A/N: As always, a thousand thank yous to everyone who followed, favourited and reviewed the story it means so much!
The end is nigh...
RHAEGO
Rhaego stirred, throwing off the splinters that half covered him. A glancing blow had knocked him off balance and momentarily stunned him. Across his legs lay the great body of a dead horse, pinning him down. He wasn't sure if his legs were broken or not, but the pressure upon them was infuriating. His silver-gold locks were plastered with sweat; blood trickled from the wounds in his throat and hands, a stab of pain shot from the bloody spot at his side were the arrow shaft went in. He hitched up on one arm, struggling with the weight that imprisoned him.
Around him the dust was settling. People were shambling about, knocking into each other, acrid smoke of the wildfire rising in wisps. Dead men were scattered around everywhere, they looked more than dead. They were smashed apart, folded and twisted, split open and gutted. And those were the lucky ones. Amidst the flames Rhaego caught sight of hundreds of blackened bodies, all of them fused together by the heat to create a large, formless blog of multiple squirming limbs and empty screams.
Chaos and confusion flooded Rhaego's vision. Another surge of flame went up, slaves hurrying away madly. A mob of Yunkishmen parted and a tall man came thrashing straight at him, green fire wreathing him like some devil burst out of hell. Rhaego had no time for conscious consecutive thought. He threw himself toward a fallen sword, and his clawing fingers missed it by inches. Desperately he grasped the horseflesh which pinned his legs, and the veins swelled in his temples as he strove to thrust it off him. It gave slowly, but he knew that before he could free himself the man would be upon him, and he knew that flaming figure was death.
Before the man could bring his blade down upon Rhaego, a curved Arakh caught the blow and sent the screaming warrior reeling. Jakerhro looked a bloody mess, but fought like a tiger, sending blow after viscous blow at the man. Every time the blades met, sparks of green fire would shoot off into the air and soon the Dothraki found his vest catching flame, screaming as it bubbled and singed into his flesh.
With a terrible cry Rhaego heaved upward, shoving the corpse aside. The flaming warrior came to attack Jakerhro again, and Rhaego sprang to meet him, his veins on fire with madness. The muscles started out like cords on his forearms as he swung his great sword in a sweeping arc. The blade in his hand managed to carve through the other warrior's sizzling flesh easily enough, and the man's legs fell on way, his torso another as the blade sheared clear through the crackling meat.
He heard the rough tongue of Yunkai fill the air and in an instant he was the centre of a hurricane of stabbing spears and lashing clubs. But he moved in a blinding blur of steel. Spears swished the empty air, and his sword sang its death-song. The fighting madness of his forebears, Dothraki and Targaryen alike, was upon him, and with a red mist of unreasoning fury wavering before his blazing eyes, he cleft skulls, smashed breasts, severed limbs, ripped out entrails, and littered the ashy field like a shambles with a grotesque harvest of brains and blood.
Suddenly there was a mad song of iron, a crashing and scrapping of metal on metal as the Yunkishmen began to beat their weapons together and chant. The remnants of their forces split and out came a tall figure. His armour was polished silver, the chestplate shined with love and care, unmarked by war or death, inlaid with a two bronzed harpies combatant. The man himself was handsome, clean-shaven, square-jawed and youthful with green eyes that shone like the wildfire around them. His mop of hair was the colour of dirty blood.
"You there!" he called in High Valyrian, his voice strong as iron. "You are the Dragon Queen's bastard?"
Rhaego smiled. "I am your death!"
A boyish grin settled on the warrior's face. "You amuse me and you have a skill with butchery. Mayhaps you would surrender and I might keep you and your horselords on as Pit fighters." He looked demurely about, "what few of them that are left."
No smile bent on Rhaego's grim lips, but his eyes were lit with iron laughter. "You won't be amused when I drink tonight's wine from your fucking skull. You'll not take any more slaves."
"That was ill-said, and not courteous," the man answered him with a frown. "I shall reclaim the city of my ancestors and rebuild the empire of old, with your Queenly mother as my bride and the bearer of my heirs. Why make this difficult? If you were a man of worth then you may cede these things to me with a good grace, knowing that I am of superior stock than you." He shrugged. "Or die at my hands, there is honour in that." He nodded to himself. "But to stand there and tell me that I cannot practice my right as Grazdan of Ghis; that makes me angry."
Rhaego felt a thumping in his chest, his heart ready to break free from within its confines. Blood was rushing down his side freely now, making his sweaty skin even more sticky. The sword in his hand was not his axe or his arakh, but would serve well enough. Grazdan put on an elaborate halfhelm that left his face exposed, all silver and bronze, with two harpy wings extending from the sides. His sword came out, a whisper of metal on leather. Rhaego felt the moment, an instinct developed through years of bloodletting. He dived sideways, heard the grunt of a Yunkishman as he swung into empty air. Without thinking he spun and slashed the man across the throat before turning his attention back to Grazdan, not paying any attention as the other man gurgled up his life blood and toppled over.
Grazdan unsheathed another blade and showed his teeth. "Quite the beast aren't you?"
Rhaego would have liked to have just thrown his weight at the man and hacked him down, but he was armoured and there were other men that needed watching. In their little circle of carnage, safely away from the flaming mess about them, stood two Yunkishmen staring at him like a couple of hungry dogs, one of Grazdan's own sworn shields, and the man himself. Rhaego sidled into space, trying to keep his eye on all of them at once, Grazdan most of all.
The Ghiscari king came on fast as a snake, one sword swinging over, the other flashing across waist high. Rhaego dodged the first, met the second with his own blade, metal clanging on metal. Grazdan caught him in his sore ribs with his knee and sent him gasping back, then came at him again, blades leaving bright traces in the darkened smoke-filled skies. Rhaego sprang out of the way, rolled and came up strutting out into the middle of the circle again, sword hanging loose from his hand.
"Is that it?" he asked, smiling through the pain at his side.
Grazdan leaped forward, made to go right and came left instead, both swords sweeping together. Rhaego saw them coming, weaved away from the first, turned the second off his sword and stepped in, growling. Grazdan jerked back as Rhaego's blade hiss through the air right in front of his face, stumbled away a step or two. His eye twitched some red leaking down his cheek from a nick just under it. Rhaego grinned, spun the grip of his sword round in his hand. "Blood of Old Ghis, eh?"
MYLESSA
Fire, a pure fire of emerald green enveloped the battlefield. The heat of it was stupendous and from her position upon the battlements Mylessa thought she could hear the screams of a thousand men turn into cries of joy as R'hllor devoured their mortal forms and embraced their souls. Her entire being was shaking with pleasure, a deep pleasure that struck right at her core and made her weak at the knees. No lover could compare to a god, no coupling as powerful as the embrace of the Lord.
She could almost hear him speaking to her, pleased by her offerings. The thought made her squirm with desire. As the flames spread and grew across the plains, dancing and wavering, even more Yunkishmen died, as did Unsullied, and Dothraki. Mylessa did not care. If anything it brought even more ecstasy to her, and soon the flames began to form shapes, shapes that even the most novice of her order could read.
Salty tears rolled down her cheeks as she saw the images play out before her. All joy was gone, replaced by the soberness of duty and the heartache at what was to come. "Yes, Lord," she whispered. "I will do as you ask…"
"My men took your eye," Grazdan smiled thinly. "I should have sent more."
"Damn right you should have."
Grazdan circled round him, always moving, weapons gleaming in the darkened light of the fading afternoon sun. From behind him the Yunkishmen came forwards, their round shields up, their eyes on Rhaego, herding him back.
Rhaego bared his teeth as he backed off. "So this is how you'll do it?"
"By my hand or by the hand of others, it makes no difference." Grazdan shrugged his shoulders. "Either way you'll be dead."
The two of them closed in, cautious, Grazdan moved off to the side. Rhaego scrambled back, trying to seem weak and waiting for some kind of chance. It wasn't long coming. One of the soldiers stepped too close, let his shield drop too low. He chose a bad moment to raise his sword and bad way to do it. There was a click as Rhaego's sword took off his forearm, left it hanging from the elbow by a scrap of chain mail. He stumbled forward, dragging in a great wheezing breath, making ready to scream, blood spurting out of the stump of his arm and splattering in the sand. Rhaego chopped a great gash out of his helmet and he dropped instantly.
The other Yunkishman jumped over his companion's body, roaring at the top of his lungs. Rhaego caught his sword, their blades scraping together, then he barged into the man's shield with his shoulder, sent him sprawling. Rhaego brought his sword down. The man managed to roll away just in time so that the blade on severed his foot rather than his upper thigh.
"Die, you Dothraki dog!" Grazdan came pounding out of the shadows, sword in hand, his handsome face twisted into an ugly scowl.
Rhaego stood where he was, crouching loose and ready, and felt himself smile. The odds were against him, but that was something he was used to since he was a boy. It was a relief, not to have to think. Fine words, politics, court? None of these things mean anything to me, but this? This I understand.
The blade crashed into the sand, sending dirt flying. Rhaego had already rolled out of the way. Now he backed off, watching, moving, letting Grazdan cleave the air around him. The air heals quick, he thought with a mad laugh. The next blow flashed sideways and Rhaego dodged back, let it chop at nothing. He stepped in closer as Grazdan snarled again, his furious green eyes bulging, ready to swing around with his second blade in a blow to split the world.
The pommel of Rhaego's sword crunched into his mouth before he got the chance, jerked his head, spots of black blood and chunk of white tooth flying. His helm toppled off and he dropped one of his swords. He staggered back and Rhaego followed him. Grazdan's eyes rolled down, remaining sword going up high, opening his bloody mouth to make another bellow. Rhaego's boot rammed hard into the side of his leg. His knee bent back the wrong way with a sharp pop and he dropped to the dirt, sword flying from his hands, his voicing turning into a shriek of pain.
Quick footsteps came up under Grazdan's shriek. Rhaego spun, saw the Ghiscari sworn shield charging at him, face crushed into a killing grin.
Rhaego lurched away, the blade just missing on one side. He tried to raise his sword but the Ghiscari was too quick and too clever, shoved Rhaego back with his boot and sent him staggering. The man uttered a curse in some archaic tongue. Rhaego dodged, parried, stumbled as the man came on again, no pauses and no mercy. Steel glint in the fading light, blades lashing, killing blows, every one.
"Die savage!" The Ghiscari chopped his sword down and Rhaego only just brought his own round in time to block it. A second sword came from nowhere, up from underneath, clattered into the crosspiece and tore Rhaego's blade spinning from his numb hand. He wobbled back a couple of strides and stood, heaving the air, sweat tickling at his neck.
Rhaego knew then that he was very likely to die. He'd been in some bad situations before and lived to boast about them, but it was hard to see how it could get much worse. He pressed a hand into his side and it came away covered in blood, more blood than was right. His wound was deep, likely fatal, and he knew he couldn't keep himself standing for much longer.
Several more Yunkishmen hurried forwards, some helping Grazdan up to his feet while the others had Rhaego surrounded. He nodded towards his sword, lying in the sand just next to his attackers feet. So close, yet a world away…
He drew himself up as best he could, spat a wad of blood and winced as his body ached at the action, and stared at his foes. "Well," he said, his legs wobbling. "What are you waiting for? Let us make an end of this."