A/N: Longclaw: Y'all are amazing! So here we are, the thrilling conclusion to the Battle of KL.

BRuh4: Hey, we're back on the day said we would. Because you guys balled out with the comments. It is nice to the inbox overflowing. Also that a lot of you enjoyed the chapter. We're doing our absolute best.

Well, this chapter is a doozy. Enjoy.

Chapter 41: I Told You What I Would Do

Knocked to the ground as the first blast wave rocked the city, Arya would have been loathe to admit that a bump to the head from smacking against a brick wall left her knocked out. As such, as she groggily opened her eyes, the large bulk of the Hound came to focus. "Wha… what…" There was a ringing in her ears. One that blocked out other noise. In the distance, there was a pervasive green-white glow…

"Girl!"

"Girl!"

The whistling started to fade away, replaced by a roaring and piercing screams as if resonating in a wave. Arya soon came to the realization that she had woken up into hell.

"GIRL!"

She shook away her grogginess - something better said than done. "What the fuck is going on?!" Arya tried to stand, but flashing lights of red-orange sailed overhead towards elsewhere in the city. She stumbled, but was stopped by Sandor's hand.

"Cersei set off fucking wildfire!" He could tell, being one that lived through the Battle of Blackwater Bay - only the Lannisters had that much shit around. "Then Stannis is bombarding the city… there's more wildfire where it came from!"

"Ah fuck!" Closing her eyes, she willed herself to composure. "Let's go!"

The streets were chaos. Tens of thousands of people racing towards the eastern side… towards the Red Keep and the Dragonpit… the only areas thought to afford safety. Smoke and soot were everywhere, many fleeing suffering from grevious burns that made Arya nearly retch. Her legs pumped, Arya darting and weaving between people, struggling to keep up with Sandor who just shoved people aside as he ran.

"Arry!"

It was faint, but Arya heard it. A familiar voice that pierced the din and triggered memories of the past that… Arya often thought of when needing comfort. She looked behind her, still running.

"Arry!"

In the distance, a thatch of black hair and toned musculature appeared to her. She'd know it anywhere. "Gendry?"

Lost in the ghost from her past, he smiled at her. She hardly realized the corner of her mouth upturning. The throngs of people kept yelling and pushing their past but both of them stood utterly still. Once they laid eyes on each other neither knew if one of them should speak. Arya was never one for these sorts of things. But Gendry was certainly the only person she ever thought of in that way. Gendry had his own feelings for her, they developed much faster than hers did. As soon as he saw her again, nothing else was more important. He took a step toward her but stopped when he saw a form approach Arya from behind.

Arya didn't notice a hand reaching for her till it grabbed at her shoulder. Immediately, she could tell it wasn't Sandor. "Oi'." Arya turned her head to reveal a goldcloak, face unshaven and teeth rotten, leering at her. "Yer' a pretty thing."

"Fuck off!" she hissed, but his grip was too tight.

Clicking his tongue, the glorified thug lifted her up and threw her over his shoulder. "Let's go, mates!" he called to his comrades - a cluster of about nine other goldcloaks. "If we gonna burn, let's have some fuckin' fun first." From how many pairs of eyes undressed her rather pruriently, Arya was under no compunctions of what they would do.

Thus, carried out of the throng of people, she knew what to do. Drawing her dagger from its sheath, she plunged it into the man's spine with a cry. The goldcloak howled in pain but collapsed, Arya continuing to stab him until his grip slackened and she could leap off.

"Git her!" Without warning she was kicked to the ground, coughing out dust and soot as another explosion detonated in the distance. "I'm gonna fuck you raw!" she heard behind her, causing her fear to spike. She was still a maiden…

Gurgles and a splatter of hot blood on her back followed, revealing the Hound burying an axe into the man's neck and shoulder. "I'm startin' to think you want to piss me off!" he snarled at her, drawing back the weapon and standing firm.

Their initially stunned reactions changing to anger, the goldcloaks charged - Sandor struck first, the strength of his axe beheading a man where he stood before he gave ground. His lack of armor made him quicker than he looked, retreat allowing him to sidestep the frontal attacks of his enemies and slam the axe head into a goldcloak's back. Seeing a flash, he brought the shaft up quickly, batting aside a furious hack from another's morningstar.

It seemed as things shifted quickly. Twirling Needle into proper riposte, she smashed the hilt into her attacker's face, stunning him long enough to spin around and shove her dagger into his eye. Quickly after, she ran headlong into another, Needle going through a gap in his mail and impaling his innards. He fell over with a groan, rubble from a longoff explosion showering them all.

One goldcloak felt a hot chunk of debris hit his bare neck. He screamed in pain, suffering mercifully ended as a large hammer smashed his head like a melon. A quick glance confirmed Arya's sighting from earlier. Gendry...

The young bull smiled, life having suited him well with bulging muscles and a powerful stride. Glutted with stolen and pilfered food, the Goldcloaks were no match, Arya darting around their swings to stab and slash at them while Gendry and the Hound just barrelled through them as if they were the walking skeletons that comprised the majority of the smallfolk. It all ended… rather quickly.

As the dust settled, Sandor brushed off his vest and picked up a greatsword one of the goldcloaks carried. Breathing heavily, with soot and ash raining down all over the city no one cared that two youngsters and an old bruiser were surrounded by ten goldcloaks broken and gutted upon the ground. Only screams, tens of thousands running straight for the Red Keep to escape the inferno… and Stannis' forces.

Still, best not be around that many corpses. "Come on!" Gendry yelled, grabbing Arya's hand and practically dragging her into the shadows of the city. Places that even someone keen on wiping out the city wouldn't care to put wildfire. Overhead, the blazing projectiles of Stannis' trebuchets continued to unleash their hellish bracketing of King's Landing. The smith realized what was about to come. "Brace yourself!" He hurled Arya to the filthy ground, covering her with his body - Sandor wasn't far behind in lying prone.

In spite of the chaos, Arya felt every bit of his powerful body on top of her.

The thought ended as the ground shook, a green-white cloud of flame and light erupting close. Very close. The shock wave slammed into them, blocking out the scream that Arya unleashed that made her throat ache. Hot debris fell all around, but none on top of any of them aside from little pebbles that burned upon skin.

Eventually, all left was the growing mushroom cloud - one of many blooming over the city. Arya felt Gendry ease off her, then his hand to yank her up… only to embrace her. "Arry…" His voice cracked with emotion, though far deeper than when she knew him last.

"You stupid bull…" she replied, though reciprocating the embrace. "I had it under control." Arya felt him smirk against her hair, and rather enjoyed it.

"Fuck… you're still alive?" The Hound greeted Gendry with such… compassionate words, even slapping him on the back. But the situation ended any hope of a true reunion. "Say your goodbyes, we're goin' huntin' in the Red Keep."

Gendry pulled back, looking at Arya with shock. "You can't possibly…"

Arya's eyes narrowed. "I do. You should go, Gendry. Go be safe and live your life."

Hesitating for a moment, Gendry's blue eyes hardened as he shook his head. "Not a chance. You're not doing this without me."

"Gendry…" Normally Arya would yell at anyone that got in her way, but for the young bull that had been one of the few people she learned to trust while on the run… "Don't be stupid. I'm not worth it." She didn't want this, but her conscience couldn't handle Gendry being hurt because of her.

He placed a hand on her shoulder. "I don't care. I'm coming… besides, you don't know one way of getting into the fuckin' Red Keep."

"I've explored the tunnels plenty of times. The ones Maegor built that open up into the beach."

"But do you know the best way to the beach that avoids the explosions, fires, or fleeing people?" The cacophony around them belied Gendry's words. "I'll take that as a no."

"Are the two of you gonna fuck or are we doing this cunt?!" Sandor snarled, tying the scabbard of his pilfered greatsword to his back. Arya glanced away, keeping silent as she followed Gendry towards the docks…

And her destiny.

"It's him!"

"The Wrath of the North…"

"I thought he was fuckin' dead!"

Stepping forward atop the dead grass, doing his best to avoid the corpses and still steaming puddles of oil and flesh that dotted the approach to the Gate of the Gods, Jon eyed each of the men warily. "You fight for Stannis?" They bore the sigil of the sparrow of House Caron on their surcoats, while two ragged flaming hearts fluttered from posts upon the walls, but he had to be sure. "For King Stannis… First of His Name," he added, being mindful of formality.

But it didn't seem like the score of men guarding the gate even cared about formality at this point. Never mind a war, they looked at him as if he was some sort of god. "Aye…" said the dirty man that seemed to be their leader. His sword was sheathed, and he removed his helm to reveal a face streaked with grease and soot. "Seven be praised for your safe return, Lord Stark."

"We fought with you at Winterfell and Northhill, Lord Stark," another called out, propping a crossbow against the stone. "We'll fight with you till the end of days!" A chorus of ayes broke out at that.

I really did earn their trust… On the battlefield he assumed. Unfortunately, these were the first that had born some witness to him as a warrior - as common grunts in the Baratheon war machine, he wouldn't get much. He needed to find Stannis.

"His Grace, where is he?" Jon demanded in his most authoritative voice.

The leader of the men nodded. "He's advancing to the Red Keep, mi'Lord. Find one of the highborns, they'll keep ya' squared away till the city's secure."

Nodding, Jon took one last look at the starstruck bannermen before making his way through the splintered wreck that was one of the great gates of King's Landing…

Only to walk into something out of his nightmares.

Not even the depths of his agony and shattered soul could compare to the sheer horror of the landscape surrounding him.

He had never seen King's Landing, but the image of a vibrant and bustling city filled his mind. The outskirts near the Gate of the Gods was certainly bustling with bannermen of four separate kingdoms, but Jon couldn't call it vibrant. In fact, they were more like gravediggers. The buildings were collapsed wrecks, gutted out from the massive blasts of wildfire. Soot and ash covered everything, small fires still burning everywhere - the men giving them a wide berth.

Jon didn't expect himself to be recognized, but in the chaos, he wasn't even noticed. All sense of organization had devolved into a confused shuffle of rogue men and small bands still under the control of officers. The latter did what they could to restore order. Prisoners were shepherded into ragged prison camps against the walls, battered smallfolk treated the same in spite of their non-combatant status. Bodies - of which there were a lot of - were unceremoniously dumped into massive craters blasted into the earth.

From the areas of complete collapse, still smoking from wildfire detonations, Jon mused there wouldn't be even parts of bodies to collect. Seven hells…

As he staggered through the carnage, the death, memories of Duskendale came to mind. Of Daenerys casting her dragon's fire upon him and his men. Immolation and destruction, but oddly controlled. One that doesn't rage out of control. In the distance, another explosion went off as the trebuchets continued to bracket the city, bringing an inferno to thousands of innocents. There was no control in this. Cersei and Stannis throwing everything they had at each other without a damn for consequences.

His head ached, his soul filled with pain… Nothing seemed real except the prick of hot ash falling on his skin.

For those without organization, they found the destruction as an opportunity. Combing the ruins for anything that tickled their fancy, greedy hands pilfered whatever valuables they could find. Others… they had more sinister motives.

"Please!" a scream drew Jon out of his daze, focus returning to his mind as he looked towards the sound of the voice. "Don't hurt me!"

A chorus of laughs followed. "Din't 'ave to, bitch." Three men surrounded a pretty young woman, evident in spite of her ripped clothes and soot-stained face. "Give us yer' cunt and ye' won't be hurt." One of the men punched her in the stomach, felling her as he then went to unbuckle his trousers.

A fire burned within Jon - apparently, his sense of morality hadn't died along with him. "You! Stop!" he bellowed, advancing on the men.

They apparently didn't recognize him, based on the looks of annoyance and derision they cast his way. "Get the fuck out of here, northerner!" the lead man hissed. All of them had the glowing Stag of House Baratheon emblazoned on their surcoats. "I said, get the fuck away."

"Let her go," Jon hissed back, voice dark… only for the bannerman to lunge at him, fist connecting with Jon's face.

Fire suddenly blazed in his eyes, an icy wind howling within his shattered soul as he batted away another right hook, uppercutting the man in the jaw - breaking his teeth. The soldier howled in pain, staggering back. Jon did not let up, charging and knocking him to the ground. Falling atop him, his fist rocked back and slammed into the man's face and shoulder again and again. The most primal of roars filling his ears.

He only just noticed that the roar was his own.

Hesitating for the slightest moment at the bloody mess he left, the Fossoway soldier drew his blade and swung at him. Cutting through the leather cuirass and slicing a superficial wound on his side. Without hesitating, Jon drew Longclaw and sliced off the man's sword hand. Three more slices found the attacker disemboweled and dying.

Jon huffed, breathing loud as his grey eyes looked at the two other offenders. "Well?! Do you fucking want some?!" They looked to be pissing themselves.

"What is… Lord Stark?!"

Turning, Jon found a crowd watching him, while a large man with a close-cropped beard approaching. "Yes, and you?"

"Lord Rolland Caron, by the Gods…" He looked completely shocked to see Jon. "We were told you were dead."

A hollow chuckled left Jon's lips. "Aye, I was." He left it at that. "Where is the King?"

Biting his lip, Caron pointed to the Red Keep. "I'd advise waiting till the city is secure and all the fires die out."

They'd have to wait a while, Jon was certain of that.

Silent, stone still without a single sign of her original zeal upon her face, all blood drained from Cersei Lannister's face. "How could this have happened?" She looked out at the pallor of smoke and ash that wafted from the gutted out city. "How could we have lost?"

Jaime grabbed Widow's Wail from the table, sheathing it in his scabbard before motioning to a servant for Cersei's traveling cloak. "It matters not… all that matters now is life or death."

The servant, a young girl, returned with the garment only for Cersei to hiss at her. "Stay away from me, peasant!"

"Sister, stop!" Jaime yelled. "Take the damn thing so we can get out of here! Time's running short!"

Cersei sighed and gestured at the servant until they ran away. She turned to Jaime with a long face. "I'd hoped the wildfire would be enough."

"You didn't think he'd use catapults to set off the rest, I suppose," Jaime said. "Though both of you are mad for both things."

"I'm mad?!" Cersei nearly yelled. "I'm trying to save the city!"

"By using wildfire?" Jaime scoffed, throwing his hands into the air. "Thousands died today. Because of you... and Stannis," he added at the end. Jaime then braced himself for the inevitable tirade that would come his way.

But such didn't happen. Instead, his sister and lover was quiet… subdued. "Well… no sense crying over spilled milk at this point?" She traced a hanging banner of their house, the mighty rearing lion mocking the wounded, dying cats that they were. "It's a shame, Jaime," Cersei whispered. "We have to die. No one's getting out of this palace alive."

He held up his hands. "I'm not giving up on our lives just yet."

"You must kill me," she cut him off. "Jaime, it has to be you," Cersei gasped. She closed the distance between them. Wrapping him in a hug he didn't return. "You can't let Stannis get to me. I don't know what he'll do."

Jaime replied, monotone, "He told you what he'd do."

"Please, I can't." She walked into his arms, clutching his gambeson. "Don't let him get me. Please, Jaime..."

"Cersei, you're pregnant… I can't. The child."

"Don't worry about that. It won't matter anyway," Cersei told him, shaking her head. "I need this." Her hands went to his face, "Please."

Door flying open, Qyburn hurried in with the entirety of the Queensguard surrounding him… they immediately fanned out the screen the Queen from unknown threats. "Your Grace," the old maester turned Hand began. "The Usurper's forces approach the Red Keep. There exists no force to stop them."

No time could be wasted, Jaime and her guards hustling Cersei down the winding stairs towards the gardens - and the path to the beach, where a skiff waited. But luck was not on their side. Upon entering the throne room, the noise of footsteps and yelling out grew louder and louder until overwhelming. Before they knew it, the barred doors of the throne room rattled and rattled. Over the racket, they heard a booming voice, "Cersei! I've come for you! You can't hold me back forever!"

The Stag had come, cornered the Lion.

Cersei's face started to turn every shade of red. Her queenly persona melted all the way off. She trembled as the most real tears she'd ever shed filled her eyes so much her vision blurred. Her hand went to the hilt of Widow's Wail on Jaime's hip but he grabbed her as well. "What are you doing?" He asked her, panicked.

"He can't catch me!"

"We must hurry, your Grace!" Balon Swann cried out, waving towards the back exit to the throne room - the door that led not to the colonnade but to the gardens and Maegor's Holdfast. Another boom echoed against the massive doors, Stannis' men bashing a battering ram against it. "We can head to a boat. Sail to Euron's fleet…" His words were cut off as a small figure lept on his back, dagger wedged under his helm and gorget to jab right through his throat. A few gurgling sputters and he collapsed into the embrace of death.

The figure landed back on her feet, drawing a needle-thin sword in her other hand as two other, larger men appeared behind her. "I swore you'd see my real face when I do this," the lead attacker said, voice feminine but filled with loathing.

"What is the meaning of this?!" Cersei hissed, ignoring the words. "How dare you smallfolk filth harm your Queen's sworn swords!"

A ghost of a smirk crossed the young woman's face. "What's the matter? You don't remember me? I remember you… the North remembers."

Meeting her grey eyes, Cersei's widened only to narrow again. "Arya Stark." She chuckled. "You don't look like a boy anymore… well, less like a boy."

"It ends now, Cersei. You're at the top of my list, and it is time that you die." Boom! Boom! Stannis' men serenaded Arya's threats.

"For you, at least." She motioned to her surviving Queensguard. "Kill them." The Queensguard drew their blades, beginning to fan out around the intruders that threatened their Queen and their only means of escape…

Except for Ser Gregor. He only stared at the scarred visage of his brother, Qyburn's manipulations fading as the hate he held deep in his dark soul for Sandor bubble forth.

Sandor glared at him with equal hate. "I know ya' remember me, fucker! Just you and me!"

Gendry, not wanting to get in the middle of the giants as they clashed, raised his hammer and charged at one of the Queensguard. Arya wasn't far behind, leaping into the fight without abandon. Jaime moved to draw Widow's Wail, but Cersei held him back. "No, you stay here. Protect me." He couldn't deny her, even as the hope for any sort of ending not mired in pain and loss faded quickly.

Battering ram started to crack the beams holding the doors closed, amongst the fighting the Mountain and the Hound continued to stare at each other. "Well, cunt?!" Sandor bellowed, holding his greatsword tightly in front of him. "Come at me! We end this here tonight! A perfect end to House fucking Clegane!"

The Mountain said nothing, but his red eyes narrowed behind his helm. Massive greatsword drawn by his meaty hands, without warning he erupted at his brother. He flayed his sword in a wide arc, one that Sandor dodged with agility normally reserved for smaller men. Gregor's blade crashed into a column, the force chopping a third of the way through it and crushing stone into a cloud of dust. He drew it back just in time to parry Sandor's counterattack.

Steel clashing against steel, Sandor swung… only for a sloppy yet powerful blow to block and push him away. Another cloud of dust filled the air as he ducked behind a decorative statue of some Lannister King or other, Gregor's blow pulverizing it into a million pieces. He ducked under another swing and lunged with his axe, the head piercing a weak point in the thick black armor plate into his brother's chest.

And yet, Gregor felt not a thing, merely slamming his fist into the Hound's jaw and sending him reeling. Without even a sound, he yanked out the axe - splitting it in two with one meaty fist, a black ooze seeping slowly out of the hole in his armor. Completely inhuman, a killing machine.

Spitting out blood and swill from his brother's blow, Sandor spotted his larger brother swinging his sword up to slice downward just as he did to Elia Martell. No fucking way, you bitch! "FUCK YOU!" he snarled, charging into the swing. Sandor crashed right into Gregor's center mass, pitching them both backward till they shattered through a priceless stained glass window not blasted apart in the shockwaves - tumbling straight into the gardens and away from the fight brewing in the Throne Room.

BOOM! BOOM!

Arya's control was slipping. She was too close to her quarry… too close to finally killing the most important name on her list since Joffrey's demise. The Queensguard… she was sure it was Boros Blount, challenging her had a strength about him but was slow and sloppy in his attacks. Almost took the fun out of it.

Almost. Ducking and jinking around his strikes, a wild slash exposed his unarmored armpit to Needle, which Arya took advantage of. Ser Boros cried out in pain, staggering back as blood poured out of the wound. Smirking darkly, Arya moved in for the kill, leaping up just as she did with Balon Swann… only this time slamming the dagger through the eyehole of the helm - straight through Boros' eye and into his skull. The fat knight collapsed like a sack of meat, blood spurting all over the ground.

Suddenly a blade swung out of nowhere, stabbing right through Arya's side even as she tried to dodge. Crying out in the sudden pain, Arya watched as another Queensguard raised his sword - ready to deliver the killing blow…

Only for his head to be caved in by a hammer. "Arry!" It was Gendry. "We have to get out of here! Stannis is coming!"

BOOM! BOOM!

"Give up, Lannister!" Stannis bellowed through the splintering wood. "I'm coming for you!"

"Jaime! It has to be now. We're out of time!" Cersei wailed. She backed off of him. Her tears were uncontrollable. She held her hands up, out of energy. Just tired. "Please, Jaime. Don't let me burn. I don't want to go like that."

Jaime flashed his eyes to the throne room doors, opening more and more by every second. Arms and legs stuck through the small gap there. He returned his eyes to Cersei, time began to slow for him. Reluctantly, he drew Widow's Wail. Even though that's what Cersei wanted, she crumbled further. Falling to her knees, she closed her eyes, arms falling limp. Taking measured steps closer, Jaime started to tremble.

Arya caught a glimpse of what was going on and yelled out, "No! She's mine!" Gendry ignored her screams, lifting her up in his arms and racing for the exit. "Let me go!" Through the agony of her wound, she still tried to hit at Gendry's back and chest. "I've come all this way. Not for nothing! That's my kill!"

Jaime tried to ignore her as the impossible thought became extremely real. Killing Cersei. His hand went to the hilt. Not to ready himself, but in an attempt to steady him. It didn't work. For all her faults, he loved Cersei. She'd become a shell of the woman she once was. But it was still her. His memory of her was stronger than anything else. He'd always have that. He thought he'd always have her. They had children, but they were gone. It was just them. Maybe there was another still growing inside her. In a better world, they could try again.

But that wasn't an option.

No matter what, they always had each other. Through it all. Now she wanted to go. Then it'd just be him, all alone. His father was gone. Mother long gone. Brother miles away and on the opposite side. Sister, his lover, wanted to go. Without him. Take their fourth child with her.

The child. That's like two lives, not just one. Not only was he already a Kingslayer, then he'd murder his unborn child along with the only woman he'd ever loved. Horrible thought. Could be his reality. Could he ever recover from that? Would he? Many other questions ran through his mind as what meager time he had to decide became fewer.

Half a body pushed through a crack in the giant doors, Stannis Baratheon, the first through the breach. His eyes centered on the scene before him, though still some distance away. "Kingslayer! Don't you dare! Don't you take this from me! She's mine!"

Cersei's eyelids flew open, horrified again, "Jaime, there's no time! Do it!" She figured her looking him in the eyes wasn't helping, so she covered her face with her hands. "Please, Jaime… I love you."

"I've always loved you."

Trying not to think, Jaime raised his sword high up. He had intentions of swinging with his eyes closed. But his brain caught up. He couldn't find the strength Cersei needed. The sound of Widow's Wail clanging against the marble ground reopened Cersei's eyes. Her eyes glancing between it and Jaime, who gave her the most apologetic look he could muster.

"I'm sorry. I can't. I can't do it. Not again. Not you."

By then Stannis moved fully into the open space. The gap big enough, many of his men were right behind him. The Stag drew his sword and started as fast as he could towards the throne. The only thing he could see. The only thing he's ever truly wanted. Right within reach, after so long. His time had come. His adrenaline so high, his aching leg wound didn't bother him.

The three leftover Kingsguard backed off Arya and Gendry to try to defend their Queen. Though when they saw the mass heading towards them, they tossed their swords aside. No point fighting for a Queen who had already lost.

Gendry grabbed hold of Arya, who just started to wail. "No! I can't leave. I have to kill her!"

"There's no chance. We'll just be caught!" Gendry told her. Glancing at Stannis running towards Cersei with dozens in tow. "You wanna get in his way?"

Unspoken, Cersei made a move for Widow's Wail. The only thing she could think to do. But Jaime moved to stand in front of her, grabbing her. "What are you doing?! Get off me!"

"Maybe we can make a deal. You're pregnant. He could be merciful."

She stilled in his hand and looked up at him. Finally calming, to utterly still, but her tone was serious. "You always were the stupidest Lannister."

Jaime exhaled and released her, going expressionless. Cersei pushed past him to the sword. The weight bothered her but she lifted it. Stannis and his pack neared to them, making it to the steps. Cersei leveled the blade at Stannis.

The Stag slapped his chest and laughed, "Oh, girly, what's your plan?" He kept moving up the steps toward her. "You've lost. Your army is nothing. I have everything, the upper hand." His eyes stilled on the throne, choosing to move toward it instead. He'd seen it before, of course, been extremely close. But never that close, within breathing distance. The throne had also never been his before. His outstretched hand began to tremble. But more than anything else, he wanted to know what it felt like under his touch. Finally, he could touch it. Soon, sit on it.

His palm fell heavy on one of the hilts. The metal was cold. But nothing felt better. His body filled his energy. Never had Stannis Baratheon felt more alive.

He still sensed Cersei next to him, which disturbed him. Gradually, he turned his head to her. She still held the sword at him. He questioned why one of his men hadn't grabbed her by now. Feeling invincible, he sheathed his blade and moved at her. The tip of the blade shook because her body did the same. As Stannis got closer, she retreated. But the Stag became impatient. With a quick motion, he took a big step to her. So fast she couldn't register. A strike to her hands sent the Widow's Wail back to the ground.

Cersei was so horrified. Her body went rigid under Stannis' even stare. His presence invaded her space. He wasn't that much taller than her but she shrunk down.

More and more of Stannis' men filled the giant room, all coming up to the throne to watch.

"I told you what I would do."

Stannis' face twisted into a grimace as he gripped Cersei around the neck and lifted her up. Using his other hand to rip the crown off her head and slam it against the ground.

"I told you what I would do," Stannis growled. "Didn't I? Didn't I? You filthy Lannister."

"Jai… Jaime…" Cersei ground out. Twiddling her feet, air running out. "Help…"

But the subject of her plea stood still. Eyes downcast to his feet. Her call didn't seem to urge him.

Stannis loosened his grip and set her back down on her feet. She fell to her knees, gasping for air. The future King flexed the hand that was around her neck, over and over again. His feet carried him over to Jaime, who wouldn't meet his eyes. "Look at me, Kingslayer." But Jaime didn't move a muscle. "Kingslayer, look at me!"

At the raising of his voice, Jaime obeyed. Slowly, he raised his gaze. First looking at Cersei, only her hands on the ground holding her up. Then Stannis, who's cold yet murderous face nearly sent him to his arse.

"Kingslayer, what did I say I would do?" Stannis asked him, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Do you recall?" He actually didn't want a reply, reaching down to pull a thin blade out of his boot. Once he pulled it out of its tiny scabbard, Jaime was amazed by how sharp it looked. Stannis held it up, "Cut your other damn hand off with this, I could. But I'm not interested in you. Not now at least."

Once his presence neared Cersei again, she started to sob. Tears falling to the floor, wishing she'd turned Widow's Wail on herself. Stannis reached down and pulled her up by her hair, up to eye level with him. "Do you remember what I said I'd do?" he asked her plainly.

"Yes," she muttered, face soaked in tears. "Please don't."

"I'm sorry. I'm a man of my word."

Not allowing for Cersei to speak further, Stannis took the thin blade over her belly. He shadowed a crescent shape, intending on gutting her. That was his initial inclination, anyway. Instead, he realized she deserved the fire, like everyone else. Still, he had to do what he said he'd do. Otherwise, he wasn't a King worth following. Just as not as deadly.

Deep enough to cut through the fabric of her clothes, deep enough to draw plenty of blood. But shallow enough for her not to bleed out. He dragged the blade across her stomach, feeling the weak skin give in. Cersei made it seem like he was pulling her toenails out with a rusty fork. Raising her voice so loud Stannis did wish he'd cut her throat instead. The fabric split and soaked with her blood. When he was done; he tossed the blade aside. Then pressing that hand against her wound, using the crimson covered hand to wipe against her face.

"Shut your fucking mouth. You lustful whore," he growled at her. "You're worthless. A woman is just mostly worth the center between her legs. You used that up and made just as useless bastards. Every second you breathe in my presence is a waste. I'd end you now but I require a much more painful death for you." He threw her down on her chest. Then said to one of his nearby guards, "Find her a cell. Her brother too. I'll send for them later."

Stannis didn't give anything else his attention except the Throne after that. Unbothered as the Lannisters were dragged away.

Nothing but a guttural, malevolent rasp left Gregor Clegane's mouth as he charged yet again at his brother. The massive claymore clutched in his two hands lunged and swung, blows which would have punched through or sliced open even the thickest of armor. Sandor only just managed to miss the attacks, letting his brother push him back before he spun around. Lunging forward and swinging. Gregor caught the blow with the hilt of his claymore, his strength managing to extinguish the attack before Sandor's sword drew too close.

The Hound gritted his teeth, veins bulging in his neck while trying to push forward. "Why won't you fucking die!" Red eyes stared at him from behind the helm, ones as filled with hate as they had the day he burned Sandor's face. Bellowing, Sandor jerked his head forward - smashing his head into his brother's.

Head ringing, he nevertheless saw his brother stagger a bit. Knee rocketing up to slam into Gregor's inner thigh, Sandor rocketed the sword pommel to bash him upside the head… an action that sent the monstrous helm crashing to the ground. Rolling to a stop dented and misshapen.

Jumping back, Sandor witnessed the grotesque being his shit of a brother had become. In the distance, the early afternoon sun seemed to be blotted out by the massive clouds of smoke and soot. Orange-red fireballs sailed for the already burning city from Stannis' trebuchets. They simply added to the carnage, one finding another store of wildfire and detonating in a large plume of green-white flame that thunder clapped everywhere.

A perfect backdrop for what Gregor Clegane and been transformed into. Standing in place, the Mountain's blood-red eyes stared at Sandor. Hair nonexistent, all that remained of his skin was a clammy, grey pallor with blotches of black and purple. A large stitch scar raced down the side of his head, all life replaced by a malevolent coldness.

"Holy fuck… yer' fuckin' uglier than me now." The Hound raised his blade, snarling.

While the purple-grey skin was marred by jet-black veins, they didn't seem to move. Everything seemed a corpse about Gregor Clegane, but there was some sign of life as the red eyes seemed to glow. Lips opened in a sort of snarl, an animalistic screech leaving the Mountain's throat as he lifted his claymore and charged.

Sandor bellowed just as loud, charging as well.

The Hound was faster, swinging around and hacking at his brother. Yet, with a shove of his mighty arms, the claymore pushed Sandor's greatsword to the side. Ducking, he barely avoided having his arm cut off by Gregor, but the glancing blow was enough to slash a deep wound through his chainmail. "Argh!" he cried, swinging at his brother's head… only for Gregor to grab the blade with his right hand. Fingers falling off, but grip tight. A punch with the other hand bashed the hilt of Gregor's claymore into his face, breaking his nose and felling him.

Hearing Gregor approach and like the literal mountain he was, his brother towered over Sandor, sword raised for the kill. But he managed to roll out of the way as the sword slammed into the stone path, cracking the slab in two.

Sandor leaped to his feet, dazed as blood dripped from his broken nose - arm burning from the wound. Fighting through the pain, he charged head-on sidestepping a thrust and bringing the greatsword down on Gregor's right arm. Severing it right above the elbow.

The Mountain, unfazed by the stump of his right arm oozing black pus, snapped towards his brother and advanced. Claymore forgotten, he raised his left, running as he intended to burst open Sandor's head as he did Oberyn Martell's in another life. But the Hound was ready. In an instant, he drew back his greatsword in one hand and brought up his other - crashing into Gregor's forearm and batting it aside. Center mass open, he lunged. The tip of the greatsword punched right through the chest plate with the force Sandor brought upon it. Running right through the Mountain's heart.

They both stood there, frozen in time. Cold, dead eyes of the monster glaring down at the gritted teeth and shaking form of his scarred brother. Just as the world around them erupted.

Suddenly the world erupted into a haze of bright whiteness. One moment, Sandor gazed into the dead eyes of his brother, and the next he was being picked up high into the air. Grip on his sword lost - hells, all sense of direction lost - he tumbled through the sky while blast waves and wind crashing into him over and over like battering rams. Flying, falling, plunging…

He smacked into the ground with a loud thud. Almost immediately the throbbing pain of such all-encompassing trauma passed through Sandor like a wave. Fuck… seven fucking hells… He tried to speak, but his lungs spasmed too much - it was hard enough to breathe.

Coughing, the dust seemed to puff out all around his mouth. He opened his eyes and found himself face down in the dirt… well sand. Much as it hurt, the pile managed to break his fall. Testing his arms, relief spread through Sandor that they seemed to work and not be twisted husks broken beyond recognition. "Fu…" one syllable collapsed into agonizing coughs, though he managed to push himself, slowly, into sitting up.

It exhausted him, Sandor collapsing back against a low stone wall peppered with holes and gashes from the explosion.

Head falling back, the Hound looked up at the sky. Seeing the same greasy-black pyre rising high, only this time quite close. It didn't take him long to put two and two together. That bitch… The lioness must've stored wildfire in the catacombs of the Red Keep. Snorting, coughing away more dust and sand that coated his face and lips, Sandor imagined wringing Cersei's neck as he should have her shit son's. "If... " cough. "The Girl doesn't gut her…" cough. "She's burned or gutted by the Stag." Fitting.

Finally able to summon the energy to move even a bit, one glance to his right found a sight that made Sandor's lips slowly curl upward. There, sitting just as upright as his brother, was Ser Gregor Clegane. The body still encased in the mighty armor, yet the top half of his head blown off. The lower jaw hung limply from a burn-scarred lower mandible, neck bent down in an almost slouch.

Unable to help himself - no matter how it hurt - Sandor chuckled to himself. "Well brother," he wheezed. "You died handsomer than you ever lived." As much of a eulogy the Mountain that Rides would ever get.

Hands falling to his sides, a gentle sloshing caught Sandor's attention. Well, I'll be fucked. His wineskin, it was untouched. Talk about a fuckin' miracle. Seated next to his brother's corpse, Sandor Clegane uncorked the lid and downed the sweet liquid. Around him, the ash of tens of thousands of formerly living souls began to fall from the sky, blanketing what remained of the city of Aegon the Conqueror.

A/N: BRuh4: Buckets of stuff here.

Stannis did it. Which you probably expected. It was always our plan for him. But, did you think he would also incite the deaths of thousands? If it wasn't clear, most of the city was destroyed. Thousands and thousands died.

Arya made her move. It wasn't meant to be. We thought about it for a long time. With Jaime as well. But those we're too easy and too obvious. So Arya missed her chance, but she's got Gendry. Which I'm sure a lot of you folks might be excited to see. The young Bull is here.

Next time won't be quite as fast but we've already made a lot of progress.

See you then, around the bend.

Longclaw: Well... that's that, then.

Tried to make sure everything here, from Jaime's actions to the Cleganebowl actually fit the characters. Hope you enjoyed in these back to back updates :)

To accurately describe KL after this, imagine Dresden after the WWII bombing raid in 1945.

Next time, Jon and Stannis meet again.