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SLW Chapter 63 : Harrenhal
🕑 Added 2025-04-24 21:27:14 +0000 UTCAbove Westeros, high in the clouds, two dragons soared like twin harbingers of doom.
Drogon, black as a starless night and fire incarnate, glided with wings that darkened the sun. Riding him like a goddess was Daenerys Stormborn, her silver hair caught in the rushing wind, her eyes fixed ahead with fire and purpose.
Beside her, the Cannibal a massive shadow dragon, bigger, older, wilder, more monstrous than any other dragon tore through the sky like a living storm, his maw curled in permanent hunger. On his back sat Aeron Grim, his cloak billowing like shadows come to life, one hand clutching the Cannibal’s shadow reins, the other busy with something far less ordinary.
Before his eyes, floating like ethereal light only he could see, was his user interface
[AERON GRIM]
Job: Necromancer
Title: Kingslayer (+5 Strength, +5 Agility, +5 Sense)
All-Knowing (Instantly understand new concepts, +50% learning speed, Automatically identify items, creatures, and magic.)
Level: 52 → 70
Fatigue: 0
HP: 6250
MP: 5400
Strength: 120 → 138 (+5)
Health: 96 → 129
Agility: 90 → 128 (+5)
Intelligence: 100 → 118
Sense: 77 → 110 (+5)
Available Ability Points: 54 → 0
Passive Skill:
Tenacity (Level 1)
Skills:
Ruler’s Authority
Perception (+10 to Sense when analyzing or strategizing)
Bloodlust (new)
Mutilation
Chains of the Abyss
Job-Specific Skills:
Shadow Extraction (Level 1)
Shadow Exchange (Level 1)
Monarch’s Domain
??? (Unawakened Skill)
Inventory:
Drakaryzor
Direfang Sword
Silverfangs
Abyss Drake Armor Set
Mask of the Forgotten Faces
Ashen Scales
The Cannibal’s Crown
Shadow Army: 556 / 600
The Cannibal, No One, Veydris of Asshai, 10 Sorcerers of Asshai, 10 Wyverns
100 Shieldmen, 50 Brutes, 90 Archers, 200 Knights, 70 Dothraki Riders, 10 Assassins
1 Giant, Garm the Direwolf, 4 Wolves, Fang and 4 Shadowcats, 2 Ice Bears
Aeron hovered a finger over the interface, watching the numbers shift, his power solidify, and the feeling of raw potential surge through his veins.
"This is good enough," he muttered to himself, dismissing the glowing screen with a blink.
From beside him, Drogon drew closer, and Daenerys leaned forward on her saddle, calling out over the rushing wind.
“Talking to yourself again, Aeron?” she asked, smirking. “What’s wrong? Is the mighty king of shadows frightened of what he might find in the Riverlands?”
Her voice held a teasing lilt, but her eyes never left him, sharp, curious, and quietly watchful.
Aeron turned slightly, just enough to meet her gaze. The Cannibal let out a low rumble beneath him, as if echoing his amusement.
“Monarch of Shadows,” he corrected with a faint smile, the glow in his eyes briefly flaring.
Daenerys raised an eyebrow, amused. “Of course. My mistake.”
Aeron looked ahead, toward the vast stretch of land far below, green, broken, smoldering with old scars and new battles. His expression hardened, though his voice remained calm.
“No… I’m not afraid,” he said quietly, almost to himself. “I’m just… mentally preparing. The Riverlands have seen too many banners and too much blood. I don’t expect a welcome. Only resistance.”
Daenerys tilted her head slightly, her tone softening despite the wind.
“I’m all for peace but.. We will do what’s necessary.”
He chuckled. “That’s what I like to hear.”
Then the Cannibal slowed down just enough for drogon to keep up and surged ahead with a beat of wings, Drogon matching the motion. They streaked across the sky like two comets of ruin, shadows and flame.
****
Harrenhal -
Harrenhal loomed before them like a cursed crown of blackened steel, twisted by fire and frozen in time.
Aeron sat atop the Cannibal, cloaked in cold shadows and the howl of wind. Beside him, Drogon glided through the sky with that familiar, silent fury Daenerys mounted with regal poise, her silver hair streaming behind her like a war banner.
As the massive towers of Harrenhal came into full view, Aeron leaned slightly forward, his gaze sharp locked onto it. Smoke still curled from some of the shattered battlements residual signs of life. Of occupation.
“Look,” he said, voice low but cutting through the roar of wind like steel. “You need to see this.”
Dany, hearing the shift in his tone, pulled Drogon to a slow hover beside him. She turned her gaze toward the cracked courtyards and half-melted towers and her eyes narrowed.
“I can’t see from this distance.. Aeron.”
“There,” Aeron said. among the stone wreckage and the desolation of a ruin that refused to die, fluttered crimson banners embroidered with a golden lion.
Lannister banners.
Her jaw tightened.
“That’s impossible,” she said, her voice sharp with disbelief. “Tywin pledged peace. The Lannisters signed the treaty. They should have left the Riverlands, when they stopped the war.”
Aeron didn’t even look at her. His eyes remained locked on the keep below.
“Tywin Lannister doesn’t believe in peace. He believes in opportunity,” Aeron said flatly. “Even now, after all that’s happened after Eddard Stark's death, after his grandson and all who died mysteriously by my hand, he still moves pieces behind closed doors, thinking that he can controll the kingdoms.. Harrenhal wasn’t meant to hold any force. Not anymore. And yet…”
He gestured downward with a gloved hand, his shadow extending along the wind like a reaching tendril.
“There they are. A small force. Quiet. Hidden behind the ruins. Not enough to wage war just enough to hold ground. Enough to say ‘this is still ours.’”
Daenerys’s eyes burned like molten gold, her hands tightening on Drogon’s reins.
“He plays a dangerous game,” she said. “Holding land in secret.”
Aeron gave a cold, humorless smile.
“That’s Tywin. A lion with a dagger under his paw, I’m keeping him alive because I want him in my service, but..”
The Cannibal let out a deep, throaty growl, sensing its rider’s tension.
“What will you do?” Dany asked.
Aeron finally turned to look at her, his expression unreadable, his voice laced with quiet resolve.
“Send a message. The Riverlands are not his to hold. Not anymore.”
Far below, the lion banners flapped in defiance.
****
Down in the courtyard, a handful of Lannister soldiers no more than a hundred lounged about in the shadow of Harren’s melted towers. Campfires crackled. Tankards clinked. Their red and gold cloaks fluttered in the wind like arrogant whispers.
“I’m telling you,” said one soldier, a younger knight with a lion pin crooked on his breastplate, “this place is cursed. I saw a shadow move through the walls last night. Looked like a man. Tall. Cloaked in smoke.”
Laughter erupted around the fire.
“Aye, and next you’ll say you heard the ghost of Harren himself whispering in your ear,” another chortled, throwing back a swig of ale. “Or maybe the Targaryens forgot one of their dragons buried under the keep.”
“Or maybe,” drawled a grizzled sergeant, “it’s the Shadow King. The one the peasants whisper about.” He snorted. “Dead men don’t walk. And they sure as hell don’t roam around in abandoned castles.”
They all laughed again. Arrogant. Relaxed. Unbothered.
Then the wind shifted.
And the sky split open.
From the heavens came a shriek that wasn’t natural. Not beast, not man something in-between. A sound forged in death.
The Cannibal fell from the clouds like a living nightmare, its wings spread wide like a cloak of darkness. Scales glinting with ash and shadow, teeth like swords, eyes like molten pits of hate. The massive dragon’s descent was thunder itself, tearing wind from the sky, a force of nature that obliterated laughter in an instant.
“SEVEN HELLS—WHAT IS THAT!?” someone screamed.
“DRAGON!” another shouted, stumbling back.
But it wasn’t just a dragon it was a myth, except it existed now.
He landed like a hammer from the gods, slamming into the earth with such force the very ground cracked and a crater exploded beneath him, sending soldiers flying, tents collapsing, the fire pits extinguished in a wave of dust and force. Horses reared and screamed. Shields clattered. Bowels loosened.
And before they could even blink
Drogon descended next.
Graceful but no less terrifying, wings flaring wide in dominance. He landed beside his shadow-scaled kin, fire still crackling between his jaws.
From the Cannibal’s back, Aeron Grim dismounted.
Cloaked in obsidian armor, glowing eyes burning. Each step he took was followed by a pulse of unnatural silence. Even the dragons waited.
He stopped before the trembling crowd of Lannisters, all of them too terrified to draw their swords, too frozen to run.
“Who is the commander here?” Aeron asked, his voice cold, echoing with unnatural weight.
None answered. Until one, a proud young Lannister officer gathered what little courage he had, straightened his back, and stepped forward, jaw clenched.
“I… am.”
Aeron's glowing eyes locked onto him.
“Approach.”
The command was not loud, but it dragged through the air like a blade across stone. The officer took a single step forward… and then another. Sweat glistened down his face.
