[King's Landing]

Jon Snow knew that timr 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.

Just as Jon was starting to think that his quest might be futile, he was surrounded. Men dressed in Unsullied armor closed in on him from all sides, their faces hidden behind their helmets. Jon unsheathed his sword, ready to fight, but before he could even land a blow, one of them struck him down.

He hit the ground hard, dazed and disoriented. As he struggled to get to his feet, he saw his men charging towards him, swords drawn. But they didn't see him, or perhaps they chose not to. They attacked the Unsullied, who fought back fiercely.

Jon knew he had to get out of there, but he was surrounded by enemies. He somehow managed to break free and make a run for it, but the sound of fighting and screams echoed behind him.

Word quickly spread throughout the city that Daenerys Targaryen had ordered Jon Snow's execution. It was a lie, of course, but it didn't matter. The damage was done. Many believed that the Mother of Dragons had finally lost her mind, and that she was now targeting her own allies. The already fragile alliance between the North and the South was shattered, and the people of King's Landing were calling for blood.

Just as things started to get hairy, a loud roar echoed across the landscape. Jon turned just in time to see Drogon soaring overhead, his wings beating powerful enough to send waves crashing against the shore. The dragon breathed fire onto a nearby building, sending flames shooting up into the sky.

Jon knew this must have been exactly where Daenerys was hiding

He knew that this battle was far from over, and he knew that he would need every ounce of strength and cunning he possessed if he was going to survive the wrath of the Dragon Queen.

He sprinted in the direction of the building he'd seen Drogon descend on.

[Burnt Building]

"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 endles 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 evrr 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 nevr 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."

As Jon stood across from his wife in the charred remains of one of the many abandoned homes, he knew he had a difficult task ahead of him. Convincing his wife he had not betrayed her and sent his men to kill her.

"I understand why you might think I would order such an attack," Jon began, his voice measured and calm. "But I assure you, I had nothing to do with it. I am here to tell you that Littlefinger was behind it, and he is the one who seeks to divide us."

Daenerys listened intently, her piercing gaze locked onto Jon's face. She was a woman consumed by her own grief and anger, and Jon could sense that she was not yet ready to hear his words.

"He wants us to destroy ourselves," Jon continued. "He knows that I am the heir to the Seven Kingdoms, and he will stop at nothing to prevent me from claiming my rightful place on the Iron Throne. I am here to defeat the Night King, just as you are. I only meant to help you."

Daenerys scoffed. "Help me? You think you can help me with all you have done?"

Jon knew that he needed to prove himself to her, to show her that he was still loyal and dedicated to their cause. But how could he do that when everything he did seemed to backfire? He thought of something, a desperate plan that might just work.

"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 both 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.

In the midst of the chaotic Battle of King's Landing, Prince Daemon Targaryen and his wife, Princess Aelinor, fought side by side against the relentless hordes of the dead. Their dragons roared and breathed fire into the fray, while Daemon wielded his dragonglass Valyrian steel sword with deadly precision.

But as they fought, they noticed something strange happening among the forces of Daemon's sister, Daenerys, and nephew, Jon Snow. The soldiers were arguing and pointing accusing fingers at each other, and Daemon could sense the tension building like a storm cloud on the horizon.

"What's going on?" Daemon asked Aelinor, her silver hair whipping around her face as she twirled her sword.

Curious about what was happening, Daemon and Aelinor strode towards the source of the disturbance, leaving behind their own troops to continue the fight against the Army of the Dead.

"It seems that some of Jon's men think Daenerys has betrayed him," she replied, her voice tight with worry. "They say she had his loyal guardsmen ambushed and he's been taken captive."

Daemon's grip on his sword tightened. This couldn't be true. His dear sister would nevr do such a thing. But then, why did so many of Jon's men seem to believe it?

"What's going on here?" Daemon asked one of Jon's men, a burly knight with a bloody sword.

"Lady Daenerys has gone mad!" the knight exclaimed, spitting out the words like a curse. "She attacked our men, saying they were traitors! King Jon is missing, and we think she killed him."

Aelinor gasped, her hand flying to her mouth in shock. "That can't be true," she whispered, her eyes wide with disbelief.

Daemon's expression darkened. "What are you talking about? How could she have killed him?"

The man sneered. "We don't know, but we saw Unsullied armour among the attackers. It must have been her doing."

Daemon frowned, his mind racing with thoughts of his sister's actions. He couldn't understand why she would turn against her own allies, especially when they needed every able body to fight against the dead.

He turned to the knight. "Take us to where Lord Jon was last seen," he ordered, his voice firm and commanding.

The knight nodded and led them through the winding streets of King's Landing, killing any of the Undead they came across, and dodging the chaos that surrounded them. As they ran, Daemon could feel the weight of his family's legacy bearing down upon him, the burden of his father's crown heavy on his shoulders.

They soon arrived at the scene of the battle, where they found Jon's men scattered and demoralized, their weapons broken and bloodied. Daemon saw no sign of Daenerys or his nephew, Jaeharys, but he knew that he would not rest until he found them both and brought them back to safety.

As Daenerys Targaryen descended upon King's Landing atop Drogon, the battle-weary soldiers below looked up in a mixture of awe and trepidation. The Mother of Dragons had come to claim the Iron Throne, and her armies were poised to take control of the city.

But not all of the soldiers were so welcoming. Some of Jon Snow's loyal followers, still reeling from his disappearance and the rumors that Daenerys had sent the Unsullied to kill their king, eyed the Dragon Queen with open hostility. They saw Daenerys as a usurper, a foreign invader who sought to steal their rightful ruler's throne.

Meanwhile, Arya Stark, dressed in her faceless man Unsullied disguise, crept through the shadows, intent on reaching Daenerys and ending her tyranny once and for all. 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.

As Daemon and Aelinor made their way through the desolate streets of King's Landing, they couldn't help but feel a sense of unease. The city was eerily quiet, as if the very life had been sucked out of it. The once bustling marketplaces were now empty, the only sound being the distant howls of the wights that roamed the streets.

They had been searching for Jon Snow for what felt like hours, scouring every corner of the city, but so far, there was no sign of him. Daemon knew that time was running out - the Night King would not stop until he had claimed every last soul in Westeros.

Just when they thought all hope was lost, they saw it - a small, abandoned home nestled between two larger buildings. It seemed to be calling out to them, drawing them in with an otherworldly pull. The windows were boarded up, and the door hung crookedly from its hinges, creaking in the gentle breeze. Yet, despite its dereliction, there was something alluring about it, as if it held secrets that only they could hear. Not to mention Rhaegal was circling overhead, with the occasional roar.

Without hesitation, Daemon and Aelinor made their way towards it, their hearts pounding in their chests.

As they climbed the creaking stairs, the air grew colder, and the shadows seemed to twist and writhe around them. They could feel the presence of something malevolent lurking within the walls, watching them. But they pressed on, driven by a determination to find Jon.

Finally, they reached the top of the stairs, and what they found made their blood run cold. There, lying on a dusty floor, was Jon Snow, his body stabbed in the heart with Longclaw still lodged deep in his chest. He looked almost peaceful, as if he had simply fallen asleep, but Daemon knew better. His nephew was gone, consumed by the darkness that threatened to engulf all of Westeros.

Unfortunately, they now bore the task of confirming the suspicions of Jon's men; he was dead. Whether Daenerys killed him remained to be seen.

Daemon and Aelinor, strode through the bustling streets of King's Landing, their destination being the Red Keep where they would deliver the news of Jon Snow's untimely demise. The city was abandoned, no citizens left to walk its streets.

The city was on edge, and whispers of rebellion were spreading like wildfire. They had just discovered the body of Jon Snow, stabbed by Longclaw, and they knew that suspicion would fall heavily on Daenerys.

But they did not have time to mourn. As they approached the entrance to the castle, a group of men emerged from the alleyway ahead, blocking their path. They were dressed in dark clothing, their faces obscured by hoods, and carried weapons at their sides. Daemon's hand instinctively went to the hilt of his sword, sensing trouble.

"What do you want?" he asked gruffly, eyeing the strangers warily.

One of the men stepped forward, his voice low and menacing. "We don't want anything from you, Lord Daemon," he sneered. "We just have one thing to do...kill you."

Aelinor gasped and clutched at Daemon's arm, her eyes wide with fear. This was not the first time they had been targeted for assassination. On Dragonstone, during Aelinor's pregnancy, their friend Dyanna had been brutally murdered by unknown attackers. And now, here they were again, facing another attempt on their lives.

Without hesitation, Daemon drew his sword and prepared to defend himself and his wife. He knew these men were not part of the king's guard or any other recognized faction in the realm. Their lack of sigils and insignia marked them as nothing more than common cutthroats. But why would they be after them?

The sound of steel ringing against steel filled the air as Daemon and his assailants clashed swords. Aelinor screamed, her cries muffled by the chaos of battle. She fought alongside her husband, using her own skills honed during yeas of training to take down their enemies.

Despite their best efforts, it soon became clear that they were vastly outnumbered. More men appeared from the alleys and side streets, swarming around them like a pack of wolves. Daemon and Aelinor fought valiantly, but they were surrounded, and their chances of escape seemed slim.

They needed help, and fast. But who could they trust in this treacherous city, where loyalty was a luxury few could afford?

Just when all hope seemed lost, a group of guardsmen arrived on the scene, dispatching the attackers with swift efficiency. The leader of the group, a burly man with a thick beard, rushed to Daemon and Aelinor's side.

"My lord, my lady, are ye hurt?" he asked, his voice heavy with concern.

Daemon shook his head, still breathless from exertion. "No, ser. We are well. But who were those men? Why were they trying to kill us?"

The guard captain hesitated before answering. "I cannot say for certain, my lord. But I suspect they were hired by some powerful enemy. Mayhaps one who seeks to gain control over the realm."

Daemon's grip on his sword tightened. He knew exactly who could be behind this attempted assassination. His wife's mother, Queen Cersei, would stop at nothing to maintain her hold on power. She would even go so far as to eliminate anyone who stood in her way, including her daughter's family.