The Great Hall of the Red Keep was nothing more than a tomb. Ash and dust filled the air where banners once hung. The ceiling was gone, blasted open by dragonfire, letting in a pale light that made the Iron Throne look like a rusted, jagged cage.
Daenerys stood there. She was breathing hard, staring at the throne as if it were the only thing left in the world. Her hand shook when she reached out to touch the cold steel.
Jon Snow climbed the steps. Every step on the broken stone felt like a heavy weight. He looked at her—at the soot in her silver hair and the madness in her eyes—and his hand went to the hilt of Longclaw. He had come to do his duty, but the word felt like a lie now.
Then the doors groaned open. Tyrion Lannister walked in with a squad of Northern guards. He looked like a ghost, his eyes dark with exhaustion.
"The world wants justice, Jon," Tyrion said, his voice cracking. "The Lords are waiting. Kill her now, or they will tear this city apart to get to her. You have to choose."
Jon saw it then. It was a trap. Tyrion wasn't asking for justice; he was forcing a coup. If Jon didn't act, the guards would cut her down right there.
I'll be the monster then, Jon thought.
He pulled Longclaw from its sheath. The steel hissed in the silence. But he didn't strike her. Instead, he stepped in front of Daenerys, facing Tyrion with a cold stare.
"She stays alive!" Jon roared. "She goes to the black cells. We wait for a Great Council. No one touches her. Move!"
The guards hesitated, then obeyed the King they saw standing before them. They took her away in chains.
In the dead of night, Jon went to her cell. He didn't say much. He just unlocked the iron cuffs.
"The throne is a cage, Dany," he whispered, his voice low. "If I stay and wear that crown, they own me. They'll make me execute you to satisfy their hate. I'm not staying. I'd rather be a nobody in the shadows with you than a hollow King in this graveyard."
They ran through the dark tunnels. A sentry tried to stop them near the balcony, and Jon took a blade to the shoulder before knocking the man out. He was bleeding, but he didn't stop.
On the ramparts above, Tyrion looked down. He realized the bird had flown. He turned to Bran, desperate.
"Do it, Bran! Get inside the dragon's head. Stop them!"
Bran closed his eyes. He tried to slip into Drogon's mind, but he hit a wall. He didn't find an animal; he found the ancient, burning rage of Valyria. It was too much. Bran's eyes rolled back, his body went stiff, and his mind just... broke. Paralyzed by the fire.
Drogon roared, a sound that shook the stones, and took off into the clouds.
As the wind hit his face, Jon looked back. Down in the ruins, he saw a lone figure. Jaime Lannister was watching them go. The Kingslayer didn't shout. He just gave a slow, quiet nod.
The Promised Boy was finally gone. And for the first time, he was free