Chapter XXXI: The Battle of King's Landing (Part I)

Arya

It was gone.

The Sept, whose steps were once bloodied with her father's head.

Arya clenched her fists. Sandor walked indifferently beside her, and she held out her hand to stop him, and pushed him to hide behind one of the city's gigantic walls.

"Soldiers," she whispered. The sound of boots and armors clanking approached their way, then passed. She looked at her companion and shook her head in disappointment. Sneaking into a castle with Sandor Clegane seemed like an impossible feat to her.

"It will start soon." Her heartbeat increased. For once, she put herself on Daenerys' side, and hoped she would emerge victorious.

"We'll have to hurry," she added. How long would it take for three dragons to burn an army? Not very long, she'd wager, and she needed to finish her job by then.

The city was not what she remembered. She had never been particularly fond of King's Landing, but watching it now, with the streets filled with urchins and beggars and people lying naked and malnourished on the streets, made her feel almost a sort of admiration towards Robert Baratheon. At least he didn't let his people starve on the streets.

"How about we wait?" The Hound suggested. Arya looked at him with disbelief.

"Wait? I just told you we have to hurry!"

The Hound scoffed.

"Listen, girl. How in the Seven Hells do you plan on infiltrating a castle with a hundred guards? Everyone will be out at the city gates guarding when the battle starts. So let it start. That will leave only Gregor with the Queen."

"And you think your damned brother is less than a hundred soldiers?" Arya raised her brow.

"I know he's not. But I'll keep him busy while you get to that Lannister. With us fighting a large number would only end up in a shit load of wasted time."

Arya rolled her eyes.

"Fine," she muttered under her breath. They both sat down on the streets in the corner of a deserted area, which looked similar to a marketplace. Arya looked around, but there was no one there, and all the shops were abandoned.

The food is gone.

She remembered a time when she had been forced to live for days without a decent meal. Her stomach would grumble and she would curl in her makeshift bed in pain, but the hunger wouldn't leave.

"Do you think Daenerys can help these people?"

The Hound snorted.

"Kings and Queens don't give a shit about the lowborn."

Arya remained silent, but she knew he wasn't right.

Jon isn't like that. Jon cares.

She wondered if he was still angry with her.

"How long do we have to wait?" She said impatiently, closing her head and leaning her head back against the alley wall.

"How should I know?" The Hound asked in annoyance. Arya glanced at him through one open eye. His eyes were straight ahead, and-

Was it fear she saw in them?

She knew he was terrified of his brother, and the more Arya looked at him, the more she was convinced that this had been a terrible choice. She could die here in King's Landing while or after killing Cersei, but she could also survive. She was small, and fast. It was hard for others to catch her if she didn't want them to. But Sandor was here to fight his brother, and his brother was the most feared beast in Westeros. Could a human kill a monster, she wondered. She had spared his life once, but she had not done it just for him to recklessly risk it by going against the Mountain.

But it wouldn't do any good to tell him that he shouldn't have come. She had done that, and all she had gotten in return were filthy curses directed at her and his proclamation that he did not care if he were to die or live.

Arya sighed and waited. The more time they spent sitting on that alley, the more she felt a strange foreboding, that something bad was coming.

It didn't pass her mind for once that she had left Nymeria behind in the forests outside the city.

Daenerys

Her fleet, both of the Iron Islands and the Dorne, had reached Dragonstone when they had first arrived in Winterfell. A few dozens of her Unsullied she had taken to Winterfell and the rest were at Highgarden with the Dothraki. Lord Tyrion had planned this on the days they had spent sailing across the Narrow Sea, and her army had spread. She had wanted to keep the Unsullied and the Dothraki with her, but Tyrion had convinced them that it would waste unnecessary time to move an entire army from Winterfell to King's Landing, and it that the Northerners could take it as a declaration of war if she were to take an army so large to Winterfell. Olenna Tyrell had gracefully offered her help and had sheltered both the groups and her own Tyrell bannermen, and Daenerys reminded herself to reward the woman handsomely. She only wished her Dothraki had listened to her wishes and remained civil while she wasn't there to control them.

Daenerys and her company met her army at the south of the mouth of the Blackwater river, where the Kingsroad and the Roseroad met, and her fleet approached the city from the Blackwater bay with every passing second. Her dragons had been well fed for this battle, and she paid one last visit to them in chains, promising them with a soothing voice that she would free them soon. She placed her palm against Drogon's nose, and the dragon growled softly. She would win this war. Cersei Lannister had not even half as much men as she did. She would finally claim her birthright.

"Your Grace," Grey Worm called her.

She turned.

"There has been a sighting. Army from the west."

Daenerys took a long breath.

"Lord Tyrion's brother?" She asked, her hands reaching out to clasp Drogon's chain.

He nodded.

"Take off their chains," she ordered, and walked to the war tents. She found Tyrion drinking a goblet of wine.

"Is this the time, My Lord Hand?" She asked, sarcastically. He shrugged, and emptied his goblet at once.

"I hope you're ready to reunite with your brother?"

"Not very ecstatic about it, Your Grace. Haven't seen him since I pierced my dear father with a crossbow."

"And what if before you can see him I were to show him my wrath and have him burned?" She did not move her eyes off him. Daenerys respected Tyrion Lannister very much, and even had a sense of fondness for him, but she knew that he had a close familial bond with Jaime Lannister, far in contrast with the one she shared with Viserys. Would he be able to follow her still, if she were to incarcerate his own blood?

"I am your Hand now, Your Grace. My loyalty lies with you. I chose my side and so did my brother. Perhaps we have parted our ways for good."

She nodded, slowly, and Tyrion rose from his seat.

"So, shall we, My Queen?"

Daenerys nodded.

Her dragons roared.

Sansa

"Bran," she called out again, and this time he moved his eyes to her, away from the fire.

"You must swear to me that no one else is to know of this," he asked. "Not Jon or Arya or anyone."

"I swear it," Sansa replied, her hands clutching strongly on the arms of the chair she was sitting on. Her nervousness grew tenfold.

"I had a vision," Bran said, his hands clasped together in his lap. "I saw the survivors of the Great War, and," he hesitated. "Arya wasn't among them."

Sansa's eyes widened as she felt her heart nearly stop. Bran looked at her, and for the first time since his return, she saw fear in his eyes.

"I looked for her again and again, but I couldn't find her. Then I had another one- of Jon locking her up in his room. So I thought-" He stopped, closing his eyes for a brief second. "I thought if I could change the course of destiny, even in a small way, maybe-"

"She will survive," Sansa finished him.

"In my visions, she never left for King's Landing. So I changed it. I don't know what would come of it. To be honest, I'm scared to death that I might have made a mistake."

Sansa wanted to cry. She thought of all the times Arya had got on her nerves as a child and even as a woman, and how they had finally started loving each other as sisters ought to love each other. And to think of losing her- she thought it would leave a hole in her heart she would never be able to fill.

She moved from her place on the chair to go and kneel beside Bran. Her brother was staring at the floor, dejected.

"Is she safe now?" She asked.

Bran nodded.

"And now that you have sent her away, has the vision changed?" She asked, hopeful.

"I haven't had one since she left," he confessed.

Sansa hugged her brother, and Bran clenched her arm.

"She will be alright," she said, more to herself than to him. "She's brave. And Sandor is with her."

"I told him to protect her at any cost." Bran looked at her, all-knowing eyes. "Even at the cost of his own life."

Sansa swallowed a lump in her throat. It wouldn't be impossible for both of them to return, she told herself.

"Are you sure we should not tell Jon?" She asked. Jon would make sure she is safe. No matter what had to be done, Jon would do it.

"No," Bran refused her. "He has a bigger enemy now. He must keep his mind on it."

"But he loves her!" Sansa argued. She knew how she would feel if she was the one kept in darkness, and Jon would feel worse than her.

"Sansa, you swore."

She wanted to say something else, but looking at Bran, she knew his words held some truth. Jon would lose his mind, if not worse.

"I will not tell him," she promised. "But-"

The door was opened with a creak, and both of them turned around to look at the man himself.

"Sansa. Bran," he greeted, with no emotion in his voice, and even refused to meet their eyes.

"Jon," she greeted back, and stood up, moving to sit on the chair again.

"So what is it you wanted to tell me, Bran?" Jon asked.

Sansa looked over at her brother. He had returned to his old self, silent and calm. The fear was nowhere to be seen.

"The Night King is coming."

Sansa saw Jon suck in a breath.

"How much time do we have?" He asked.

"Three moons. At most."

Sansa felt the hair on her skin stand. She had never laid sight on any dead, but the thought was still terrifying.

"We have to be ready in a moon's turn," Jon said. "Sansa, the smithy?"

"We do not have enough weapons to arm the entire North," she replied. The men had been working hard, but they were still men. Weapon forging took a long time.

"Summon every smith from every forge in the North. Even the apprentices. And also the bannermen. Any boy, girl or woman who can fight. We need whoever we can get."

Sansa nodded. The thought of war never failed to unnerve her.

"I'll leave for Castle Black," Jon announced. "The Wall needs to be guarded. If it falls, we're all doomed."

She saw him run his fingers against his temple. He was so burdened. With Arya, and now with the war. Sansa wanted to help, but she did not know how to.

"Is she safe?" Jon asked, suddenly, staring at Bran.

Bran nodded, and she saw Jon let out a breath he had been holding.

"Sansa, write that raven. I'll leave for Castle Black tomorrow with my men. I'm leaving Winterfell in your charge. And Bran," Jon said, his voice going soft, and his eyes filled with desperation. "Please keep her safe."

"I will," Bran swore.

The moment Jon left, Sansa tears burst forth. Bran looked at her with sad eyes, and moved over to take her hand.

"The pack survives," he whispered. Sansa wiped her tears. She could not bear to even think of losing someone of her family again.

"I'll keep her safe, I promise." Bran said.

Sansa believed him.

Jaime

They had just passed Blackwater Rush when Jaime raised a hand to stop his army.

"My Lord?" His commander asked.

Jaime waited for everyone to go still.

"Don't you hear that?" He asked.

The ground beneath his feet started shaking.

"Take cover!" He shouted, as his horse neighed in fear. And then Jaime saw- an entire army thrice the size of his, rushing towards them with a battle cry, and from among them emerged three living dragons.

And one of them was being ridden.