FrenzyAren
patreon
SLW Chapter 57 : Pick A Side
🕑 Added 2025-04-11 19:58:58 +0000 UTCThe great hall of Winterfell had quieted. The feast had long ended, and the warmth of the fire did little to ease the lingering tension that Aeron Grim’s visit left in his wake. Robb Stark sat at the high table, his eyes lost in the hearth’s flames, a half-finished goblet of mead forgotten in his hand. Jon Snow sat beside him, his posture upright, quiet and thoughtful.
"You did the right thing," Jon said, his voice calm and certain. "For the North. For your people."
Robb didn’t answer immediately. He swirled the contents of his cup, then let out a breath that carried the weight of a crown. "Did I?" he muttered. "Bending the knee to a man who appears out of shadows and commands things not born of this world? It doesn’t feel like the kind of victory I dreamed of."
Jon leaned forward slightly. "He's dangerous, aye. But not mad. I’ve seen mad. I’ve fought it beyond the Wall. What he did back there... he saved lives. He didn’t have to. But he did."
Across the hall, Arya had her feet up on a bench, tossing a dagger from hand to hand as she listened in. She grinned. "I like how strong he seems. All that shadow stuff he looked like a ghost king from Old Nan’s tales. I wonder if I could learn how to do that."
Robb turned to shoot her a disapproving look. "You’re not learning shadow magic, Arya."
She shrugged, unfazed. "Would make a fine trick if I ever need to disappear."
Sansa, seated just beside her, sipped her wine with a faint smile. "Honestly, after what you all said, I expected someone... terrifying. You made him sound like a demon in armor. But he wasn’t that. He was... striking."
Arya glanced at her sister. "Striking? Please. Don’t tell me you have a crush on the ‘Shadow Monarch’."
Sansa flushed, her cheeks turning pink. "I only said he wasn’t hideous. There’s a difference."
Robb raised an eyebrow and groaned. "Even you two? Seven hells."
Maester Luwin chuckled as he approached. "Well, Lady Sansa, if one were thinking of alliances, marrying someone like Aeron Grim could have strategic value."
Sansa’s eyes widened. "Maester!"
Robb raised his hand. "No. Absolutely not. I’m not marrying off my sister to a man who walks out of shadows and tosses knights like hay bales."
Jon gave a small smirk. "A man who protected your family. Whether he meant to or not."
Robb looked at him. For a moment, he said nothing. The fire crackled behind them, and the silence felt deeper than before. Finally, he sighed.
"Aye," he said quietly. "But just because he’s not our enemy... doesn’t mean he’s our friend."
****
Braavos -
The tavern in Braavos was warm and humming with life, a stark contrast to the chill of paranoia and betrayal they’d left behind in KingsLanding. Candles flickered in hanging lanterns, casting golden light across the stained wood and smoke-filled air. At a corner table, cloaked in shadows, Tyrion Lannister leaned back in his chair, swirling his goblet of red with the ease of a man who had narrowly escaped death, and was beginning to find the humor in it.
He took a long sip, savoring the rich Dornish vintage before slamming the cup down on the table with dramatic flair. "Would you believe it, Varys? Poison in my wine. My wine. Have these bastards no sense of poetry? At least slit my throat at a brothel, let me go out smiling."
Varys, seated opposite him with his hands folded neatly, raised a brow. "I did try to warn you. The small council grows increasingly... uncivil."
Tyrion scoffed. "Uncivil is when your father disinherits you. Attempted murder inside the Red Keep? That’s patricide with extra seasoning." He leaned forward, eyes gleaming with venom. "It was him. I can smell his hand in it. He never wanted me alive, just... useful. A Lannister tool, nothing more."
"And now you are... not so useful," Varys murmured.
Tyrion barked a bitter laugh. "Ah, but I’m alive. That’s worth a toast."
He raised his goblet and downed it, then signaled for another bottle with an exaggerated flourish.
"And what about you, Lord Spider?" Tyrion continued, voice dropping. "Why follow me all the way to Braavos? Surely KingsLanding is missing your skittering feet in the hallways."
Varys's expression tightened. His usual calm, unmarred by chaos, flickered for the briefest moment.
"I came," he said softly, "because the realm is lost. The small council has descended into madness. They can’t listen to reason anymore. All because of him."
Tyrion narrowed his eyes. "Him?"
"The Shadow Monarch," Varys whispered, as if the name itself might conjure the figure from smoke. "Aeron Grim. That man until he walked into our world with armies made of death and powers no maester can explain. I’ve spent my life believing in reason... but this man terrifies the irrational out of me."
Tyrion exhaled sharply, a rare seriousness hardening his features. He poured himself another drink, hands slightly less steady than before.
"Unfortunately," he muttered, "I had the pleasure of meeting him in person but i kept it to myself."
Varys leaned in. "And? What was he like?"
Tyrion stared into his wine as if searching for the right words at the bottom of the cup. "Cold. Controlled. He doesn’t speak like a noble or a madman. He speaks like a man in control, giving orders to ants. And when he looks at you... you realize you don’t matter. Not truly."
A tense silence followed.
Varys whispered, "how terrible.."
Tyrion let out a long breath. "Argh...I don’t know what’s true anymore. All I know is that if he wants the throne, there might be no stopping him."
The two men sat in silence for a moment, the buzz of the tavern fading to background noise.
Varys finally spoke. "Then the question is not how we stop him, but how we survive what’s coming."
Tyrion raised his goblet once more, the firelight dancing in his eyes.
"To survival," he said, voice dry and haunted. "And to finding the winning side before the world burns."
They drank in silence,
The tavern’s warm glow dimmed for a moment. A gust of wind stirred outside, rattling the wooden shutters like skeletal fingers. The fire in the hearth hissed, but it wasn’t the wind.
Tyrion blinked. Then again.
His wine sloshed gently in the goblet he held until something on the floor caught his eye.
His shadow… was moving.
Not as it should. Not in time with his hand. Not with the flicker of the firelight.
No. It stretched… slithered… tore itself free from the floor beneath him.
Tyrion stared, mouth slightly agape. He raised his wine closer to his face and squinted at the cup like it had personally betrayed him.
"Speaking of shadows," he muttered, blinking rapidly. "Am I too drunk, or is my own shadow walking away from me?"
Varys, whose calm had always been unshakable, leaned forward his expression unreadable.
"Then we are both drunk," he whispered. "And suffering the same hallucination."
The air grew colder. The hum of the tavern faded behind a soundless pressure like reality itself was holding its breath.
The shadow pooled into a humanoid form eyes. Then, like smoke drawn back into a bottle, it compressed shifted until a figure stepped forward from the dark swirl.
A black coat swayed gently around him, laced with hints of violet. His eyes those unholy, gleaming violet eyes glowed like they had been carved from amethyst and set in onyx.
Aeron Grim had arrived.
A smile curled at the corners of his mouth too calm, too knowing.
"Long time no see, dwarf."
Tyrion’s goblet fell from his hand and shattered on the tavern floor.
The wine stained the wood like fresh blood.
Tyrion pointed, pale as snow. "It’s him!"
Varys stood abruptly, his chair scraping the ground. His mouth opened, then shut. No words came.
The other patrons seemed frozen in place, conversations halted mid-laugh, mid-drink, as if they felt something unnatural had slithered into their midst, even if they couldn’t see it.
Aeron glanced around the tavern casually, hands behind his back, completely unfazed by the fear he commanded.
"this doesn’t seem like westeros.." he murmured. "I thought you’d be in capital.. It's my mistake for not checking first..”
"You...how did you..." Tyrion stammered, struggling to form coherent words. "We were just talking about you!"
Aeron gave a slight shrug. "Well then it’s fate."
Varys’s eyes darted to the shadows, then to the door. "You can listen through shadows?"
"I can do far worse," Aeron replied calmly, stepping forward.
Tyrion slumped slightly in his chair and waved a hand. "Well… if you’re here to kill me, please make it quick. I’ve had a terrible week."
Aeron chuckled, just slightly. "Relax, Lannister. If I wanted your head, it would be resting in a goblet already."
"You really know how to put a man at ease," Tyrion muttered.
Aeron looked to Varys. "You left KingsLanding. Smart. The vipers there are blind to what’s coming."
"And you aren’t?" Varys asked softly.
Aeron’s violet eyes burned brighter. "I am what’s coming."
The silence that followed was absolute.
Then, Aeron turned his gaze back to Tyrion.
"You still have a role to play, dwarf. You’re clever. You understand the game. So I’ll make this simple."
He leaned in just enough for both men to feel the weight of his words.
"Pick your side. Before the shadows do it for you."
