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The hush in the throne room was near suffocating. All eyes fixed on Aeron Grim, his dark armor gleaming, his violet eyes carrying weight enough to make lords shift uneasily on their feet. For many gathered, this was the first time they laid eyes on him in truth. Rumors had painted him as many things, Daenerys's shadowy champion, a mercenary king from the East, a sorcerer draped in whispers of death. None had imagined this a figure who looked half knight, half phantom, yet carried himself with the poise of a regal Monarch.
Daenerys stood at the top of the steps, her breath caught in her throat. Then, in a sudden rush, she descended from the Iron Throne. Her silver hair streamed behind her as she all but flew down the steps, her eyes never leaving him. The lords gasped, Queens did not run, not in the Red Keep, not before the court of Westeros. And yet she did, with no thought for decorum, only for the man before her.
Aeron stood still, his smile faint but real, as she closed the space between them. When she reached him, she did not pause, did not consider the weight of eyes upon them. She threw her arms around him, pulling him close, and he caught her effortlessly, his black cape flaring around them. For a heartbeat the hall seemed to vanish it was only the two of them, reunited.
Then she kissed him deep, passionate, without hesitation. A kiss not of show, but of fire and longing and the relief of one who feared she might never see him again. Gasps rippled through the throne room, lords and ladies staring wide-eyed, guards shifting uneasily, courtiers whispering furiously into their sleeves.
A southern lord from Dorne leaned to his neighbor and muttered, "That's the King?"
"Aye," the other breathed, awe creeping into his tone. "Not some sellsword nor Essosi champion. That is him."
And soon the realization spread like fire through the chamber the Queen's consort, her shadow-king, had returned in flesh.
At last Daenerys broke the kiss but did not release him, her hands resting on his shoulders, her forehead pressed briefly to his as if she dared not let him vanish again. When she turned back to the hall, her eyes shone bright with a fierce light.
"My lords," she called, her voice ringing across the chamber. "We are honored today, for the King has returned to us."
A murmur ran through the gathered nobles astonishment, relief, even fear before swelling into cheers. She raised her hand for silence only a moment before declaring
"In his honor, there shall be a banquet held in these halls tonight. And in days to come, a great tourney will be proclaimed, to celebrate his return and the victories yet to be claimed. The realm shall know its King!"
The lords erupted again, this time in open applause and cheers. Cups were raised, voices called out in allegiance, the sound rolling like thunder through the throne room.
Aeron bent his head slightly, leaning close to her ear, his words low enough only she could hear. "A bit too much, no?"
Her lips curved into a smile as she whispered back, "Not at all." Then softer, with a hunger for truth in her voice, "Tell me everything that happened after I left."
He gave a small nod, eyes never leaving hers. "Of course. I'll tell you everything, in detail."
Before she could reply, a familiar voice broke the moment.
"Your Grace," Tyrion Lannister said, stepping forward with wine in hand, his sharp eyes narrowing as they studied Aeron. "Glad to see you in one piece…"
He tilted his head, gaze flicking over the dark armor that seemed almost alive, pulsing faintly with violet. "More than in one piece, in fact. You look more… intimidating than ever. Though I must ask..tell me plainly, are we truly safe now? I assume the threat in the North is dealt with?"
The lords stirred at that, eager for answers, for reassurance. Varys's calm gaze never left Aeron, the Spider already calculating what such a presence meant for the realm.
Aeron let the silence linger just a breath too long, then smiled faintly, almost disarmingly, though it did little to ease the weight of his aura.
"Sure, Tyrion," he said at last. "I will tell you all. But let us sit first… for it may be a long tale."
And so he stood, hand in hand with Daenerys, before the court of Westeros in their eyes not merely as her consort, not merely as a shadow at her side, but as a King returned from the brink, bearing the weight of victories unknown.
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HOURS LATER -
The Iron Throne loomed above them, jagged and cruel, its black steel points catching the light of the torches. For centuries it had been the seat of power, a symbol of judgement and death, a place where men had pleaded, where lords had been broken, where kings had fallen. Never once had it been turned into a hall of revelry.
Yet tonight, long tables had been set beneath its shadow. Platters of roasted boar, venison dripping with fat, trenchers of steaming bread, flagons of strongwine and mead all carried in by bustling servants. Music echoed faintly through the vaulted chamber, strings and drums lifting the mood. Laughter rose in bursts, the clinking of cups against cups. For the first time in memory, the Throne Room was filled not with fear, but with cheer.
At the center of it all, seated among the lords and ladies of Westeros, not above them, not apart, but beside them sat Aeron Grim and Daenerys Targaryen.
The sight of it alone left many gaping. Some had expected him to march straight for the Iron Throne, to plant himself upon its cruel spikes as though he had always belonged there. Rumors painted him as arrogant, merciless, a shadow-king who thought himself more than mortal. Yet since he had entered these halls, he had not so much as spared the throne a glance. He sat at a simple oaken table, eating and drinking as though he were one of them, not above them.
It unnerved them more than arrogance would have.
Around their table, the council gathered, Tyrion Lannister sipping his wine with wary eyes, Varys silent and watchful as ever, and Oberyn Martell with his sharp smile, leaning close whenever Aeron spoke as though to measure the man's soul through his words.
Daenerys had scarcely touched her food, her gaze fixed on Aeron, a mixture of awe and something warmer. Her voice was low when she spoke, but those close enough to hear leaned in all the same.
"I still can't believe he was that strong," she said, shaking her head slowly. "It's good you managed to save your dragon. I… I couldn't stop thinking about what became of the Cannibal. I barely saw.."
Her words broke off as Aeron raised one finger to her lips, silencing her with a small, almost tender smile.
"There was nothing you could have done at that moment," he said calmly. "You already did the best thing you could you escaped with your dragons. Had you stayed, the Night King's magic would have ensnared you and them alike. Death would have claimed you, Daenerys. My dragon is immortal, frozen, yes, but never gone, it was only a matter of time for me to save him and if it was yours, they would have been frozen to the bone."
Her eyes softened, though guilt still flickered across her face. "I still wanted to aid you somehow."
"And you did," Aeron replied without hesitation. "You sent men. They fought bravely at Karhold, holding the walls against the wights and white walkers. Do not think it little. Without them, even with my shadows I'd have faced not one enemy, but ten."
For a heartbeat silence hung between them, only broken by the laughter and chatter of the hall. Then Aeron leaned back slightly, his violet eyes sweeping across the lords gathered at other tables, the very nobles of the realm now hanging on his every word without realizing it.
"What matters is this," he said, his voice carrying, dark and steady. "The Night King is dead. His army broken. All of you, and all the realm, are safe now."
Relief spread in a ripple through the hall, though it was short-lived. For Aeron let the words hang, then added in that same even tone:
"The only threat that remains… is me, should I ever go insane."
The laughter faltered. Cups were lowered. Lords exchanged sharp looks. Even Tyrion stiffened, while Varys's eyes narrowed. For all his jest, the words rang true and none could deny it.
Aeron let them stew in that tension a moment longer, then broke into a dry laugh, lifting his cup.
"I jest," he said smoothly, though the smile did not quite reach his eyes. "Besides, I am not merely a threat. I am a calamity."
Uneasy laughter followed, uncertain but dutiful, lords and ladies forcing mirth to meet his own. Only Oberyn Martell chuckled freely, lifting his cup in salute while saying "I like this king! finally Westeros seems interesting now, I may stay here in Kingslanding at this point."
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