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The hall of Karhold's keep was calm. Too calm. The feasting, the laughter, the songs of victory, all silenced. What remained was the heavy stench of spilt mead, burnt torches, and death. At the center of it, upon the great oaken table, lay the lifeless form of Aeron Grim. His sword rested by his side, blacker than night. Lords and sworn men stood around him in uneasy silence, their voices hushed, their eyes unable to leave the corpse of the man they had called king.
Then
A sound. A sharp intake of breath, though no one had drawn it. Aeron's body shuddered violently, as though some invisible force gripped him. His back arched, chest heaving onc twice, and then the shadows came.
They burst from him in a powerful wave.
A surge of black smoke and violet flame, shrieking like a thousand ravens, erupted from his chest wound. The table beneath him shattered apart like dry twigs, sending splinters flying. Lords were hurled back as if struck by giants' fists. Benches cracked, shields split, goblets and trenchers were swept from the floor in a storm of shadow and wind.
Jon Snow was thrown against a pillar, the breath ripped from his lungs. He staggered, coughing, and raised a wooden shield from the wreckage, holding it against the torrent. Beside him, Ghost braced low to the ground, teeth bared, fur bristling white against the storm of darkness.
"Aeron.." Robb Stark's voice was lost in the chaos as he was cast aside, crashing into a group of Karstark men. Others cried out, some in pain, some in terror. "What sorcery is this? Is dead or no ?!" shouted Lord Karstark as he scrambled to his feet, blood dripping from a split brow.
The shadows thickened, whirling violently, and Aeron's body no longer lay upon wood or stone. He floated, still in the posture of death, as if the very air bore him aloft. His dark hair billowed, his limbs hung loose, and around him coiled the storm, black tendrils of shadow writhing, violet fire burning around him.
"Leave the hall! Otherwise we will be crushed by this pressure!" cried one knight, fear strangling his voice. Men broke then, stumbling over one another, fleeing the hall in blind panic. The doors slammed against the walls as dozens poured into the cold night, shouting prayers to the Seven, to the Old Gods, to anyone who might hear them.
Yet Jon did not move. He planted his feet, shield raised, the wood shuddering beneath the ceaseless blasts of wind. His eyes never left the floating corpse of a man he sees as a friend, an ally, and his king. His heart hammered, but he stood rooted all the same. Ghost pressed closer to his side, a low growl rumbling deep in his throat, eyes red fixed on the impossible sight before them.
"What is going on…" Jon whispered, his voice lost beneath the storm, though the words trembled from his lips. His knuckles whitened upon the shield.
The flames grew higher. The shadows writhed faster. Aeron's body was swallowed in a maelstrom of violet and black, until it seemed less like a man and more like a great pyre burning against the void.
And still he floated.
Like some god reborn.
The storm reached its peak
Then it broke.
Like a star exploding in space, the shadows erupted outward in a single cataclysmic wave. Violet fire streaked the hall as men who remained, and stone alike were thrown aside as if struck by the wrath of the gods. Jon Snow was hurled from his place and slammed into the cold wall, his shield splintering to pieces against the stone. The breath left his lungs, and pain lanced through his shoulder as something sharp and unseen tore into him.
And then silence.
The winds died. The shadows vanished. The fire dimmed.
What remained was Aeron.
No longer lying as a corpse. No longer limp as a broken man. He hovered there for a breathless moment, then lowered to the ground, feet touching the ruined stone with terrible calm. His eyes opened glowing, fierce, violet flames that seemed to see everything at once.
Gasps filled what remained of the hall. Lords clutched the walls, knights dragged themselves from the rubble, all staring wide-eyed at the figure before them.
Aeron's gaze turned to his hands. Slowly, he stretched his fingers, watching the motion with the focus of a man feeling them for the first time. He flexed them, turned them, clenched them to a fist, then opened again. The glow reflected off the scarred steel fragments of the table that had once borne his body.
Then his hand moved to his chest. The wound once a gaping hole left by his own Greatsword was gone. Not scarred. Not healed. Gone, as though it had never existed at all.
He drew a long breath, his chest rising, shoulders straightening. When he exhaled, the very air seemed to hum with it. He closed his eyes, listening to something no other man could hear, then spoke, voice steady, calm, yet filled with awe
"I feel… everything. I feel as though I can do anything. All his memories, all the things he could do… I can do it all now."
The words hung heavy in the ruined hall, falling on ears that had no idea what he is talking about. Men were in awe at the sight in front of them, their savior and their king born again by some unknown sorcery, some even muttered that this is not him.
But Jon Snow heard them clear as day, even as he lay broken on the ground. His shoulder burned with pain, wet with blood from where the shadow's fury had pierced him. He shifted, grimacing, trying to rise when Ghost planted himself before him, hackles raised, teeth bared at the man who should have been dead.
Aeron turned. His violet gaze fell upon the direwolf. For a heartbeat Ghost snarled defiance then faltered. The beast whimpered, lowering its head, ears folding back, tail pressing close. Not submission to a man. Not fear of a mortal king. For the man in front of him was no longer any of that.
Aeron bent, laying a hand upon Ghost's great head, stroking once with slow care. "Loyal," he murmured. "Even when you sense what I've become."
He stepped past the wolf and knelt beside Jon. His eyes, though burning, held a softness then.
"Let me help you with this," he said.
Jon, still staring at him as though at a ghost, managed through ragged breath, "Aeron… you were just…"
Aeron raised a hand, silencing him with the gesture alone. His palm hovered over Jon's shoulder, the violet glow spilling from his fingers. And then it was done.
The pain vanished. The torn flesh sealed in an instant. The blood dried, the wound gone as though it had never been. Relief washed over Jon so suddenly he gasped aloud, his eyes wide, his hand instinctively touching where the injury had been. Smooth skin met his fingers. No pain. No scar.
He looked up at Aeron, disbelief plain upon his face. "what the…" he whispered. "What… what are you now?"
Around them, the surviving lords and knights whispered too, words like sorcery, resurrection, god, monster. None dared draw nearer. All watched, trembling, as the man they had mourned now knelt alive before them, wielding power none could name.
Jon's eyes still wide with disbelief, as if he expected the pain to return any moment. Aeron, however, only regarded him with the faintest smile, violet fire in his gaze though it never fully left.
"I'm still me," Aeron said at last, voice calm, almost gentle. "Just slightly stronger."
Jon searched his face for deceit, for any sign of something unnatural lurking behind those eyes. Yet the words, simple as they were, seemed to steady him. Aeron smiled tired, but sure and that alone did more to ease Jon's heart than all the healing sorcery in the world.
Aeron rose then, straightening to his full height. His shadow stretched long across the broken hall, cast by torches that flickered as if uncertain whether to burn in his presence. He looked down at Jon, his voice carrying not only to him but to the gathered lords and men who watched from the ruined edges of the chamber.
"I'll be heading towards King's Landing," Aeron declared, his tone resolute, ringing clear across the hall. "Make sure to come. All lords are invited. There will be events held there and celebrations to honor this victory over evil."
Jon, still kneeling on the ground, looked up at him with a frown that was half worry, half wonder. "A feast after all this…" he muttered beneath his breath.
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If you Like this story! Check out my other stories! Shadow Monarch in DC
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