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Kingslanding-
The throne room of the Red Keep was bathed in the glow of flickering torches, the dim light casting long, jagged shadows across the stone floor. The Iron Throne loomed above them all, a monstrous creation of fused swords. Atop it sat King Tommen Baratheon, the boy-king, dressed in royal finery, his youthful face lined with the burdens of a crown too heavy for him. His wide, uncertain eyes flickered toward his mother, Cersei Lannister, who stood beside the throne, with her golden hair, though her expression was anything but saintly.
Before them, kneeling on the polished floor, was a man drenched in sweat and blood. His armor, once gleaming with Baratheon black and gold, was now dented, scratched, and smeared with filth. His face was pale, his breath ragged, his hands trembling as he clutched the hilt of a broken sword like a lifeline. He had ridden through the night and day to get here.
The guards had barely stopped him before the throne, their hands on their swords, but the moment they saw his sigil the stag of House Baratheon they let him pass. He was a sworn sword of Storm's End, and his message was urgent.
Now, in the presence of his king and the most powerful people in the realm, his body shook with the weight of what he had witnessed.
"Speak," Cersei commanded, her voice sharp as a dagger, impatience laced in every syllable. "Why have you come here in such a state?"
The man swallowed hard, his throat dry as sand. He struggled to find words, but how did one describe a nightmare ? He looked up at Tommen, at his young, naive face, and wondered if the boy had ever truly known fear.
He was about to.
"My Queen…" the knight rasped, his voice hoarse from exhaustion. "My King…" He bowed his head. "Bronzegate has fallen."
The words echoed through the vast chamber.
Silence followed. A tense, creeping silence, like the air before a storm.
Tommen blinked, confused. "Bronzegate…? But… how? our enemies are up north the south should be safe."
The knight squeezed his eyes shut, as if trying to block out the memories. "It was not an army of men that took it. It was something else." He shuddered. "A force of shadows. Wraiths, creatures that should not be. They came in the night. No warning. No mercy."
Cersei's eyes narrowed, her fingers curling into her gown. "Wraiths?" she repeated, her tone laced with suspicion.
Varys and Baelish exchanged a glance, though neither spoke.
"Describe them," Cersei commanded.
The knight exhaled shakily. His mind was a fog of terror, but he forced himself to recall the horrors he had seen.
"They came from the darkness itself," he whispered. "Monstrous things. Blacker than night, with eyes that glowed like embers. They moved like shadows, slipping through arrows and blades as if they weren't even there. Great beasts...wolves the size of horses, cats that scaled our walls like ghosts. And among them… the dead." His voice cracked. "Men who had fallen… they rose again. Their bodies lay still, but their shadows… their shadows fought on..."
The room seemed to shrink, the weight of his words pressing down on every soul present.
Tommen, wide-eyed, looked around, seeking reassurance from his mother, his council, anyone. "Is… is this magic?" he asked, his voice uncertain.
Cersei did not answer.
She was staring at the knight, her lips parted, her breath shallow. A memory stirred...painful, burning, raw. The description clawed at her mind, a ghost from the recent past ripping itself free.
"A man," she whispered.
The knight hesitated. "M-my queen?"
"A man," she repeated, her voice louder now, more certain. Her green eyes, sharp as a lioness's, bore into him. "Did you see a man among them? something we can kill!"
The knight nodded slowly, as if the memory itself hurt to recall. "A lone rider,the one that sent me here..." he said. "He came before the attack. Dressed in black. He rode alone, as if he had no fear of us. His eyes…" He shivered. "They glowed. Violet. Cold. Unnatural."
Cersei's breath caught in her throat.
She gripped the edge of the throne so tightly her knuckles turned white.
"That's him!" she whispered. Her voice was ice, a venomous hiss filled with something between fury and dread.
"That's the one! It must be!"
She turned to face Tommen, her face paler than before, her composure fraying at the edges.
"He is the one who killed my son!"
The words dropped like a hammer, the weight of them rippling through the chamber.
Baelish raised an eyebrow, intrigued, though he said nothing. Varys remained still, his expression unreadable, both of them thinking about the same person.
Tommen confusion clear on his face. "Joffrey?" His voice wavered. "But… wasn't Joffrey killed by... blood magic?"
"Foolish boy!" Cersei snapped, her usual restraint breaking for just a moment. "You think I have forgotten? It was the same wraith, a shadow just like he described!" Her gaze turned back to the knight. "His name. Did you hear his name? Anything! Speak!"
The knight hesitated, glancing between her and the other lords, as if saying it aloud would summon the nightmare itself.
At last, he whispered it.
"The Shadow Monarch."
Silence.
A thick, suffocating silence.
Baelish's lips curled into the faintest smirk, amusement dancing in his sharp eyes. "it's him, indeed," he murmured, barely audible.
Varys folded his hands. "So he is finally taking Castles.."
Tommen shifted uncomfortably, still struggling to grasp the situation. "But… what does he want? Why is he doing this?"
Cersei did not answer. She was already moving, her mind racing, her pulse quickening. She had been waiting for this moment...waiting for the day she would hear about this shadow monarch again.
Her enemy that killed her son, had returned.
And this time, she would not let him slip away.
She turned to the knight. "Go. Rest. You have done your duty."
The man bowed his head, still trembling, then stumbled to his feet and was led away.
Cersei turned back to her son. "We must send word to our allies. This… 'Thing' cannot be ignored. If he is taking the Stormlands, he will not stop there. He will come for us next."
Tommen swallowed. "Then what do we do?"
Cersei's emerald eyes burned with determination.
"We prepare for war."
Storm's End -
within the towering walls of Storm's End, a different kind of force had taken root one that sent shivers down the spines of all who bore witness.
At the center of the courtyard stood Aeron Grim, his dark cloak billowing in the salty wind. His violet eyes burned with an unnatural glow as he raised a hand, fingers curling as if pulling something from the very fabric of reality itself.
A tremor coursed through the earth.
The shadows beneath his feet stretched unnaturally, writhing like living things, pooling together into an abyss of absolute darkness. Then, they rose.
One by one, armored figures emerged from the void, their forms carved from the very essence of night. They were clad in ebon steel, their helms featureless save for a single glowing slit where eyes should have been. Some bore longswords, others greatspears or axes, their weapons dark as the void from which they had been birthed. The ground groaned beneath their sheer presence.
A hundred knights stood in eerie, disciplined silence, Aeron's shadow soldiers.
The gathered courtiers, and smallfolk of Storm's End watched in horrified awe. Some clutched their children, others made the sign of the Seven, muttering prayers under their breath. Even the sworn knights of the keep, hardened men who had seen war, struggled to mask their fear.
Aeron exhaled, lowering his hand. The summoning was done.
He turned to the elderly maester beside him, the man's wrinkled face twisted in barely concealed fear. "These will defend the keep while I am gone," Aeron declared, his voice steady, unwavering. "Storm's End shall not fall even if every citizen in Kinglanding attacks."
One of the shadow knights stepped forward. Unlike the others, its armor was more defined, its movements smoother, almost human-like. A leader among the darkened host.
Aeron fixed his gaze upon it. "You will receive the lords of the Stormlands when they arrive. If they surrender, so be it. If not…" A cold smirk touched his lips. "Keep track of their houses. I want them listed."
The shadow knight inclined its head in a slow, mechanical nod.
The maester hesitated, his old hands trembling. "M-my lord… what are they?"
Aeron's eyes flickered toward him, then toward the gathered people, their fearful expressions laid bare. He stepped forward, his voice carrying over the wind.
"Do not panic," he said, his tone firm yet calm. "These will not harm you. Carry on with your normal lives."
There was a long, uncertain silence. Some of the smallfolk nodded hesitantly, while others kept their distance, wary but obedient. The soldiers of Storm's End exchanged wary glances, their hands twitching toward their swords, but none dared act.
Aeron simply turned back to the maester. His expression remained unreadable as he uttered a single word.
"Exchange."
In an instant, the shadows surged around him, coiling like black tendrils before collapsing inward. Where Aeron had stood, there was now something else something massive.
A great shadowcat monstrous, with violet eyes that burned with eerie light. It let out a low, rumbling growl that sent shivers through the gathered crowd.
Aeron Grim was gone.
/-\
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