[King's Landing]

Jon Snow knew that time was running out. The Night King's army was getting stronger, and growing larger. If he didn't find and kill the Night King soon, all of Westeros would be consumed by darkness and ice.

With a determined expression on his face, Jon set off into the crowded streets of King's Landing, his sword at the ready. He had heard rumors that the Night King might be hiding in one of the city's many temples or palaces, so he made his way towards the heart of the Red Keep.

As he ran through the narrow alleys and bustling marketplaces, Jon could feel the weight of his mission heavy on his shoulders. Every step he took brought him closer to his goal, but also closer to danger. The streets were filled with wights, mindless undead creatures that served only the Night King. They lunged at Jon with their jagged teeth and claws, but he fought them off with ease, his sword slicing through the air with deadly precision.

Despite the chaos around him, Jon remained focused on his task. He knew that the fate of the realm hung in the balance. He pushed aside the screams and cries of the terrified soldiers, his eyes fixed on the horizon, searching for any sign of the Night King.

As he continued to fight his way through the city, Jon heard a loud roar in the distance. It was his dragon, Rhaegal, and Daenerys' dragon, Drogon, engaged in battle with the undead Viserion. He could see them soaring through the sky, their huge forms silhouetted against the setting sun. For a moment, he was caught up in the spectacle, marveling at the sight of their aerial combat.

Then, something went wrong. Drogon, carrying Daenerys, seemed to stumble, and Viserion struck him with its massive, ice-encrusted wing. The blow sent Drogon spiraling out of control, crashing into a nearby tower.

Horrified, Jon broke off from his pursuit of the Night King and raced toward the crash site. The city was filled with panic and confusion as people ran in all directions, trying to avoid the falling debris. As he reached the tower, he could see Drogon lying still, his body rising and falling as he struggled to breathe.

"Daenerys!" Jon shouted, rushing over to her side. She was unconscious, her face pale and bloodied. Her arm was deeply slashed, and blood was pooling beneath her. "Dany, stay with me," he pleaded, cradling her head in his lap.

He glanced around frantically, looking for anything that could help them. The city was still under siege, wights closing in on them from all sides. Jon swallowed hard and forced himself to focus. "We need to get her out of here," he muttered to himself, his voice shaking.

He carefully lifted Dany into his arms, cradling her against his chest. Her breath was ragged and shallow, and her skin felt cold and clammy. He knew he had to get her to safety, and fast. With Drogon down, that meant finding someplace where they could fight off the Night King and fast.

As he made his way through the streets, dodging wights and debris, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. Daenerys kept muttering to herself, her eyes now wide and frightened, accusing him of things he couldn't quite make out. It was clear that she was delirious from the pain and shock. The deep cut on her arm oozed blood, and Jon knew that they needed to find shelter soon.

As he went to turn a corner, he saw a sea of wights there was no way he could cut through while carrying Daenerys.

Frantically looking around, he found a dilapidated abandoned building.

With no other choice, he kicked in the door and rushed up the steps. On the second floor, there was a bed which he placed her on. But, they were still exposed. The roof of the building was missing.

Jon hurried to a nearby window and looked out. The army of the dead was still swarming below them, but he didn't see the Night King anywhere. Perhaps he'd lost track of him in the confusion. He turned his attention back to Daenerys, who was still unconscious.

He tore off a strip of his own cloak and used it to staunch the flow of blood from her arm. She shuddered and moaned in her delirium, her eyes darting back and forth beneath her lashes. Jon's heart ached to see her like this, so strong and determined now reduced to helplessness.

Outside, the city continued to burn, the screams of the dying echoing through the night. The wights seemed to be everywhere, relentless in their pursuit of the living. Jon knew that he couldn't stay here, couldn't protect Dany from them. But he also couldn't abandon her to their mercy. He had to find a way to keep them both alive.

He looked down at Daenerys, her face still pale and bloodied, her breath coming in ragged gasps. He forced himself to be strong for her, to keep his own fear at bay. He had to believe that somehow, they would survive this nightmare.

Jon glanced around the abandoned building, searching for anything that might help them. In one corner, he spotted an old chest. It was rusted and battered, but it might contain something useful. He kicked it open, revealing a jumble of dusty, cobweb-covered items. There was a dagger, rusted beyond use, and a few pieces of jewelry that looked as if they belonged to someone long dead. But there was also a small leather pouch, which rattled as he pulled it out.

He ripped it open, revealing a handful of dried herbs and a crumpled parchment. The writing on the parchment was faded and stained, but he could still make out the words. It was a recipe for a healing potion, one that could staunch the flow of blood and mend wounds. He quickly gathered the herbs and ingredients he needed from the chest and around the room.

With the ingredients in hand, he knelt beside Dany again. He carefully read the instructions, trying to decipher the faded words. As he worked, her eyelids fluttered open. She looked around, disoriented, before focusing on him. Her eyes widened in recognition, and she tried to sit up.

"Jon?" she croaked, her voice barely audible.

He looked up from the ingredients, concern etched on his features. "Shh... you're hurt. I'm going to make you a potion to help you feel better. It'll help with the pain and stop the bleeding. Just rest, all right?" He continued to work, measuring out the herbs and mixing them with water from a nearby flask.

As he tended to her, her mutterings grew more and more incoherent. She thrashed about on the bed, her eyes wild with fear and delirium. Jon tried to soothe her, but she seemed to be caught in a nightmarish cycle, unable to escape her own tormented thoughts. He wished he could take away her pain, wished he could make her understand that he was here to help.

Finally, she lashed out, her fingers clawing at his face. "No!" she screamed, her voice raw and desperate. "You can't have it! It's mine! Mine!" Her nails raked across his cheek, drawing blood. Jon winced in pain, but he didn't let go of her. He couldn't let her hurt herself any further.

"Dany, please," he begged, trying to keep his voice calm and soothing. "You need this. It'll help you feel better." He held the steaming cup close to her face, hoping she would eventually come to her senses. She continued to struggle against him, her breath coming in ragged gasps, her eyes wild with fear and confusion.

Her resistance only served to fuel his determination. Jon couldn't let her suffer any longer. With all his strength, he forced her head back against the pillow and held her wrists down by her sides. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice strained. "But you have to drink this." He pressed the cup to her lips, forcing her to take a sip.

As she struggled against him, he couldn't help but feel a sharp pain in his shoulder. She'd managed to stab him with the dagger she'd been holding. Blood seeped through his shirt, staining the fabric crimson. For a moment, he thought he might pass out from the pain. But he couldn't let that happen. Not now.

He gritted his teeth and pushed her hands away from his shoulder, pressing his own hand against the wound to staunch the flow of blood. "Dany," he said, his voice tight with pain, "you need to stop this. You're only hurting yourself." He looked into her eyes, searching for any sign of recognition, any glimpse of the woman he knew she could be.

But her expression was empty, her gaze vacant. It was as if she didn't even realize that he was there. He took a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves, before leaning in closer. "Dany," he said softly, "I know this is hard. I know you're scared. But you need to trust me. I'm here to help you."

He reached out a trembling hand and gently took the dagger from her grasp. Her fingers were cold and clammy, and she flinched away from his touch as if he were a monster. He winced as her nails scratched across his skin, drawing more blood, but he didn't let go. "Shh," he murmured, "it's alright. It's going to be alright."

"Home," she muttered. "Wanted to go home."

Jonathan's heart ached as he gently wiped away a tear that had escaped her eye. He knew that she wasn't talking about the physical place she had left behind. She was lost, trapped in a nightmare of her own making. He had to help her find her way back to reality.

But, suddenly, she leaned forward, knocking him off balance.

When Jon looked in her eyes, where there was once fear and confusion, now held malice.

"Do you know why I came here, Jon?" she asked him, her voice dripping with frustration.

"To reclaim your rightful place on the throne," Jon replied, his eyes cast downward in respect.

"Ah, but that is where the double standards come in," Daenerys said, her voice rising in anger. "I have heard it timr and again - those who seek power for themselves are called ambitious and ruthless, while those who do so for their families are hailed as heroes. My own brother, Viserys, desired the throne above all else. He saw me as nothing more than a means to an end, a pawn to be used in his quest for power."

"But," Jon protested, "you are not like that, or you weren't. You have put the needs of your people first."

"And yet, I am still seen as a mad queen, just like my father before me," Daenerys countered. "Because I have dragons, because I was born a Targaryen, I am expected to be tyrannical and cruel. But what about those who truly wish to avenge their families? The Starks, the Tullys, the Baratheons - they are all lauded as heroes for seeking revenge against those who wronged them."

Jon looked at her, confusion etched across his face. "But, you have done much good. You freed the slaves in the Free Cities, and are on the verge of bringing peace to the Seven Kingdoms-"

"Peace?" Daenerys laughed bitterly. "There is no peace in Westeros, Jon. Only endless cycles of violence and bloodshed. And I am at the center of it all, judged and criticized simply because of my birthright. But I did not ask for this fate. All I ever wanted was to return home, to the land where I was born. But no one seems to care about that. They only see me as a tool to be used, a weapon to be wielded."

She paused, taking a deep breath to calm herself. "I suppose that is the price of being a Targaryen. We are never allowed to be human, to have our own desires and dreams. We are only seen as weapons, as tools to be used by others. But I will not be bound by these expectations, Jon. I will forge my own path, even if it means going against everything that has been laid out for me."

Jon was at a loss. The potion should have helped. So, why was she still acting like this?

It wasn't until he looked at her arm, which was now devoid of the strip of cloak he had used to control the bleeding.

Jon gasped as he noticed a strange, glowing symbol etched into her skin, right where the cloak had been. He had seen similar markings before, when he had been part of the Night's Watch and had faced the supernatural threats that lurked beyond the Wall.

So, that's what was influencing her. The wound was not a typical wound. It had been imbued with the dark energy of the Night King.

Jon reached out a hand to touch the glowing symbol on her arm, but she flinched away from him.

"My queen," he began, his voice steady. "I know that you believe I am a danger to you and your rule. And perhaps I am. But I swear to you, I will do whatever it takes to protect the realm. Even if it means giving up my own life. But, I have one last request."

Daenerys raised an eyebrow, intrigued by Jon's bold move. "What is it?" she asked.

He reached at his side and unsheathed Longclaw, the sword that had been given to him by Jeor Mormont. It glinted in the dim light of the ruined hall, its blade etched with ancient runes.

"If you truly believe that I am a threat, then take this sword and end my life now. There are no witnesses. I'm right here, the object of your ire. If you wish to sit the Iron Throne, you'll need to kill me. So, do it, and be done with all this bother."

"Longclaw," she whispered, her voice low and sorrowful. "I must do this. You know I must."

Jon nodded, his heart heavy with sorrow. He had tried everything to reach her, to bring her back from the brink of madness. But it was too late now. She had become the very thing she had once despised, the very thing she had sworn to destroy.

And with that, she stabbed him in the heart.

Jon felt his vision blur and his senses fade as he looked into Daenerys' eyes, seeing the sadness and regret there.

Her tears fell on his body as she mourned the death of the man she had tried to love.

But Jon was not gone, not yet. He had one last trick up his sleeve.

As he lay dying, he warged into the body of his direwolf, Ghost, who was prowling the streets of King's Landing, fighting off the wights that threatened the living.

Daenerys Targaryen stood over the body her husband, Jon Snow, or Jaeharys Targaryen, with a heavy heart. She had just fulfilled his final wish, plunging his own sword into his chest at his request. But as she pulled it out halfway, she noticed something strange - there was no sign of the prophesied Lightbringer; no glow, no mark, no indication that this act would fulfill the prophecy. Disappointment turned to anger, and she pushed the sword back into Jon's chest, burying it up to the hilt once again.

Realizing that she was not the Promised Princess after al;, Daenerys collapsed to her knees beside Jon's body, tears streaming down her face.

Their relationship had alwys been strained, filled with mistrust and betrayal, yet she had nevr expected this end.

She remembered the first time they had met, when he had been nothing more than a mere bastard son of Ned Stark.

As she gazed down at Jon's still form, she felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes, continuing to spill down her cheeks.

But there was no time for grief. With the city in chaos and the remaining forces of the Night King closing in, Daenerys knew she had to leave. She took one last look at Jon, then turned and mounted Drogon, ready to fly away and continue the fight against the darkness.

"Soves!" She ordered, her throat still tight from her tears. Drogon did as commanded, launching himself from the building.

What either of them failed to realize; they were not alone.

As Arya made her way through the crowded streets of King's Landing, she could feel the tension in the air. The city was in chaos, the once-orderly rows of buildings now reduced to rubble and ash. The Dead Army had brought destruction upon the capital, and Arya knew that this was her chance to finally take out Cersei. She had been tracking the Queen for wheels, biding her time until the perfect moment to strike. She snuck away from Brienne who was busy fighting wights.

But as she turned a corner, she heard a noise, which led her up a set of stairs. What she saw next made her blood run cold.

Daenerys Targaryen, the Mother of Dragons, stood over the body of Jon Snow, his own sword still embedded in his chest. Arya gasped in shock, her mind reeling with disbelief. How had it come to this? She knew Jon had trusted Daenerys to help him defeat the Night King. And yet, here she was, standing over the lifeless form of the man Arya loved like a brother.

Arya ducked behind a nearby pillar, hiding from view as she tried to make sense of what she had just seen. She had come so close to achieving her goal, but now it seemed that fate had other plans. She watched in disbelief as Daenerys strode away from the scene, her dragon Drogon flying overhead, casting a shadow over the city.

For a moment, Arya considered rushing out and trying to stop Daenerys, but something held her back. She couldn't bring herself to confront the Mother of Dragons while she was in such a state of grief and anger. Plus, her dragon would burn Arya to ash. Instead, she waited patiently, watching and waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

And then, as if on cue, Daenerys vanished into the distance, leaving Arya alone with the body of Jon Snow. With a heavy heart, Arya emerged from her hiding place and approached the fallen king. She felt a pang of sadness as she gazed upon his lifeless form, remembering their shared pasr and all that they had been through together. But she steeled herself, knowing that she had no time for sentimentality.

Mentally, Arya added Daenerys' name to her list, her heart filled with a cold determination. She would not rest until every single person on that list was dead, no matter how difficult or painful it might be. And with that thought, she set off once again into the chaotic streets of King's Landing, ready to continue her mission of vengeance.

As she fought her way through the throngs of undead, she couldn't help but wonder about Jon's final moments. How had he died? What had he said? She wondered if he had known about the list, and whether he would have approved of her intentions. The weight of his trust and her own guilt threatened to crush her beneath it.

Arya paused for a moment, catching her breath as she took stock of her surroundings. The streets of King's Landing were a surreal nightmare, the air thick with the stench of death and decay. She couldn't shake the feeling that something was off, that there was more to the situation than met the eye.

As she continued to fight her way through the relentless tide of the undead, she glanced up at the sky, hoping to catch a glimpse of a familiar face. Her eyes darted back and forth, scanning the horizon for any sign of Gendry. It had been years since she'd last seen him, and she couldn't help but worry about his safety. In all the chaos, she hadn't been able to find him, and now, with the city in shambles, it seemed unlikely that she ever would.

Her thoughts drifted back to the events that had led up to this moment. The betrayal of Cersei, the death of her father, and now the loss of Jon. Arya couldn't help but feel a sense of disbelief and despair. She had come so close to achieving her goals, only to have them snatched away in an instant. She wondered if she would ever find peace, or if the ghosts of her past would continue to haunt her for the rest of her days.

As she fought her way through the streets, she spotted a familiar face amidst the chaos. It was Sandor Clegane, the Hound. He was battling his way through a group of undead soldiers, his sword swinging with a deadly precision. Arya watched in amazement as he fought, remembering the days they spent traveling together. They had formed an unlikely bond, forged in the fires of their shared traumas.

She hesitated for a moment, unsure whether to approach him. After all, she was on a mission to kill everyone on her list, which now included Daenerys.

Hesitating, she turned away, and deciding against deviating from her path.

Her heart raced as she made her way through the city, avoiding the worst of the fighting as much as possible.

The stench of death and decay was overwhelming, making it difficult to breathe. Arya's eyes darted from side to side, taking in the carnage around her. Bodies littered the streets, their flesh already showing signs of rot. The cries of the wounded and the undead filled the air, creating a cacophony of horror. She forced herself to focus, pushing aside her revulsion and fear.

She had watched the Dragon Queen murder her brother-cousin and was waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

But as she approached Daenerys, Drogon sensed her presence, and he let out a fierce roar, causing Arya to hesitate just long enough for Daenerys to turn around and face her. The Faceless assassin lunged forward, dagger flashing in the sunlight, but Drogon's sharp claws swiped downward, narrowly missing Arya as she dodged aside.
Arya did manage to stab Daenerys, but it was evident it was not a fatal wound.

In the confusion that followed, Arya quickly switched faces, using her skills honed in Braavos to change her appearance in mere moments. As she melted into the crowd, she heard the roar of dragonfire erupt behind her.

Drogon, confused by the sudden attack on his mother, wildly spewed flames in all directions, incinerating several of Daenerys' closest advisors and guards, including Missandei and Grey Worm. The screams of terror and agony filled the air as the once-loyal followers of the Mother of Dragons were reduced to charred remains.

Arya watched from a safe distance, a mix of satisfaction and horror on her face. She had achieved her goal, but at what cost? The chaos she had unleashed would likely consume the entire city, and countless innocent lives would be lost.

Daenerys gasped and clutched at her side, but it was too late. The blade had sunk deep into her abdomen, and she knew she was bleeding internally. She tried to remain standing, but her vision began to blur and she felt herself slipping away.

With a surge of adrenaline, Daenerys grabbed hold of the dagger, holding it in the line of Drogon's flames and using it to cauterize the wound, sealing off the blood vessels and preventing further damage. The pain was intense, but she gritted her teeth and bore it, determined to survive.

As she passed out, Drogon, who had been perched on a nearby rooftop, swooped down and scooped up his mother's unconscious form in his claws. He flew off into the night, carrying her to safety and leaving behind the chaos and destruction of King's Landing.

Though her life hung precariously in the balance, Daenerys knew that she would not die today. Not while she still had a dragon by her side, and not while there was still one more battle to fight.