The first jar sailed over the formation and fell just beyond the line, but the second struck the dragon square in the flank and exploded that very instant in a blinding burst of green light. Drogon could not take to the air; he was wounded, yet he shielded the fallen Daenerys and had no intention of abandoning her. The wildfire wrenched a roar from him.
Dragons do not burn in fire. Perhaps Dany herself might survive such flames as well. But her men certainly could not.
The Unsullied who rushed forward to save their queen and khaleesi caught fire like tinder. Everything burned there — armor, flesh, steel, and it seemed even the very earth itself.
The dragon's burning silhouette thrashed amid the flames, stubbornly refusing to leave his Mother.
Arrows and bolts continued raining down in that direction. At my command, Braye ceased using wildfire, but what had already ignited was more than enough.
In some places, men still lived, though they fought no more, but rolled across the ground, trying to beat out the tongues of green fire devouring them. In vain.
Unfortunately, there were plenty of our own soldiers among them — men who had simply been unlucky. Even so, there were far more burning enemies! Far more.
Dany's last remaining dragon raged in the sky, circling above his fallen brother and Mother. He bathed us in fire, though to little effect. Again and again he tried to descend, and each time a storm of arrows rose to meet him.
The flames raged in the very heart of the battle. Thousands of warriors — those who had survived — fought around the blazing wildfire and the maddened dragon. Despite their losses, the Unsullied struggled to save their queen, while our men did everything in their power to stop them. Everything there had become one furious knot, howling with pain and hatred.
Men slew one another, and the tally of the dead on both sides rose relentlessly.
Captain Dorell, commander of the archers, regrouped his men and turned their volleys upon the dragon.
Drogon suffered terribly. He could no longer fly, but neither was he ready to die. Dragons are hardy beasts by nature. He could have crawled away and saved his own life. But he did not. Instead, he remained, shielding the girl.
I could not help but admire such loyalty.
None of us could see what was happening within that blazing inferno. But so long as the dragon had not retreated, Dany herself must still be somewhere nearby.
Our center drove the Unsullied back, keeping well clear of the dragon that still burned and spat fire.
Arrows flew at Drogon from every side. One already jutted from his eye socket. It seemed the dragon had lost an eye and gone mad with it. His strength was failing him as well. And yet, for all the horror of the moment and the hundreds dying all around, I felt a pang of pity for the beast. He was terrible—and in his way, magnificent.
The dragon spread his wings, lunged forward, and bit some poor wretch clean in half. He jerked his head, spitting out the mangled corpse, and roared. At that very moment, another iron bolt flew straight into his jaws.
Drogon choked, coughing as fire burst from his throat, his head thrashing, wings beating, and tail lashing wildly.
He swayed, jerked once more, and with a long, shuddering exhale—as though at last granted rest—collapsed to the earth. His tail twitched a few times, then lay still…
"The day is ours!" Bronze Yohn Royce rose in his stirrups and bellowed so loudly that his horse flattened its ears in fright and reared back.
***
Heavy, greasy smoke drifted low across the ground. It smelled foul — of burnt flesh, death, and suffering.
And once more, we advanced.
Meanwhile, Jaime's situation had slowly begun to improve. At first, when Drogon burned through the mounted knights, the losses there had been severe, and there had even been a measure of disorder.
Then the dragon turned to other targets. Jaime and his men regained their senses somewhat and began steadily reclaiming control of the field. After Drogon's assault, they were outnumbered nearly two to one by the Dothraki, but in truth, it changed little.
The wild riders could scream themselves hoarse, whistle and howl all they wished. They could stand upon their saddles and fire arrows over the heads of their fellows. They could be fierce and fearless.
Against the discipline of the finest knights in Westeros, all of that availed them little.
Besides, of all armor, the Dothraki favored nothing more than light leather jerkins, horsehair trousers, and leather belts with great buckles. That was the extent of their protection. Their curved arakhs and long whips with heavy handles looked far more terrifying from a distance than they truly were.
They might be aggressive, loud, and savage. But they would never stand equal to the flower of Westerosi chivalry.
Together with Erik Fell and Bronze Yohn Royce, we assessed the situation and sent Edmure Tully to aid Jaime at the head of fifteen hundred riders. That blow settled matters decisively.
The Dothraki began to buckle and give ground.
There upon the left flank, cries of "Casterly Rock!" "The Reach!" and "For Joffrey!" rang out more and more often. The sound of dozens of trumpets and warhorns rose to the heavens. It heartened the men and lent them strength.
The last remaining dragon wheeled through the skies, uncertain what to do.
Jaime himself withdrew from the fray and rode to the rear of his flank. There he swiftly took the measure of the field, gathered his forces into a mailed fist, and struck.
It was a sight both magnificent and terrible. The knights of Westeros showed remarkable discipline and near-perfect cohesion. They rode in a single line, as though moved by one will.