74 He is not a God

Reaching a sand pit in the middle of the scrapyard, Jon plunged his hand deep within. Fingers enclosing on something hard and metallic, he pulled it out to hold Longclaw. Cheers erupted from his men as their Emperor leveled his blade at the Red Keep. "To the monster's lair!"

"Hurry! Hurry!" yelled the High Sparrow, voice frantic as the Goldcloaks, guards, and fellow courtesans flooded out of the castle and onto the display of Joffrey's might and majesty. All knew that the crowd would rip them to pieces, overwhelm anything that stood in their way. Only spectacle could stop them, and spectacle they would give.

"Look!" At the sound of Cersei, all eyes were drawn to the top of the pyramid - the symbol of Royal greatness turned into the symbol of revolution itself.

As heavy as the golden idol was, brute force won out. The ropes and chains overwhelmed the bronze cast, legs snapping and the entire edifice to Joffrey's god complex shearing the stone lining to the pyramid. It slammed into the ramp below, kicking up a vast cloud of dust.

"BREAK THE WHEEL!"

It was as if the entire city was an ant hill. Driven mad by the oppressive and blood-soaked rule of Joffrey, with the single lit spark the detonation of revolution drove all out to the streets. Tipping the spear were the thousands of the Imperial Army, but behind them were hundreds of thousands surging forward with a singular mission. The mere hundreds of Goldcloaks that lined the bridge and the inner plaza of the Red Keep, remodeled for the Chimera to address his captive slaves but now left an unarmored hole straight for the black heart of Joffrey's regime.

Such drove them forward. Such fueled the rage and vengeance within the horde.

"Ho! Ho!" the hoplites hooted, mass of the crowd behind them and their Emperor and Lord alongside them as they surged from the houses and buildings onto the square overlooking the Red Keep. The balcony and dias overlooking the walls and plaza filled with guards and dignitaries - as if the entire Lannister host was on display before them. Along with…

Jon saw it first. Terror stabbing through him, he immediately raised Longclaw in the air. "Stop!" he yelled at the top of his lungs. "Stop!" At the order, the charge petered out, humanity still surging forward but tapering off just several yards from the bridge. Confusion reigned. The wheel was almost broken, the Red Keep laid out before them as enticingly as a naked, moaning virgin.

It was then that all caught glimpse of what had so frightened their Emperor. Tied up together - the Kingslayer along with them - were Daenerys and Sansa. The Empress and Hand of the Emperor. Glinting in the sun, the sword of Ilyn Payne awaited the mere command to end their lives for good.

The horns atop the Red Keep boomed with the signal of the Chimera. Automatically, beaten into them by years of whips and propaganda, the sheer number of citizens and slaves that had risen under the call of revolution - of Azor Ahai himself - simply dropped to their bellies in reverence to the man that had for so long controlled their very existence.

While it was galling and shocking to the Imperials, it was Kinvara who let the rage and indignancy at her calls for faith in the Prince that was Promised collapsed into the refuge of devotion to Joffrey. The 'Golden One,' the false prophet of the original story of Azor Ahai. "Get up!" she snarled. "Get up you fools! GET UP!" But to no effect. The conditioning was too severe.

After a mere minute the entire city was prone before the Red Keep.

From the dark interior of the palace of the Kings of Westeros, out walked Joffrey, first of his name. Robes made of cloth of gold draped over him, topped by a veil of the finest, gossamer silk. Solid gold fingerclaws adorned his hand and gold-buckled sandals were tied around his feet. But behind such finery, Jon could sense the true Chimera. Gaunt, pale, wild-eyed, absolute power and certainty of omnipotence had taken an already fragile psyche and condemned it to unadulterated madness.

And this was the man who now held Daenerys' life in his hands. 'Gods protect me,' Jon thought with a steeled inhale.

"Behold in all his glory, His Highest Joffrey," the High Sparrow began, arm extended to to - admittedly - resplendent, majestic figure of the usurper King. "His most Holy Chimera. Messiah of the Seven, born of the womb of the Maiden. King of the Andals, Rhoynar, and First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm. Representative of the Gods upon the Earth."

Grumbled curses left the lips of the Imperials at the sight of the cause of the Realm's suffering, fists tightening around sword and spear. Even more so at the continued penitence from the slaves - whether it be true belief in his divinity or conditioning. Or both. But for Jon, all he could do was fight the fear within him. Control the heavy beating of his heart.

Stepping forward, eyes squinting from the glare of the noonday sun, Jon left the safety of his numbers till his boots clattered upon the stone bridge. A lone conqueror in his dark grey cuirass, sword in hand and humble before the gilded opulence of the dynasty challenged.

An image flashed in his mind. Vividly displaying a scene of the past, one mirroring this almost exactly. But as soon as it came it was gone.

Jon shook it off. "Joffrey Waters," he announced loudly. "We meet again."

Willing himself to ignore the slight - much as his rage burned at the insult, threatening to overpower him - Joffrey pointed a clawed hand at the challenging monarch. "Jon Snow, Bastard of Winterfell." He let out a laugh. "My late grandfather underestimated you."

Looking straight at Dany, the first time they saw each other since the interrupted embrace of weeks past, he felt ice form in his core to see her tied up like a human sacrifice. "It seems as I have done the same with you." Jon stopped, locking eyes with the Chimera once more. "Let her go."

Barking a laugh, one in which Cersei and several others joined, Joffrey gazed down upon the lone man separate from the massive mob behind him. An unimposing, rumpled man, his curls down around his shoulders and cuirass covered in dust. Nothing like the glorious God King regalia that he sported. Unworthy of rule. "You don't make demands of me, Bastard. Daenerys Targaryen, as well as your whore of a sister, are mine to do with as I please." Joffrey leered smugly. "Ser Ilyn?"

Closing her eyes, Dany felt as the mute executioner rested his sharp blade on her shoulder. Metal brushing against her bare skin. She shuddered, eyes opening to look straight at Jon. While his exterior was placid, she could tell he was seething. If he could be composed, she would be. 'A dragon is no slave.' Her stomach fluttered, reminding her of what she fought for.

"You will die if you harm them!" Ser Jorah - still grieving over the death of his friend, Ser Barristan - snarled, sword high.

"Restrain your dog, Bastard." He pointed at Ser Ilhan. "My executioner holds the same blade as had killed your filth of a father." Disgust dripped from his voice. "Consorting with a common harlot. For shame."

"Be careful what insults you throw, Joffrey." The Emperor was nonplussed, all his followers - and most of those that followed the Chimera - silent as they watched the exchange. "They may hit you square in the face." A whole city… a whole nation waited on baited breath as the two monarchs faced off.

Rolling his eyes, the King nodded to Ilyn Payne. "If you try to continue this blasphemous quest, then she will die." The royal executioner calmly swung his sword, lopping off the withered head of Grand Maester Pycelle without the old man even expecting it. Bearded head tumbling to the ground, a look of surprise still rested upon it. "Like this traitor. Ser Ilhan knows how to execute traitors. Your whore sister knows that."

"You will never win, Joffrey," Sansa's voice rang out. "You own only this castle, and soon it will…" Ser Ilhan hit her in the gut with the hilt of his sword.

Not exposing a single thought of his, Dany could see all she needed to in his stormy grey eyes. Supreme fear, and supreme anger. Somewhere out in the city, a roar echoed… one came after the other in quick succession, till six resonated across King's Landing. "And yet my sister is not here, while the Kingslayer is. Family disunity, Joffrey?"

With the constant insult of using his first name, Joffrey was boiling inside. "I have no family but the Seven, bastard!" Outburst let out, he calmed down, smug smile returning. Raising his arms, Joffrey showed his magnanimity. "Tell you what. Go back to your icehouse land. Take your army with you, fight the skeletons or whatever it is you prattle on about. Leave here forever, and you will have your whore and your sister." He laughed. "I'll even throw in my useless, traitor uncle. My gift to you. All you have to do is leave."

"Don't do it, Jon!" Dany screamed before Ilyn Payne slapped her cheek with a resounding crack.

"Monster!" yelled Jaime Lannister, though it turned into a coughing hack when the Mountain slammed his fist into the Kingslayer's gut. The crowd's furor only increased, ready to surge forward at their Emperor's orders.

"Jon, kill him!" Sansa demanded.

An offer designed to tug on his heartstrings. Utilize his deep love for Daenerys against him, his sister against him - it would be tempting, but Jon knew Joffrey never meant what he said. Glancing over his shoulders, the giant throng of men and women that had followed him into the jaws of death simply waiting. "And what of the others?" Sad, battered faces looked back on him, hope of liberty in their eyes. "What of those in bondage."

"The slaves?" Joffrey's arrogant laugh returned. "They are barely even human. All the beasts of burden on this earth belong to me, and they shall work and live as I see fit." Disgust poisoned Jon's brain like the vilest bile, but before he could retort a blinding white filled his vision...

Glancing around him, slightly frantic, Jon was struck with a sense of deja vu. Everything around him was - for the most part - virgin earth. Green fields, snow-capped mountains, and wildlife going about their existence with nary a care about human encroachment. All that marred the landscape was a small human settlement nestled against the cliffs. One eerily familiar, but scaled rapidly down till it could fit a mere twenty thousand or so. "Is that…?" he wondered out loud.

"Yes, it is."

Jon turned at the familiar voice. "Bran?"

His brother smiled softly, legs working and standing without the use of his magic. "Welcome Jon. My body is still within the camp outside of the city, but I had to show you something of… well, your past, so to speak."

Parsing that statement, certain truths did come quickly to Jon. "So…" he said. "This… this is one of your greensees?" A nod from the Three Eyed Raven. "But why am I here? How is it possible that I can see?"

"You are here, Jon, because I want you to be here. To witness how history has repeated itself." Extending his arm toward the outskirts of the city, they were greeted with something Jon was quite familiar with.

Following Bran's finger, Jon's eyes led him to a scene not unlike his confrontation with Joffrey. A crowd, gathered around two men. One, draped in gold and atop a massive litter. The other, draped in rags and surrounded by peasants. "What is this?"

"The Lightbringer," Bran replied. "The North knew of the threat of the Night King, while the Southern King only laughed." Eerily familiar indeed. "To fight the dead, Soryn Targaryen united the living." Jon jerked his head back to Bran, mouth agape.

"A Targaryen?"

A smile crept on Bran's face. "Yes, Jon. Destiny is intertwined quite strongly." They both gazed on the scene, Soryn Targaryen raising a javelin. "Now, it is up to Jon Targaryen to unite the living…" The words, the throw of the spear… all echoed at the same instant that the world went white again...

Eyes opening, Jon was back in the here and now. Only an instant had passed in reality, but a greater sense of wisdom had filled the Emperor in that time. He took a calming breath, stoking the inner dragonfire within his blood. Jon knew the truth of what had to be done. It would never change. Joffrey would never stop - without an army, he was still a knife poised right over his back. Over the back of the entire realm as they fought the very specter of death itself. 'This has to end. This all has to end.'

Turning his back to Joffrey, Jon's voice still boomed. "Tell me Joffrey, what do you know about divine providence?"

Confused at the question, arrogance quickly allowed him to regain his composure. "I am a god upon this earth. My word is the natural law."

"You certainly act like a god," Jon mused aloud, walking towards his army. Eyes signaling out Ser MacKenzie of the Imperial Handcannon battalion. "Mortals like me, we have vices of the flesh. Lust, desire, sadness, fear… you apparently have none."

Joffrey preened. "I am glad you have recognized my divinity."

"Sire," whispered Qyburn. "I am unsure he…"

"Shut up!" snarled the Chimera.

Glint in his eye, Jon looked at Ser MacKenzie in the eye. "Remember what we trained for." Weeks since Dany's capture had found Jon in a determined haze, deep in the countryside with the handcannonier training for this moment.

"Aye," replied the captain, cogs clicking within his mind. 'You crafty bastard, sire,' he thought, pride in his monarch swelling within him.

"Now," Jon whispered, knowing that the tension only increased as none else could see

MacKenzie handed something specific to Jon, a wicked grin on his face. Tucking it in his belt loop behind his back as he turned, Jon looked directly at where the Chimera's eyes had to be. "There is one way to prove divinity." He clasped his hands behind his back, sovereignguards starting to get edgy as even Joffrey felt a twinge of fear in his heart with the Emperor's advance. "Gods are immortal. They cannot be hurt or injured. As I have known the sweet embrace of death, I certainly am not among the divine."

"What the fuck is he doing?" Tyene Martell hissed to Bronn.

"Brother…" Robb began to call, trailing off as Grey Worm elbowed him, supremely confident in his Emperor.

Terror stabbed through Dany. "Jon!" Her voice nearly caught in her throat, more worried for Jon than Ilan Payne's blade. "Get back! You'll be killed" Jaime, lips pursed in an incredulous, uncomprehending of the Emperor's conduct now stared in wonder - seeing Rhaegar in the flesh.

Hiding his trembling - and failing, to the sight of the prostrate masses around the Red Keep - Joffrey involuntarily stepped back. "Your reign will fall…" Frantic rage erupted. "You stand before a God, bastard! Born of the Womb of the Maiden! Get back or the Seven will strike you down!"

"Tell me one thing, Joffrey." Halfway across the bridge, Jon slowly turned, agily drawing the weapon and holding it level with the front of his belt without it ever emerging into view of the Chimera. 'Lord of Light,' he quietly thought, throwing religious caution to the wind. 'See me through the night.' "Do you bleed?" Swiveling with a fluid speed, a piercing crack changed everything… in an instant.

Shrunken into a mere foot and a half, the 'dwarfcannon' fired its deadly payload with a gout of flame and smoke. Jon had practiced every day in the woods for weeks, honing his accuracy, the range of the weapon left much to be desired. It was left in the balance, providence to determine the fate of the little lead ball.

Providence kept true. Rocketing through the air like a fast crack, the projectile hit the shoulder of the Chimera with a wet slap. He pitched back, bones cracking and blood spurting out to splatter against the marble floor of the balcony. Too shocked by the events, no guard, warrior, or archer were able to move. Stunned, none dared fire upon the Emperor, focusing their attention to the man thought their god.

His retinue watched in abject horror as he collapsed to his knees, ripping at his veil. Joffrey gasped at the air in sheer terror. For the first time in years the sun hit his bare face, blood soaked veil falling to the ground as he pressed against the wound. "FUCK! FUCK!" Qyburn, shaken from his shock, ran forward and pressed a handkerchief against the wound.

Drawing Longclaw, Jon pointed at the battlements. "The God King bleeds! He is no god!"

A great cry rose from the entire host, from Lord to soldier to citizen to slave alike. A cry of freedom… a cry of certain vengeance against the supreme tyrant.

"Grevy pryjatas!"

With the surging Imperials clashing against the remaining Lannister forces, the inner courtyard of the Red Keep was filled with scrambling courtesans and fleeing councilmen, desperate to escape the bloodlust of the crowd. Most had a singular desire to escape, but some instead focused on the bloody business of vengeance.

Ser Gregor Clegane and all of the sovereignguards by her side, Cersei Lannister had the three prisoners dragged to the middle of the courtyard. "Your services won't be needed, Ser Ilyn. I shall be dealing with them myself."

"You condemn yourself to death, sister," Jaime stated. "Joffrey will die. Do not make Tommen motherless as well."

There was nothing left in Cersei but madness, and it was directed at Jaime. "You would like that, wouldn't you. Seeing us all with a sword in our backs like you did with the Mad King."

Hacking through the ragged line of Goldcloaks, Jon stepped onto the dias to see Cersei with his wife and sister. "Dany!" Racing towards them, he only just managed to dodge the flash of steel that passed inches from his neck.

"Hello, Snow," Daario stated matter of factly, curved arkh in hand as he darted forward again - only now for the steel to groan as it slammed into Longclaw. "We finally meet, face to face."

Calming his mind of the Targaryen fury that so filled him, Jon met each attack with his own parry. The sellsword was agile, but so was he, the morning's fatigue and aching barely slowing him down. Daario could match him in a battle of maneuverability, but brute strength would overcome the day.

More Imperials stormed the courtyard, the dozens of guards around Cersei breaking off to engage them. Drawing his own massive sword, Gregor Clegane decapitated charging warriors. He had sworn to defend Joffrey and the royal family, and he would give his last breath to do so. And yet, there was one person determined to make that happen.

"Brother!" Sandor snarled, charging at the hulking form of the Mountain. "I'm home!" Gregor was by far the larger fighter and stronger warrior, but the Hound had fury and skill on his side as their blades collided. But there was no chance Sandor could burst through the thick slab of meat he shared blood and name with… leaving the women Jaime Lannister at his sister's mercy.

Drawing the crossbow back, savoring the click click click of each gear, Cersei stalked the three prisoners tied up before her. "Dearest brother. Would you rather die last, or die before watching your precious Rhaegar Targaryen's son lose his wife and his sister in an instant?"

Red with anger, Jaime spat at his sister. Much as it hurt him, his sister had turned into the same kind of monster their child was.

"Very well, so be it." Grinning maliciously - the spitting image of Joffrey - Cersei placed the bolt in the chamber and raised it at Sansa. "Let's start with the great beauty of Winterfell. Do say hello to your father for me." Her finger brushed on the trigger.

"No!" Cersei topped to the ground as Dontos Hollard knocked her off her feet. The crossbow clattered to the ground beside her, and the knight turned fool dashed to Sansa's side. A quick swing of the blade he carried - Saracen, stolen from Joffrey's chambers - several times in succession cut the ropes binding the prisoners together.

Cersei, however, had recovered. "Guards!" They rushed forward, ready to kill in one last act of loyalty to their King. Dany grabbed Saracen from Hollard's hand, pushing Sansa to the side as the Valyrian steel sliced off the head of a halberd. She rammed it through a chink in the chain mail, blood spurting as she drew it back and prepared to face the next threat.

'Balerion,' Dany commanded. 'Come.'

Headbutting his brother square in the face, Sandor watched as he staggered a bit but recovered, more enraged than before. "I should have burned your entire head!" he snarled, charging with blade up.

The Hound batted it aside with his sword, the blow to the head having done more damage than he thought. "Fuck you!" he hissed, slicing across his brother's chest. The wound was shallow, but send the Mountain to the ground. Before he could finally finish the job, Beric Dondarrion grabbed Gregor's fallen sword and slammed the hilt into his head, knocking him unconscious.

"Finishing what Ned Stark sent me to do," the lord offered by way of explanation.

"Taking all the fun out of this, huh?"

No slouch himself, Daario nevertheless was struggling to keep up with the Emperor. His agility was superb, but Jon was indefatigable, matching blow for blow and growing stronger by the minute. Once advancing, Daario now gave ground to relentless attacks as the initiative shifted. "You are not worthy for her, bastard!" he growled.

"Aye, I'm not," Jon replied, knocking Daario's arkh down and spinning in a furious roundhouse kick. His boot hit Daario in the breastbone, the sellsword staggering. "I don't deserve her, but I would die for her nonetheless." At one final lunge from his opponent, Jon sidestepped it and took advantage of Daario's outstretched hand… a hand that in one instant was sliced off, clattering to the floor with his blade. Daario cried out in pain. "That is for Arya." Another swipe of Valyrian steel sliced through a leg. Daario collapsed. "That is for Sansa. And this… is for Dany!" In a swing that would make an executioner proud, a drop of blood fell from Longclaw, Daario's head falling atop the ground.

Daenerys had used her short stature to an advantage, able to slide around wide swings and slash at legs with impunity. Four corpses ringed her, but she grew tired. Robb, charging with the piercing wolf howl that so terrified the Lannister infantry at the Whispering Wood, killed Boros Blount but was blocked by the suicidal stalwartness of Preston Greenfield. He would dispatch the crazed knight, but too late to save Dany.

Bringing Saracen up, Dany just managed to deflect a blow from Ilyn Payne when a oar blasted through the courtyard. Black wings beating up a storm, Balerion - the Dread Reborn - gripped the red brick with his claws. Hooting, his jaws clamped down on Goldcloak and sovereignguard alike, breaking them for good as many fled, or surrendered to the charging Imperials.

"SER ILYN!" Cersei shrieked. "KILL HER NOW!"

Wordlessly, the royal executioner raised his blade to do to Dany what he had done to her father-in-law… but the only blade that would shed blood here was that of the Kingslayer, embedding in the executioner's gut.

Furious, Cersei dove for the crossbow upon the floor, but a blow from Jaime's metal arm sent her to the ground. She had just picked herself up as her brother picked up the crossbow. They stared at each other. "Don't make me do it, Cersei," Jaime pleaded, one last time. "Please just give in."

Her eyes were hard, expression fierce. "Funny, I always thought Tyrion was the volanquir. Not you." But Jaime was her younger brother, by thirty minutes. "Do it."

The bolt slammed into her heart, organ's beating further tearing itself apart on the iron point, spilling blood all around in violent spurts. In the last seconds of consciousness, Cersei stared at her murderer… mouth and eyes both registering their shock and grief. As the blackness descended upon her, Jaime let the crossbow fall from his hands. Tears running down his cheeks.

Fatigue from the entire day slowly descending on him, Jon looked out over the entire inner courtyard. At the corpses and bloody forms of those survivors. "Jon!" He barely blinked before Sansa embraced him, holding him tight.

"Are you alright, sister?"

"Yes." She looked behind her, where Daenerys pulled away from Balerion, staring directly at Jon. Sansa broke the embrace. "Go to your wife, brother."

Not the Night King himself could have stopped Jon from sweeping Dany into his arms. Covered in blood as he was, as he had at the Battle of the Bastards he didn't care. Burying his face in the crook of her neck, listening to her cries of joy, he finally felt at home. Finally felt complete. Pulling back, he gazed in your eyes. "The baby?"

"He or she is still kicking," she replied, her fear and pain evaporating in his arms. "Happy name day, my love." She kissed him. "Thank the Gods you are alright."

He set her down, clutching her hands in his. "I can say the same for you." Once again, he embraced her. "And now it is over."

"No." Both turned to Sansa, pain and hate in her eyes. "Joffrey still lives."

Blood seeping through his fingers, Joffrey hobbled as fast as he could through the hallways of his castle. The crimson liquid dripped onto the marble and travertine tiles, leaving a trail behind him. All around him, the high vaulting echoed with the clopping of his boots. Images on frescos, mosaics, and stained glass - images of past Kings, warriors, and heroes - seemed to stare at him. Stern, joyless faces filled with rage at the sad, pathetic little monster that had perverted their kingdom. From the bright sunlight, they seemed to glow.

It was all too much. Whispers of hate and doubt overwhelmed his senses, spurring his madness till Joffrey didn't know where the false pain ended and the real pain began. "Shut up! Shut up all of you!" Joffrey yelled at the statues, at the paintings, trying desperately to find his way to the royal dock. 'I shall go to Braavos,' he thought, obtain sanctuary from the Iron Bank. In their past dealings, he was sure that they would support his proper claim against the Stark Bastard.

A roar nearly made him jump out of his skin. The Red Keep rocked from the booming of the dragons, overwhelming the sounds of steel and shot that echoed through the cavernous halls. Joffrey ran faster, putting as much distance between him and the oncoming imperial horde. The entire edifice of his godhead was collapsing around him. He refused to believe it though.

"QYBURN!" He screamed, calling for his advisors and confidants. "SER GREGOR! NAHARIS!" No response. Handcannon fire crackled in the distance. Tears streaming down his cheeks from pain and frustration, he shrieked at the top of his lungs for everyone under the sun. "BAELISH! MOTHER! UNCLE! GRANDFATHER!"

But no one was coming. Not even the most lowly servant. He was alone. Dreadfully alone, no one behind him as he would face the dragon and the wolf. The vision of Ned Stark, blood seeping from his neck and eyes blue as ice, followed him. "Shut up!" he screamed, gritting his teeth and closing his eyes.

"One god she crowns, one god destroyed." Jon Snow. Jon Targaryen. Azor Ahai. The Lord of Light reborn. Years of running from the visions, years of building the greatest Empire in history, ended by a petite, fair queen and an unassuming, humble warrior. With the Dragon Queen as his messenger, Jon Snow had destroyed everything.

Truly Ned Stark's revenge.

Stepping onto the battlements overlooking Blackwater Bay, another soul came into sight. "You, girl!" It was one of his blind servants, staring aimlessly at the placid waters of the bay as if she could actually see. The castle shook again, various human screams followed by a piercing shriek. "Get over here cunt, and help your King!"

The nameless girl, no one essentially, did not respond. One of the many who would scurry about like frightened mice if he so sneezed… simply did nothing.

Fueled by the pain in his shoulder, and the greater anguish of his Empire collapsing, Joffrey snarled and lunged forward to the girl. "I SAID, CUNT. GET OVER HERE AND…"

Joffrey's high-pitched screaming was suddenly cut short. He suddenly felt short of breath, as if all the wind was knocked out of him. There was no pain, as if punched, but there was some sort of force pressing onto his stomach - an invisible hand, almost. Struggling to wheeze in air, the Chimera's eyes drifted from the girl to his abdomen. There was the culprit. A sword… almost thin as a sewing needle, tip buried in his gut. No pain, but even a cloistered, spoiled highborn as Joffrey knew that there would be pain. Far worse pain than any other wound.

Looking back at the servant, the blind eyes seemed to sparkle, lips below curved into a wolfish smile. Predatory even. With expert movements, she pushed into his gut, sending out the first tendrils of pain - ones foretelling even greater pain as the seconds ticked by. Slowly, the girl guided him towards the battlements. Till his back pressed against the stone.

"Who…" he choked out, struggling to take in breaths. "Who are you…?"

The smile seemed to grow more sinister, more predatory. Slowly, the hand not gripping the hilt of the sword reached inside her shift and pulled out a pendent. Centered around a brilliant, large stone that glowed red with power. The red of the hair of the witch, the one who had obtained Joffrey power and yet began the spiral of doom. Fingers brushing over the stone, the girl's features morphed before him into the real face of death.

"No." Joffrey gaped like a fish, the pain starting to become unbearable. "It can't be…"

Arya smirked darkly. "Oh, but it is, Joffrey."

"You're dead. You were killed…" The moment of triumph, when Naharis had brought her to him… replaced with exactly the scene from the river at Moat Cailin. Where the wisp of a girl had disarmed him, holding his life in her hands. She laughed, digging the tip of the sword deeper in his gut, reveling in his gasp of pain.

A shadow draped over them, gust of air billowing as a grey demon slammed into the ground. Joffrey screamed, the monstrous form of one of the Dragon Empress' children roaring from the same beachhead where he watched his uncle's fleet burn. Only the face of the great dragon dwarfed any number of ships in sheer terror and majesty.

"You were the first person, you know." Arya enjoyed this, the moment that she had so long sought. That consumed her soul. "No matter how many crossed me. How many tried to wipe out my family and all others that I loved… you were always first on my list."

The dragon was whipped into a frenzy, snarling and clawing at the high seaside walls. Leaping on hind legs, its jaw took a chunk out of the battlements. No protection was left against it except the height of the wall and its own sense of sadistic fun at the cat and mouse game. Arya, though, was a deathly calm. Joffrey didn't know who was more terrifying.

Gaze drawn to the dragon, Arya threw her head back in a barking laugh. This was the scene that Jon came across as he turned the corner, sword in hand. His shock was replicated by Robb, Sansa, and Daenerys. Grey Worm was unresponsive, while Clegane snorted. "Of course she gets to the fucker first," he muttered.

Working off the last of the laughs, Arya grinned evilly. "Fitting, isn't it, Joffrey?" She reveled in his pained confusion. "You chose to kill Eddard Stark, a man you aren't fit to lick his boots. Now, his daughter has a sword in your belly. And Edderon, the dragon my sister named in his honor, stands poised to devour you." As if on cue, Edderon roared, jaw bared open in utter fury. Daenerys had never seen her child this enraged.

Teeth clenched, hands gripping the blade as Arya pushed him closer and closer to the edge, Joffrey stared Arya in the eye. "Please…" he wheezed. "Mercy."

"Mercy? HA!" Arya was incredulous. "You deserve no mercy." She enjoyed the panic and suffering over his face. Her longtime dream had finally come true. "Enjoy it, Joffrey. Knowing the last face you will see is a Stark smiling over you." And with a jerk of her arm, Needle withdrew from his gut… leaving Joffrey nothing else to maintain his balance. Arya - and her family - watched as the Chimera toppled from the battlements toward the waiting beast below.

Cry leaving his throat, utter agony stabbed through his legs as Edderon snapped his massive maw over them. Actual dragonfire boiling through his blood, the dragon burned with the desire for vengeance for his namesake, jerking his neck upward and sending Joffrey flying into the air. Cries turned to primal screams as Edderon let out a burst of dragonfire that engulfed him. The burning husk of a man plummeted toward the ground, still screaming at the dragonfire searing him in complete and total inferno. A scream that only cut short at the resounding snap of Edderon's maw.

The Divine Chimera, first of his name, was no more.

Peeking over the parapet, witnessing the final moments of Joffrey, the Vicious Idiot King, Jon allowed himself a moment of satisfaction. Of triumph over vanquishing his father's killer, bringing him to justice after so long. "Burn in hells, motherfucker," he heard Robb mutter, thoroughly agreeing with him. Sansas lips were pressed together, face both quiet and yet exuding victory. He looked at Dany, the Mother of Dragons smiling regally. All understood this very moment. The gravity of it.

Lastly, Jon looked at his sister. Arya was panting, clutching her stomach as the gravity of what she had done fell upon her. His most beloved sibling, one he hadn't seen since leaving for Essos in what seemed like a lifetime ago. A girl who had saved his beloved, endured the slave pens of King's Landing, and infiltrated deep into Joffrey's palace. It was as if the Stark pack was destined for greatness…

Breathing deeply, Arya felt drained. Her list, finally purged of the top name. The name always muttered first while she drifted to sleep, finally crossed off. It was… surreal. At long last, she looked at her family… her beloved brother. "It is done, isn't it?"

Jon nodded. "Aye, it is." A mere moment passed before Arya ran into her brother's arms.

Booming over the city, the horn that announced the late King Joffrey's presence was heard from the highest point of the Red Keep to the lowest piss-stained alcove of Flea Bottom. Only now, it was coupled with the ear-splitting roar of six dragons. Maws gaping, spittle flying every which way as they delivered their intimidating bellows upon the city. All fighting stopped. All looting stopped. What few Lannister loyalists remaining and the attacking Imperials and revolutionaries lowered their weapons. Something miraculous was about to happen. It was in the air.

Out of the balcony - the same balcony where the Divine Chimera had so been humbled, his blood still staining the sandstone floor - two figures emerged. Others flanked them, but all that could be paid attention too were the two. The Imperial couple. Jon Snow, his tunic and hair matted with blood. Daenerys Targaryen, silver locks sparkling in the sun. Hands clasped together in unity, there was no doubt as to what had transpired after the Emperor had disappeared inside the keep.

As to what had transpired at the hungry growl of the dragon.

A supreme silence had descended over the capitol city, broken only by the errant trumpeting of a loose mammoth, enjoying their newfound freedom. It was in this that Daenerys cleared her throat. "People of King's Landing! People of the Realm!" She looked at Jon, as if seeking permission. He merely nodded, thumb ghosting lovingly over her scarred hand, as if no permission was necessary. "Joffrey the Mad. Joffrey the Usurper. Joffrey the Vicious Idiot is dead! His life given so that the Realm may live!

"It is over!" She continued. "The war between us is over! There is no further butcher to follow, no further madman to fight for out of fear for your lives and your families. Now is the time that the conqueror would ask for all of you to bend the knee… but I will not ask that of you!" She looked back at her family, at her Emperor. "I always believed that I was born to rule the Seven Kingdoms. My husband, the Emperor, always had the blood to rule the Seven Kingdoms. Through the fires of war and the light of freedom we have bled and toiled, we have labored and sweated. We forged this Empire, but not for us. For you, every one of you." She swallowed, taking a deep breath. "A realm in which there is no wheel, but only one people united for survival against death itself.

"Long before, in Astapor, I told my Unsullied warriors what I will tell you now. You have been slaves all your life, slaves to the whims of those that considered themselves your betters. Slaves to tyrants. Slaves to gluttons. Slaves to monsters in human form. Today I give you freedom!" She stepped back to Jon, took his hand in his, and raised it high in the air. "We give you freedom! I ask you to follow us, though we will not force you. Will you fight, fight with your Emperor and your Empress as we journey into the maws of death itself? Will you fight, as free men?!"

The silence continued, louder than any horn or roar or explosion. No one moved, only the wind piercing the din as it blowed gently from the ocean.

It was then broken by one man. A man that had been through it all, through a journey of discovery and struggle, adversity and wisdom spanning decades and four different monarchs. Hated by most, respected by some, known by all, the whole realm took notice as Ser Jaime Lannister slapped his clenched fist against his tunic… and bent the knee.

Ser Jorah Mormont, fatherly pride all over his face, bent the knee.

Harry Strickland, retaking his oath from the plains of Highgarden, bent the knee.

Petyr Baelish, smile stretched out and meeting the gaze of Sansa Stark, bowed gracefully and bent the knee.

Ser Bronn of the Blackwater and Tyene Martell, standing together as lovers brought together by war, bent the knee.

One by one, individually or in a massive wave, the entire throng of people - soldier, citizen, and slave alike, be they followers of Lannister or Targayren - fell to their knees not as slaves, not as subjects, but as free men willingly pledging themselves to their monarchs.

Striding forward, chest beaming with pride, Sansa Stark - the Red Wolf - grabbed her sister's hand. "Gods save the Empress Daenerys!"

With the same awe, the same inspiration that led him to pledge to Daenerys at the Plaza of Astapor, Grey Worm took Jon's other hand and raised it in the air as well. "Gods save Emperor Jon!"

And the cheer broke out in the capitol. Wracked with war, with slavery and broken lives, light had finally descended to banish the darkness.

"GODS SAVE THE EMPEROR!

"GODS SAVE THE EMPRESS!"

"GODS SAVE THE EMPEROR!"

"GODS SAVE THE EMPRESS!"

And the call of the revolution… of the Empire itself. "Grevy pryjatas!"

From the farmhouse outside the city, Bran Stark smiled. History had been repeated, a realm united in the face of death. Emotion cracked through to the exterior of the Three Eyed Raven - Jon, his brother, had risen from nothing to take his place in the sun. Daenerys, his sister by law, had risen from literal slavery at the hands of her brother to reclaim her birthright. They truly were the Promised.

Suddenly, Bran nearly doubled over in pain. His hand, it burned a cold fire… the mark upon it searing itself as it had in the cave of the Children of the Forest. He knew exactly what it meant… before the pain even subsided he knew.

Regardless of Joffrey's defeat, regardless of whatever nation or house ruled over the living, it would not stop the Long Night. The Night King was coming, and only Jon and Daenerys that could stop him.