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SLW Chapter 62 : Wings of War
🕑 Added 2025-04-22 21:41:11 +0000 UTCThe sky was still dark, but hints of light were breaking at the edge of the horizon. The sea hissed softly against the black stone of the docks, ships creaking with supplies, sails furled, ready to unleash their might upon the Stormlands. Torches lit the walkways, flickering gold against the chill morning mist.
Daenerys Targaryen stood tall in her silver and black cloak, the House Targaryen sigil clasped at her shoulder. Her eyes scanned the line of Unsullied boarding the galleys with practiced precision, their discipline immaculate even in silence.
“You will land at Storm’s End,” she said to Grey Worm, her voice calm but firm. “Secure the surrounding lands. Rally the smallfolk to our cause. Show them what true loyalty looks like.”
Grey Worm bowed his head, his dark gaze steady and unwavering.
“I will not fail you, my Queen.”
She looked at him for a moment longer. “I know.”
Across the docks, Aeron Grim stood with his black cloak billowing slightly in the breeze, arms crossed as he stared at the shadow-forged knights silently marching toward their own vessel. Their armor whispered with otherworldly weight, blades of midnight glinting faintly under torchlight.
Next to him, Fang his massive Shadowcat stalked silently, its glowing eyes alert and fixed on the sea. Another two shadowcats prowled around the knights like hunting hounds born of smoke.
Aeron turned to Raya, who was adjusting the strap of her scabbard, her jaw set.
“Don’t worry,” he said, his voice carrying a quiet strength. “With my hundred knights awaiting for you in Storm’s end, and Fang here..” he nodded toward the beast pacing beside her, “..you won’t have any trouble securing the Stormlands… and even beyond.”
Raya didn’t look at him at first. Her fingers lingered on the hilt of her sword, then slowly her gaze lifted to meet his.
“I’m not worried about anything,” she said.
But then, she paused. Her voice dropped a little, just for him.
“…I only care about you.”
Aeron’s brows furrowed slightly, but his face softened.
“With how much you’ve grown,” she continued, eyes flickering with a rare vulnerability, “with the power you carry now… it’s like the world is watching you. And I don’t know why… but I feel like something bad is going to happen. I can’t explain it.”
Aeron stepped closer, the wind curled around him, tugging at the darkness that clung to his frame like a second skin.
He smiled gently just for her.
“I told you once before… nothing in this world can harm me.”
Raya looked up at him, and despite herself, smiled. “You did.” She reached over her shoulder, adjusting the worn, weather-beaten sword strapped to her back, the blade she’d carried since the North.
Then, without another word, she turned on her heel and marched up the ramp of the ship, her boots echoing against the wood.
She spotted Grey Worm overseeing his men and called out, loud enough for all to hear:
“C’mon, Grey Worm. We’ve got a kingdom to conquer for our Monarch.”
Grey Worm gave a subtle nod and followed without question.
Aeron watched them go, shadow and steel sailing into the mists.
Beside him, Daenerys stepped into view, her arms crossed as she too watched the ships drift from the docks, sails unfurling like wings.
She said nothing.
Neither did he.
Only the sea spoke between them.
War was coming. And the first move had been made.
The sound of waves breaking against the shore filled the silence as Aeron and Daenerys stood side by side, watching the ships carrying Raya, Grey Worm, the Unsullied, and the shadow soldiers disappear into the morning mist. The sky had begun to burn faint orange on the horizon, the world caught between night and dawn.
Boots clicked against the stone behind them.
“A beautiful sendoff,” came Tyrion’s voice, dry as ever. “Though if I were on that ship, I’d be drinking heavily and pretending not to notice the army of cockless men and nightmares aboard.”
Varys joined him with that slow, deliberate stride of his, his hands folded within his sleeves. “It seems the game is no longer played by lords and ladies. rather beasts and ghosts.”
Aeron didn’t turn.
“Time for us as well,” he said quietly, eyes still fixed on the sea. “ ’To sail.’ ”
Daenerys glanced at him, her silver-gold hair catching the first kiss of sunlight.
“Very well.”
She stepped forward, lifting her head. A commanding breath filled her lungs, and then
“Drogon!”
The name tore through the air like a whipcrack.
From the sky above, he answered.
With a shriek that split the air, Drogon descended like a thunderstorm, his wings flattening the mist below as his massive frame crashed down onto the black stone beside her. Flames smoldered in his throat, smoke curling from his maw as he let out a roar that shook the very sea.
Tyrion instinctively took a step back.
“No matter how many times I see it… I could never get used to all of this.”
Dany placed a hand on Drogon’s snout, calming him with the barest whisper. She turned to Aeron, her violet eyes narrowing with curiosity.
“Where is the Cannibal?”
Aeron grinned.
His eyes glowed, faint yet unmistakable an eerie light like moonfire burning behind shadow.
“With me.”
Suddenly, the shadows at his feet twisted, stretching unnaturally across the stone as though alive. The darkness widened, rippled, and then something began to emerge.
A scaled head rose from the inky pit, eyes glowing like twin suns. The head alone dwarfed Drogon, its teeth jagged. Then came the wings, massive bursting from the shadow like sails in a storm.
With a deafening roar, The Cannibal shot into the sky black as night, darker than Drogon, more primal. The wind howled around his ascent, and then he turned in a sharp arc and landed beside Aeron, wings folding, body coiling like a serpent waiting to strike.
The ground trembled.
Even Drogon snarled low, eyeing the other dragon warily.
Varys took a careful half-step behind Tyrion.
“I suppose now would be the time for a prayer.”
Tyrion just stared, blinking slowly.
“And I thought your shadow soldiers were unsettling..” He looked to Daenerys. “Can you please make sure he doesn’t burn the kingdoms ?”
Aeron only smirked.
Daenerys didn’t answer immediately. She stepped toward the Cannibal, who lowered his head slowly, almost respectfully. Then she turned back to Aeron.
“We ride?”
Aeron nodded, eyes locked on the horizon.
“We ride.”
The two mounted their beasts.
Drogon, fierce and regal, wings half-spread in the morning light, and the Cannibal, ancient, brutal, a beast born of shadow and hunger. Upon their backs, Daenerys Targaryen, the Unburnt, and Aeron Grim, the Shadow Monarch.
Before they could take off, Aeron turned his head slightly, wind brushing his hair as the Cannibal shifted beneath him.
“Tyrion,” he called down, voice cutting clean through the salt-kissed air. “Before we leave, any suggestion? Where should we go first? The Vale, the Riverlands… or the Reach?”
Tyrion, squinting up against the sun and the two massive beasts above, stroked his beard thoughtfully.
“Tactically?” he said. “The Reach is the breadbasket of Westeros. Seize it, and the rest starves. But… the Vale? They’re proud, isolated, and too comfortable behind their mountains. A display of power there might shake the rest into sense. Still, if you want chaos, fear, and to test how loud your dragons can roar…”
He gestured lazily.
“The Riverlands. They’re already broken. Smash what remains, and the tremors will be felt all the way in Casterly Rock.”
Aeron considered this, eyes glowing with an inner gleam. He smirked.
“Alright then.”
He turned to Daenerys, his voice low but firm.
“To the Riverlands.”
She nodded once, without a word. Then both dragons roared, wings expanding with titanic force, dust and pebbles blown out in a storm of power.
In one synchronized beat of wings, Cannibal and Drogon surged into the sky, leaving the earth behind in a gust of shadow and flame.
Below, on the docks, Tyrion watched them rise, two small silhouettes riding on the backs of living nightmares.
He sighed, shaking his head.
“You know,” he muttered to Varys, “when I was little, I dreamed of seeing dragons.”
He paused, then added dryly, “I mean… I’m still little.. But now I rather wish I hadn’t.”
Varys, unblinking, murmured,
“Dreams have a habit of turning into nightmares, my friend.”
And above them, the dragons screamed.
