1,854A/N: Hey y'all. Sorry, been a while but it's worth the wait.
Chapter 61: Flee?
"Left, damn you, left!"
"We… turn left!"
"That's right, you idiot… left!" Jaime stabbed in the other direction. "Gods, the Dragon Queen couldn't have gotten the eternal loyalty of the Golden Company?"
"Easy, Jaime," Jon barked, rolling his eyes. "Focus on the task at…" The tunnels started to tremble, bits of dust and pebbles sprinkling down about the group as the earth-shattering roar penetrated even the deepest bowels of the Red Keep. Jon felt the blood rushing from his face. "Drogon."
"It's begun." Davos shook his head. "Seven Hells, no."
Ziganno laughed, thumping the back of one of his comrades. "The Khaleesi rides into battle, to finish this war." At least that's what it sounded like to Jon, being around them enough to piece together enough of their language.
"Gods, so many will die…"
"She won't attack the city." Jaime seemed to cling to that. "Daenerys wouldn't want the symbolism of being her father, and if she'd do it she'd have done it when Cersei was in charge." Jon nodded, and Jaime said it better than he could.
"The smallfolk mayhaps, but Stannis' army…"
Hooting, a Dothraki gestured in Davos' face. "Like dry grass…" He made a blowing sound and mimed a large flame spreading. Ziganno and the others laughed again, proud of Daenerys.
Jon was proud of her too, but for different reasons. "She wants as little bloodshed as possible, and the only way is to get to Stannis and convince him to surrender." He gestured them to continue, snaking through the tunnels built long ago by Maegor the Cruel.
"Stannis won't surrender," Jaime said, breathing hard as they hurried. "He's too stubborn, and thinks Daenerys broke the peace."
"Daenerys thinks he did," replied Jorah, "But will accept a surrender."
"Who did it?" Davos asked when they turned the corner.
Ahead was an opening to the outside. "Bet on Baelish," Jaime called as they ran towards the light. "Smells exactly like him."
"Why would he antagonize a woman with dragons? Or dragons in general?" Jorah asked matter of factly.
Unless… A thought came to Jon's mind, but it was premature. "We need to reach Stannis first." Until then anything else was futile and a distraction.
Bursting out into the light, chaos only greeted them. Scores of servants, guards, what have you were racing about, only some in any sense of order. "Oi'!" A goldcloak moved to stop them, spear leveled… only for Ser Jorah to attempt to lop off the head with his blade. "Alarm! Alarm!"
"Enough with that crock of shit!" Davos shoved himself between the two men.
The goldcloak stilled. "Ser Davos…" His eyes widened at the Dothraki. "What are you doing with these…"
"Tryin' to end this fight without all of King's Landin' dyin'," he snarled back, voice holding an undercurrent of desperation that Jon knew well - they all had it. "Where's Stannis?"
"He… he must be with her Grace."
A nod. "Be on your way then, that's an order!" The goldcloak stammered like a fish before taking the advice. "Stannis will be in the royal apartments, then. The Holdfast."
"I know them well," Jaime said. "Follow me."
Jon surmised the order in the Red Keep had devolved into pure confusion, for it wasn't until they reached the apartments on the third floor of Maegor's that a guard tried anything… and it was the personal Dornish bodyguard of the Queen. "Halt!"
"We seek entrance to see her Grace," said Davos. "I am Davos Seaworth…"
"I don't care." His eyes flickered to the others. "Kingslayer, and Jon Stark. Enemies to her Grace."
Jon shook his head. "Allies to peace. We need to speak with her!"
More discussion happened when the door opened to reveal Elia Sand. "Let them in, Queen's orders." The guard didn't argue, passing aside. "Lord Stark."
"Lady Sand." Jon's eyes settled on Tyene, a hand over her growing swell as she watched the city spread out before her. The fires already stabbed up over the walls, while Drogon made a flyby on the fields just north of the old tourney grounds. "Where is Stannis?"
"Not here." She turned, her eyes rimmed with dark circles. Fear gripped her. "Felt that if he weren't present here, then I would be safe, as would his two children." She again caressed her belly. "Though I do not expect that he would ever wish to be cooped up in a castle while a battle raged anywhere."
Davos nodded. "Aye, will seek to control the battle… Gate of the Gods?"
"That faces Dany's army," Jon stated. "It's as good a place as any for him to be, but it's on the other side of the city. We'll need horses." He looked at Tyene. "Are there still horses in the stables?"
The Queen nodded. "Some fast mares my entourage and I use, take them. And hurry," she begged. "I wish not for further blood to be spilled."
"Me neither, your Grace." Jon looked at Elia Sand. "Guard her with your life."
"Yes, my Lord."
He whistled. "Men, with me!"
Once past the gates of the Red Keep - and astride the promised mounts - the air inside the city was feverous and chaotic. Townsfolk rushed by in countless numbers, many screaming and yelling. To make matters worse, they rush in opposite directions given that no one knows where it is truly safe. These people remember the many times the city has been sieged. The losses they suffered when a rival force tried to take the city.
The problem became for them, nowhere to go. Most recently, random spots utterly erupted with wildfire when Stannis came to take the throne. People who thought they were safe in their homes, suddenly ash and bone. Jon couldn't even imagine what that was like.
An even heightened panic increased significantly when the dragons had been heard and seen in the air. Despite Dany's best efforts, the townsfolk couldn't find a way to not fear for their lives. The greasy black smoke blown in a massive cloud over the walls by the eastward wind didn't help matters. As if the Seven Hells once again opened into Aegon the Conqueror's city.
With his party in tow, Jon attempted to push through the crowds away from the Red Keep. Towards the heart of it all, the walls of King's Landing themselves.
Where he'd lose a father… or his own life. Either way, a failure of some sort.
Above, Drogon did another pass, and by the gods, he did spot a speck of silver on his back. A kid reminder of what he fought for. Of what he chose. Jon spurred his horse on, willing it to go faster.
Thankfully, the people were forced to make way for him and posse on horseback. Unless that is they wished to be trampled.
"Dracarys!" Superheated air blasted against her face, soot and greasy ash lightly sprinkled Daenerys' dress and face as Drogon blasted one of the towers of the King's Landing walls. Even above the roar of the wind and screech of her mount, the screams of a dozen defenders reached high in the sky - a knife stabbing deep under her armor at more innocent deaths. Mere pawns in the Game of thrones.
Gritting her teeth, she steeled herself for what was to come ahead. Drogon's wingbeats gained altitude, outrunning the arrows arcing towards her and dodging the scorpion bolts that shot through the air. The sooner this was to be done, all of it could be done.
Innocents spared.
The ones that harmed Jon were punished.
Daenerys had arrived over the battlefield not long after the mass of Dothraki and Unsullied slammed into their counterparts in the Stag King's army. Attempting to circle across the field dried by drought and picked clean by a succession of marching armies, just as she arrived she found herself and Drogon beset by volleys of arrows and most alarming, scorpion bolts. The secret weapons that had injured her mount during her battle with Jon at Duskendale dated to Cersei's day, but Stannis had marshaled them to the defense of King's Landing. Hence the attacks on the battlements, though each one destroyed were followed by two more still in operation.
Bolts shot at her in quick succession, Drogon diving steeply to avoid them Although one wasn't enough to guarantee a dragon kill, Daenerys remembered the fate of her ancestor. Of Meraxes. She was not going to take any chances with Drogon, for unlike Balerion or Vhagar he was not large enough to shrink away such projectiles.
By some miracle, Drogon managed to avoid the arrows and scorpion bolts, which resembled pikes in Daenerys' opinion. They were at least ten feet in length, wooden shafts thick and eager to destroy her. One had come within an arm's length of her face, and she felt the wind rush from that.
Faster! She gripped Drogon's spines tighter and gulped, nervous at how close that bolt was to making her like her namesake.
But the quick rate of fire seemed to slacken - whether they were out of bolts or seeking reloads didn't matter. Daenerys would take advantage, deciding that it was time to strike back. She nudged Drogon in a tight turn before circling back and lining up just behind the last block of Stannis' infantry that had marched from the anchor of King's Landing's walls.
The order came without hesitation, as it had hundreds of times before. "Dracarys!" Daenerys yelled out as Drogon unleashed a stream of dragonfire. It slammed into the dry ground, catching the grass and turning it into an inferno that divided the walls of the city from the clashing mass of men on both sides. Smoke rose in the air as the smell of burning flesh hit her nose - but not as pungent as she feared. Plenty of ground lay between the wall of flame and Stannis' men, the effect not killing them but trapping them.
And the moment came. Daenerys could put it off no longer. The attack run, one she'd been waiting for. Unleashing Drogon's dragonfire upon the massed formations of Stannis' army, or at least the rearmost elements. Unengaged with her forces, but what men wouldn't break?
Against the dragons, they all broke. Every army, from the Conquest, would break as soon as the roaring flames were on them.
The songs painted them as triumphs. The glorious dragonlords overwhelmed their enemies, and forging kingdoms and victories out of nothing, but with the wind slamming against her face - many braids of many victories whipping behind her - Daenerys could only feel shame as Drogon circled into place.
No triumph.
Just a sign of her failure.
The failure to acquire a peace, even if Stannis had broken it, weighed on her. Her mind is at war with herself to come to terms with her guilt.
It's not your fault…
If I had done differently…
You cannot fight the desire of others to wage war. To fight for their petty self-interest.
Jon almost died. She closed her eyes, allowing a moment of the same fear and dread, and pain to emerge from deep inside her before she buried it back down. I could've always done something.
The challenging voice in her head shot back. If you look back you are lost.
Her own mantra. It finally brought a moment of calm to Daenerys as she readied to command what ate her alive. "Draca…"
Drogon cut her off with a loud hoot. Not the earth-shattering bellow of the Black Dread Reborn while his blood was up, but a call. A warning to his rider. Daenerys tensed immediately, her head swiveling frantically in all directions. Was it another ballista? Some sort of threat?
Instead what she saw below upon the ground made her heart soar. Thousands upon thousands throwing down their arms. Tossing them into the fires or onto the dusty plain below them. Stannis' men, from Crownlander, to Stormlander, to Reachman alike were surrendering in droves. Fighting strength sapped, morale fortressed by an unbroken chain of victories stretching from the freezing ice of the North to the golden fields of Highgarden finally broken in the face of dragonfire.
All knew of the Field of Fire.
None wanted that infamous fate.
Swooping above them, Drogon roared, laying claim to the battlefield. Smoke streaked out of his maw to scorch the sky above the surrendering men - undoubtedly terrifying them. But no fire lanced out. No more death. No more agony. It was over.
Daenerys breathed a sigh of relief, finally letting herself smile. She had won, by the grace of the gods she wasn't sure she believed in she had finally won…
No…
Her smile faded.
Not yet. While Stannis still roamed free - while he still breathed - there would be no peace.
And only one sought to truly confront him.
Jon.
With a single mental command, Drogon roared again and banked for the city.
The clash of steel upon steel, of the roar of thousands of hoofbeats, of smoke and flame and the sounds of the most agonizing of deaths were no stranger to Stannis Baratheon. After over two decades of war beginning when he was just on the cusp of manhood - too many battles to count as both a mere knight or subordinate to a King leading his armies on horseback with sword in hand - but the sheer amount this day was unprecedented. The final clash. The battle to end all battles… him versus the Dragon Queen.
Out of the ashes of what he'd hoped would be the greatest act of peace and union in Westerosi history emerged the final clash of the War of the Three Monarchs. Cersei was long dead.
He and Daenerys were left, and going into the morning he was sure that one Stannis Baratheon would be the one to emerge from the carnage.
It was prophesied, after all.
However monumental the stakes, it was still just a battle. As soon as Daenerys' forces - from the beetle-armored Unsullied, the savage Dothraki, and the few Westerosi from the Reach or Crownlands that had switched sides to her - formed up, Stannis gave his orders. With protection from the ramparts and walls of King's Landing the mass of tens of thousands of crack troops, men that had bled and killed with Stannis since Blackwater Bay all those years ago, would ape Jon Stark's tactic from Duskendale. To close quickly and mix with the enemy, using Daenerys' love for her men against her.
Such hadn't worked for Jon, but the walls would anchor them. Deny Daenerys a chance to use her Dothraki to turn their flank.
Jon would appreciate the irony, Stannis thought, wherever he was.
Each thought of Jon Stark, of the man Stannis considered his son, made his fist clench in anger. His jaw tighten in frustration.
A tear bead in his eye from sorrow, that his son had chosen the Dragon Queen. Stannis had been betrayed before. This one, however, had wounded him deep.
The army had marched out, if not in high spirits, but with a sense of determined confidence. The desire to win and end the war once and for all. Hours later, as the ash and smoke blanketed the sky as it had once before, such confidence had vaporized alongside thousands of his men. Stannis stared through the gap in the mantlets protected by soaked animal hides - anyone else would've been horrified, but he was beyond that.
A wall of flame extended across the entirety of the gate, of the smaller sally ports that could've saved part of the army. The field of fire again, only from one direction rather than three. Daenerys hadn't torched his entire army like the unfortunate banners of Mern Gardener and Loren Lannister, but trapping them worked just as well.
"Your Grace," he could hear Davos speak to him from over his shoulder. When had he shown up? Stannis asked that, but inwardly he was glad to hear Davos. The old sea smuggler's voice was loud, but simply to be heard over the din. His tone was comforting, gentle. As if Stannis' long-dead mother or Tyene murmuring soothing words as he tried to sleep. "Many are surrendering."
Stannis bristled. "No, we can win this… they must simply break through…"
"It's too late, your Grace."
Davos was right. Stannis could admit it. There was no way he could win this, and the odds of saving much of his army looked extremely slim… but he could, perhaps, if the Lord of Light be kind and willing, save himself and his family?
But he couldn't move. Everything was just… how could it have happened.
"You need to flee, your Grace!" Edric begged, his bastard nephew shaking his shoulder as he simply stared at the sight before him. The smoke of the dragonfire stung his eyes, but Stannis couldn't bring himself to look away even as it was getting thicker by the minute.
"There is no chance to escape," Davos replied. "The Velaryons and Essosi surround all of Blackwater Bay. We are trapped. It is over."
"There's still the Stormlands, out home! We'll find a path. He is still the King!" Edric had the certainty of youth, the fighting spirit. Robert had it, as did Renly… Stannis never did, however good he was at fighting. Other forces inspired him to fight and yet they had failed him just as the spirit failed Robert and Renly.
"Are you mad?" Davos' voice began to grow angry. "There is no chance to retreat! The army will be captured completely in a matter of moments! Any boat sank by that dragon flying overhead."
Edric seemed like he was spitting out all the words, right as they hit his mind. "Right, we can't retreat," he sighed. "But his Grace must flee!?"
Stannis didn't look away from the madness - already he could see the Caron banners giving up, then the Estermonts. His own cousins… "Flee?" he replied dumbly, the words clearly not sinking in to get through to him. Refusing to tear away from the wall of flame obstructing much of the battlefield, the destruction of all his plans and hopes.
His body began to vibrate, or that's what it felt like for him. Fuming with fury, his heart thundered. His sword hand nearly ached, somehow upset at not being utilized. The young warrior in him, deep within him, urged Stannis to retaliate.
Or at least fucking do something.
He could hear Davos take a deep breath to calm his rising frustration. "There is no chance, your Grace. The Queen will grant you mercy knowing you never commanded the arrow that hit Lord Stark…"
"She'll never believe that, you old fool!" Edric grabbed Stannis, turning him around. "It's hopeless, your Grace. We must regroup in the Stormlands!"
"But Melisandre… the prophecy." A roar boomed across the landscape, the dark shape of the Dragon Queen's mount bathing the wall in its shadow. "I was destined to be the Prince who was Promised, to bring the dawn."
"The prophecy could've meant anything!" Davos shoved aside Edric. "Spare the city, your Grace. Spare your family…" Stannis said nothing. "Your Grace!"
"Leave it, Davos. There's no point trying to convince him." Stannis' eyes widened, roused from his shock at the voice. "He won't order the surrender."
Both of them turned in the direction of the voice, face to face once more with the Lord of Winterfell. The hot wind blew from the battlefield beyond the walls into his face, covering his cheek with small patches of soot and ash. His hair wafted in tangled strands, only framing the grim expression on his face. One of determination, but also sadness.
Jon and his company kept their swords sheathed. Though they all had their hands ready to pull them free.
Resignation. He had never wanted this, fought against it through all his might… but had made his choice.
This became the final straw for the Stag King. The pent up vibration exploded from his pores. He felt like maybe he could've spit fire like those fucking dragons. Seeing Jon, again, after what happened at the parlay, he just couldn't take it. "Jon," he took one step forward, jaw so tightly clenched his teeth couldn't separate. Some unintelligible gnarly noises came from Stannis' mouth.
"What has become of you, Stannis?" Jon's expression looked shocked, but filled with remorse. "You should surrender!"
"What's become of me!?" Stannis bellowed, stopping his feet. "Jon fucking Stark. Would be Jon fucking Snow without me!" He paced back and forth. "Have you forgotten what I've done for you?! Has it lost its meaning to you? It never did for me."
"No one believed in me, more than you, Stannis," Jon did admit. "But I tried so hard… to avoid this!" He motioned to the ongoing battle. "You cost these people their lives!"
Stannis, locked into inaction and surprise for what seemed time interminable, finally roused himself and drew his blade - leveling it at Jon Stark. "You are a traitor! You dare show yourself here?!"
"It's over, Stannis." There was the same resignation in Jon's voice. No malice. "Your army is trapped."
"No thanks to you!" Spittle flew out from the King, his iron composure gone and left with the ancient Durrandon fury that so defined his house. "And you come here to kill me! Your King!"
A moment of softness, of sentimentality, flashed on Jon's face. A genuine affection, Davos could see. "Is that what you want, Stannis? For me to kill you?"
Stannis' grip tightened on his blade, "I made not be the man I once was. But I'll fight you. You caused this, Jon. You could've stood at my side!"
The softness disappeared into something as hard as Valyrian Steel. "That will never happen. Not now."
"Of course not, we both know that," Stannis said. "You've made your choice, coming here even. Only one of us will stand at the end."
Jon readied his position, looking back to Jaime behind him. Who stepped up to say, "What are we doing here, Jon?"
"Finishing this."
Another pause, to which no one spoke. Neither Stannis nor Jon. Neither Davos nor Ser Jaime. None of the guards. Only for Stannis to break the silence. "I saw you as the son I never had, Jon." Was that a tear in his eye?
It was. Internally, Jon Snow from Castle Black, all that time ago, creeped back into Jon Stark's skin. The memories and feelings shuddered through his body. What it became of him after his bastard burden fell from his shoulders. Stannis gave him that. He felt hesitation and anguish wash over him.
Jon closed his eyes and nodded. "And you were like a father to me."
"Then why did you betray me?"
"Because I love her." No hesitation. "But I didn't want this. I wanted peace… only for someone close to you to break it."
"Your Queen broke the peace."
"If you thought about it long enough Stannis," Jon exhaled. "You'd see someone who standed to gain way more but the parlay falling through. But you're blind!"
Davos saw his chance. "Please, your Grace… the Dragon Queen could've reduced our entire army to ash but she didn't. Surrender and we can find out who did break the truce and come out with as few deaths as possible…"
But with a flick of Stannis' wrist, Davos found himself facing a blade. "If you've helped him here, Davos, then you are as much a traitor as he is."
Now Jon took a step forward. "This is between you and I, Stannis. Leave him out of it."
He laughed at Jon. "No, this is the final fight over the Iron Throne, Jon. Between the Dragon Queen and I, and you've made your choice." Sucking in a breath, Stannis made his choice. "Kill them both." Davos could only watch in horror as Jon and Jaime Lannister drew their blades, just in time to parry the attacks from Stannis' Kingsguard.