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SLW Chapter 88 : Masked
🕑 Added 2025-06-17 22:41:01 +0000 UTCAeron’s face remained still. Calm. Too calm.
“A way to fool the people ?” Varys's eyes flicked up with sudden sharpness.
Aeron held up a hand. “Don’t panic now, and simply watch this.”
Then, in one smooth motion, he reached into the dark void of his system inventory. A shimmer appeared in the air subtle to the eye, more felt than seen. From the void emerged a strange, uncanny object: a mask.
Not just any mask this one shifted. Its surface was alive, writhing and flowing like water and shadow. Dozens of expressions surfaced across it rage, grief, serenity, mockery blurring in and out of focus. [The Mask of the Forgotten Faces]
The room was silent as a crypt.
“What in the Seven Hells is that?” Jorah asked, his voice wary.
Daenerys stared, a mixture of intrigue and unease in her gaze. “It’s... disturbing.”
Varys, for once, looked shaken. “I’ve seen many things in this world, Your Grace, but that... is quite the artifact...”
Aeron turned the mask in his hands, examining it like one might regard a viper. Then, without hesitation, he lifted it and pressed it against his face.
At first, it clung to him like oil. Then it merged. His skin bubbled and warped, his features contorting in ways the eye struggled to comprehend. His lips twitched. His cheeks sank. His bones shifted with a crunching sound just under the skin.
And when it was done when the storm of shadows had stilled, Tywin Lannister stood before them.
Every detail was perfect. The hair now graying at the temples. The steely gaze. The expression of calculated disdain. Even his posture rigid, commanding.
And when he spoke, it was with Tywin’s voice.
“If we are to win the realm fast without bloodshed,” said Aeron-as-Tywin, “then let us do so as lions in wolves' clothing... just like they do.”
Jorah took a step back, hand half on his sword, his mouth agape. “Gods…”
Varys’s eyes widened, his voice hushed. “It’s really like Lord Tywin himself…”
Daenerys said nothing at first, but her lips parted slightly, astonished. “That... is beyond even magic..”
Varys then slowly stepped forward, studying the transformation with a calculating eye. “I believe I know of such things.. There is a place in Braavos… where men train to be no one. Killers, assassins. They can even take the face of anyone they slay.”
Aeron turned slightly toward him, Tywin’s voice echoing through the hall. “The Faceless Men,” he said. “Servants of the Many-Faced God.”
“How did you obtain this..” Daenerys began.
“I gained this,” Aeron said, finally removing the mask, his form melting back into his true self like smoke in reverse, “when I slew an Apostle of that god.”
His violet eyes flicked to Tyrion.
Tyrion had said nothing during the entire display. No remark. No clever quip. He stared at the ground, then raised his eyes to Aeron with a quiet tension.
“I’d like to excuse myself,” Tyrion said, voice low.
Aeron tilted his head. “Leaving this island... or this room?”
Tyrion looked up. “This room.”
Aeron nodded once. “You may leave.”
Tyrion left with slow steps, his back straight, though his hands trembled faintly at his sides.
Daenerys watched him go, her expression unreadable. After the door shut behind him, she turned to Aeron.
“It seems... it’s a bit too much for him.”
“Yeah,” Aeron murmured, his voice now softened. “so it would seem.”
He turned back to the Painted Table, the faint smirk gone, replaced with grim purpose.
“I’ll return to KingsLanding at once. As Tywin. I’ll call for the city’s surrender. It will save us time and blood. And if they hear and see Tywin himself calling for the surrender... they will lay down their arms for good.”
Varys was quiet for a beat, then stepped forward.
“A question, Your Grace.”
Aeron gave him a nod.
“Did anyone witness Tywin’s death or his body?”
Aeron’s voice was like steel dipped in ink. “His children did. Jaime and Cersei. And the court members in the throne room. The rest servants, soldiers they’ll speak of what they saw, but they’ll not carry the tale outside the redkeep. They won’t make it public the Lannisters themselves will make sure of this.”
Varys considered that. “Then perhaps it won’t matter. The Lannisters may keep it secret out of shame or strategy. And the common folk will not know unless the Lannisters tell them... which they won’t. Not unless they’re fools.”
“Or desperate,” Daenerys added.
Aeron’s eyes glowed faintly once more.
“Either way, it costs us nothing to try. And everything to gain.”
Aeron stood over it one final time, his gaze sweeping across the carved rivers and mountains of Westeros like a warlord contemplating the final stroke of a pen.
He drew a quiet breath, then turned.
“I’ll go now,” he said, voice quiet but resolute.
Daenerys stepped forward, her eyes softening just enough for the warmth behind them to show.
“Be safe,” she said. “And best of luck, Aeron.”
He turned slightly, flashing her that faint, almost boyish grin that rarely surfaced beneath his usual calm.
“Of course,” he said with a small laugh, the sound light, but there was an undertone.
He paused mid-step, then glanced over his shoulder.
“Oh, and one more thing,” he added, tone suddenly sharp again, eyes glowing just faintly under the torchlight. “I know you sent a fleet toward King’s Landing. Have them change course, and send them north instead.”
The room quieted. Even the flames seemed to hush.
Daenerys blinked, surprised, then gave a slow, half-resigned nod.
“…Very well.”
No questions and no hesitation. She had learned by now, if Aeron knew something, he just knew.
Aeron didn’t linger for farewells. His form darkened, outlines dissolving like smoke caught in wind. In a single breath, he vanished, swallowed by his own shadow.
Another figure stirred one of his silent soldiers, a being forged of darkness and armor, stepping forward like a sentinel left behind in place of its master.
The soldier remained. Watching. Guarding. Wordless.
For a long moment, no one spoke. Only the distant rush of waves below Dragonstone and the low crackle of fire.
Varys broke the silence with a dry smirk and a hushed tone.
“It seems nothing goes past him, my queen.”
Daenerys stood where she was, still looking toward the spot where Aeron had vanished.
Her expression was calm, and she said with a genuine smile.
“Indeed.”
****
THE RED KEEP — KING’S LANDING
Aeron Grim stood alone within its ancient halls, his violet eyes flickering beneath the torches as if reflecting something deeper, something darker.
In his hand, he held it: the Mask of the Forgotten Faces.
its surface ever-writhing with the echoes of a hundred expressions. Aeron exhaled and muttered to himself, “Ugh… this is about to be weird, isn’t it?”
He raised the mask to his face.
As soon as it touched his skin, the transformation began. Muscles reformed. Bone shifted. Flesh knitted into another mold. The process was smooth, if unnatural too clean to be magic, too profane to be anything else. One moment, the Shadow Monarch stood in his war-black leathers.
The next… Tywin Lannister was alive again.
The grim, calculated scowl of a man who had ruled behind thrones more effectively than kings ever had. Even the way he stood had changed Aeron adjusted his posture instinctively, tilting his shoulders with the quiet menace Tywin had always worn like a cloak.
The old lion had returned, or so it would seem.
He summoned half a dozen of his soldiers. Silent knights of death, their black armor glinting like obsidian in the torchlight, their eyes glowing dim violet beneath helms.
“Scatter,” he commanded them under his breath. “Just be subtle.”
They vanished like whispers swallowed by the stone.
Aeron now Tywin, strode forward, boots echoing through the corridor with the steady thrum of authority. The few guards that passed him on patrol didn’t so much as blink. The sight of Tywin Lannister was familiar enough, and fear had long taught them not to question what they did not understand.
But as he neared the royal chambers, things changed.
Two Kingsguard stood at the polished bronze doors, dressed in resplendent white cloaks, their hands resting on the hilts of their blades. Their faces paled as if they had seen a ghost.
“My… my Lord Hand?” one of them stammered.
Aeron only offered only a cold glance, just sharp enough to pierce the man’s soul.
The guards stepped aside. One muttered a soft, almost instinctive, “Forgive me, my lord.”
Aeron pushed the doors open.
The royal chambers were cast in half-light, golden from the flickering candelabras. Plush carpets, lavish silks, and untouched goblets of wine. But no Tommen. No Cersei. The room was empty.
He took a cautious step inside, eyes scanning every corner.
Then
[System Notification: An Apostle is nearby.]
A sudden chill rolled through his spine, not from fear but instinct.
Aeron stood still, like a wolf scenting the wind.
He raised his voice slightly, no longer in Tywin’s tone, but his own.
“…Bad timing for the bastards to appear.” he murmured, his violet gaze narrowing.
