[Day 7: Late Night] They Dream of Fire (read only)

[Jon Cobb]

The line is holding, for now. The Dornishmen have been thrown back, but they still outnumber Jon's force. Another push like that and we'll be swimming in the harbor. Where are the bloody reinforcements? he thinks, doing his best not to betray his concern to his lieutenants.

They come again, shouting battle cries and with champions at the fore. “Looks like they can't get enough of our company boys! Let's give them another warm welcome!” he shouts in encouragement to his men. With a roar, the lines clash.

A knot of Dornish fighters breaks through and comes straight at him, trying to bring down his standard and break his company's will to fight. In moments, Jon is fighting for his life. One Dornishman, then another, falls before his mace, and suddenly the enemy is in full retreat, their entire line streaming back into the village, racing towards the keep where the smallfolk have already taken shelter.

Suddenly, a vast shadow darkens the sky. “Caraxes! King Daemon!” the cry goes up from his surviving men. A howl of terror can be heard from the fleeing Dornishmen. The great red dragon circles lazily over the village one time, then unleashes a torrent of fire on the fleeing enemy. Soon the entire village is aflame, and all that can be heard is the screams of the dying, overlaid with the sickly smell of burning flesh.

The dragon lands and the king leaps down to stand before Jon, a feral grin on his face. “Got here in the nick of time, eh, Ser Jon?”

“I think we had them beat, Your Grace, but I and all my men are honored that you came in person to aid us,” Jon replies. The scent of the burned Dornish soldiers is making him feel queasy. “With you here, no doubt the keep will surrender quickly. There's no one in there but the village smallfolk and a handful of men to old to fight.”

“Surrender, Ser Jon? I think not. They must be taught the price of resistance. The fate of this holdfast will serve as an object lesson for any who continue to defy my rule!” the king retorts angrily. “Caraxes! Burn it!”

Jon watches in helpless horror as the dragon takes flight once more, circling the keep. Before the defenders can react, he bathes them in flame, again and again until it seems that the stone itself is on fire. Burning smallfolk leap from the walls, their screams cut short as they land on the hard rocks below with gruesome thuds. His work done, Caraxes lands in the smouldering village and begins to feed, scooping up the charred remains of Dornish warriors in his massive jaws.

Jon turns away from the king and vomits noisily.

The scene shifts, the crystal clarity of memory replaced by something much more...intangible. Jon is standing in the shadows of a great hall, watching two Targaryens shout angrily at each other. All around him there's the sound of harsh, heavy breathing. One of the Targaryens is clad in green, the other in black.

Suddenly, a blow is struck! Blood spills onto the floor, and both Targaryens reel back. The shadows around Jon coalesce, and he finds himself standing in the midst of dozens of great dragons, eagerly snapping their jaws and roaring their battle lust at the smell of blood. Grinning madly, each Targaryen mounts a dragon and – as one – the dragons rise into the air, split into two equally sized flights.

Somehow, Jon finds himself clinging to the back of the dragon carrying the black Targaryen. All around him, the sky is filled with dragons, some black, some green, circling slowly as if awaiting some command. The rider turns to him, anger and bloodlust radiating from his purple eyes. Pointing to a pristine countryside below, that Jon knows in his heart is Westeros itself, the Targaryen speaks in the hissing, rasping voice of a dragon. “Now they will know the price of defiance!”

As one, all of the dragons, green and black, fall on the unsuspecting land below. And then all is flame.