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SLW Chapter 72 : Prisoner
🕑 Added 2025-05-14 21:47:03 +0000 UTCAeron’s smile vanished completely
He extended his hand, and from the shadows within, something moved.
A deep, unnatural whisper echoed through the air as inky black chains erupted from Aeron’s palm [Chains of the Abyss] serpentine coils of darkness twisting and writhing like living things.
CRACK.
They lashed around Jaime’s torso, slamming into him like whips and coiling fast binding his arms, legs, and chest, tightening with a force that stole the breath from his lungs.
“Seven hells—” Jaime gasped, falling flat as the chains constricted. “This is...shit!…”
The iron grating of the abyss-bound chains groaned as they pulled him upright, suspending him in the air like a fly caught in a spider’s web.
Daenerys approached from behind Aeron, fury in her eyes. She stared at Jaime, face taut with old memories, long-simmering wrath.
Without hesitation, she stepped forward and struck him hard across the face.
CRACK.
“Oathbreaker,” she snapped. “Murderer.”
Jaime turned his head slowly, cheek red from the blow. He looked at her with tired, half-lidded eyes and a crooked smirk.
“That’s Ser Oathbreaker to you. Or haven’t you heard? I’ve made quite a name for myself. You Starks and Targaryens. Still clinging to your fairy tales about honor and vengeance.”
He turned his head just enough to look at her sideways.
“You think your father was innocent, princess? He burned people alive for fun.”
Daenerys clenched her fists, ready to strike again but Aeron raised a hand.
A rock nearby floated from the ground, snapped through the air, and struck Jaime square across the mouth with Ruler’s Authority.
Jaime reeled back, groaning, a small trickle of blood dripping from his lip.
Aeron’s voice was like stone grinding in a tomb.
“Show respect,” he said coldly. “Or I’ll change my mind about keeping you alive.”
The chains hoisted Jaime higher then Aeron rotated his hand, and Jaime levitated sideways, dragged through the air like a broken puppet toward the waiting back of the Cannibal.
The massive black dragon lowered his head slightly, curious. His eyes locked on Jaime.
The Cannibal sniffed him once. A deep growl rumbled in his chest a warning.
Jaime blinked, still dangling like bait on a line.
“This is a whole new experience,” he muttered, “Being gift-wrapped for a dragon. Lovely.”
Aeron narrowed his eyes. With a thought, he placed Jaime onto the Cannibal’s back, the black chains pinning him in place like harnesses.
The dragon gave a low huff through his nostrils, but didn’t object though he clearly disliked the passenger. His wings flexed once, a silent threat.
Aeron turned to Daenerys, walking to her.
He took her hand. “I know you want him dead,” he said softly, his tone gentler than before.
Her eyes flickered, conflict rising in her chest. The past tugged at her memories of her father’s screams, the stories of wildfire and betrayal, the agony of loss, the House Targaryen legacy buried under ash and treason.
Aeron’s grip tightened slightly not to restrain, but to anchor.
“Think wisely about your decisions moving forward, Dany.”
His voice dropped low.
“You can kill him now and quench a fire. Or bring him to the capital and ignite one.”
She looked at him.
Then at Jaime bound in chains, blood on his lip, but alive.
Powerless.
A message can be delivered.
****
Red Keep – Tower of the Hand
The chamber was lit by flickering candlelight and the soft glow of the setting sun through the stained glass. Shadows danced along the walls, as if listening to the conspiracies being born within.
The door creaked open with the usual labored groan that followed Maester Pycelle, his robes dragging behind him. In his trembling hand, a sealed parchment marked with House Tully’s sigil.
Petyr Baelish was already seated near the hearth, sipping wine, fingers adorned with rings of subtle wealth. He looked up, not surprised, not hurried.
“Ah, Maester. Is the raven tired or just slow, like its reader?”
Pycelle scowled, ignoring the jab.
“A message from Riverrun, my lord. It bears the seal of Lord Edmure Tully.”
He shuffled closer and placed the letter on the table with exaggerated care.
“They responded… rather quickly, given the state of their roads.”
Petyr arched a brow and reached for the letter, fingers light and deliberate.
“And tell me out of professional curiosity...you haven’t read it, have you?”
Pycelle paused, cleared his throat with a wet cough.
“Well… it would have been irresponsible not to confirm its contents before delivery. I took care to reseal it..”
Petyr waved a hand.
“Yes, yes. Spare me the justifications. You’ve done your duty, Maester. You may go.”
Dismissed, Pycelle frowned, but bowed awkwardly and began shuffling away. He didn’t notice the other presence in the corridor… but Petyr did.
As the door swung closed, it opened again Cersei Lannister entered.
Draped in crimson and gold, her presence commanded the room more than the candlelight. She shut the door behind her with a slow click and regarded Petyr with narrowed eyes.
“Riverrun, is it?”
Petyr smiled with the same grin he used when walking through bear pits.
“Word travels fast in this keep. You should consider a position in the Ravenry.”
Cersei’s eyes sharpened. She didn’t sit.
“Don’t play games with me, Littlefinger. I know you’ve been speaking with my father. Whispering in the dark. Making… arrangements.”
Baelish’s smile remained, but his eyes were more calculating now.
“You make it sound so sinister, Your Grace. When all we’re doing is responding to a potential threat.”
She stepped forward, stopping at the edge of the table. Her voice lowered, dripping venom.
“You mean inviting the threat into the city?”
“He’s accepted the invitation,” Petyr said after a beat. “This… Shadow Monarch. He’s agreed to meet. Neutral ground was requested. The Dragonpit was chosen.”
“Neutral ground,” Cersei echoed with bitter amusement. “How quaint. A place where dragons once roared, and now only bones remain.”
She looked down at the letter.
“What’s the plan?”
Petyr hesitated not out of fear, but out of reluctance. He knew how quickly truths became weapons in this keep.
“We speak with him. We gauge his intentions. And if they are not to the realm’s liking...”
“Stop wasting breath,” she snapped. “What. Is. The. Plan.”
Petyr exhaled through his nose.
“To poison him.”
Cersei’s lips curled slowly, the kind of smile wolves wore when they smelled blood.
“Lovely,” she said softly. “I want him to suffer. The way Joffrey did. No..more. I want him choking on his own power, clawing at his throat while the gods ignore his screams.”
Baelish gave a cautious look toward the heavy curtains, toward the shadows that always seemed to have ears in the Red Keep.
“Lower your voice, Your Grace. We still don’t understand the limits of his power. For all we know, the walls may be listening.”
“Let them,” she hissed. “Let them listen and tell him. Let him come knowing we’re not afraid.”
Petyr leaned back in his chair, watching her with something between amusement and concern.
“You may not be afraid, Your Grace… but you should be cautious. This is not just another warlord or claimant. He leveled Harrenhal with his dragon. Alongside none other than Danaerys Targaryen.”
“I’m informed.” Cersei interrupted. “And that is why we must kill him.”
She turned toward the window, arms crossed.
“The people still talk of Daenerys. Of her dragons. They whisper her name like a prayer in Flea Bottom. But this new shadow... he frightens them. They say he walks with wraiths. That he commands death itself.”
She looked back at him, eyes like twin blades.
“If he allies with her, we lose the realm.”
Petyr sipped his wine slowly.
“Then let us hope the poison works.”
Cersei’s eyes glinted as she whispered:
“And if it doesn’t…?”
Baelish met her gaze.
“Rest assured your Grace, this poison will kill even a Dragon.”
