Apparently, according to writers and directors of the show, Viserion wasn't breathing ice (which makes sense to me) he was breathing some new form of blue fire. HOWEVER, I believe that is not how I have written it so far and I don't want to go back and re-read everything I've said and written. So I've worded it vague but just in case, for the purposes of this story, the dead dragons are breathing ice, not fire.
Blood. Ice. Screams.
It smelled and sounded like the sweetest music to Sansa's ears. She watched the city from a distance, seeing Drogon and Viserion fly in arcs overhead. Each took turns streaming blasts of icy blue down upon the inhabitants. The Night King's army took care of those who were left alive.
Shall we?
Sansa turned her head and saw her king at her side, hand extended. She slipped hers in it and they started off, toward the burning city. Every step was slow and sure, bringing them closer to the heart of King's Landing and Sansa's revenge.
Revenge wasn't quite the right word. Since her human self was in bits and pieces inside her mind, the girl that Cersei tortured was barely alive. Still, hate was a powerful emotion and that was probably a more apt description of what drove Sansa at the moment. Hate. Ice cold and clear.
No one touched them in the city. Wights hacked and tore at the living, ending their lives. The dead rose within seconds of falling and little by little the screams died away until there was nothing but the crackling of burning buildings.
The dragons screeched overhead and continued to circle until Drogon landed on the top of a tall spire, Daenerys on his back. Viserion followed suit at the opposite side of the city and they both waited for their king to give further orders. For now, the bloodshed, at least for them, was at an end.
The Night King and Sansa moved past the city and into the castle. She could recognize the place where she'd spend so many years in pain and torment. A small smile curved her lips as her feet planted one step at a time. The tower, the highest in the city, that was their objective.
Then she paused, cocking her head and sniffing.
Not this way, she said, turning and going back the way they came.
The Night King chuckled, the sound ringing throughout her mind. He saw clearly what Sansa did, or rather heard it. A dozen or so heartbeats, thudding in terror in a room nearby.
His wights parted a way for him and Sansa, as they entered what used to be the throne room. A large hole in the side of the castle was blasted in. There on the floor were several men, inconsequential, and Cersei, standing behind them. She noted that the other woman's head was still held high with pride and … whatever else. It didn't matter. She would die soon. To her side, was the Mountain. He had no heartbeat.
Strange.
The queen's eyes widened in shock when they landed on Sansa. "Sansa? Is that you?"
I am something more than Sansa Stark now.
The Night King halted behind her, raising a hand. Moments later, his people entered the room.
"Jaime," Cersei whispered, seeing his face amongst the others.
Jaime Lannister stood stiffly in line with the others, staring at the only humans left alive in King's Landing. No emotion crossed his pale face. To the side, Drogon landed with a loud scream and his rider alighted, walking into the throne room to take her place with her fellow soldiers.
Kill them, Sansa whispered. Everyone but her.
The dead attacked, descending on Cersei's maester and the rest of her guard until there was nothing left. Finally, only the Mountain and the queen remained.
Sansa looked at him, a challenging spark in her eye. The dead quivered around him, ready to strike but knowing he was different. He was like them, only not.
Tear his head off, she ordered. Feed him to Drogon.
Then Sansa stepped back to stand next to the Night King and watch the display. The Mountain relished the fight and showed no ounce of fear. Of course not. He wasn't a man anymore. Not really. He would live. Or he would die. It was that simple.
The dead overcame him, piling on until he could barely move. There was a loud cracking sound and then his body was still. The dead carried parts of him away. Outside the throne room, Drogon opened his massive jaws and ate him in one chomp.
Then it was just Cersei. The proud look on her face was gone. In its wake was only terror and just the tiniest spark of hope that maybe someone would still be able to save her. Her hands covered the swell of her stomach.
"Sansa," she began in almost a whisper, "I know I don't deserve it, but please, show mercy. I am with child." Her eyes darted over to her brother, pleading with him to save her, but he gave no indication he even saw her.
Your child will never be born, Sansa replied, holding out her hand. A sword was placed in it by someone-one of the Older Ones, maybe. She didn't know, nor did she care.
"You're not a killer."
You still see me as the pathetic human I was. Sansa gave the barest of tilts to her head. No matter. You will not see for much longer.
Sansa walked slowly toward Cersei, who backed up the stairs until her knees hit the seat of the Iron Throne. She was trapped. Sansa raised her sword high and Cersei fell backwards, sitting on the throne with hard thud.
In the silence that followed, a tittering sound started then grew louder into loud laughter. It was coming from Cersei. Sansa paused and stared down at her. Cersei turned her head and looked up at the redhead, a smile on her face.
"Was? All I see before me is the same weak and useless girl I knew from before." She laughed again and situated herself on the throne.
Sansa wasn't insulted. Instead she lowered her sword until the blade rested against the floor.
"This is your grand revenge? Well, get on with it," Cersei snapped, waving a hand around the throne room. "I suppose you've dreamed of this for some time now. Well, I wouldn't want to disappoint. How should I die?" she asked, a glint of manic laughter in her eyes. "Do you want me to scream? Should I cry?"
Everyone waited to see what would happen. Their kind weren't given to emotional outbursts, so the thought of Sansa being offended or enraged by this woman's words hadn't crossed their minds. But their newest member had paused.
Why?
Sansa didn't move for a few seconds. Then her head turned downwards toward Cersei. However you want, I suppose.
Then one of her hands went to her throat. Her mouth opened and a scratchy unused voice came from it. Only one word was spoken aloud.
"Jaime."
She wanted Cersei to know what she was going to do.
Kill her, she ordered him. Make it good.
Cersei's eyes widened as her brother, her most beloved brother, stepped from his place on the side and walked toward her and Sansa. Cersei tried to crawl backwards but the throne encased her on all sides.
"Jaime, what are you doing?" Cersei whispered, looking frightened once more.
Jaime didn't answer. One of his hands reached and grabbed her throat. Her sudden screams were cut off. Sansa watched with interest, noting the tears that poured from Cersei's eyes. Jaime reached back with his other hand, the golden one, and thrust forward hard.
Cersei's mouth opened in a silent O. A choking sound filled the throne room as Jaime released her throat. His arm, however, still lay buried deep in her chest. Her body quivered on the end of it until he finally stepped back and let her fall backwards onto the throne.
The Night King watched Sansa with relish, noting the way her mind raced with pleasure.
Leave us.
Sansa looked down one more time at Cersei's body and then slowly turned, taking one step at a time toward her king. He met her halfway up the stairs. One pale hand reached out and took the material of her dress at her waist. His fist clenched around it, drawing her closer to him.
Over his shoulder, she saw the rest of their number departing from the throne room. The dragon flapped its wings and took off, carrying Daenerys with him.
Then the Night King wasted no time. He jerked her toward him, angling his head for access to her mouth. She opened it willingly, drinking him in. His hands slid up her arms to the neck of her dress, ripping it wide open and then tearing it off her.
She hadn't seen this side of him as of yet. He usually moved slow and even, taking advantage of her inexperience. This time he was practically savage.
She was on her stomach. The edges of the stone steps cut in hard against her body, but she didn't feel it. Blood traveling down from the corpse above pooled sticky and dark under her hands. She arched into his hands, brutal in their grip.
Had she been human she would have shivered in fear that he would tear her apart. As it was, aching wetness pooled between her legs, begging for him to take her.
The Night King went to his knees, not bothering to remove his own clothing, just the parts he needed to sate his desire. One hand deftly loosened his breeches and took his cock, stroking once, then twice, before leaning forward and positioning himself against her.
Her icy blue eyes took on a feverish quality when she felt him. One hand snaked around and under her, wrapping around her stomach. She felt every bump and scrape of his armor against her naked body as it molded itself to her and thrust forward. He buried himself inside her in one swift movement, her body quivering under his.
Yes, she hissed, arching into him. More.
Hands clawed her hips and ass as he bucked and thrust into her until her body shuddered forward with every movement. Cersei's blood smeared over her breasts and shoulders, even the side of her face, but neither one cared. If anything, it made the situation more erotic.
Moments passed quickly, too quickly for Sansa. In her mind, a low moaning exhale echoed and his motions slowed as he came. Her frustration was palpable, but she turned over and drew him to her, uncaring that he was finished. She wasn't.
Sansa forced herself on him, ravaging his mouth with her own and drawing his hand between her legs. The torture of being so close to release almost hurt. He didn't need any guidance. His fingers moved swift and firm between her legs, bringing her quickly back to the high she'd been on before he'd left her so brutally cold.
Then his hand was gone and before she could protest, his mouth replaced it. Lips and tongue moved with expert precision and she wondered how the leader of the dead was so good at this. It couldn't be just his experience as a human.
Her moans echoed in his mind and he dug his nails into her thighs hard. The pain combined with pleasure sent her spiraling over the edge. Her vision blurred for a few all too short moments as spasms wracked her body. Then she collapsed backwards, her mind slowly reassembling itself.
Her king slid up her body, settling between her legs. He was already hard again. I want more.
Yes. Her thoughts were sluggish, as if she were drunk. More.
As they began to fuck, slowly this time, a pair of dark eyes watched them from the shadows.
XXXXX
Arya backed away, making sure she wasn't heard.
Horrified by what she'd seen.
Sansa.
And him.
Her sister wasn't human anymore.
Only one thought ran through her mind as she made her way through the Keep.
Find Jon.
Find Jon.
Find Jon.
This was so hard to write! And then once I did, the sex scene was even harder. But I wanted one in the aftermath of Cersei so I plugged on. This I can deal with. I wanted it to be amazeballs but this is just going to have to do. It's amaze-meh. LOL