This is an especially brutal story, filled with torture, rape, and snuff. Be sure this is a thing you want to read before continuing.
Westeros – The North
Daenerys staggered through the snow, leaning against the blowing storm as the utterly insufficient dress she wore fluttered against the knifing winds. Only her hatred and lust for revenge kept her warm now. Daario… how could have have done this to her?
After the Dothraki had finished with her, she had been taken to a slave market near Pentos. There she had been examined and manhandled by many… no doubt someone would have bought her if she hadn’t cut her own hair short with a sharp stone and let it stay dirty until it looked more brown that white-blonde. She couldn’t risk being recognized… and yet she was.
When Daario had stepped into the slave market, Daenerys had been overjoyed. Finally, after all of this time, one of her retainers had at last found her. She had expected to be rescued. She had expected to be set free, made whole. She wasn’t even surprised when he bought her rather than break her free, sure he would free her as soon as they were out of sight.
Then he had taken her to an inn and raped her. She didn’t understand. She had always known Daario wasn’t loyal, knew that he hadn’t loved her, but he had been obsessed with her, with wanting her as his own, to be her king. She couldn’t imagine what had happened to make her sink even lower.
Afterward, he had marched his slave onto a ship and taken her to Westeros, where with a few whispered words to a brothel-keeper she had become just one more anonymous whore for sale. The master of the house took care to dye her hair every day, and in that, if nothing else Daenerys was cooperative… as much as she detested the ruin that had become of her life, she longed for death even less, and she didn’t want to imagine how much worse than Lannisters would do to her if she were found.
Then one day, Daario came back for her, bought her back from the brothel, and took her further north from the already frigid place she had spent the last year, past an incredible monument that could only be the legendary Wall of the North, and then deeper into winter. And there he left her, leaving her bound to a tree north of the Wall, as he rode back.
It had taken her hours, hours of pulling at her ropes, of squirming, but she was even thinner than she used to be, and able to writhe out of them, getting free. By then the snow had completely hidden the tracks, the snow far too thick to see through. She headed in the direction that she hoped was back towards the wall, warmth and safety, but after walking for more than an hour Daenerys at last stopped trying to convince herself she hadn’t gotten turned around in the white storm all around her.
Then she began to see shapes through the snow. People. She might be barely dressed, might be used to being abused by any man who saw her at this point, but Daenerys was well and truly out of options. “Please!” she shouted into the howling of the wind. “Help! Please, help me!”
The shapes came closer. “Please, I need help!”
Closer. Closer. “Oh thank the Seven, I need…”
Like wraiths through the storm they came… men and women, walking despite horrible wounds that should have killed them. No… that had killed them. They were dead, all of them dead… but still walking, with horrible blue eyes.
Daenerys was, for perhaps the first time in her life, speechless.
The sea of corpses crowded around her, and Daenerys sagged down into the snow, barely noticing the cold as it sank into her. Then, moving as one, smooth as water flowing, the mess of bodies parted and a man in black walked through them… no, not a man at all. A monster. His skin was pale as the snow beneath the black armor, and his eyes were bluer than the ocean, bluer than the sky… and as he looked at her, it felt like her soul was freezing as surely as her body.
“Dragon’s fire…” When the man spoke, it was the sound of rocks rasping against glass in an echo chamber. A scraping hiss of a voice, multiplied a dozen times or more, echoing in her bones despite how quiet it was. And it was quiet, everywhere… around her, even the winter winds had stopped, the snow floating straight down to cover her. “And I thought your kind was extinct.”
Daenerys didn’t resist as he put his hand in her hair… how could she? She couldn’t even move. It was lying staring into the eyes of Death, the Stranger come for her himself. She found herself lying on her back in the snow without a clear memory of having sunk down there. She was terrified, but the terror wasn’t as bad as she would have expected. Maybe she was just in shock.
She shivered as his hands touched her bare skin, running up her legs, pulling up the thin dress she wore with them before touching her bare, well abused cunt. Daenerys started weeping silently when she looked down her prone form to the monster, the demon on top of her. His fingers speared her pussy, and Daenerys winced at the first bit of pain. Her rough treatment had left being touched there painful… but as the specter on top of her pressed his cock against her, all the pain… all the feeling at all… starting to leech out, replaced only by cold as he began to push his rod into her pussy.
The monster drove his cock relentlessly forward, and Daenerys could do nothing but wriggle, and even that barely, helplessly. Just one more rape… just one more rape. The way he was shoving into her should hurt horribly, she knew from painful experience, the thick rod was brutally bludgeoning its way into her, but the icy cold stole the sting of the pain at least as he skewered her tight cunt.
“And still she lives…” the pale ghost hissed, slitting his eyes as he drove his cock forward. “So long…” He grabbed the sexy dragon slut by her hips and held her steady while he drove his fat prick into her. He bore his weight down on his cock, driving it deeper inside her. It was easy going now that his big cock-head had bulled its way past her cunt lips, even as unprepared as Daenerys was now he could push properly without worrying about falling out.
Suddenly he pulled back, and then a moment later he slammed his cock home. Daenerys felt that. She let out a cry… but barely. Her lungs barely could move, like they were frozen in place. Her legs, her waist… it had grown entirely numb by now… but still she felt the cock inside her, driven viciously all the way into her like a blade carved of purest ice.
“Only a dragon could hope to survive this long,” his voice whisper-echoed against her ears. “Does the flame preserve you, child of fire? Or will it quench soon enough?” The pale corpse-lord grinned and pulled his cock back until only the fat head was still inside his victims tightly grasping cunt. He slammed it back inside, and shuddered at the new grasping sensations. It felt so warm… the only warmth he had known in five thousand years.
The monster began to rape Daenerys in earnest, building into a destructive rhythm as he tore new cries from her with every thrust. Whenever she grew numb enough that her cries began to fade he fucked her harder, making sure she could feel it, making sure that he could feel it. Daenerys could do nothing but look up at the wraith with pleading violet eyes, begging for mercy that she knew wouldn’t come. Instead, he plunged tip to root with every savage thrust, and once he’d bottomed out inside her pussy, he squirmed his ass around to make sure he’d stretched her swollen pussy as far as he could.
It was the most thorough rape that Daenerys had ever experienced as the thing above her fucked the dying dragon girl into the cold, mercilessly using her while her pale hair mixed with the snow, white vanishing onto white. She was so cold… so very cold. She couldn’t feel anything, anymore… not the man on top of her, not the cock inside, and not her own fear. Nothing at all. She never felt it as the monster finished inside her. She could feel nothing at all…
Scarlett looked away from the flames, closing her eyes so she didn’t need to see the last few seconds of Daenerys’ life. She shook her head. She hadn’t intended her to die like that… but some destinies were unavoidable. The woman was born to be a Queen. Perhaps there had never been another fate possible for her than to consummate her marriage to a King before the end.
It had to be this way. She had to hurt Jorah… but she couldn’t have made him kill the woman he loved. Jorah was strong, but she wasn’t sure if he was that strong, if he would break instead of hurting her. She needed to give him no choice, give him the mercy of knowing that she was already gone, that his kill was a mercy. It was the best she could do for him.
She had read the ancient books in Asshai, the records of prophecy made in the dying days of the Great Empire of the Dawn in ancient times. “After a long Summer,” she whispered to herself, “When the Stars Bleed and Darkness falls heavy on the world, he shall be born again amidst Smoke and Salt. He shall wake dragons out of stone, and draw from the flame Lightbringer once again, to lead the world to Summer Eternal.”
Jorah’s body was remade among the salt of the Smoking Sea, where he was infected and then purified of Greyscale. He had been there when the Dragons reawoke, had handed them to Daenerys himself before she stepped onto her pyre. The Red Comet had heralded that event, its red light shining off his pate as he had sworn his service to Daenerys there in ash of the Dothraki Sea. Jorah was Azor Ahai… she was certain of it. All that he needed was Lightbringer…
But Brightroar was not Lightbringer, no matter what she promised him. And despite all her ancient lore, she knew of only one way to make the Red Sword of Heroes… the way it had been made the first time. Quenched three times… in the salt of the sea, in the heart of a lion, and with the life of the one he loved most.
When Scarlett opened her eyes again, Daenerys was rising, but there was no violet in her eyes any longer. Her eyes were entirely for the Night King, R’hllor showing her her adversary for the first time. She had been watching since the attack on the walls had begun an hour ago. By now, it had fallen… already the Night’s Watch was fleeing back towards Winterfell, towards where they would make their stand. It was almost over. Almost over…
The Night King looked up at her, and she felt his cold gaze even through the flames of R’hllor. He looked right at her… and he smiled.
Scarlett shuddered. One way or the other, it was almost over.