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SLW Chapter 29 : Astapor.
🕑 Added 2025-02-14 20:09:07 +0000 UTCAeron simply smiled, a slow, knowing curve of his lips as his glittering eyes bored into Tyrion. The dim torchlight flickered against the dungeon walls, creating long shadows that seemed to stretch endlessly, as if succumbing to Aeron's presence.
"I'll be going now, Lannister," Aeron said smoothly, his voice amused. "But I'll be back. And do try to live… I may still have a use for you."
Tyrion’s brows furrowed slightly at that, his sharp mind already racing through what that could possibly mean. But before he could form a response, Aeron exhaled a whisper of a chuckle, tilting his head ever so slightly.
"Exchange."
And just as quickly, Aeron was gone.
The air itself around Tyrion trembled, as if the world itself had blinked for a moment. Where Aeron had stood, a tangle of twisting black tendrils formed into something new—a shadow soldier, its body an inky silhouette with burning, blue eyes.
Tyrion had no time to respond before the thing attacked. The first of his words was lost on the air.
He drew a sharp breath, stumbling backward as he flung his arms up defensively, his shocked mind incapable of registering anything except danger. The torch he was holding danced crazily, casting mad shadows as the monstrous figure loomed over him, its unnatural presence pressing on his chest like a weight of sheer terror.
For a moment, he was certain this was the end. That thing was going to kill him.
Then—nothing.
Silence.
Tyrion opened one eye. Then the other.
The dungeon was empty.
The shadow had gone.
The torches flickered feebly against the ancient dragon skulls, making only the normal patterns of cold stone and forgotten relics. No Aeron. No shadow soldier. No sign that anything had ever been there.
Tyrion exhaled suddenly, lowering his trembling hands. His breath came in ragged gasps, his heart thudding against his throat. He turned slowly, his eyes searching every black corner, every crack in the stone, as though expecting the specter to leap out of the shadows once more.
But there was nothing.
His lips parted slightly, his mind caught between reason and madness.
"Maybe I did have too much wine after all," he said to himself, rubbing a hand over his face. His fingers felt somewhat damp. He let out a dry laugh, but it did nothing to help the constriction in his chest. "If I tell anyone about this, they'll think I've gone mad."
He gazed up at Balerion the Dread's skull, its vacant sockets seeming to stare at him like some kind of joke.
Tyrion sighed, rubbing his temples.
"No more midnight walks in the dungeons," he told himself, climbing the stairs with weary steps. "And fewer wine before bed, for sure."
****
Aeron stepped back onto the deck of the ship, his boots thudding heavily against the wooden planks as the salty sea air whipped around him. He was visibly irritated, his eyes glowing faintly from the annoyance that still simmered beneath the surface.
Raya, lounging lazily by the helm, raised an eyebrow as she absorbed his sour face. "You're back already? That didn't take long," she remarked, her voice dripping with false curiosity.
Aeron didn't even look at her, opting instead to stare out at the open, endless expanse of sea before him. "I don't want to talk about it," he muttered, his voice laced with frustration.
Raya leaned back against the railing, her arms folded across her chest, a smile teasing her lips. "Oh? Didn't find anything of interest?" she mocked, clearly enjoying his unease.
Aeron's jaw tightened, He couldn't help but be annoyed at the failed attempt of bringing up the dragon of his dreams, He pushed a hand through his hair, turning to gaze out to sea once more. "I did find what I wanted," he said, his voice low and almost bitter. "I just. couldn't take it for now."
Raya's smile faltered, but she did not push the matter any farther. She just nodded, giving him the time to untangle whatever was racing through his mind. "Alright," she said, her voice somewhat gentler.
"Get ready," Aeron called out to the crew, his voice cutting through the air with authority. "Once we reach Slaver's Bay It’s going to be a hostile place, and there’s no mercy to be found there. Pirates, slavers... you name it. Stay alert, and be wary of your surroundings. They know this part of the sea better than anyone.”
****
The ship rocked gently against the waves as it finally neared the shores of Astapor. For days, the crew had navigated the dangerous waters, but now, with the city of Astapor finally on the horizon, their eyes gleamed with excitement. The distant, imposing silhouette of the city loomed before them, standing tall at the edge of Slaver's Bay.
"Land!" one of the crew members called out, his voice echoing across the deck. "We’ve reached the city!"
The loud cry broke the silence of the ship, shaking Aeron from his restless sleep. He had been lying on a cot in the cabin below deck, his mind tangled with thoughts he hadn’t yet fully sorted. He shot upright, his chest rising and falling with a quick breath, eyes wide as the sleep left him in a rush.
His senses snapped into focus, and it took him a moment to adjust to the noise above. "What the hell?" he muttered under his breath, still groggy, as he quickly gathered himself. His eyes glowed faintly, and with a frustrated sigh, he muttered to himself, "Waking me up like that..."
With a grunt, Aeron pushed himself out of the cabin and onto the deck, rubbing his face and trying to shake off the remnants of sleep. The salty sea air hit his face, sharp and cold, and it cleared his mind immediately. His gaze swept over the crew, most of whom were gathered at the edge of the ship, staring at the distant city ahead.
"You could have let me sleep some more," Aeron said dryly, though his voice carried an edge of amusement.
One of the men looked back at him, pointing toward the horizon. "It’s Astapor, my lord. We made it!"
Aeron’s gaze followed the man’s gesture, his eyes narrowing as he surveyed the city of Astapor. The tall walls, the looming towers—everything looked as he had imagined. But there was something unsettling about the calm.
“No sign of pirates?” Aeron asked, his voice more serious now.
The men exchanged looks, then shook their heads. “No, my lord. Not a single one."
Aeron’s brow furrowed, his mind working quickly as he examined the still waters surrounding the city. The peacefulness of it all was a bit strange “We’ve been at sea for almost two weeks now,” he muttered, mostly to himself. "No attacks? Not even a single skirmish? That's odd. You’d think someone would try their luck.”
Aeron tilted his head "I think Daenerys is doing a better job here than i thought. Or... maybe we’ve just been lucky at sea.”
Raya paused, her eyes narrowing as his fingers drummed the side of the railing. “Maybe... but I have a feeling the attackers got lucky this time.”
Aeron leaned against the railing, staring out at the city of Astapor with narrowed eyes. The crimson-stained walls stood tall, the very place where the infamous Unsullied were forged. 'the cockless men are made here' He exhaled, rubbing his jaw in thought.
“Daenerys should be Queen of this place by now,” he mused, mostly to himself. “But I don’t think she’s taken Yunkai or Meereen yet.” His gaze flickered with impatience. “We shouldn’t waste time—I need to find her.”
Raya, standing beside him, shot him a curious glance. She had been watching him ever since they set sail, noting how determined he was about this one particular woman. Finally, she crossed her arms and asked, “Why do you really want her?”
Aeron smirked, turning his head slightly to meet her gaze. There was a flicker of something unreadable in his glowing eyes. “Honestly?” He let the question hang in the air for a moment before shrugging. “If she agrees to my offer, so be it.”
Raya’s brows furrowed. “And if she doesn’t?”
Aeron’s expression darkened slightly, but his smirk remained. He turned his gaze back toward the city, the sea breeze rustling his hair.
“Then I’ll claim her dragons.” There was no hesitation in his words, no doubt. Just cold certainty.
****
Aeron and his men approached the great red gates of Astapor near the docks, the scent of salt and sweat lingered in the air, The towering walls loomed over them, streaked with the bloodstained hue that marked the infamous city of slavers. The moment they drew near, a squad of guards stepped forward, their weapons raised in warning.
Clad in mismatched armor, their faces concealed behind bronze helms, the guards leveled their spears, blocking their path. One of them stepped forward, his voice sharp and commanding as he spoke in High Valyrian.
“Issaros! skoros issi ao doing kesīr isse Astapor!” (Strangers! what are you doing here in Astapor!)
Aeron understood them instantly. For a brief moment, he couldn’t help but smirk to himself. ‘Well, would you look at that? The day has finally come where I can actually use a fictional language for something useful.’
Aeron stepped forward, his expression shifting back to one of quiet authority. Eyes glowing faintly, he met the guards’ stares head-on before responding in perfect, fluent High Valyrian.
“iksan hen Vesteros se iksan kesīr naejot lioragon bisa vali” (i'm from westeros and i'm here to sell these men.)
