The Last Sentence

[Azor Ahoy]

Bran closed his eyes, unable to watch. He listened as the blade cut through Jon's flesh. He heard him gasp in pain and surprise.

"Who are you?" Jon whimpered in between coughs and gasps.

Bran knew the reply. He had seen it a thousand times hoping each time it would be different.

"No one."

Winter was coming and there would be no Stark in Winterfell. He watched again, crying for those he could not help as he shut his eyes again, still unable to watch the end.

"Who are you?"

And then, beyond belief, Bran heard something different.

"The truth is... I AM Iron Man."

[Seelmann]

With his last strength, Walder Frey grasped the bent Sansa by the hips and introduced himself in her behind, letting out a hearty chuckle as he heard the girl weep her misfortune. "Ssh, child" he whispered and did his best to unite their bodies with a renewed vigor. Sansa looked at the bedsheets and wondered about the women that had shared her fate.

[Mumatil]

Tyrion: Tywin did not indeed shit gold, he shat rainbows.

Me pot of gold!!! Those damn children of the forest stole me lucky charms!!!!

[Fat Mac]

-Yes...- Arya moaned as Tyrion spent himself between her thighs. He looked her deep in her grey, mysterious eyes, knowing for sure that they would be a sight to behold until the last of his days.

With his last strength, Walder Frey grasped the bent Sansa by the hips and introduced himself in her behind, letting out a hearty chuckle as he heard the girl weep her misfortune. "Ssh, child" he whispered and did his best to unite their bodies with a renewed vigor. Sansa looked at the bedsheets and wondered about the women that had shared her fate.

You're 2 for 2 when absolute horror and disturbing prospects are concerned.

[The Lord's Kiss]

Yeah I think either therapy or police intervention is required in situations like these..

[Pod The Impaler]

The Kindly Queen stood on the edge of the caldera which had once been King's Landing. Snow and ashes mingled as they fell. She surveyed the scene below. The charred and the drowned swirled around in lazy circles, the boiling sulfurous waters churning them up, along with the debris of their over-proud civilization. The Tower of the Hand. Flea Bottom. The Black Cells. The Dragonpit. Now all charred bones and cooked meat. Here and there, a dragon would descend from the blackened sky, swooping down to snatch up another body. Sometimes she could see their prey still wriggling, like grave worms. She smiled.

"It was a mercy, your Grace, a mercy", assured her Hand, Lord Tyrion of Stokeworth.

"I do not need your absolution, bastard. Valar Morghulis." Nymeria snarled at him. Sometimes he just annoyed her with his clever insolence.

For the second time in her life, the Kindly Queen turned her back on King's Landing, and marched north. Nymeria wagged her tail and followed.

[The Lord's Kiss]

The first red petals had begun to bloom on the weirwood at Winterfell, and spring had finally arrived. Sandor clutched the face of the sacred tree as he struggled to get up, limping slowly but steadily forward. The Imp could keep his Rock that he'd gained through treachery, the poor dragon queen had never known what cruelties the ironborn were capable of but she was never like to forget them now.

The Crow's Eye was not happy when his magic did not prevail against the Prince that Was Promised, and he went whimpering back to his Seastone Chair with his silver bitch and her two demon lizards still ravaged the countryside at large. That horn was a folly, he must have known, Victarion had changed it with his blood magic before Euron had ever been able to put it to use.

The last time he saw the little she-wolf he had begged for mercy, but his lady-wife had told him she had perished after slitting that Lord Eunuch's throat in the middle of King Aegon's court. "Welcome home, little bird," he had said, right before she did the deed. He laughed to think about that fat whimpering craven getting what he deserved, but he was sad that she never made it back to her real home. This was his home now.

Jon Snow had defeated the Others, and then Euron and the dragons once they came from the east. Azor Ahai was most forgiving, and Theon Greyjoy had fought beside him. They say he had come back from the dead, and his flesh had glown bright with the light of a thousand suns. His sword was redder than any blood, and it slayed wight and White Walker alike. After fighting mythical creatures, ironborn and a few unruly dragons were almost nothing. He had sacrificed himself to kill Drogon, the biggest one, the one that looked like Balerion of old. As Drogon roasted his flesh he somehow drew Lightbringer and stabbed the beast right through the eye as Theon's arrow pierced the other one. He laid down and remembered his lady Sansa as his heir.

Now Stannis Baratheon sat the Iron Throne, with the Onion Knight as his Hand. They had gold from the Iron Bank of Braavos, and Westeros was finally at peace again. Sandor had never liked Stannis, but he had never liked anybody really. He knew Stannis would make a good king, especially with this man Davos as his king. The common folk were prospering, it was said, and the realm was finally starting to rebuild. The Magnus Cartus had just been signed, giving peasants more rights than ever. (LAME I KNOW)

Sandor thought back to that day when he came to rescue Sansa in the Vale. He had come up to the very top of the mountain and found her and Littlefinger in the room with the Moon Door. "I've only ever loved one person," Sansa had said to Petyr, thinking they were alone. "Really?" Petyr said excitedly, "Is that really true?" "Yes," she whispered, "only Sandor," as she suddenly violently shoved him out into the sky. That was all history now, and their children would be the heirs to Winterfell and the North. He knew he should be dead, but he was ready to keep on living.

Valar morghulis.

[SerBrightflame]

Daenerys Targaryean drifted to sleep. That night, she dreamt of spring.

[SimonSez]

I love you, Cat, haunted The Silent Sister' steps, as she dragged the blooded Ice in her remaining hand.

[Jay Stark]

"Well that was easier than expected" Said the great other

[Arianne Stark]

As aegon the first of his name woke up he told her sisters:

"screw westeros, let's stay here in dragonstone :P

[Arianne Stark]

I have a thread about this topic but it's after yours :D

[Arianne Stark]

Jon, Daenerys, Tyrion, Sansa, Bran and Arya all leave they're keys in the hall of an empty Winterfell. They all cry, they all hug each others.

Daenerys: Do you guys have to go the new castle right now, or do you have some time?

Sansa: We got some time.

Daenerys: Ok. Should we get some moon tea?

Tyrion: Sure...Where?

And, laughing and crying, they all leave the empty castle for the last time.

Or:

The last trace of steam evaporated in the autumn air. The horse rounded a corner. Tyrion's hand was still raised in farewell.

"He'll be alright," murmured Sansa.

As Tyrion looked at her, he lowered his hand absentmindedly and touched the scar on his nose.

"I know he will."

The scar had not pained Tyrion for nineteen years. All was well.

Harry potter enough :P

[Pod The Impaler]

The King watched as the fleet departed from the cape at Feastfires. He wished he could be with them, but it was a journey best left to those younger and stronger. An uncertain journey, for nobody knew how true or false it was, that the world was round, that you could sail the Sunset Seas, and come out east of everything. Perhaps to this isolated new continent that Mad Queen Daenerys had proclaimed she'd visited - before she died at the hands of the Night King, and was thereafter avenged by Jon Stark.

The Night King. "Damn him", the King thought. "Damn him to the Seven Hells, to the hot hell, the cold hell, the wet hell and the dry hell, and all the other hells beyond counting." The memory was bitter.

Queen Marya, was the flagship of the King's fleet. Named for the woman he loved, his first wife. The Night King took her, and for all her goodness and patience, in the end she had to burn like so many others. When asked by those who knew she had never lived to see him as King, he always said the same thing, that she was his Queen of Love and Beauty, and always would be.

The Queen Marya was a far larger ship than any that had put to sea before her. Her packmates were barely smaller. Marya, not Hodor - this was one concession to the king that Bran the Wanderer had allowed. The King thought. "Bran, my young friend, so wise for his years. He should have been King, not I. I'm not highborn, just some fool born from Flea Bottom." The Last Fleet was the only real hope, though, and those on board faced a task that would take a lifetime, so a longer life was best. The King was content to stay behind, and salvage what was left of Westeros, to fight the great darkness to the bitter end if need be. But the voyage...

"Oh, to be young again, wind and waves in my face, and black sails o'er my head." the King sighed.

"Nostalgia is of no use, Your Grace", reminded his Hand, standing watch next to him. His Hand was a foul-tempered man, but loyal, noble, and honest as one should be in that position. The way he said "Your Grace" or "My Lord" or "Ser" was always proper, but half-poisonous. The King was never angry about it, after all his Hand had experienced back when he was The Hound, serving evil despots.

Seven ships, the King thought. Seven made of weirwood and rumoured to actually be alive. The Sea Wolves, their crews nicknamed them. Bran the Wanderer, who along with Samwell Tarly had half built and half conjured them. Queen Marya, Grey Wind, Lady, Nymeria, Summer, and Shaggydog, and Ghost. Unusual names, but he learned long ago that Northerners were often a unusual people.

Seven captains, but Queen Asha would rule supreme over the fleet. She never begrudged him the name of his ship. She had borne him sons and daughters, loved and comforted him. He had saved her and from the fires of Valyria, and she had saved him from an abyss of grief when his first wife had perished. She was a good woman, and a great ship's captain. A legend. She had wanted to stay behind with him, but the King must die with his people. The King's second wife, less so. Plus, the "little onion" growing in her must carry on.

The King was less comfortable with the choice of her second in command, Arya Stark, commander of the royal Blood-Riders. Both women were immensely headstrong, and clashes were inevitable. Asha was dangerous, but the she-wolf was deadly beyond all measure. She guarded all the northern children ferociously, but none more than her late sister's youngest child, Lyanna. That was a promise made by oath and blood, to Sansa and her husband, his own Hand. May the gods help keep her safe, or rather, keep whatever people she might meet safe from her.

The royal fleet came at last to the horizon. Their obsidian lamps just tiny dots now, bobbing among the stars. This would be the last he saw of them. His wife and children, his friends and comrades, a remnant of his people, to be saved in case their cause in Westeros was truly lost. Farewell, Tyene and Missandei, may little Oberyn and Arianne warm you both. Farewell wise Samwell and bright Gilly, and baby Hodor. Farewell naughty Petyr, insolent, and bold Rickon. Farewell Robb and Renly, Rhaego and Rakharo. Farewell little Brynden, Jeyne, Catelyn and Eddard.

Somewhere out there was the hope where there was more than a mean and hungry life lived out in darkness and desolation. What more could and old smuggler wish for ? Nothing. For a king's duty is to his people. A King's watch never ends.

Just like that, the lamps were gone. "Sandor, Brienne", it is time to go.

Brienne turned on her heels and boomed out "MAKE WAY FOR HIS GRACE, DAVOS, FIRST OF HIS NAME !" The crowd stood and cheered.

Smuggler, rescuer, knight, prisoner, Hand, envoy, champion, widower, rebel, and finally King. The gods were truly mad.

[only me]

Jaime Lannister took a seat on the Iron Throne and waited for someone to come and claim it.

this is my long time favourite:)

But it could also go like: ... and Cersei shoved Jaime`s lifeless body away from the Iron Throne, "Useless, like the nipples on the breastplate".

[Pod The Impaler]

Cersei laughed as she wept - heartbroken, relieved, and ecstatic.

Sealed up in the Red Keep, her foes pounding at the gates with rams and their cold blue eyes. It didn't matter - soon the caches of wildfire would erupt outside the walls, all over King's Landing. To seven hells with the smallfolk, the guards, the courtiers, everyone.

Cersei Lannister was alone on the Iron Throne at last.

The prophecy was broken. Her Valonqar was dead - both of them, in fact. Benerro had promised her she would live forever, that fire would not kill her, no more than swords would, nor would she die at any man's hands. Only death could pay for life, and Lannisters pay their debts, after all. Three gold shrouds - the children and their wayward father. All their love for her had been flawed and impure anyway.

As the Queen's laughter echoed thoughout the throne room, she heard a noise. A cat approached her from her right

"Oh, Ser Pounce, have you come to pay homage to me ?" Ser Pounce came forward. Then beside him good Lady Whiskers and Boots. Cersei smiled. "Ah, the loyal subjects of the Lioness. All hail Cersei, First of Her Name." She giggled.

To her left, four more cats padded into sight, the four from the kitchens, fat as ever. Then behind the throne she heard a brush of noise. The laundry cats were here too, six in all, from the skinny brown one to the old white one. The stable cats, the watchtower cat. The dungeon cats. A circle of cats, another and another - all approaching, calm as still water, smooth as summer silk. What do they want ? She became uneasy. In her mind she was naming them, yet she knew not where this inspiration came from.

Melara. Elia. Tysha. Lollys. Senelle. Falyse. Margaery. Fat Walda. Genna. Amerei. Pretty Jeyne. Broken Jeyne. Taena. Val. Roslin. Nym. Tyene. Brienne...

The cats' eyes stared with unspoken accusation. The hair stood on the back of her neck.

"Begone from here ! I am a Lioness of the Rock, your rightful Queen !" Cersei shouted at them. They were unimpressed.

There in front of the throne, approaching out of shadow came the last. Black. One-eared. Bad.

"Balerion" she gasped. Rhaenys, she knew.

Years later, people gossiped that Cersei clung to the Iron Throne like she was one of its swords.

Yet for all her mighty struggle, only her mutilated head was ever found there.

[armidil0]

"And a meteor hit the world, and destroyed and killed everything."

[Daemon Dagoghlor]

Ned woke with a start, remembering every horrible detail of the dream. "You must go to King's Landing and discover the truth," Cat whispered next to him. "Fuck that," replied Ned.

[Jon's Queen Consort]

Jon as a very typical example of a reluctant hero at the last scene:

LouisDavos, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

[Claire of House Thorpe]

After all was said and done, someone pressed the rewind button and changed the story so that the Starks (and Jon Snow) never left Winterfell.