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SLW Chapter 69 : Riverrun
🕑 Added 2025-05-07 22:13:02 +0000 UTCRiverlands - Riverrun
The dragons finally descended.
The great gates of Riverrun stood open, but the garrison waited with tense spines and wary stares. Above the battlements, the banner of House Tully fluttered against a grey sky. Beneath it, two shadows grew larger until they took form Cannibal, ancient and dark, wings like torn midnight sails, and Drogon.
The beasts landed with earth-shaking thuds on the stony field before the keep, black claws gouging grooves into the mud. The men-at-arms flinched some outright staggered as the The cannibal bared teeth the size of great swords.
From Cannibal’s back, Aeron Grim dismounted first, his long black cloak settling around his frame like coiled shadow. His armor gleamed with a dark luster. At his back hung the strange Greatsword, faintly pulsing.
Then came Daenerys, descending Drogon with a warrior queen’s grace. Silver hair whipped by wind, her violet eyes scanning the gathered men. She wore no crown, yet all saw her as if she did the last dragon, reborn in fire and vengeance.
A hush fell.
The silence was not fear it was recognition. they have heard the news of Harrenhal's fall and the fires at the God's Eye. They had heard and now, they believed.
The Lord of Riverrun, Ser Edmure Tully, stepped forward with slow, cautious dignity, flanked by knights and kin. His voice was even.
“Lord Grim. Queen Daenerys. Riverrun welcomes you and bends no knee to the dead, only to the living who still protect the realm.”
Aeron gave a small, cool smile. “Then you are wiser than most, I see that Robb Stark has informed you already of what’s going on beyond the wall.”
“He did.” Edmure Tully responded with a nod.
They walked together into the keep.
As the procession moved through Riverrun’s inner courtyard, the retainers and soldiers parted like reeds before a storm. Whispers bloomed behind closed helms and armored shoulders.
Two guards near the archway leaned in close.
“Is that really him?” one muttered, eyes darting to Aeron’s back. “The one who commands the dead and burned the Lannisters in Harrenhal?”
“Seven hells,” the other whispered. “They say his ghosts are invincible and show no mercy in battle.”
Another near the steps added lowly, “And the mad king’s daughter beside him… I thought we were done with the Targrayens..”
Then came the low chuckle from a young man standing near a cart.
“Did you see the way that black beast stared at us? That’s not a mount. That’s a bloody omen.”
One guard, trying to act braver than he felt, muttered, “they say he doesn’t sleep. And can W”
“Don’t be daft,” his friend scoffed. “He is looks like an ordinary man to me. Look over there, he’s halfway across the courtyard. There’s no way he can...”
Then Aeron stopped.
He didn’t turn.
He simply slowed, head tilting ever so slightly. Then he smiled. Not cruel, not kind. Just enough to say
I heard you.
The first guard blanched, color draining from his face. “Shit. Shit...I think he heard me.”
The second swallowed hard. “No way. He’s pretty damn far…”
The third, the youngest among them, stared with wide eyes. “You sure that’s a normal man after coming in on a gigantic black beast?”
“Just shut up, will ya?”
****
The Great Hall of Riverrun
The fire roared in the hearth, throwing long shadows over stone and steel. The scent of smoke and damp river air lingered in the ancient hall. Banners of House Tully hung proud above, but the atmosphere below them was fraught.
At the high table, Lord Edmure Tully sat with rigid composure, flanked by Ser Brynden “Blackfish” Tully, armored and cold-eyed, and Lady Catelyn Stark, cloaked in grey and blue, her face lined by grief and time. Before them, seated like a king without a crown, was Aeron Grim, a presence more felt than seen, with Daenerys Targaryen to his right silent, watchful, yet radiating quiet fire.
Goblets were untouched. Bread, unbroken.
Ser Brynden broke the silence first, voice low but edged.
“You’ve brought monsters to our gates, Lord Grim. And the people are terrified for it.”
Aeron didn’t smile. He only looked at the man who had once defied kings.
“I expected you, for example, Ser Brynden Tully… to be against bending the knee to someone with no name, no house, no ‘rightful’ claim to anything.”
Brynden’s jaw tightened. “I’m not stupid. I’ve heard what you did. I saw what your shadows did not long ago, when Roose Bolton was torn apart like meat.”
Aeron’s fingers tapped once on the table, then he leaned back and crossed his arms.
“My.. Robb didn’t leave any detail unspoken.”
At the name, Catelyn stirred. Her voice cut through the air like a chill wind.
“No, he didn’t,” she said, eyes hard as flint. “But I still think it's a terrible mistake to bend the knee to you. No matter what my son believes.”
Daenerys turned her head, uncertain, glancing between the Tullys and Aeron. She looked almost… out of place in the conversation, like a storm momentarily stilled.
Aeron’s gaze finally shifted to Catelyn.
“You,” he said, pointing at her with a single finger, not rudely but with intent.
“No wonder I didn’t see you in Winterfell. Your absence… makes sense now.”
Catelyn’s brows furrowed, but Aeron didn’t let her speak.
“Just so you know… you would have died, had I not done what I did back then. Bolton, Frey, the others, you name it. All of it.”
His tone sharpened.
“You should be grateful, Lady Stark. Your children are alive and well because of my actions. I took pity on House Stark.”
Then, after a pause, his eyes slid to Edmure and Brynden.
“Can’t say the same for certain others.”
The hall went still. The fire cracked. Catelyn’s lips parted, but no words came. Not even a whisper.
Aeron stood slowly, towering.
“And in any case…” he added, voice smooth as smoke, “the Lord Paramount of Winterfell and the Lord of Riverrun have made their decisions.”
He looked down at her, eyes faintly glowing again.
“Your opinion, Lady Stark, is not wanted.”
Aeron stood slowly, towering over the high table.
“If we are in agreement,” he said, his voice smooth as smoke, “then I see no reason to keep frightening you or the smallfolk with my presence here. I shall take my leave.”
The room shifted with the weight of his words. Some seemed relieved. Others dared not show it.
Edmure blinked, fumbling for composure.
“You’re leaving… already?” he asked, surprised.
Aeron’s gaze swept to him calm, unreadable, yet heavy as iron.
“Yes. Is there a problem?”
Edmure raised his hands slightly. “No...no problem. I mean, that’s… that’s great, of course. Only”
He hesitated, floundering.
“There is something you might help with,” he added, almost choking on the request.
Before the silence grew too long, Ser Brynden Tully “the Blackfish” spoke, his voice as firm and steady as ever.
“West of here,” he said, “some of our keeps remain under Lannister control. It's been that way since the war paused. The red lions still fly above our Riverlands.”
He looked Aeron in the eye without flinching.
“We want them back.”
Aeron’s lips curled into the faintest trace of a smile not warm, not mocking, just knowing.
“And in exchange for your unyielding loyalty, you want my help.”
“That is right, Lord Grim,” the Blackfish said, without hesitation.
Aeron looked toward the fire, then back to Brynden. His answer came cool and sharp.
“Not an issue for me. I will see to it.”
He began to walk, the sound of his boots echoing over stone.
“Tell your people,” he said over his shoulder, “the lion’s claws will be torn from your lands by nightfall.. Well.. unless they flee first.”
Suddenly the sound of hurried steps of an aged maester entered the hall.
Robes rustling and breath short, the maester bowed low before Lord Edmure, holding a scroll sealed with a familiar, royal sigil.
“A raven, my lord. It arrived moments ago… from King’s Landing.”
At the words KingsLanding, the mood in the hall shifted subtle, but palpable. Even Daenerys halted.
Edmure took the scroll, brow furrowing as he recognized the Hand of the King’s seal pressed into the wax.
Breaking it open, he read only a few lines before stopping cold.
“Wait… this isn’t for me,” Edmure said, looking up slowly, his voice laced with uncertainty. “This… this is meant for you”
Aeron halted mid-step, half-turned toward the doors.
He pivoted fully and returned to the table.
“For me?” he asked quietly, though it was more a statement than a question.
Edmure handed him the parchment without a word.
Aeron took it in gloved fingers and peeled it open.
As he read, the silence returned.
The hall watched him like he was a blade being unsheathed.
The flames snapped in the hearth, but no one spoke.
Daenerys looked to him, her gaze searching.
At last, Aeron let the scroll roll back up between his palms, his expression unchanged but his eyes flickered with that quiet, violet glow.
“It is from the Hand of the King,” he said, voice unreadable.
“And?” Daenerys asked.
Aeron nodded once. “A request, they call it. But a command wrapped in politeness, they want me to go to Kingslanding for peace talks.”
