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As the last wisps of wildfire dissolved, the smoky sky made Daenerys’ eyes smart.
She had struggled to see which army approached from the Rosby Road, riding past the open Iron Gate. The army was coming from the north, she realized with a flutter in her stomach. Was the threat on the Wall dealt with? Was this Jon Snow? He had made unbelievably quick time…
As the black haze cleared slightly, Daenerys saw the colors of red and dirty yellow, the sigil of the broken sword she knew too well. She saw the forces attack the Dothraki and the Unsullied from the rear. Her forces.
Daenerys urged Drogon nearer so she could behold the face of the traitor himself, the man she once loved, the man she trusted with her legacy. “Where are you, Daario Naharis?” she yelled at the conflicting armies, looking for that shade of black hair, that silly smile she would dearly love to turn to ash.
It did not take long to spot him.
He stood at the threshold of the Iron Gate, away from the fighting, with four or five to protect him. They seemed to be standing in a semicircle around an object. It looked like another massive crossbow. The rumors were true, she realized, saddened. I should have believed Varys when he said the Second Sons may have turned their cloaks.
Drogon approached the cluster. As the lieutenants shielded their eyes with their arms, looking up at the shadow of the dragon, Daenerys’ eyes caught Daario’s. The face that looked back at her was one she did not recognize, yet knew all too well; of a sellsword who treated war like sport. Daenerys felt a tinge of mercy. We loved each other once, she tried to tell him through eyes alone, before her lips parted to give Drogon the command.
It wasn’t a ballista. It was a horn, and Daario blew it.
An inhuman screech filled the air. Bight and baneful was its voice, a shivering hot scream that made her bones thrum within. For a second, all war was stopped, enemies forgotten. Daenerys saw the air distort, felt ears search for safety under the din. Even the snows seemed to freeze in the air, paralyzed in shock by a sound unnatural to gods and men.
Drogon rose in the sky. Daenerys felt the great beast twitch, then shudder violently. It rose further in the air, flailing from demons unseen, sparks flying from its nose, while a perplexed Daenerys struggled to regain control. “Be still!” she commanded it in Valyrian, trying to sit erect.
Before long, she was clinging.
The voices of the battle restarting were a faraway tapestry to her. The fear of death had found her again. She realized how easy it would be for the crossbows to scythe her down. She was reminded of how far she was above the city, how she depended on her child to keep her alive, how mortal her bodice.
This time, the black arrows met.
As Daenerys Targaryen, First of Her Name, Queen of the Andals and the First Men began the plunge with her child, the life flashed past her helpless eyes. She dreamed of spring, of the house with the red door, of the taste of Jon Snow against her tongue… all of them lost after the treason for love.
*
End of episode – Season 8 [and series] finale will be published on Sunday, 25th November 2018, 8:30 am GMT
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