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SLW Chapter 74 : Dragonpit Scheme
🕑 Added 2025-05-18 22:21:08 +0000 UTCDrogon descended first his wings stretched wide. He spiraled down with terrifying grace, his roar splitting the air like thunder. The Dragonpit shook beneath his landing, the ancient stone groaning as claws the size of scythes struck the ground.
The assembled lords flinched. Some gasped. A few staggered backward, hands resting uneasily on hilts, as if a sword could save them.
Cersei’s eyes narrowed.
Drogon let out another earth-rattling roar, smoke curling from his maw as he glared across the pit, daring anyone to move. He spread his wings once more vast, before folding them in slowly.
Then silence… for a moment.
Until the Cannibal arrived.
A scream rang out from a lesser lord in the rear row.
The sun vanished.
The Cannibal's wings were impossibly large his shadow engulfed the entire Dragonpit. His black form seemed to drink in the light, turning the world cold as he descended like some monstrous god from a forgotten age.
And when he landed
The ground cracked.
Stone broke beneath his weight. Dust exploded around his form as he let out a deafening, primeval roar. It was not like Drogon’s no, this was older. Deeper. The cry of a beast that had fed on its own kind, that had seen eveyrthing burn and survived.
Men stumbled. A knight dropped his sword. One of the King’s Guard took a step back before regaining his composure.
“Mother have mercy,” someone whispered.
“He’s not going to kill us, is he?” muttered a lord from the Westerlands, his face ghost-white.
Baelish did not speak. For the first time in years, his mask of smug detachment cracked. His breath caught in his throat as he stared up at the Cannibal, and for just a heartbeat, Petyr Baelish felt small.
From Drogon, Daenerys dismounted. Graceful. Regal. Her silver hair whipped in the wind as she descended, her cloak trailing behind. She did not look around. She carried herself with the grace of a Queen.
And behind her, Aeron dismounted from the Cannibal.
He did not leap he stepped, as though descending from a throne.
The Cannibal gave a low rumble, but did not move. His glowing eyes watched, silent and still, like a god restraining his wrath.
Aeron walked behind Daenerys, his black cloak rippling with the wind and shadow. His steps were quiet and measured. His eyes those unnatural, glowing purple eyes watched everything.
And then they stopped.
Ten paces from the gathered nobility of the realm, Daenerys stood at the front, her chin high, her gaze imperial. Aeron stood just next to her, his presence as cold as hers was fire.
The silence that followed was suffocating.
Cersei, to her credit, did not flinch. But her jaw clenched tight as she studied the man. The man with power dripping from his very presence. The man who walked with shadows like they were his guard.
She turned to Baelish, voice low and sharp.
“You’re certain he’s not a Targaryen? Not some bastard of the Mad King?”
Baelish exhaled slowly, his voice hushed but firm. “No, Your Grace. He’s from Bear Island. We confirmed it. Lowborn. No trace of noble blood.”
Her eyes didn’t leave Aeron.
“Then the gods have a cruel sense of humor.. He certainly look like one of them.” she muttered.
As the dust began to settle and the echoes of dragon roars faded into the winds, Baelish stepped forward ever the spider creeping along the cracks of power.
He gave a polished bow, his voice smooth as oiled silk.
“Lord Aeron. Queen Daenerys. The Crown welcomes you to KingsLanding… and to the Dragonpit, though I admit, it may feel… a touch too small for your.. companions.”
His eyes flicked to the Cannibal, who had curled loosely in the ruins behind them like a great beast only pretending to sleep.
Aeron nodded once, courteous but cool. “It will suffice.”
He and Daenerys strode forward. The crowd of lords parted like wheat before a scythe. The silence of fear and awe followed them until they reached the row of seats prepared at the front.
Aeron and Daenerys sat side by side, like a flame and a shadow given form. She carried herself with regal poise. He leaned back in his chair with a calm, unreadable expression like a man who had all the time in the world and no fear of what it might bring.
Aeron’s eyes swept the half-circle of noblemen and courtiers, but they settled on Cersei Lannister.
She was glaring.
Beneath her composed face, there was fire and anger, coiled like a viper but there was something else there too. Not quite fear. colder. A flicker of unease, like she knew she was in the presence of something she could not predict or control.
Aeron simply smiled at her. Slowly.
Cersei looked away.
He turned back to Baelish.
“Where is the King?”
Baelish, ever ready, gave a polite shrug. “As you no doubt already know… His Grace is currently attending to other urgent matters.”
“Mm,” Aeron murmured. Then louder, to the gathered assembly
“The boy king is too busy to receive those he calls his enemies? To forge peace is not an urgent matter? Curious.”
A breath of silence swept across the lords. Someone gasped. Another coughed behind a hand to cover it. Even a Kingsguard’s armored gauntlet tensed on the pommel of his sword but none moved. None dared.
Baelish attempted a smile, but it came out strained. “My lord, surely you understand, the King is...”
“I didn’t ask you to explain.”
Aeron cut him off, eyes flashing with subtle menace.
“My question was a test, Littlefinger. And you failed.”
Daenerys turned her head slightly, watching Aeron with interest now curious at his shift in tone.
“I know your king is just a child,” Aeron said quietly, but with venom behind every syllable. “He has the crown, but the one who rules is not him.”
He turned then slowly, deliberately to Cersei.
His eyes glowed faintly violet. No trick of the sun. Power shimmered behind them like a storm waiting to be unleashed.
“Where is Tywin Lannister?” Aeron asked. “It is he who was meant to receive us. Not you.”
Cersei’s lips pressed into a tight line. But it was Baelish who answered.
“Yes..,” he said with his hands folded just so, “Lord Tywin Lannister may serve as the King’s Hand, but he remains the Warden of the West. The Rock calls to him still. He… is a very busy man.”
Aeron looked at Baelish for a beat.
Then he smiled.
“Fair enough.”
That smile made Cersei’s eyes narrow. She glanced sidelong at Baelish. Baelish frowned ever so slightly, the first hint of a miscalculation flickering behind his eyes.
Daenerys turned to Aeron, one brow raised. “You accept that?”
He gave her a half-glance. “Yes, I see no issue here.”
Silver trays were brought forward, the clinking of goblets and the soft shuffle of servant feet filling the uneasy silence. A sweet, spiced wine from Arbor stock, rich, red, and heavy in scent was poured for each of the gathered nobles. One servant, trembling, offered a cup to Queen Cersei first.
She snatched it without a word, her fingers coiled tightly around the stem. The wine vanished down her throat in one long, slow draw. She set the cup down with a cold clink and lifted her hand without looking.
“More.”
The servant bowed and refilled her goblet.
Baelish took his time sipping from his own. He turned slightly toward Aeron, voice soft but sharp enough to pierce the hum of tension.
“We can strike peace now, my lord,” he said smoothly. “What is your true purpose in Westeros? You wage a campaign of fire and shadows across the Stormlands, destructive and unprovoked.”
He swirled his cup with idle grace.
“There’s no need for blood to go on spilling. The Crown is prepared to reward obedience. You could be given lands, a title worthy of your... talents. Daenerys Targaryen may take Dragonstone, as is her ancestral right. But the throne must remain in Baratheon hands.”
Across the stone bench, Aeron lifted his goblet but did not answer. He stared into the liquid as though reading the omens within it. Then, with the slow grace of a man unbothered by threats or offers, he drank.
Baelish’s eyes narrowed slightly. He dared not glance at Cersei. His entire focus rested on Aeron, trying and failing to read the man.
A beat later, something unseen flickered before Aeron’s eyes.
[Harmful substance detected.]
[Detoxification in progress...]
[Detoxification complete.]
He lowered the cup with a smile.
Smooth and Controlled.
Daenerys, beside him, lifted her goblet next. Her fingers barely curled around it before Aeron’s hand came up.
He didn’t shout. He didn’t explain.
With a flick of his wrist, invisible force whipped the cup from her hand, snatched and then lowered it in front of him, Daenerys was confused as to why he did that.
Gasps echoed through the pit, from the display of his sorcery.
Even Drogon stirred behind them, neck rising at the sudden shift.
Baelish’s expression froze. His hand clutched his goblet tighter as his lips parted, but no words came out. His gaze darted toward Cersei but only for the briefest moment, enough to betray what he feared Aeron might have already deduced.
Aeron reached for Daenerys’s drink. Without breaking eye contact with Baelish, he raised it to his lips and drank.
Deliberately.
When he lowered the cup again, his smile was still there but colder now.
Cersei stared at him, her knuckles white around her own goblet. Baelish’s silence had become a void, thick with unspoken dread.
