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SLW Chapter 21 : Aeron's Farewell Gift
🕑 Added 2025-02-05 20:22:37 +0000 UTCAeron exhaled, watching the rangers tense as the wildlings surged forward, their war cries piercing the frozen night. The howling wind carried the stench of sweat, leather, and blood, and in the distance, the dull glow of torches flickered like dying stars.
He turned his gaze to Jeor Mormont, expression unreadable. "This is the last time I’ll help you," he muttered. "After this, I’m leaving."
[System Notification]
Quest: Eliminate the Hostile Wildlings
Reward: Job-Specific Skill
Aeron dismissed the message without a second thought. The time for distractions had passed.
The wildlings crashed against the Night’s Watch line like a relentless wave, steel meeting steel in a symphony of chaos. Screams filled the air as swords clashed, and bodies collapsed into the snow, staining it crimson.
But Aeron didn’t just fight—he moved.
Direfang, his dark blade, gleamed under the pale moonlight as he flowed through the battlefield with a grace that seemed almost unnatural. A wildling rushed him, an axe raised high Aeron sidestepped, his blade carving through the man’s midsection before he even had time to register his mistake. Blood sprayed across the frost, painting the white snow red.
Another came at him from the left, a spear thrusting forward. Aeron caught the shaft mid-air, twisting it with inhuman strength before driving Direfang through the attacker’s chest. He yanked it free with a flick of his wrist, stepping past the falling corpse without a second glance.
A wildling berserker, covered in scars, bellowed and swung a massive two-handed sword at him. Aeron leaned back, the blade slicing through the empty space where his head had been a moment ago. Before the man could recover, Aeron darted forward, his sword a black blur. One, two, three slashes each faster than the eye could track. The berserker froze, his body held together by nothing more than a heartbeat. Then, he crumbled apart, his limbs scattering into the snow.
Aeron’s was a reaper on the battlefield, a specter of death clad in black.
Then the ground trembled.
A deep, guttural roar split the air as a giant charged through the ranks, swinging a club as thick as a tree trunk. Men screamed and scattered as the monstrous creature plowed forward, flattening everything in its path.
Aeron didn’t flinch.
The giant’s club came down, aiming to turn him into a smear in the snow—but Aeron simply raised his hand.
Ruler’s Authority.
The moment the club met an invisible force, it stopped midair, as if the very laws of nature had been rewritten. The giant’s arm twisted unnaturally, bones snapping with an audible crack as the massive creature howled in agony.
Aeron’s lips curled into a smirk. "Too slow."
Before the giant could react, he leapt higher than any normal man should have been able to his silhouette nothing more than a streak of darkness against the moonlit sky. He twisted midair, Direfang flashing as he brought it down with precise, lethal force.
The giant’s head separated cleanly from its shoulders.
A moment of silence followed.
Then the massive corpse collapsed, sending a wave of snow and ice billowing outward.
Aeron landed gracefully, shaking off the blood that dripped from Direfang’s edge. The battlefield had fallen into a hushed pause, both wildlings and rangers momentarily stunned by the spectacle. But Aeron wasn’t done.
He stepped forward, placing a hand on the fallen giant’s corpse. His voice was calm, yet it carried across the frozen wasteland.
"Arise."
The effect was immediate. The shadows around him writhed, coming out the giant’s body like living tendrils. The corpse twitched, then convulsed violently as something unnatural took hold. Its skin darkened, its eyes flickered with eerie blue light. And then, with a deep, rattling breath, it rose .
Aeron scratched the back of his head, glancing at his newest minion. "...Ah, fuck it," he muttered. "You’ll be called Giant."
The undead giant let out a low, guttural growl, awaiting his command.
Aeron sat atop the fallen giant's corpse, completely at ease, his black cloak draped over his shoulder like a king surveying his domain. He raised Direfang, his sword glinting menacingly under the pale light.
Then, with a mere gesture, the giant moved.
It lurched forward, its massive hands reaching out like death itself. With a single swing of its rotting club, it sent a group of wildlings flying, their bodies breaking upon impact, bones shattering like twigs. Some screamed, some ran, but it didn’t matter the undead did not tire.
The rangers of the Night’s Watch had fought many battles, faced death a thousand times over—but this?
This was something else.
They stared in horrified awe, gripping their swords with shaking hands. Some instinctively took a step back, their faces drained of color.
"What in the fuck is that?!" one of them whispered, his voice barely holding together.
"Is that... is that one of them?" another ranger stammered.
"He—he brought the fucking thing back!"
"That’s not natural..."
"What kind of sorcery is this?!"
Jon alone remained still. He had already seen Aeron do this before. This was just another reminder of how different he was.
Aeron barely paid them any mind. He exhaled, his cold gaze flickering between the terrified rangers. Then, he simply said:
"Sorcery. That’s all you need to know."
And just like that, it was over.
The remaining wildlings lay dead, cut down with ease. Without Aeron, the battle would have dragged on, but with his presence, his power it ended swiftly.
With the fight done, Aeron strode forward, making his way toward Jeor Mormont. The Old Bear met his gaze, his expression unreadable, but his eyes carried the weight of a man who had just witnessed ‘the impossible.’
Aeron didn’t wait for him to speak. "Here’s my proposition to all of you." His voice was calm but carried the weight of command. "Send someone to that wildling army. Or go yourselves. Seek peace."
Mormont narrowed his eyes. "Peace?"
Aeron scoffed. "Yes. Because there is something out there that won’t care whether you wear black cloaks or furs. It will kill you all just the same." He let his gaze drift over the remaining rangers. "Or, you can continue fighting them like the fools you are and die."
The rangers murmured among themselves, uneasy. Some looked at each other as if considering his words, others clenched their jaws in stubborn defiance.
Then, a sneering voice cut through the silence.
Karl Tanner, ever the arrogant coward, spat on the ground and sneered. "Peace with wildlings? Go fuck yourself, sorcerer."
Aeron moved before anyone could even blink.
A blur of motion Direfang flashed and Karl Tanner’s head separated from his shoulders.
A brief pause, a stunned silence then his body collapsed, blood spilling onto the snow in a steaming pool.
The rangers recoiled, some gasping in shock, others stumbling backward as if they had just now realized what Aeron truly was.
Mormont remained rigid, his face unreadable, but even he did not move.
Aeron smoothly sheathed his sword, barely acknowledging what he had done. Then, he smirked, cold and sharp.
"Consider that my farewell gift, killing a bad thorn."
The weight of his words settled. Karl Tanner had been a poison among them. And Aeron had removed him like cutting away rot.
No one dared to argue.
Aeron turned to Jon, who had been watching him intently.
"Good luck out there, Jon." His voice held something unreadable. "Just know that you’re wasting your time and talent with the Watch."
Jon’s frown deepened, but before he could speak, Aeron had already brushed past him, subtly attaching a shadow soldier to him.
As he walked away, Aeron thought to himself, 'That should keep him safe. I don’t know... I have a soft spot for him, even though I don’t care much for the Starks or the North.'
Without another word, Aeron raised his hand and Garm emerged from his own shadow, his massive wolf-like form towering over the men. His dark fur shimmered unnaturally, as if it drank the light around it, and his glowing eyes settled on Aeron with silent understanding.
Aeron hopped onto Garm’s back with ease.
"I’ve wasted too much time here already," he muttered.
Then, they moved.
Garm launched forward, his speed beyond anything natural. To the rangers, it was as if Aeron and his mount had simply vanished, leaving behind only a gust of wind and a swirl of snow in their wake.
The rangers of the Night’s Watch stood there, frozen, bewildered, as if struggling to process what had just happened.
Qhorin Halfhand finally exhaled, shaking his head. "That is not a man. That is something else."
Mormont said nothing. His grip tightened around his sword as he stared at the fading horizon, watching the last traces of Aeron and his monstrous wolf disappear into the snow.
A long silence followed, the weight of everything that had just transpired settling over the rangers like a heavy cloak.
Finally, the Old Bear exhaled, his voice low, almost to himself.
"Maybe he is right after all."
His gaze shifted back to the battered remains of the battlefield, to the blood-soaked snow, to the bodies of both wildlings and rangers alike.
And for the first time in a long while, Jeor Mormont felt uncertain.
