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SLW Chapter 73 : Arrival
🕑 Added 2025-05-16 21:57:20 +0000 UTCTHE DRAGONPIT –
The midday sun bore down on the ancient ruins of the Dragonpit, its broken dome casting jagged shadows across cracked stone and timeworn dragon bones. The banners of House Lannister and Baratheon snapped sharply in the warm wind, red and gold and the crowned stag flaring like fire.
Cersei Lannister sat, flanked by lords of the Crownlands and the ever-silent Kingsguard, each armored in white and still as marble. Her gown of crimson shimmered slightly in the light, though her expression was carved from ice. Near her, Petyr Baelish stood with his hands folded in front of him, ever the portrait of calm, though his eyes flicked constantly toward the horizon.
Cersei leaned slightly toward him, her voice low and laced with contempt. “Are you certain he’s coming, Lord Baelish? Or did this ‘pretender’ disappear into smoke?”
Petyr offered a pleasant smile, the kind that said he expected the question. “The raven from Riverrun was not a fake letter, your grace. There were witnesses who saw the black beast take to the skies, him and the dragon queen riding together.”
She scoffed softly, her eyes scanning the shattered ceiling of the pit. “Then he could have flown anywhere. Dorne. The Vale. Across the Narrow Sea.”
Baelish tilted his head, a faint smirk playing on his lips. “I don’t think men like him bother with riddles when they think they hold all the pieces. If he wanted to disappear, he’d never have to tell us anything.”
Cersei’s fingers tapped once against her goblet. “And what sort of man walks into the Red Keep knowing that every dagger might be pointed at his back?”
“One who’s never known fear,” Petyr murmured. “Or worse...one who’s stopped caring. But that would be his final mistake.”
That answer settled over her like a gust of cold air. She glanced to Qyburn behind her, then toward the gathering of nobles seated along the pit’s edge restless, whispering, all of them watching the skies.
Cersei remained still, her gaze fixed on the broken arches. Her voice, when it came, was as cold as winter steel.
“Let him come.”
She raised her cup to her lips but did not drink.
“I want to see ‘this monster’ with my own eyes.”
****
The sky stretched wide and golden above them, the wind howling past as Drogon and the Cannibal soared side by side over the green and sun-washed hills. Below, the Riverlands had given way to the Crownlands rolling fields, small hamlets, the glint of armor from patrols that scattered like ants at the dragons’ shadow.
Ahead, rising like a scarlet jewel above the land, was King’s Landing.
Aeron narrowed his eyes as the sprawling city came into view. The outer walls. The densely packed slums. The towering Sept. And high above it all, the Red Keep, perched like a crown of the city.
“The capital,” he said quietly, voice laced with admiration.
Daenerys turned her head slightly, the wind tossing her silver hair like a banner behind her. Her gaze swept over the city, and her grip on Drogon tightened.
“My family’s legacy..” she said. Her voice trembled, but only faintly.
Aeron’s gaze rested on the Red Keep. “Impressive structure,” he said. “To see it like this...”
Dany gave him a sideways look. “Your first time here in King’s Landing?”
“Not exactly,” he replied, a faint smile at the corner of his mouth. “I once visited the dungeon beneath the Red Keep...the one with the dragon skulls.”
Daenerys arched a brow. “You need to be inside the Keep to reach the skulls,” she said. “And to get into the Keep, you have to enter the city..”
Aeron didn’t look at her. “Well I didn’t, I teleported there.”
A pause. Then Daenerys let out a breath and shook her head, lips twitching. “Right… sometimes I forget you’re not just an ordinary man.”
He glanced at her, curious. “Does that bother you?”
“No,” she said, her voice softening. “It does not.”
A silence stretched between them as the dragons glided lower, the Red Keep looming closer now.
“It’s my first time here too,” Daenerys admitted quietly. “I was born in Dragonstone. My family fled before I could ever set foot inside these walls. I used to dream about them... the throne room, the gardens, the bells.”
Her voice held no bitterness, but there was weight behind it, years of exile, loss, and whispers of a throne she’d never seen. She looked down at the city.
Aeron turned toward her. “And do you still dream of it?”
She hesitated. “No. I stopped dreaming of the throne the day my dragons were born. Since then, I’ve only believed in it. And that I would take back everything they took from us.”
Aeron looked at her for a long moment, then nodded.
“Good,” he said. “You’ll need that fire in you moving forward.”
****
KINGSLANDING -
The sun hung high in the sky above King’s Landing, warm and golden. Merchants cried their wares in the bustling market, the scent of roasted meat and river fish thick in the air. Children ran barefoot through puddles. Bakers cursed the heat in their ovens. Life, despite its hardship, moved on.
And then the sun disappeared.
At first, people glanced upward, shielding their eyes. A cloud, they thought. Summer storms came often enough. But then came the sound deep and unnatural. A low, distant thunder not from the sky, but from something alive. A sound that stirred the instincts of man and beast alike.
The crowd stilled.
Then someone screamed.
Two massive shapes pierced the sky, wings beating and the first was massive and terrible black as the void, spined and scarred and shadowlike, eyes like molten fury. The Cannibal. The second, much smaller yet still just as monstrous, let out a deafening roar that echoed off the stones and sent birds scattering into the sky. Drogon.
People ran.
Not just away, everywhere.
Children were yanked off the ground. Vendors abandoned their carts. One man dropped his gold and didn’t even look back. Chickens flapped wildly, dogs barked and bolted. The bells of the Sept rang from the shockwave of Cannibal’s cry, mistaken for alarm. Mothers screamed for their sons, and guards yelled orders they didn’t believe would help.
A woman knelt in the street, whispering prayers to the Seven through sobs. A boy no older than seven stared at the sky, frozen in terror as the Cannibal passed overhead and for a heartbeat, the world went black. His eyes reflected only wings.
“They’re back,” someone whispered in awe. “The stories about the dragons… the Targaryens... they’re back.”
“No,” another croaked, gripping a broken cart. “That one… that’s not natural. That’s not a dragon. That’s a demon.”
From the rooftops, a Goldcloak took one look, dropped his spear, and fled.
Above it all, the two dragons soared together, gliding toward the ancient coliseum of the Dragonpit.
In the upper districts, lords and ladies stared from their balconies in horror. Some dropped goblets. Some dropped to their knees. A few dared to clutch at their walls as if that would hold back the sky itself.
And in the Red Keep, soldiers fumbled with their swords.
****
THE DRAGONPIT -
The seats of the high council were arranged in a semicircle beneath the ruined dome of the Dragonpit, open to the sky, scorched and battered by time.
Cersei Lannister sat at the center, golden lions embroidered on her crimson gown, eyes fixed on the horizon. Beside her, Baelish seated calmly, fingers steepled. Around them, lords, knights, and Kingsguard murmured among themselves anxious and uncertain.
Then came the sound.
Low at first. Distant. A rumble that trembled in the stone beneath their boots.
The bell of the Great Sept tolled once in alarm from the city behind them, deep and foreboding. A warning from the Faith. A sound meant for kings and commoners alike.
Cersei’s head snapped up.
A shadow fell across the Dragonpit.
Every soul within looked up and froze.
Descending from the sky like judgment itself, two dragons emerged from the sun’s glare.
A creature black as void, vast beyond belief. Its wings cast a darkness that swallowed the light. When it roared, the very air quivered, and dust rained down from the broken dome. The Cannibal.
Cersei stood without realizing it, her goblet falling from her hand and shattering on the stone.
Her breath caught.
“My gods…” she whispered. “That’s...”
Beside her, Baelish’s smug calm flickered for the first time. He took a cautious step forward, jaw tightening.
“Yes,” he murmured. “Whatever we heard was an understatement.”
The Kingsguard instinctively moved in front of the queen, blades half-drawn, though all knew their steel would mean nothing if the creature chose to devour them all.
Cersei watched as the dragons began to descend toward the Dragonpit floor, her hands clenched at her sides.
Her face was pale but her fury simmered beneath it. The fear was there, yes, creeping like frost over her skin. But pride would not let her flinch.
She squared her shoulders, voice low as steel.
“So the sorcerer comes… and brings his monster to strike fear in us.”
Baelish, lips thin, leaned toward her.
“You asked if he would come,” he said. “Well… here he is.”
