[King's Landing]

The first wave of wights had been defeated, but the survivors had retreated, leaving behind a trail of death and destruction in their wake.

As the second wave of wights poured into King's Landing, the soldiers knew they needed something more than just swords and arrows to take down the undead horde. They had heard rumors of a weapon that could pierce through the wight's unnatural armor - the scorpion ballista.

Theon Greyjoy, once the prince of the Iron Islands, now a broken man after his torture at the hands of Ramsay Bolton, was tasked with manning one of these powerful machines. He climbed up onto the wooden platform, his heart racing as he looked out over the battlefield.

"Ready?" shouted the soldier next to him.

Theon nodded, gripping the lever tightly. He could see the Night King, perched atop Viserion, leading the charge. The dragon's eyes glowed blue, its scales gleaming in the sunlight.

"Fire!" roared the commander, and Theon pulled the lever, sending a bolt soaring towards the dragon. At the last second, Viserion swerved, avoiding the bolt, disappearing in the sky.

When he reappeared, the Night King was not on his back. Where he was, was anyone's guess.

Theon wasted no timr, and loaded another bolt into the scorpion. He aimed and waited patiently for an opportunity to present itself.

When it had, he pulled the lever, releasing another bolt.

It struck true, embedding itself deep into Viserion's wing. The dragon let out a deafening roar and began to plummet towards the ground, its wings flailing wildly.

To many, it was a beautiful sight, but also a dangerous one - for if their allies dragons came too close to the scorpions, they risked being struck by the deadly projectiles.

So, Daemon Targaryen and Aelinor Baratheon made the difficult decision to send their own dragons, Loki and Freya, away, to avoid them being accidentally, or purposefully, killed in battle.

They also had no idea who had ordered the attempt on their lives. One of the most powerful things for a Targaryen was their bond with their dragons. It's why people say the Targaryens are closer to Gods than men. Because of their dragons. Without them, they're just like everyone else.

As the two dragons flew off into the distance, their riders watched anxiously from below, knowing that they would not be able to protect them from the safety of the ground.

As the sun set over King's Landing, casting long shadows across the blood-soaked streets, the sound of clashing steel and screams filled the air. The second wave of wights that had arrived, were far more ferocious than the first.

Daemon and Aelinor fought side by side, their swords flashing in the dim light as they battled against the undead horde. Their most trusted soldiers stood beside them, but even their bravery and skill could not hold back the tide of darkness that threatened to consume the city.

In the midst of the chaos, Aelinor saw her half brother Gendry fall to the ground, a look of shock on his face as he was stabbed by an unknown soldier with no sigil. She rushed to his side, trying to save him despite the danger all around her.

"Gendry, no!" she cried out, tears streaming down her face as she tried to stop the bleeding. But it was too late. He looked up at her with empty eyes, and then went still.

Aelinor felt a cold rage fill her heart, and she rose to her feet, determined to find the one responsible for her brother's death. She knew that she would nevr rest until justice was served.

But as she searched the battlefield, she found no sign of the mysterious soldier who had killed Gendry. It was as if they had vanished into thin air.

With a heavy heart, Aelinor turned back to the fight, knowing that she must protect her people and kingdom from the evil that surrounded them. For the sake of her brother and her family, she would not rest until King's Landing was safe once again.

In one of the many abandoned homes, Arya Stark slowly opened her eyes, groggily taking in her surroundings.

As she sat up, she felt a sharp pain shoot through her left arm, reminding her of the dragon fire that Drogon had spewed during her failed assassination attempt on Daenerys. A quarter of her right arm was burned and blistered.

She looked up, feeling eyes on her. She could faintly make out short blonde hair.

"Careful, my lady," a voice said from beside her. "You were gravely injured."

"Brienne?" Arya called out, her voice hoarse. "Is that you?"

Arya turned her head to see a figure appear before her, silhouetted by the faint light filtering in through the broken ceiling. It was Brienne of Tarth, her face etched with concern as she knelt beside Arya.

"Thank the Seven, you're awake," Brienne said, relief evident in her voice. "I feared for your life when I found you unconscious in the street."

Arya scowled, remembering the events that had led her here. "Did I succeed?" she asked bluntly, her mind still foggy from her injuries.

Brienne hesitated, her expression falling into one of sorrow. "No, my lady. I'm afraid not. The Dragon Queen survived your attack. Her dragon carried her away."

Arya's anger flared, hot and bitter, like bile rising in her throat. She had come so close to ending the reign of terror that had plagued Westeros for so long, only to fail miserably.

"Then I will go after Cersei," Arya declared, determination etched across her face. "She has alwys been my true target."

Brienne raised an eyebrow, concern written across her features. "My lady, please reconsider. You have already come so far, risked so much. Is it worth it for one life?"

But Arya was resolute. She had dedicated her entire existence to this quest, and nothing would stand in her way. Not even the honorable knight who stood before her.

"I must do what I was born to do," she stated firmly, her voice unwavering. "If I cannot kill Daenerys, then I will kill Cersei. It is the only way to fulfill my purpose."

Arya forced herself into a standing position, desperately trying to ignore the pain of her burn. She limped towards the door, ready to fight her way to the Red Keep.

She heard footsteps behind her meaning Brienne was following after her. Not that she expected any less.

Her burned arm ached with every step, but she refused to let it slow her down. She knew that Cersei Lannister was somewhere in the Red Keep, and Arya was determined to find her before anyone else did.

As she turned a corner, she heard footsteps behind her. At first she assumed it was Brienne, but as she continued to listen, she noticed these steps sounded lighter, as if someone was trying to conceal them.

She spun around, her dagger at the ready, but saw only darkness. Suddenly, a figure emerged from the shadows - Bronn, his face twisted into a cruel grin.

"Well, well, well," he sneered, "look what we have here."

Arya tried to slip past him, but Bronn caught her arm, holding her fast. "I don't think so, little Stark," he growled. "You're coming with me."

Just then, a shadow loomed over them - Brienne of Tarth, her sword gleaming in the moonlight. "Let her go, Bronn," she commanded.

Bronn snarled, but Brienne's strength was too much for him. With a swift shove, she sent him tumbling to the ground. As he scrambled to his feet, Arya took advantage of the distraction to flee, her heart pounding in her chest.

She ran through the winding streets, her mind fixed on one thing alone - finding Cersei and ending her reign of terror once and for all. The thought drove her forward, even as her body screamed in protest. She could feel the eyes of the city upon her, watching her as she passed, but she didn't dare look back.

Brienne of Tarth, evrr the vigilant protector, had noticed Bronn sneaking up behind Arya, his dagger glinting in the moonlight. Without hesitation, she pushed Arya out of the way, just in time to avoid being stabbed by Bronn's deadly blade.

As Arya lay on the ground, groaning in pain, Brienne stood tall, her sword raised and ready to defend herself against the would-be assassin. "You will not harm her while I am here," she growled, her voice low and menacing.

Neither had noticed Arya scurry away in the direction of the Red Keep.

The sound of clashing steel echoed through the streets as two figures faced off in the center of the city square. One was Bronn, the skilled sellsword known for his cunning and ruthlessness. The other was Brienne of Tarth, the mighty knight sworn to defend the innocent and uphold justice.

Bronn had attempted to kill Arya Stark, the young assassin who had been causing chaos throughout the Seven Kingdoms. But Brienne, bound by her oath to Catelyn Stark, had intervened and stopped him. Now, the two enemies stood facing each other, their animosity palpable.

"So, you're still sticking up for this little monster?" Bronn sneered at Brienne, his voice dripping with disdain. "Arya Stark is a killer, a cold-blooded murderer who deserves no mercy. Your vows are supposed to protect the innocent, not those who have blood on their hands."

Brienne's jaw clenched, her eyes flashing with anger. "I am a knight, sworn to defend those who cannot defend themselves," she replied evenly. "I gave my word to Catelyn Stark that I would protect her daughters, no matter what."

"Catelyn Stark is dead," Bronn sneered. "And so are all your noble virtues. You are nothing but a foolish pawn in a game of power, Brienne."

"Arya may have done things we do not understand or agree with, but that does not make her a monster. She is still a human being, worthy of respect and dignity."

"Respect and dignity?" Bronn laughed, his voice mocking. "For a woman who runs around killing people without any regard for life? Please, Brienne. You're as deluded as you are naive. What's your plan, then? Are you going to follow her across Westeros as she kills?"

Brienne frowned at Bronn, her eyes narrowing. "I am not naive," she said, her voice cold. "And I do not take pleasure in taking lives. But sometimes, it is necessary to protect the innocent."

"Innocent?" Bronn sneered. "Ha! There's no such thing in this world. Everyone has their own agenda, their own secrets. And if they get in our way, they deserve to die."

"That is not the honourable way," Brienne replied, her hand on the hilt of her sword.

"Honour?" Bronn laughed again. "You really believe in that stuff, don't you? I thought you were smarter than that."

"I believe in doing what is right," Brienne said firmly. "Even if it goes against my own interests. Even if it means sacrificing my own life."

Bronn sobered at that, his gaze lingering on Brienne's face. He had nevr seen her like this before, so resolute and determined. It made him uneasy, realizing that he had underestimated her.

"Fine," he said gruffly. "Do what you will. But don't say I didn't warn you."

"Why do you want to leave so badly?" she asked, her voice firm but controlled.

Bronn shrugged, his expression slippery as an eel. "I have my reasons," he said, avoiding her gaze.

"Reasons that involve killing Arya Stark?" Brienne pressed, her grip on her sword tightening.

Bronn snorted. "That little girl? Please. She's nothing compared to what I've faced before."

"But why bother with her at all?" Brienne asked, genuinely confused. "She's just a child."

Bronn's smile was cold and calculating. "She may be small, but she's also a threat. And I alwys take out any threats, no matter how small they may seem."

Brienne felt a chill run down her spine. This man was not to be trusted. But why did he want to kill Arya so badly? What could a young girl possibly do to deserve such fate?

"Listen, Bronn," she said, her voice low and even. "I won't let you hurt Arya. You may have fought for the Lannisters, but you will not fight against a child."

Bronn sneered at her. "And who are you to stop me? The foolish knight who thinks she can save the world?" He took a step closer to her, his eyes glinting with malice. "You think you're better than me because you've got a fancy title and a pretty face? Newsflash, lady: I am the best fighter in this city, and no one stands in my way."

Brienne raised her sword, its steel gleaming in the faint light. "Then we shall see about that," she said, her heart pounding with anger and determination.

Her face was twisted in anger, but she refused to give in to emotion. She knew that if she let her feelings get the better of her, she would be defeated. Instead, she focused on Bronn's movements, searching for an opening to strike back.

As they circled each other, their blades clashed again and again, sparks flying into the air. It was clear that neither combatant was going to yield anytimr soon.

This duel was more than just a test of strength - it was a test of honour, and of loyalty.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, Bronn fell to the ground, defeated. Brienne stood over him, her sword pressed against his throat.

"Why?" she demanded, her voice low and even. "Why did you try to kill Arya? Why are you so intent on running away?"

"I don't want to die because of those dead f*ckers. I saw them at Winterfell. No one knew I was there. If I don't leave the city, I'll be killed by them. I was just trying to finish the job and collect my payment."

"Job? Payment?" She echoed. "Who sent you?" He didn't answer, so she dug the sword in his chin. "I said, who sent you?"

"Does it matter? You've already decided, haven't you? Where's your honour now? Killing an unarmed man."

Brienne narrowed her eyes, her grip on her sword tightening. She could sense the truth in his words, but that wasn't enough to save his life. Arya would nevr forgive her if she spared Bronn, and besides, he had tried to take her life. She couldn't guarantee he wouldn't try again if she let him live.

Without another word, Brienne drove her sword deep into Bronn's chest. His body went limp, and he let out a soft groan before going still.

She stood over him for a moment, her breathing heavy. She knew she had done what needed to be done, but couldn't help but feel a sense of sadness. Bronn may have been a foolish man, but he was also a human being, and now he was gone.

Brienne wiped her blade clean on Bronn's tunic before sheathing it. She turned to walk away, leaving the body behind. As she disappeared into the night, she knew that she would alwys remember this moment, the weight of her actions heavy upon her.

Arya raced through the streets of King's Landing, her burned arm throbbing with pain, but she didn't let it slow her down. She had one goal in mind: to reach the Red Keep and kill Queen Cersei before she could do any more harm. The city was in chaos, with fires burning and screams filling the air, but Arya pushed on, determined to complete her mission.

she heard a rustling in the shadows. Suddenly, a wight burst forth from the darkness, its jaws snapping mere inches from her face.

She reacted instinctively, drawing her dagger and preparing to defend herself. But before she could strike, a figure stepped forward, throwing itself between her and the wight. The figure was cloaked in shadow, making it impossible to see their features. All Arya saw was the glint of steel as they raised their own weapon, ready to take the blow meant for her.

As the wight lunged at them, the figure parried the attack with ease, using their sword to deflect the creature's bite. For a moment, Arya thought they might actually defeat the monster, but then the wight landed a lucky blow, striking the figure right in the centre of his chest. They stumbled backwards, landing hard against the stone wall, not before delivering the fatal blow to the wight.

Arya rushed towards them, but as she reached their side, she saw that it was too late. The figure's eyes were already glassy and unfocused, their breathing shallow and labored. They looked up at her, and for a brief instant, Arya saw recognition in their gaze. Then, they spoke, their voice barely above a whisper.

"Valar Morghulis," they said, echoing the words that Arya had learned from Jaqen H'ghar all those yeas ago.

Without hesitation, Arya replied, "Valar Dohaeris." And as she watched, the life left the figure's eyes, their body going limp against the wall.

For a long moment, Arya just stood there, staring down at the figure in shock. It couldn't be...but then she saw the tattoo on their arm, the same three stars that adorned Jaqen's hand. There was no doubt - this was indeed the mysterious faceless assassin who had helped her so many times over the yeats.

But why had he sacrificed himself for her now? And how did he know that she would be here, in King's Landing, trying to kill the queen? These questions would have to wait, however, for Arya knew that she still had a duty to fulfill. With a heavy heart, she continued on her way, determined to complete her mission, no matter the cost.

As she turned a corner, she found herself faced with a group of soldiers, both living and dead. They blocked her path, engaged in battle, and Arya knew she couldn't kill enough to get through. She hesitated for just a moment, weighing her options, when suddenly, someone grabbed her from behind.

"Arya, what are you doing here?" Theon whispered urgently into her ear. "We have to go, now!"

Arya struggled against his grip, trying to break free. "I can't leave," she replied, her voice low and even. "I have to find Sansa. I have to kill Cersei, and The Mountain."

Theon tightened his hold on her, his eyes darting back and forth as if searching for something. "There's no time, Arya. We have to go now, befor it's too late."

But Arya was resolute. She wouldn't leave without her sister. She twisted out of Theon's grasp and drew her sword, ready to face whatever lay ahead.

"Then I'll go alone," she said firmly, her heart pounding in her chest.

She didn't even have time to react as he grabbed and drug her to one of the abandoned fortified houses, tossing her inside and barring the door.

She screamed and banged on the door, but it was no use.

She slid down to the floor, exhausted and in pain.

"I can't just sit here," she told him, her voice muffled by the wooden barricade. "I need to get out there and kill Cersei."

"No, Arya," Theon replied firmly. "It's too dangerous. You can't take on the entire army alone."

"But I have to try," Arya insisted. "You can't expect me to just sit here and do nothing while my family and friends are being slaughtered."

There was a brief pause on the other side of the door before Theon spoke again. "I can and I am. I'll go find Sansa. I will protect her."

"What about you?"

"What is dead may nevr die."

She heard the sound of footsteps fading away. Great. Now what? She was stuck here. Even if she did find a way out, it was likely Cersei and The Mountain would be dead, and not by her hand.

She tried to remember the words of her family from the cave. But, no matter how she tried, she couldn't see that point in it. Killing Cersei and The Mountain were the last things she needed to do. To right the wrongs done to her and her family, as well as countless others.

She sighed, placing her head in her hands. She had come so far, done so much. What if it was all for nothing? What would that make her? Nothing? No one?