The Light that Brings the Dawn

The Refugee's Flight

Part 2- Ep 4
The Refugee's Flight

As the first light of dawn broke over the horizon, Drogon descended, his vast wings beating the air. He carefully placed Bran's chair onto the road, a gentle giant amid the devastation. Daenerys dismounted, her eyes reddened and shimmering with unshed tears.

Approaching Bran, she found him unresponsive, his eyes still lost in their white trance. "Bran," she called, shaking him gently, but there was no reply.

Her attention was drawn to Rhegal, who staggered onto the field just outside a city, its walls the purest white she had ever seen. Rhegal, though gravely injured, managed to come to a halt before her, a deep rumble emanating from his throat. The two dragons greeted each other, their necks entwining around her in a tender display.

Jon and Sandor dismounted from Rhegal, Sandor clinging awkwardly to the dragon's leg. Arya, with a serious frown, advised Sandor he could let go. Sandor realized he was nearly touching the ground, yet his arms, caked in dragon blood, were stuck to Rhegal's leg.

Arya leaned down to assist, and as Sandor was freed, Rhegal shifted, roaring in pain.

Jon approached Daenerys, concern etched on his face. "Are you hurt?" he asked, inspecting her.

"No, but you are," Dany replied, her gaze falling on his bleeding arm. "You need a physician," she said, worry creasing her brow.

Jon downplayed his injury, but Dany, overwhelmed by loss, whispered, "They are all dead. Jorah-" She winced as Jon gently reached for her face, offering her comfort.

"We are alive," he reassured her, his gaze steady and penetrating.

Dany's despair was palpable. "But for how long?" she murmured as Jon tenderly kissed her forehead.

Turning to Bran, Jon tried to rouse him. "Bran," he urged, but Bran remained in his trance-like state. Daenerys confirmed, "He won't wake."

Jon examined Bran closely. "He must be doing something..." His gaze then shifted to the city. "We need to rest and send ravens about the fall of the north."

Dany, still disoriented, asked, "Where are we?"

"White Harbor," Jon replied. "A few days' journey from Winterfell."

Arya stepped forward, her sense of urgency clear. "We must warn them."

Jon agreed, recalling the disaster at Hardhome. "Best to evacuate by sea. On foot would take too long."

Sandor, ever pragmatic, "Good I get a lick of Wolf's Den Black beer before I die." He glanced at Arya who sent him a chiding look and he shrugged. "Prisoners make the finest beer," he remarked, drawing confused looks from the others.

Arya moved to push Bran's chair, while Dany, supporting Jon, who was weakened from blood loss, helped him walk. The group, united in their grief and determination, faced the uncertain future together, ready to send word of the dire events that had unfolded.

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The first thing that struck Bronn was the odor, an acrid stench that wafted through the air. Cresting over the hill, he shook his head in disbelief at the sight that unfolded before him. The horizon was marred by a curtain of inky darkness, smoke billowing into the sky above Winterfell, the capital of the north now shrouded in blackened despair. Below, the valley teemed with a chaotic exodus, thousands marching in a swarm.

A sense of foreboding chilled his spine as he observed a dragon above, circling languidly, its breath a haunting blue flame. His gaze shifted to the forest, where he saw survivors fleeing on foot, pursued relentlessly by the nightmarish army of the dead.