadn't noticed them yet. They had made sure to walk quietly, which had allowed them this opportunity. His eyes turned wide as Missandei edged closer to the armoured man. From somewhere on her person, she produced a small dagger and used it to feintly slit his throat. He instantly crashed to the floor, holding his neck in a desperate and futile attempt to stop the blood from flowing out of him. He was dead within a matter of seconds. Tyrion warily waddled up to her, looking at her in trepidation.

"Why do you have that?" He wanted to shout but knew that would attract unwanted attention so resorted to an angry whisper. "And where did you learn to do that?"

"After the incident in the fighting pits, I knew I had to be able to protect myself better. So I started carrying this around with me, just in case. Daenerys actually gave it to me. She was more understanding than you."

"I understand! I'm just shocked. Normally, when I'm involved with a woman and a knife, I'm looking straight at the pointy end."

"That can be arranged." He tried to ignore the threat. Instead he knelt down to examine the body. "Who is he?" He turned the body over slightly, revealing a stag adorned on his breastplate. His hands shook at the development. Missandei saw it too. "Baratheon. So it's Stannis who is attacking us. I warned my Queen about agreeing so lightly to his terms. She stands in his way."

"It's not Stannis. He wouldn't ruin his chances in this way. And he'd lose a lot of support, which he can't afford. Not to mention he has other things to focus on right now. No, I'm saddened to say that this is the work of my nephew."

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The four of them cautiously walked further down the hallway. Varys and Davos were in the middle of the group, with Barristan at the back, constantly looking over his shoulder, and Jorah and Bruda setting the pace at the front. They hadn't said a word since they had left the throne room.

"You know," Bruda began, "I'm incredibly old. As are you Selmy. Same with you Jorah, as well as you Ser Davos. Varys...I have no inkling of how old you are." He didn't pay attention to their collective glares.

"Do you have a point to make?" Jorah bit out through gritted teeth. He was too busy worrying about the fate of Daenerys to deal with Bruda's nonsense.

"My point is…" He stopped talking as they rounded a corner but continued when they knew the coast was clear. "...We all probably don't have many years left between us. I'm certainly on my way out, especially in my condition right now. But when you picture dying, what do you see?"

"I'm at sea. Or on a boat in port, either will do." Davos answered. "The water will always be my home and, if fate isn't cruel enough to rid me of a good death, then I shall pass away peacefully, soothed by the gentle rock of the ocean." Bruda nodded at the heartfelt response.

"I'll have a glass of sweet wine in my hand, dressed in fine silk, overlooking a busy street from a balcony somewhere," came Varys's answer.

"I always said I would die a knight. Sadly, I was stripped of that title so that won't be a possibility," Selmy admitted.

"Nonsense. Once Daenerys is Queen, she can make you a knight once again. So you can have that respectful death," Bruda said. He had to give a pointed look to Jorah to make him answer.

"I always thought I would die somewhere on my own. In a faraway isle, where my past can't reach me. But now…"

"You want to die with a certain someone by your side," Bruda finished for him. "Listen to your answers. What do they all show you? That's my point. None of you see yourself going down in a fight, so make sure that doesn't happen today. None of you will die on my watch."

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Jon swung his sword in a low arc, lacerating his opponent's midriff. Him and Sam had been ambushed whilst walking along a corridor by a group of five soldiers. It was a god send that Jon had his sword on his person or they'd both be dead. The problem was that Sam didn't have a sword so Jon was having to put his body in front of the Tarly boy, fending off multiple attacks. Two of their enemies had already fallen against Jon's longsword but it was still taking a gargantuan effort from the Stark bastard to keep going against such a formidable onslaught.

He parried one attack, two swords locking together as Jon gritted his teeth to keep pushing back on the ever nearing metal. Sam, realising that he had to actually do something to save his friend, produced one of the dragonglass daggers that he always kept on his person and drove it into the shoulder of the fighter. He yelled out in searing pain, moving away from Jon, which gave him the opportunity to finish the job off. Two more to go.

Yet, then there wasn't. The two men, one moment standing in front of them, holding tightly onto their swords, suddenly fell to the ground. As their bodies crumpled to the floor, their absence revealed the cause of their death. Arya stood there holding Needle in her right hand, its thin blade covered in a layer of blood. Jon, not thinking of how she knew to kill someone so effortlessly, just rushed towards her to sweep her up in a hug. Yet they had little time to thank her as they heard approaching footstops, getting closer to them every second.

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Smoke filled the air and flames licked the sky as Daenerys observed the destruction she had caused. The ships, so highly flammable, hadn't stood a chance against the roaring fire of her dragons. She had seen men helplessly fling themselves into the unforgiving water, taking that as the lesser of the two evils. The three dragons had made short work of a large section of the fleet, which came as no surprise to her. What did was how she revelled in the pain she had caused, seeing all these people who wanted her dead burn to ash in front of her eyes. She wanted to worry about that strange sensation but instead prepared to take another dive towards the sea. Yet, before she did, she stopped herself. Not because of her conscience but because something large was coming over the horizon towards them.

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Jon, Sam and Arya were met with a large group of soldiers, numbering at least 15. They blocked the corridor so they would have to fight their way past them to get to safety. If they turned around, they would risk not only running into the line of fire of the cannons but also exposing themselves more easily to the newest set of attackers. The trio stared them down, waiting for them to make their move. Yet it didn't come. The leader of the group held his right hand up as a signal to not move forward. He brought his hands to his helmet and lifted it off to reveal his face.

"Father?" Sam whispered, shock turning to despair instantly. This wasn't happening. This couldn't be happening. Randyll Tarly stood right in front, an angry expression covering his face. He stepped forwards, his chainmail jingling as he walked.

"Samwell...what are you doing here?" The usual tone of disappointment he used to address his oldest son was apparent in his tone.

"Jon...he's my friend. From the Night's Watch. I choose to fight with him."

"Come over here and I may be lenient in my punishment." He gestured to the space by his side. Sam remained where he was, a defiant look in his eyes.

"You're fighting for the wrong side. I understand why. You don't know what's going on so you're sticking to the alliances that have served you well over the years."

"Are you calling me a fool, boy?"

"No. Just stubborn." He gripped a sword he had picked up from a dead soldier tightly as he spoke. That was the final straw for the head of the Tarly family, lifting his hand up once again to start the onslaught. Before they could move though, a line of blue light surged through the corridor. Randyll managed to dive out of the way but the six soldiers directly behind them weren't as lucky, their bodies instantaneously turning into ash as the energy pierced through them. Everyone looked back at where it had come from to see Bruda leaning on his staff, eyes burning with rage.

"Get away from them, you fucking bastards." The corridor turned into a frenzy as people raised their swords to face each other. Jorah was running forward but stopped when he saw Bruda leaning heavily against the wall. When he saw the concerned look, the warlock waved him away. "Just...give me a moment. Used a lot of energy...in a short space of time...and I'm not supposed to do that." His voice sounded tired despite the wry smile that he gave and Jorah wanted to make sure he was okay but a soldier was soon upon him, dragging him into the fight that had ensued.

Barristan was taking on two soldiers at a time and, when it looked like they might get the best of him, Varys appeared from his place by the wall to shove his sword through the back of one of them. The shock gave Selmy the chance to finish off the duo. He gave a brief nod to the eunuch in thanks before getting involved in another tussle. Varys was making sure his back was firmly against the wall so that no one could sneak up on him. He was bred to survive.

Jon was doing his best to keep Randyll away from Sam. He knew that the Tarly patriarch was a much more experienced fighter than his son so would make short work of killing him. Randyll was simply viewing Jon as nothing more than a nuisance and called for another soldier to take over. He only had eyes for Samwell. He was backed up into a corner but remained standing, resolutely holding his sword in both hands, pointing it at his father. Randyll gave an icy laugh before sending a few strikes of his sword. The third swing knocked Sam's weapon from his hands. Another laugh came at him.

"You were never fit to be a Tarly," he spat out in derision.

"You're wrong father. What I have done today has probably made me as much of a Tarly as I have ever been." His words did nothing to dissuade the older man who, in one swift movement, drove his sword into Sam's gut, sending him to the floor. Jon saw it all happen. Anger filled him as he swung viciously with his sword, killing his opponent. He turned to Randyll in rage and they were soon involved in a heated sword fight. Jon's youth gave him a small advantage as he was able to move faster to dodge blows but Randyll used his experience and strength to make sure Jon never had a clear shot. They locked swords and the Tarly man smirked at Jon. He wanted to entice him into making a mistake. But it was he who had made the mistake, he knew that instantly when he felt a sword go through him. He looked backwards and was met with the cold face of Jorah. It was the last thing he saw before crumbling to the floor. The two of them looked at Sam on the floor, holding his stomach in agony.

"Go to him," Jorah commanded. "I'll cover you." Jon practically sprinted to his friend before he took his head in his hands. Sam's face was worryingly pale.

"Look at me Sam!" he shouted. "Look at me! It's going to be okay. We can get you out of here and then patch you up. He probably missed anything important. You'll be fine." He didn't know whether he was telling Sam that or himself.

Meanwhile, Davos was in trouble. After taking out one of the soldiers, two others had targeted him. Not having held a sword a lot of times over his years, he was struggling to fend off both attacks at the same time. His tired bones were beginning to ache and he felt that he was just moments away from misjudging an attack or mistiming a parry. But then Bruda appeared out of nowhere, swinging his staff in a haphazard way. The metal made contact with one of their heads, sending him to the ground. With each swing, Bruda was giving loud grunts, showing how much effort it was taking him to do this. A well timed hit to the shoulder sent the remaining soldier into the path of Davos, who drove his sword down his back. Bruda was looking around and saw that only one more soldier remained. The fighter didn't notice Tyrion and Missandei slowly approaching him but felt a dagger in his left leg as Tyrion shoved it there. Before he could respond, Missandei arced her knife to slit his throat as he turned his head. They had followed the trail of bodies to get there. Silence hung over the corridor now, besides Jon's constant mutterings.

"Jon, we don't have time for this," Bruda said. "We can't take both of them. I'll leave it up to you to make that decision." Jon was confused; the warlock's words made no sense. As far as he knew, only Sam had suffered a serious hit. But then he looked back and saw her body on the floor. Arya was sat against the wall, a pool of blood forming on her midsection. Needle lay broken in half by her side. A dead soldier was face down beside her, indicating that she had been able to take out one of the fighters but it obviously hadn't been enough. He crawled to her and cradled her body in his hands. Her eyes were barely open. She was in a similar state to Sam.

"We can take both!" he yelled at the group, ignoring their sad expressions.

"He's right, Jon," Jorah said, trying to be soothing although he knew it wouldn't work. "We don't know how many men are still waiting for us. We need as many hands free as we can get. I'm sorry."

"Jon…" A small voice rang through the hallway. Sam was using his last strength to talk to his best friend. Jon moved back to his side after Tyrion took hold of his sister. "You know what you have to do."

"I won't do it."

"It's an easy decision to make. You'd want me to do the same if I were in your position."

"I don't want to leave you here when you're suffering."

"I...I can do something about that," Bruda added solemnly. Jorah looked at him. He had never seemed older than right then. Jon, tears in his eyes, nodded reluctantly.

"Will you tell Gilly about what happened. She's alone with Little Sam, I'd hate for her...to worry." He was losing his strength now.

"Of course I will," Jon promised. They began walking away, Jon picking up Arya as they did so. Jorah and Davos looked back at the warlock who looked forlornly at the dying man.

"I'll catch you up. This is my duty now." He bent down with a slight groan and gave a sad smile to Sam. "You fought well out there. You probably saved one of us." He didn't really know what to say. It was a long time since he had been forced to do this. His hands shook as he brought them to Sam's temples but all he could think of was her. Isabella. It still pained him now.

"Thank...you," Sam whispered. "I think I proved everyone wrong in the end."

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Less than two dozen of the ships remained. Most of the fleet was slowly sinking to the ocean floor, roaring flames only being extinguished by the icy touch of the water. The men who still survived through luck were trying frantically to turn their ships around in the vain hope of outrunning the dragon. They prayed that, if they were seen to be fleeing, it would take mercy on them. They didn't have to worry about that for long.

The first cannon ball whistled past a mast. The second smashed into the hull. Men were flung into the air as the projectiles hurtled into what had been the armada. Greyjoy ships, in a straight line across the horizon, sailed quickly towards them. Yara and Theon Greyjoy stood at the helm of the ship furthest in front of their fleet as their attack began. Coming from behind, coupled with how the other ships had been facing the castle, gave them a massive advantage in the battle. They were picking off the last survivors that remained after the dragon attack.

Daenerys, still riding Drogon, watched this happen in fascination. She realised that the new ships must have been sent by Stannis in a last ditch attempt to help her. It strengthened her resolve in that she had made the right decision with regards to their alliance. Yet she wanted to show him that she could have coped on her own. She wanted to illustrate the full power she possessed. She noticed one ship slowly going below the surface of the water and looked at the flag that half hung from the mast. Two towers. She remembered Jorah and Jon discussing the Frey family and how their allegiance wouldn't be known until the last minute. It was strange to think that they had been wrong about that particular family's actions.

Making her mind up on what to do, and looking back at the castle hoping that Jorah had survived the attack, she began to fly away with her three dragons, intent on finding those two towers.

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They ran onto the beach as they emerged from an iron gate. They had been lucky that only a few other soldiers had been in their way, realising that most of them would have gone to the throne room to take Daenerys. They stopped to look at the destruction and chaos that was occurring on the water. The numerous fires told them that the Dragon Queen had attacked them, proving Bruda right. He and Jorah looked up to the sky and saw the distant silhouettes of the dragons flying off into the distance. They both shared a worried and grave look, not knowing what she would do when she was this angry.

"You said you had a plan," Jorah pointed out to the warlock. He nodded and led the group over to an isolated arch around the corner. The alcove, hidden by the large rocks in front of it, was incredibly large but that didn't surprise them as much as the ship sitting on the water inside it. Daario, seeing them approach, barked some orders to the few crewmen that were onboard.

"Do you remember me having a word with him? I was worried something like this would happen, especially with Daenerys sending the majority of our ships away. So I told him to keep one hidden away so we could make an escape if necessary." Jorah wanted to be amazed at his hindsight but caught the eye of Jon, who was fretting over Arya. They quickly boarded the ship before they began to sail away, hesitantly joining the Greyjoy contingent at first. Jon rushed Arya off to a cabin to make her more comfortable and so she could be monitored properly. The group, bloody and tired, stood on the deck, relieved that the nightmare was over. That was until Bruda clutched his chest suddenly before collapsing to the floor, his staff rolling away as his fingers lolled.