The Last of the Dragonborn

The Throat

The snow crunched underneath the heavy footfall of the man who climbed the last portion of the gruelling climb up from Ivarstead far below. The lighter footsteps of his companion followed him. Serana seemed almost weightless, barely indenting the snow, whilst the last of the Dragonborn had left a clear trail behind him all the way up from bottom to summit.

The stars shone down on the Throat of the World, and the full moon illuminated the scene that stood before the two new arrivals. There stood an ancient wall on the far side that had once born the ancient language of the dragons but had been destroyed by Alduin all those years ago. There was no sign of the dragon who had once made this place home. He was gone from this world for good. A solitary figure stood with his back to the pair. He wore a black cloak and his head was covered by a hood, but the Dragonborn knew who this man was. He was looking out from the mountain, over the wide expanses of Skyrim. He didn’t turn, but when he spoke it was with a voice that dripped with wisdom.

“I am sorry to see you set foot here again, Dragonborn. If it could have been any other way, then I would gladly have seen you never return to High Hrothgar. You may have defeated the World-Eater, but you shall never be forgiven for what you did to Parthurnaax.”

The Dragonborn turned and signalled to Serana that she should allow him to approach the hooded figure alone. She bowed her head and silently obliged him.

The Dragonborn strode forward. There was something queer about this place now. It was as if it was haunted. He wondered if the ghosts played on the mind of this man, who had once been his mentor and yet now hated him.

“I did what I had to, Arngeir. Parthurnaax was a war criminal. He had escaped justice for too long. I merely dispensed it.”

The wind whipped at the two of them as they stood side by side. It pulled Arngeir’s hood down, revealing the thinning hair and weathered face of the Greybeard. Time had not treated him well.

“He had found peace. He had repented for those crimes. He guided us. He protected us, and you killed him. You shall not be forgiven. No matter what excuses you manage to concoct.”

“If you feel like this, Arngeir, then why summon me here. Was it just so you could throw insults at me after all this time? Me who survived the journey to Sovngarde to slay the World-Eater. Me who slew the Traitor in Oblivion.”

The Greybeard scowled. It seemed that it was an expression that his face was used to. The wrinkles and lines on his aged features seemed best to fit with a scowl, and the Dragonborn suspected it had been some time since the man stood by his side had truly felt the touch of joy. He pitied him.

“It was not my choice. I was asked to summon you here. The Throat of the World is a magical place, you see, and the connections between our world and the world beyond are strong here. Someone wishes to talk to you. She seemed… Insistent.”

The dragonborn tilted his head and looked at his old friend. Arngeir hadn’t taken his eyes off the view once since they had arrived. There was an intensity in those eyes. Was all that caused by hatred, or was there something more there?

He had known how the Greybeards would react when he had used his mighty axe to slay Parthurnaax, but he had done the right thing. No amount of repentance could have amended what he had done in the service of Alduin, the World-Eater.

Could it?

“She?”

He tried to sound disinterested, but the truth was that he felt a deep pounding in his stomach. Who did he know that would need to him through the Greybeards, and what did Arngeir mean when he said the world beyond? Could the person who wanted to him be from the plains of Oblivion?

“You will see soon enough.”

Arngeir turned away from the view and shuffled through the snow, until he was stood in the centre of the plateau. The Dragonborn saw him close his eyes. The Greybeard was focussing his magicka. He started to let off a faint blue glow. The spell was clearly a powerful one, as it took Arngeir, a talented student of the way of the voice, some effort to perform.

And then a purple portal opened in front of the Dragonborn. It almost tore through reality, like some sort of wound. He could spy a deep and seemingly never-ending blackness on the other side. Somehow, he knew that this place was one of great evil and despair. Could the other world that Arngeir had mentioned be the Void itself? If that was true then-

“Did you work it out yet, my dearest brother.”

The voice came from behind him, almost like a whisper on the wind at first, but it became stronger, more fleshed out, as if the speaker was slowly becoming more human.

The Last Dragonborn turned and saw the woman who stood before him. She was cloaked in a crimson garb, and a scarf that covered the bottom half of her face, and yet her words came to him clearly. The woman was Astrid, who had led the Dark Brotherhood in Skyrim many moons ago. She had led them until her death; until he himself had killed her. If she was here then it was on the will of Sithis himself.

“It has been too long since I have seen the fresh snow of Skyrim. What I would give to see the red stains of blood upon it, but alas, now is not the time, brother. I have been sent to you by Sithis himself to deliver both a task and a warning. It has been some time since I have given you a mark, brother. The last one was myself, if I am correct, but now I must give you a name, for this is a threat that affects all of Mundus, as well as Oblivion and the lands beyond. Even Sovngarde and the Void should shake in fear of what could be coming. One born amidst flames with the power of the dragon tongue of old, and children who fly the winds and cause more terror than even the World-Eater could manage.”

“That is impossible.”

Arngeir moved around to face Astrid, who gave him a blank look, like he was some creature who was significantly beneath her and wasn’t worth caring about.

“Such a creature would have to be Dragonborn, and we Greybeards have not sensed such a person on Tamriel, nor anywhere else on Mundus.”

“This dragonborn is not of our world, Greybeard. Not even of our universe. She is of another place, maybe even another time, and it is your duty, my beloved brother, to travel to her world and end her life, before she can bring the destruction of her children to all of existence. This is the will of Sithis.”

The Last Dragonborn stayed silent for a few moments. There were no further interruptions from Arngeir, and Serana, who had taken in the whole discussion with a cool detachment, remained silent now also. A few seconds later he spoke.

“And how would I reach this other world? There is no shout to perform such a thing. There is no way. What you ask, what Sithis asks, it is impossible.”

Astrid did not respond straight away. Instead she mumbled some indiscernible words under her breath, and then held out her hands. The gloves she had been wearing before had gone, so her pale, deathlike skin was exposed to the cold air, though she didn’t even acknowledge it. Suddenly she was holding a weighty scroll. He instantly recognised it. She held before him one of the Elder Scrolls.

“This Elder Scroll belongs to the Dread Father himself. Read this and it will take you to where you need to go.”

He took the scroll from her. He ed the first time that he had read one of these scrolls here on the Throat of the World. He had done it to defeat Alduin, to learn the shout Dragonrend. He had read Elder Scrolls to defeat Harkon as well. How many more of these accursed documents would he need to read in his lifetime.

“And your warning?”

A genuine look of sadness ed into the eyes of his former mentor at that point. Astrid had never been emotionally expressive in life, and so the deep sorrow caught him off guard.

“Once you go, my brother, you shall never be able to return. The Elder Scroll will not travel with you, and you shall be stuck in this other world. That is your penance for the crime you must commit. I am sorry.”

“I see.”

He thought for a few seconds of what that would mean. His life here would be no more. The children he had adopted in Solitude, the woman that he had married, the gold he had collected and the friends he had made. He would lose them all. If Astrid was right about the danger that Mundus was in then he would lose them all if he didn’t do this. His life here was forfeited to allow all the lives of the people he loved to continue.

“And the name of my mark?”

“She has many names, and many titles. They call her Queen. They call her Mother of Dragons. You should kill the one called Daenerys Targaryen. Her power is strong. The Elder Scroll will place you as close to her as it can. Do what you must, brother.”

He nodded silently and looked at the Elder Scroll. This is what would separate him from everything he loved. He looked at the others. There had been hatred in Arngeir’s eyes before, but now there was some begrudging respect. He was shocked to see some sadness in the old eyes of Serana. She was another whom he would miss. He had to do this though, for Aela, and for Lucia and Alesan too.

He drew out the Scroll, and saw the familiar writing appear before his eyes. It infested his vision, and then his mind, and then he was gone. Gone from the world that he knew, loved and saved. Gone somewhere new.

The Ruins

The writing disappeared, and the snow did too. He hadn’t really felt the cold and bitter winds when he had been atop the Throat of the World, but now that they were gone, he could definitely feel their absence. In comparison, the heat here felt like he had appeared within a furnace. The air felt baked and sweltering. It wasn’t a heat that he was used to. It felt like the breath of a dragon.

He quickly looked around, to survey his surroundings and assess what needed to be done next. The buildings around him were rubble. The street was covered in ash, and the smell of burned flesh was lingering in the background. It was a faint smell, but one that could not be ignored, even if he tried.

The thing that he noticed last was the girl, who was perched on the top of one of the many destroyed buildings. She wore leather armour which covered her figure, and a blank face. It seemed to him that she had been there the whole time, and yet he had only just noticed her. He didn’t like that. This girl was dangerous. He could sense that aura coming off her from here. She was something… Different.

“You just appeared out of nowhere.”

The girl said it in a very matter-of-fact manner. She jumped down from her perch and landed deftly on her feet, like a cat. He could see her eyes now. He knew those eyes. He had those eyes. They were the eyes of a killer. They did nothing to alleviate his concern about this girl’s intentions.

“I knew a man who could appear out of nowhere before, but not in the way you just did it. He was really sneaky. You just… Appeared. How did you do it?”

“Magic.”

It was a simple enough response. Back in Skyrim it would have ended the discussion. People would accept anything was magic if you told them. In a way it had been, but he didn’t know this girl, and telling her about the Elder Scrolls seemed like a risky move. He wouldn’t take any needless risks. He had a job to do.

“Where am I, child?”

She cocked her head slightly. The question clearly surprised her.

“How can you not know that? You’re here.”

“And here is?”

“King’s Landing, of course. The great city built by Aegon the Conqueror himself. Well, it was a great city. Before she came.”

The way that the girl said she was poisonous. There was a bitter hatred in the word. He was glad that the girl didn’t speak of him like that, for he could tell that she was not someone you wanted to make an enemy of. She had that aura.

“She? Daenerys Targaryen?”

“You do know something, then.”

She laughed slightly, though it was not hearty. There was no life to the laugh. It wasn’t quite a snicker, but it wasn’t far off. He understood the laugh though. There didn’t seem to be anything funny about the destruction he was stood within. This was a solemn place, laughter seemed inappropriate.

“Yes. I mean Daenerys Targaryen. She came here with her dragon and did all this. There used to be a million people who lived in this city. Now that number is under ten thousand. Those that didn’t burn alive were killed afterwards by her men or chased away from their families and their homes. There would have been many orphans made by her, if she hadn’t butchered the children as well.”

The silence left after that was an intense one. The girl’s eyes wandered over the destruction, but they had changed. Gone were the eyes of a killer. Here were the eyes of an old man who had seen all the world could offer. She was looking at the destruction, sadness very much present. The woman she described… She made Alduin almost seem pleasant. This level of destruction…

“She sounds like a monster.”

“She isn’t. I don’t think so. She wants good things. She wants to break chains, to end slavery, to free people from tyranny, but she doesn’t see the truth. The wheel she wants to break, she is becoming it. She is the tyrant that she so hates. Can monsters have good intentions, stranger?”

He thought for a few seconds. It was an interesting question and deserved some thought. There was no simple answer.

“All monsters are the heroes in their own minds. I have met many selfish men. I have slain many selfish men. Many of those believed they were doing the right thing. This Daenerys Targaryen sounds like she is one of them.”

The girl nodded.

“Maybe you are right, stranger. Is that why you are here to kill her?”

He wasn’t surprised that she knew. He had known that she was a killer from one glance at her. She had worked out that he was an assassin. Who else would he be here to kill other than this Queen? It was an easy deduction for the girl to make.

“My business here is my own, girl.”

“My name is Arya Stark. Do not call me girl.”

The way she said the name made it sound like he should know it. He didn’t, of course, but maybe she was the relative of a Jarl, or from an old house like the Gray-Manes and the Battle-Borns.

“What is your name, stranger.”

“I am nameless, though many have names to call me. Some call me Harbinger, others call me The Listener, and some more call me Archmage.”

“That doesn’t seem useful. What do normal people call you? That just sounds confusing.”

He didn’t respond, but instead looked up at the castle that sat atop the largest hill of the city. The keep looked damaged, although not in the same way that the city was. There were a few ruined towers, and a couple that had collapsed down the side of the cliff. The stone was stained red, and the grand gate had collapsed. He could see that from here. It was a long walk, and so he started trudging through the ruins. He wasn’t surprised when the girl followed him.

“Where are you from, stranger? The Free Cities? Qarth? Asshai? You’re definitely not from around here. I can tell you that.”

“That is none of your concern, Arya Stark. I will kill the Queen. Not for you or for the people who died here, but for the people that I need to protect. To make sure that this doesn’t happen again.”

The girl sighed slightly. It was an exasperated sigh. If she was so tired of him then why follow him like this? Was she just curious, or did she plan on helping him kill the Queen?

“And who is it you are trying to protect?”

That question made him stop in his tracks. The faces of the ones that he loved flashed in front of him. He saw the hopeful look in Lucia’s eyes, and heard Alesan’s playful laughter. He saw Aela, his beloved, waiting for him by their door in Solitude, and Lydia, his faithful steward. Would he never see any of them again? Astrid had told him that there was no way back to his home. Was he to live here for the rest of his days? Was that his curse?

“You ask too many questions, child. It is not your place to do so. When this is done then I will seek age home, but I will do this by myself. The sooner I kill her the sooner I can return, so leave me be.”

He carried on walking and noticed that Arya’s footsteps hadn’t started up. He turned and looked her. There was a look of fury in her eyes. He had angered her.

“Very well. Kill the bitch if that is what you must. I don’t care. I was trying to help you. I didn’t have to do that. I don’t know you. If you don’t want to talk then we don’t have to.”

He stood still in shocked silence. He hadn’t expected that sort of outburst. He blinked, and the girl, Arya Stark, was no longer stood before him. She had vanished into the ruins. He looked down at his feet, embarrassed by what he had said. He had a job to do, that much was true, but she could have helped him. She knew this world better than he did. He sighed, and turned back towards the castle, and began the long trudge up the hill for a second time. This time, he was alone.

The Dragon

The fallen rocks that blocked the gate of this strange castle were treacherous to climb over. To the right, a path through them had been cleared into the courtyard beyond, but it was guarded by five men in black leather armour, each holding a deadly looking spear. He didn’t want a fight, not yet at any rate. That was why he was clambering over some slippery rocks that had once made up the curtain wall of the structure. He had almost lost his footing twice, but he was almost to the top now.

He pulled himself up the last few inches and looked at the climb down. The courtyard below was covered in ash, similar to the ruins below. There were several well tread paths through it, but the place was curiously empty. His eyes were drawn towards the grand doors of what he assumed to be the Great Hall. The wall had been broken through in a few places, and it looked like the roof had caved through in several places. That was where h would find this Daenerys Targaryen, he decided.

He clambered down, and then started striding across the empty courtyard. There was a large pile of ash next to the door. He paid it no mind, until it seemed to speak to him.

“I smell the blood of a Dovah. You are Dragonborn.”

The ash started to move, and then feel to the ground in sweeps as it was shaken from the scales of the creature that had laid underneath it, and suddenly he was staring into the smoldering red eyes of a dragon.

“I am Dragonborn.”

He agreed with the dragon, who let a snort of steam loose from its mighty snout. Its scales were jet black, and its claws looked sharper than even Mehrune’s Razor. He didn’t want to anger this creature, but he suspected that he would have to. This must be the dragon that was born by Daenerys Targaryen. It was a mighty creature.

It sniffed at him.

“You are not from here. You come from Mundus. I can smell it on you. Why do you stray so far from your home?”

Dragons were intelligent creatures. This one must know that him being here at the emergence of another Dragonborn was no coincidence. Was there any point lying?

“I was sent here to kill Daenerys Targaryen.”

He said it simply enough, and the dragon growled in anger. He could spy the embers of flames in the back of the creature’s throat.

“She is destined to destroy my world. She will bring flame and destruction to everything. I was sent here, with no way home, to prevent that from happening.”

“She is no Alduin.”

The words the dragon spoke were simple enough, but it brought back memories of the World-Eater. This girl, everything he had heard about her made her sound worse than Alduin. What did the creature mean?

“She has good in her heart. I can sense it. You can change the way things will be without destroying them. I will allow you to enter that room. There you will have your choice. Kill her and maintain what is or try to change the world for the better. Try to change her.”

“That is not why I am here. It is not why I was sent- “

“You are stuck here, in this world, as I am. She can change that, if what you say is true. Her destiny is to transcend all worlds. She can return you to your home.”

Home? Home was Aela, and Alesan, and Lucia. Home was the smell of Adrianne Avenicci’s forge in Whiterun. It was the sound of the bards practicing in their college, it was the feel of Skyrim’s biting winds on his skin. Would it be selfish of him to spare Daenerys, to risk the future that Astrid had predicted, just for the opportunity to go home? This choice. This was his curse.

“Go inside. Make your choice, Dovahkiin. Know the consequences that may come, but do not think that the future is known. It is up to you to decide it.”

Choice Time

If you choose to kill Daenerys and take the consequences of that action then read on. If you choose to spare Daenerys and try to return home, then skip ahead to the start of that section.

Murdering a Queen (if you chose to kill Daenerys)

The blood had dripped from the iron blade of Wuuthrad. It had stained the ash beneath it a crimson colour, a track leading to where the Last Dragonborn now sat. He was truly the last of the dragonborn now, for Daenerys Targaryen was dead. The axe had hit her clean and deep in the back. She had died slowly, spluttering for life on the floor of her throne room. He had shown her the mercy of a blade to the throat at least. He had done it. He had done what Sithis had commanded, and in doing so he had confined himself to this strange place.

A few guards had tried to stop him leaving. He had left their corpses cooling in the ash. They had been nothing, and Wuuthrad had decimated them. He hadn’t run from the scene, but instead he had stalked away, contemplating the life that he must now lead devoid of joy. Maybe he would find love again, though he doubted it.

Now he was sat in a building that ed for an inn. All the stone inns had been destroyed by the dragon queen, but, relying on the fact that sad people would always want drink, one resourceful man had set up a large tent outside the walls, and he was selling the cheapest ale he could find for as much coin as he could get. He had almost rejected the Septims that the Dragonborn had offered, but the look in the prospective customer’s eyes had told him that choice wouldn’t end well for him.

“She is dead then?”

He looked up from his tankard of ale and found Arya Stark looking down at him. She was leant against one of the poles that kept the tent standing. There was a cool look in her eyes. She knew the answer to her question before she had even asked it.

“Your axe is bloody, and you would only be here to drink away your sorrows.”

She pulled up a chair and sat down opposite him. He noticed that she was not unattractive, but she was also little more than a child. Besides, he loved Aela, and this girl was not her.

“She is dead.”

Arya spat on the ground then.

“Good. The bitch is dead. I would have done it myself, but my brother loved her, and I love him. He would never have forgiven me had I driven Needle right between her smug, perfect eyes. I am glad that you did it.”

“You hate her that much?”

“Her flames killed my dog. He was a good friend.”

He shrugged. Who was he to chide her on strange friends? His travelling companion was a Vampire. Well, had been a Vampire. If this girl wanted her closest friend to be some hound then it was her choice. He wouldn’t stop her.

“You never told me where you were from, stranger.”

It was an observation more than it was a question, but there was a clear point to it. What was the point in hiding it now? He would never return.

“Somewhere far away. A place that I will never see again. The age back there closed when I killed your Queen.”

“How do you know that?”

She had cocked her head at him again, as if what he had just said confused her. He looked at her, exasperation and exhaustion present on his face and in his eyes. He didn’t want to play games with this child. Why couldn’t she just leave him alone to wallow in his misery.

“A dragon told me.”

“Was it an expert in knowing where you are destined to go and to be?”

A smile flickered across her lips, but only for a split second, and then her face returned to the blank expression it had been before. He found her impossible to read, except from the eyes. They still scared hi, even now.

“I spent a long time trying to get home once. I travelled across land and sea, met people that you wouldn’t believe, did the impossible, and yet when I got back it didn’t feel like home anymore. Too much had changed. You want to get home like I did. I am still searching. I think you should still search too.”

“What sort of search would you have in mind, child?”

She leaned in towards him, in a conspiratorial manner, her elbows rested on the wooden table that separated them.

“What is west of Westeros?”

There was a certain electricity to those words. It was as if they excited her more than anything else could. He responded with a few seconds of silence before speaking again.

“I don’t know what you mean by Westeros.”

She sat back on her chair and growled slightly. He was reminded of a wolf, angry and impatient.

“That’s where we are right now. This country is Westeros. You really are clueless, aren’t you?”

“And you want me to sail west of here? Into nothingness? Why would I do that, and why would it bring me home?”

She sighed. It was almost a wistful sigh, as if she was thinking of some world that could never be. He knew the feeling. That was why he was here, drinking.

“Nobody knows what lies to the west of here. What if we discover a way to get you home? Or a place where we can make our own home anew? That is my dream. I place where I can be. One day I might return here, and one day you might return to your own home. We just need to sail west.”

Sailing west with this girl was sailing into uncertainty with a virtual unknown. He had only met her today. Was he really considering going on a potentially fatal voyage with her?

“Besides,”

She said in an overly happy manner, a smug smirk on her face.

“If you stay here then the Queen’s guards will find you eventually. They won’t take kindly to you killing her.”

He sighed. She was right. He looked up at her, a smile ing on to his face for the first time that day. She smiled back at him. He spoke his words confidently, the thought of home in his mind. Maybe this was the only way.

“What’s west of Westeros.”

Returning Home (if you chose to spare Daenerys)

The great curtain wall of Solitude stood before him. The shadow it cast covered the bulk of the front lines of the army that had come to their gates. Men from Whiterun and Morthal, both of which had peacefully bent the knee to Daenerys, mingled with the ranks of Unsullied and Dothraki who had followed their Queen through the tera between worlds that she had created.

Daenerys herself sat beside him. She did not sit astride a regular horse, however, but instead sat atop the mighty dragon known as Drogon. She was a beauty, that was definitely true, with her silver-blond hair and stunning, haunting eyes. There was a fire in her as well. He knew why so many of her advisors fell in love with her. Not he, however. He was just glad that he was here. He was just glad to be home.

His family were so close. All he had to do know was engineer peace between Jarl Elisif and Daenerys. He did not see it as an easy task. Elisif was proud, and she would not bend her knee easily before her adversary. He wanted to avoid conflict. If a battle happened here then Lucia or Alesan may get themselves involved. He didn’t want that. Not after he had fought his way back home.

He pulled at the reins of his horse slightly, adjusting the beast’s stance. His eyes moved back up to Daenerys, who hadn’t moved her own off the great towers of Castle Dour, which rose out of the city of Solitude and pointed to the sky, like a hag’s wrinkled finger cursing the gods themselves.

“It feels so familiar.”

He heard her mutter the words, but he didn’t know what she meant by them.

“Shall I ride forth and negotiate, your Grace?”

She looked down on him with a curious look. He was used to it by now. It was a look of surprise. She had been wrapped in her world of fantasy and was surprised that he was still here. This world was as foreign to her as Westeros had been to him, after all. He knew that the Dothraki hated it here, too. They stayed for her. She was their Queen.

“No. I don’t think so. You did good work in Whiterun and Morthal, advisor, but not here. Not today. Today I think we send a message to this world of yours.”

She spoke of destroying Solitude? She couldn’t! Aela was behind those walls. His children were behind those walls.

“That was not your promise. You told me that you would spare this city if I could negotiate their surrender. You do not need to fight.”

“A warrior begging for a ceasefire? How far you have fallen. This world is littered with battlefields. This will be another. You promised me acceptance. You promised me that resistance would be minimal. Instead I see walls bristling with archers and spearmen. I hear the clatter of axes from behind the gate, and I smell the scent of newly smithed leather. This is not a city ready to bend the knee. This is a city that wants battle.”

He looked closer at the city walls. This time he could see the archers, their arrows cocked, and the tips of the spears jutting slightly over the parapets. The dragon adjusted itself. It knew what was about to happen. Had it known the whole time? Was this the outcome that he knew his choice would bring. Had he been tricked?

“Daenerys, please- “

“I am your Queen! The city burns. There is no more discussion. You can run away like a craven if you choose, but you will be hunted down, and your head shall be added to the pikes like all the others who refused my offer of freedom.”

She turned her attention away from him and back on the city. She was right. It was readying itself for battle, and yet she was wrong about so many other things. He could negotiate a peace with Elisif, if only Daenerys would give him the chance…

He could feel the aura around him change. He could feel the Unsullied and Dothraki prepare themselves for battle. It spread through the air like ripples on a lake. It was a strange feeling.

“Dracarys!”

The next few minutes were a ing blur of steel on steel, the sound of men dying and the smell of urine, as those same men pissed themselves before they died. He found himself tearing through the streets, past the Solitude guards who were rushing to the breach in the wall. One man tried to challenge him, but he quickly knocked the fool aside. He could feel the wetness of blood upon him, but he didn’t even consider it. His mind was bent on only one thing.

He turned the corner and fell to his knees. It was gone. The house that he had owned here was nothing but flaming rubble. She had destroyed it. The dragon had destroyed it. He could see the door where Aela had always waited for him to return from his adventures. The entrance was still there. It was the only part of the house that hadn’t collapsed, but Aela wasn’t there waiting for him. Not this time.

#Conscripto19

#ConscriptoThrones