Solo Leveling in Westeros

If you Like this story! Check out my other stories! Shadow Monarch in DC

&

If you wish to read more or simply support me than check out my patreon at

"https://www.patreon.com/FrenzyAren"

You can Get Access to 3 More Chapters OR 7 More Chapters if you want !

/-\\

The shadows moved in the storm.

They came like specters, dozens at first, then more. Humanoid in shape, but stripped of all warmth, all hesitation. Their helms featureless, eyes burning with pale violet flame. They were silent as death, and they did not wait for orders.

Daenerys turned, breath caught halfway in her throat. She stood close to Drogon, his hot breath steaming against the snow, and watched truly watched, for the first time.

The shadow soldiers dropped to their knees and began clawing through snow and ice with inhuman speed, bare hands punching into frozen earth as if it were soft clay. Their fingers dug, pulled, carved, and struck the earth without pause or protest. Others arrived dragging packs wrapped in abyssal cloth tent frames forged from dark stone, black stakes that pulsed faintly with the same ghostlight that danced in their eyes. A shadow giant, hulking carried the heavier parts, dragging strange metallic braziers, thick slabs of black rock, and logs charred black from old flame.

Within minutes, a camp began to rise.

Not like any camp Daenerys had known. Not wood and canvas, but shaped of dark metal, flowing like liquid shadow under invisible commands. There were no shouted orders. No hammer strikes. No grunting men or whinnying horses. Only the wind, and the whisper of steel gliding through ice.

And not one of them paused. Not once.

Daenerys stood in silence, the cold momentarily forgotten, even Viserion watching warily, wings tucked tight.

She turned to Aeron, still standing a few feet away, arms folded, his cloak lashing in the wind.

Her voice was quiet thoughtful, almost disbelieving.

"Do they ever complain? Or tire?"

Aeron didn't turn to look at her. He kept his gaze fixed on the soldiers at work, as if watching something familiar, yet still worth admiring.

"No," he said simply. "They will carry out my will to the very end. They never sleep. They never ask for rest. They ask for nothing in return. For they are part of me."

He tilted his head slightly, the glow in his eyes flickering brighter with the wind.

"Only my satisfaction matters to them. To be in my army, to serve my will is a great honor for them. It defines them."

Daenerys wrapped her arms tighter beneath her cloak, her eyes never leaving the shadows. One was driving a spear of shadow into the ground with slow, surgical force, while another carved into the ice with just its fingertip.

"If only living men were like that…" she murmured, half to herself. Then her brow furrowed. "Though… that kind of loyalty… unyielding, unquestioning. It's not just awe-inspiring. It's terrifying."

Aeron let out a quiet breath. Not quite a laugh, more like a weary agreement.

"Aye." His voice was lower now, more human beneath the storm. "It is frightening. But there are men in this realm, living men. with that kind of loyalty. Foolish ones, maybe. Honorable to a fault. The kind that gets them killed trying to do what's right. But I respect them."

She looked at him now. Really looked. The storm danced between them, but her eyes pierced it.

"And what about you?" she asked. "Are you not one of them?"

Aeron's expression didn't shift. His tone didn't waver.

"I can't be," he said quietly. "Not with what I am. Not with what I carry. But I still respect those who try."

Daenerys turned her gaze again to the shadows, who had now begun lighting the obsidian braziers, strange blue fire blossomed from within, casting a haunting glow across the white wasteland.

She stood there, the Cannibal shifting behind her and lowering one massive wing over her body, shielding her from the worst of the blizzard. The warmth from its shadow scales melted the snow around her boots.

"Have yet to see such men," she said softly, a trace of bitterness beneath the words. "Or at least… not many."

Aeron's lips curved into something like a smile, though it held little joy.

"There's one." He shifted his stance, folding his arms again. The snow began to slow, and the wind dropped to a low hiss. "A bastard. From the Wall. Half a Stark."

Daenerys blinked.

"A bastard?" she repeated, curiosity laced in her tone as her eyes returned to him.

The glow in Aeron's eyes dimmed just slightly as he nodded.

"I'll tell you about him later." His voice was firmer now. "Once we settle matters here. We can speak with him afterward."

Daenerys narrowed her eyes, searching his face.

"You speak like he matters. That it's important."

Aeron didn't flinch.

"It is important, especially for you." he replied.

She stepped forward, her breath misting between them.

"For me? Then why not tell me now?"

He smiled again. The same quiet, frustrating smile he wore when he knew more than he let on.

"All in due time."

"I demand.."

But Aeron cut her off with a glance, calmly, the kind that silenced long discussions before they began.

"Not the time or place for that sort of conversation," he said flatly.

And then, without another word, he stepped closer, his cloak brushing hers, and pulled her gently into his arms. She felt the sudden warmth of his body contrast against the snow still on her shoulders. His voice was low now, laced with something between affection and exasperation.

"Besides," he murmured near her ear, "my soldiers just finished building the camp."

Daenerys blinked and turned, almost skeptical until she saw it.

Her breath hitched.

A full camp. In the middle of this gods-forsaken, frozen hell.

The massive tent before her stood like a fortress of black and steel-gray cloth reinforced by thick shadowy objects, ridges of dark bone and metal that bent to no wind. It didn't sway. It didn't even rustle. It looked more like a structure carved from the abyss of the world than anything sewn by man. Around it were trenches, deep and angular, as if prepared for a siege carved flawlessly into the ice. Torches lit the perimeter with an eerie purple hue, crackling with blue-black fire, their flames unfazed by the wind.

And near the center, a roaring bonfire had already been lit, fed by slabs of dead wood and bone. Its dark flames danced high, lit, no doubt, by the Cannibal himself, who now stood curled protectively behind the tent, wings half-spread like a living wall.

"Wow," Daenerys whispered, unable to help herself.

Aeron followed her gaze, then furrowed his brows at the trenches, shaking his head in mild disbelief.

"Really? Trenches again? Here?" he asked, raising a brow toward a few of the nearby shadow knights. The armored specters said nothing, their helms unmoving, though their postures shifted slightly, as if confused themselves by what they did.

Aeron waved a hand dismissively. "Nevermind."

With a sigh, he turned and held the tent flap open. Daenerys entered first.

Inside, warmth wrapped around her like a velvet cloak. She blinked as her eyes adjusted to the faint, violet-glow lanterns lining the walls. The interior was nothing short of royal. Thick carpets of fur and stitched leathers lined the ground, a map table stood at the center littered with markers, pins, scrolls some burned at the edges, others fresh. A series of racks with armor pieces and blades loomed nearby, and a carved mirror stood behind the cot a black thing framed in dark dragonbone.

Everything was in place. A war room. A bed fit for a Monarch. A queen's quarters. A king's strategy hall. All in one.

Daenerys slowly turned in place, speechless, before glancing at Aeron.

"Where did your soldiers get these things from?" she asked at last, incredulous.

Aeron scratched the back of his head, slightly sheepish for the first time in days.

"Honestly? I've no idea," he said. "Probably looted these things on our campaign through Westeros… My shadows tend to keep trophies. I just never care to check what they keep..."

Daenerys shook her head, a soft laugh escaping her despite herself. She moved toward the map table, brushing a gloved hand across its surface, still warm from the fire.

"To think… a camp like this, built in a blizzard… by shadows."

Aeron crossed his arms beside her, glancing down at the map, and smirked faintly.

"Impressive right?"

Aeron stepped behind her, his gaze settling not on the maps of Westeros, but on her.

"So," he said lowly, voice almost teasing, "you feeling warmer now?"

Daenerys didn't answer immediately. Instead, she turned her head, slowly until their eyes met. Her expression had changed, less guarded, more dangerous though. Her lips curled just slightly as she stepped toward him.

She stopped when she was close enough to feel his breath.

"Not quite," she whispered, leaning in.

Her fingers found the edge of his cloak, tugging it aside just enough to brush against his collar. She pressed her lips to his ear, her breath warm on his skin, her tone soft and intimate but laced with fire beneath the silk.

"King Aeron," she said. "If you wish to impress me, heat alone won't do."

/-\\

If you Like this story! Check out my other stories! Shadow Monarch in DC

&

If you wish to read more or simply support me than check out my patreon at

"https://www.patreon.com/FrenzyAren"