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SLW Chapter 82 : Oaths & Promises
🕑 Added 2025-06-05 21:56:56 +0000 UTCHIGHGARDEN – THE GATES OVERLOOKING THE ROSEROAD
The golden light of late afternoon bathed the sprawling fields beyond Highgarden in a soft glow. From atop the battlements, the banners of House Tyrell still fluttered beside a black sigil of the Shadow Monarch a creeping darkness sewn into silk, eerily still despite the wind.
Below, the Rose Road trembled beneath the weight of war. Formations of Unsullied moved in precise columns silent, disciplined, deadly. At their head, Grey Worm rode without expression, his armor marked by a red, flared sigil at the shoulder, the Targaryen sigil.
To his right, a force unlike anything Westeros had known marched with no music, no banners only silence and the thud of armored boots. Raya, cloaked in black and bearing eyes that shimmered with eerie life, led the Shadow Knights men long dead, now walking, bound in eternal service. And behind them came a force of Tyrell soldiers, their green and gold bright against the grim tide they followed, unsure if they were marching to glory or judgment.
Aeron stood still, his cloak caught gently by the wind. At his side, Lady Olenna Tyrell stood with her hands resting on her cane, watching her house’s banners disappear down the road.
“The realm will be better for it,” she muttered, her voice dry as old parchment. “Without the Lannisters. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again....Tywin Lannister will not kneel. Not even with your beasts and your shadows at the gates. A battle is inevitable.”
Aeron didn’t look at her. His gaze was locked ahead, watching the road like a man reading a prophecy.
“I gave him too many chances,” he said calmly. “I could have ended him long ago. I could do it now. All it takes is a mere moment.”
Olenna glanced sideways at him, frowning. He continued.
“But I wanted him to serve. He’s clever, dangerously so. He knows the bones of this realm. Its nerves. Its old blood. If not for that damned pride, that disease in his bloodline that makes him crave power without name or crown… he’d make a fine Hand.”
Olenna barked a soft laugh, bitter and amused. “Good luck with that, Tywin serves no one. He plays king from behind the curtains, and even now, he’s probably dreaming of how to turn your Queen, your dragons, wraiths and whatever walks with you against you.”
Aeron’s mouth tugged at a smile cold, distant. “He’ll find nothing but fire and death waiting for him.”
They stood in silence for a moment, watching the last ranks of men disappear down the Roseroad. Dust rose behind them like a creeping storm cloud.
Aeron spoke again. “Your men will return safely to the Reach. You have my word.”
Olenna turned to him, one eyebrow lifted.
“Well… that’s strange,” she said absently.
Aeron looked at her. “What is?”
She tilted her head, lips pursing into a thin line. “Nothing, Your Grace. Nothing at all.”
She turned to leave, her steps slow, measured. But before vanishing down the stone steps, she looked back, her eyes hard as steel. “Once Kinglanding falls and the bastards no longer soils the crown. We will be there. For the promise.”
Aeron’s gaze narrowed. He sighed and looked back toward the horizon.
“I haven’t agreed to that yet,” he said, voice quieter.
“I know,” Olenna said without turning. “But you’re a clever king. You’ll know what you must do.”
He didn’t answer. The weight of her words hung in the air as she disappeared into the tower.
Aeron watched the fading sunlight for a moment, then exhaled through his nose, muttering under his breath.
“This old woman…”
And then, as easily as a breath, he said aloud, “Exchange.”
His form shimmered his entire body unraveling into dark threads that vanished into the air. In his place, a single shadow soldier remained, standing still in his image.
Olenna, halfway down the steps, turned at the sound behind her. She saw the empty space where he had stood only the soldier now, still and silent, like a cursed statue.
She blinked once.
“Oh, gods,” she muttered. “These are strange times. And I will not get used to this.”
She kept walking, muttering to herself all the way down the stairs.
****
WINTERFELL – THE COURTYARD
Snow fell gently across the grey stones of Winterfell, soft and constant, blanketing the towers and walls in white. The wind carried a biting chill, but it was the kind the North knew well clean, calm, the usual.
A shadow peeled into being just beyond the outer gates silent, smooth, like smoke unraveling from the air. And then, from that shadow, a man stepped forward. A black cloak, darker than the night around him, whispered behind him as he walked. His hair, Darker than his shadow, his presence stilled the air like the silence before a storm.
Aeron Grim, the Shadow Monarch, had returned to Winterfell.
The guards at the walls reached for weapons at first, until one among them squinted and dropped to a knee.
“Your Grace…”
Others followed, murmurs spreading across the courtyard. The Wildlings who’d come to settle in the North weatherworn and wary watched with suspicion, but said nothing. Some of them had heard tales. A man of the shadows. A king who walked with death and flame. A whisper in the snow that meant war was near.
The Northerners, especially those who had seen him here before, knew better. A few stepped back with respect. Others lowered their heads. One knight removed his gloves and pressed his fist to his chest.
“Your Grace,” he said again, firmer this time.
Aeron glanced about as he passed. The stone beneath his boots was unchanged, but the people were not. Free folk walked among Winterfell’s walls, tending to fires, sharing bread with northern soldiers. The sight drew a small breath from him, not quite a smile.
“So Rob did keep his word,” he murmured to himself. “And he let the wildlings settle.”
A small relief. In this world of shifting loyalties and quiet betrayals, honor still lived in the North.
He passed the weirwood tree without pause, making his way toward the inner keep. There, seated under the stone arch overlooking the yard, was Bran Stark quiet and still. His eyes, wise beyond his years, watched as young Rickon loosed an arrow at a straw dummy and cheered when it struck the shoulder.
Aeron stepped forward. Bran turned his head before he arrived, as though he’d felt the shadow long before it fell upon him.
“King Aeron,” Bran said with calm certainty. “You’re always arriving in silence.”
“I prefer it that way,” Aeron replied, stepping beside the boy no, the man, despite appearances and lowering himself to sit.
Bran tilted his head faintly, his gaze unmoving.
“You look like you've been through a hundred battles,” Bran said. “And yet, not tired at all.”
Aeron gave a short exhale. “Not yet.”
There was a moment of quiet. The wind rustled through the yard. Rickon missed the next shot and let out a frustrated grunt.
“We weren’t expecting to see you here,” Bran said. “Otherwise my brother would have stayed.”
“I needed to see something with my own eyes,” Aeron said. “And about... Robb.”
Bran didn’t react with alarm, only looked ahead.
“He left not long ago. Headed for Castle Black.”
Aeron's brow tightened slightly. “Something happened?”
He didn’t say it to Bran, more to himself. He crossed his arms, thinking. ‘I left some knights here... and I’ve had a shadow near Jon for moons. He’s fine. Jon is still fine… so…’
Bran spoke gently. “It’s nothing urgent. Just a matter between the wildlings and the Night’s Watch. Something about land, and who speaks for whom. Robb thought it better to deal with it himself. He doesn’t like leaving things to others, not when they concern the North.”
‘Either Rob lied to his brother, or he is actually telling the truth, either way I don’t think it’s a simple matter’ Aeron thought to himself and studied Bran for a moment. The boy’s voice was calm no hint of deception.
“Thank you, Now I'm interested about this problem.” Aeron said finally, rising.
Bran nodded without looking at him. “You are going to do that again right? the thing where you disappear, won’t you?”
“Right,” Aeron replied with a smile.
Bran’s lips curled faintly. “Safe travels… Your Grace.”
Aeron tilted his head in quiet respect.
Then, with no warning, no fanfare, he uttered the word like a spell.
“Exchange.”
In a blink, he was gone his figure unraveling into nothing but swirling mist and silence. In his place stood one of his shadows.
