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SLW Chapter 81 : Three Days of Grace
🕑 Added 2025-06-03 23:17:35 +0000 UTCDRAGONSTONE – THE COURTYARD BEFORE THE KEEP
The wind screamed off the sea, carrying the salt-stung scent of the Blackwater Bay. Clouds swirled above Dragonstone and the sky churning grey and cold, as if the island itself sensed what was coming.
And then they heard it.
The rush of wings. A shrieking thunderous cry.
Drogon appeared first, dark and terrible, soaring from the mists. The Cannibal followed, a monstrous shadow that eclipsed everything, its scarred shadow scales and tattered wings whispering of old bygone times. The ground trembled when they landed, claws cracking stone, tails whipping the air into chaos.
Missandei stepped forward, dark curls caught in the wind. Tyrion stood beside her, squinting up through the gloom. Varys, his hands folded into his robes, merely watched.
Daenerys Stormborn dismounted Drogon with grace, boots striking the ground hard. Her silver hair blew wild in the wind. There was no softness in her face. Her eyes were fire.
Tyrion took a breath and stepped forward. “Your Grace,” he said with a small bow. “You’ve returned sooner than expected. We feared...”
“Your grace welcome back...where is Aeron?” Varys asked, cutting in, his gaze flicking toward the black shadow still crouched behind her like a mountain of death.
Daenerys didn’t answer at first. She walked past them with a sweep of her cloak, her face carved from stone. “We’ll talk inside.”
Missandei cast a quick look at Tyrion and Varys, then followed silently.
The two men were left standing alone in the whipping wind, dragons looming behind them, the storm brewing in more ways than one.
Tyrion blinked, watching the silver queen vanish through the doors of the keep. “Well,” he muttered, adjusting his cloak, “either Westeros is burning... or she just lost a very ugly argument with her king.”
Varys arched a brow. “She’s not pleased.”
“Do you think it’s the ‘I’ll-burn-your-house-down’ kind of not pleased, or the ‘we-need-to-have-a-long-talk-about-a cetrain problem’ sort?”
“With a Dragon Queen?” Varys said softly. “Perhaps my friend..both.”
Tyrion turned back toward the dragons Drogon had already begun to settle, but the Cannibal still loomed, tail twitching like a lion’s. The beast didn’t rest. It watched.
Tyrion cleared his throat, stepping back a pace. “Tell me that thing sleeps.”
“I'm not that informed about dragons, let alone a dragon made of shadows,” said Varys. “I don’t think it does.”
They exchanged a long look.
Inside the keep, the sound of boots echoed through stone halls.
The queen was back home.
****
Inside the chamber of the Painted Table, the firelight flickered across the great map of Westeros carved into aged oak. Daenerys stood at its head, her posture rigid, one hand pressed to the cold wood, eyes fixed on KingsLanding. Missandei lingered near her, silent, attentive, though not unaware of the storm brewing behind her queen’s violet gaze.
The doors creaked open. Tyrion entered first, his steps casual but his eyes sharp, followed closely by Varys. They had been waiting on the cliffs when the dragons arrived Drogon and the Cannibal, descending like twin omens. Neither of them missed the way Daenerys had stalked past them without a word. Now, in the warmth of the strategy chamber, they sensed the heat hadn’t faded.
Tyrion’s eyes drifted to the table, then to the queen. “Well, I suppose now would be the right moment to ask how it went.”
Daenerys didn’t answer immediately. Her jaw tensed before she spoke, voice low and sharp. “I was sent back. Like a child that needed to be protected.”
Tyrion blinked, lifting an eyebrow. “I..I see..Is… that a bad thing?”
She turned to face them fully, firelight dancing in her eyes. “We took Harrenhal. The Riverlands yielded. House Tully bent the knee. Except...back in the capital, they attempted to poison us.”
Varys stiffened where he stood, a shadow falling over his expression. “Poison. In KingsLanding?”
Tyrion’s brow furrowed, the edges of sarcasm in his tone thinning. “Wait… what were you doing in the capital? I thought the next step was securing the remaining great houses.”
Daenerys stepped around the table slowly, fingers brushing its carved edges. “We were invited. Peace talks, they said. After the Tullys swore fealty, the Crown sent a raven.”
Tyrion let out a bitter chuckle. “How expected from my beloved father.”
Her expression hardened. “Before that, we captured your brother. Jaime was holding a keep in the Riverlands under the Lannister banner. He was taken prisoner by Aeron before we flew toward KingsLanding.”
Tyrion’s expression faltered. A visible shift passed over his face confusion, then concern, and something else beneath it. “Where is he now?”
Daenerys turned, walking to the edge of the Painted Table. Her hand hovered briefly above the city carved in the Crownlands. “Aeron handed your brother back to the crown.”
Tyrion stared at her, speechless for a moment. The tension in his shoulders loosened slightly, though the confusion remained. A glance was exchanged between him and Varys. Neither understood, not fully.
Varys was the first to voice it. “What does that mean? What’s the point of capturing Jaime Lannister only to return him unharmed?”
“I asked the same,” Daenerys said. “But Aeron said he left something within him. Something that will lead him toward a certain goal.”
“A strange man,” Varys muttered, folding his hands behind his back.
Daenerys shot him a look, sharp and warning.
Varys nodded once. “King...Strange king.”
She turned to Missandei. “Any word from Grey Worm?”
Missandei nodded. “The Stormlands have been taken. All of it. A shadow appeared one of The King’s soldiers, and delivered a letter. They are marching for the Reach.”
Tyrion exhaled, running a hand down his face. “Gods help the tyrells.”
Daenerys stood with her back straight, her eyes lingering on KingsLanding carved into the old oak beneath her. Her jaw tightened slightly, her voice was low.
“No,” she said, the words deliberate, final. “We should say Gods help KingsLanding.”
She clasped her hands behind her back and turned toward them, her violet eyes hard with a fire that hadn't dimmed since the attempt on their lives.
Tyrion’s lips parted slightly as he exchanged a glance with Varys. Confusion clouded the air. The silence pressed for answers.
“What do you mean, Your Grace?” Tyrion asked, voice quieter now.
Daenerys paced around the table, her footsteps soft and firm, echoing off the stone floor. “After the attempt on our lives in the capital, Aeron gave them a warning. A simple choice: yield, give up the crown… or watch the Red Keep and Casterly Rock burn.”
Tyrion blinked, stunned into momentary silence. “Simple.. Not for my father that’s for certain.. So he threatened both?”
She nodded once. “Three days. That’s what he gave them.”
Varys’ brows drew together in concern. Tyrion turned toward him.
“Any ravens from KingsLanding or Casterly Rock?” Tyrion asked.
Varys shook his head slowly, the gesture quiet, almost reluctant. “None.”
Daenerys stopped near the Reach, glancing briefly over the golden rose carved into the wood before turning back. “It has already been two days. And as you can see…” She gestured toward the map, the cities still whole, untouched at least on wood. “Your father and your nephew are both idiots.”
Tyrion’s mouth twisted in bitter amusement. “My nephew is not the one doing the ruling, and you know that, Your Grace.”
Daenerys met his gaze, unwavering. “He wears the crown. It does not matter. A boy who lets others speak and act for him is still the king in name and he’ll burn as one once things go horribly wrong.”
Tyrion turned away, the firelight revealing the strain on his face. The thought of his house and his ‘innocent nephew’ reduced to ash didn’t sit well, no matter how many ghosts it held.
Then Varys cleared his throat gently. “Pardon me, Your Grace. No news from the Lannisters… but there have been other reports. Strange ones.”
Daenerys arched an eyebrow. “Strange?”
Varys stepped forward and pointed at the Painted Table, fingers gliding across several small holds and towns dotted in the Crownlands.
“Hayford Castle. Stokeworth. And a dozen more like them. All sending word of sudden raids nighttime attacks by riders clad in black. Silent. Deadly. No looting. No demands. Just death. Entire garrisons, peasants, women even children slaughtered and left in silence.”
Daenerys frowned. “Bandits?”
Varys shook his head. “No gold taken. No supplies. No women taken. These aren’t brigands. The common folk… they’re calling them ‘Black Knights.’”
Daenerys narrowed her eyes. “And who are these knights supposed to be serving?”
Varys met her gaze with quiet weight. “They... are saying it’s the work of the Shadow Monarch.”
The room fell into silence. Even the fire seemed to hush itself for a moment.
Daenerys’ eyes widened slightly not in fear, but in realization. Her thoughts flashed to Aeron, to the cold fury in his voice after the poison, the stillness in his presence that made dragons hesitate, but she understood it wasn’t him.
“They are trying to make the common folk hate him...” she said at last.
Varys nodded slowly. “Yes, Your Grace. It seems very much like Tywin’s doing.”
Missandei, quiet till now, stepped forward slightly. “Then he doesn’t mean to win the war… he means to erase his enemy’s image, even in the face of defeat he is trying to win a different type of war.”
Daenerys turned her gaze back to the table. KingsLanding lay under her shadow now, as if fate itself was playing her hand.
She spoke, more to herself than the room, but the words were clear.
“So be it...Fire and blood then.”
