Solo Leveling in Westeros

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Aeron Grim took on Daenerys's challenge without hesitation.

His hand snaps up pulling her closer with Ruler's Authority, fingers tangling in her silver-hair, gripping just enough to make her breath hitch. His other arm wraps around her waist, pulling her against him. The cold of his armor seeps through her clothes, but beneath it, she feels the heat of him real, burning and alive.

"Then let me show you," he murmurs, voice rough, before his mouth crashes into hers.

This isn't the careful kiss of a courtly lover. This is fire and teeth and hunger, the kind of kiss that steals breath and thought alike. Daenerys gasps into it, her nails digging into the leather of his coat, and when he nips at her lower lip, she retaliates by biting down hard.

she growls and suddenly she's being lifted, her back pressing against the map table as he steps between her thighs. Parchment scatters beneath them, forgotten. His hands are everywhere tracing the curve of her waist, sliding up to cup the back of her neck, tilting her head just so as he deepens the kiss.

She arches against him, her body singing with the thrill of it. Power. Control. And surrender. All of it blurs together, until she doesn't know where she ends and he begins.

His lips leave hers, trailing down her jaw, her throat, teeth scraping over the sensitive skin where her pulse races. She gasps, fingers tightening in his hair.

"Is this what you wanted, Dragon Queen?" he murmurs against her skin, voice dark with promise.

Daenerys laughs, breathless, but there's no mockery in it only challenge. "You tell me. Monarch of Shadows."

Aeron's eyes gleam, violet fire flaring in their depths, his answering smirk is pure sin

Then his hands are on her, stripping away layers with ruthless efficiency. Leather, silk, steel all fall beneath his touch until the cold air kisses her bare skin. But she doesn't shiver. Not when his gaze burns hotter than dragonfire as it rakes over her.

"Beautiful," he murmurs, but the word sounded like a vow or a sweet threat.

She reaches for him in turn, unbuckling straps, pushing aside fabric until she can feel the heat of his skin beneath her palms. His body is a map of strength, and she traces every ridge, every old wound.

Daenerys doesn't wait for permission.

Her hands slide down Aeron's chest, over the hard planes of his abdomen, lower, testing his resolve. His breath hisses between his teeth by her touch, but his grip on her tightens in warning.

"Careful," he rasps, voice rough as gravel. "Or this ends faster than either of us wants."

She smirks, unrepentant. "Then perhaps you should take what you want, you do have great strength after all.."

Aeron's eyes flash violet fire igniting and in the next heartbeat, he flips them, pressing her back into the furs of the bed. His weight pins her, unyielding, as he drags her wrists above her head, shackling them with one hand.

"You asked for this," he murmurs.

Daenerys arches, a gasp tearing from her throat, not in pain, but in triumph. This is what she'd craved, the raw, unfiltered force of him, the way he moves like a man who's spent a lifetime mastering control only to shatter it for her.

Aeron doesn't give her time to adjust. He sets a brutal pace, dragging a moan from her lips, each snap of his hips stealing her breath.

She writhes, nails scoring his back, but he only growls and bites down on her shoulder, marking her as surely as his shadows mark the earth.

"Look at me," he demands.

She does.

Their eyes lock, violet meeting violet and in that moment, there's no throne, no war, no dead waiting in the snow. There's only this, the slick heat between them, the shared rhythm of their breaths, the unspoken truth that neither will ever yield.

Daenerys felt her thighs clamping around him as pleasure crests. Aeron's grip on her wrists tightens, his pace turning erratic, and when she shatters, her cry is muffled against his mouth.

****

The silence that followed their shared climax was not empty. It pulsed. With breath. With heartbeat. With a strange and growing stillness that settled between them.

Now both lying in bed, Aeron, his forehead still resting gently against hers. Daenerys could feel the slow thud of his heart, could hear the faint sound of the wind trying and failing to breach the tent's walls.

Her eyes opened first. He was watching her. Not like a conqueror or a king.

But like a man who had stepped too close to fire and hadn't minded the burn.

"You're just staring," she murmured, voice low, throaty.

Aeron said nothing at first. Just let his thumb brush along her jaw, tracing the line where his stubble had marked her skin with kisses. His fingers were rough, warrior-calloused, yet his touch was careful, reverent in a way that made her chest tighten.

"I was making sure you were real," he said finally.

Daenerys blinked, caught off guard by the softness behind the words.

She reached up, her fingers trailing along the side of his face, brushing through strands of dark hair damp with sweat and snowmelt. "I've been called many things," she whispered, "but never a dream."

"Well, I've been used to blood and corpses by now, I had no time to rest.." Aeron said. "But now… now it feels like the cold can't reach me here at all."

He dipped his head again, pressing a kiss to her shoulder. Then another, just below her collarbone. Then one to the swell of her breast, slow and lingering. He wasn't seeking to reignite the fire just yet he was stoking its embers. Keeping it alive between them.

Daenerys exhaled softly and let her hands wander. They smoothed along his back, then up his spine, until her fingers curled behind his neck, keeping him close. "Is this what it's like," she asked quietly, "to feel safe?"

Aeron didn't answer.

Instead, he shifted beside her, rolling to his side and pulling her with him, wrapping one arm tightly around her waist. Her back met the heat of his chest, and his breath found her neck, steady and warm.

Outside, the blizzard still raged. But in here, it might as well have been summer.

He nuzzled gently into her hair. "Rest, Daenerys. what comes next will not allow much of it."

She smiled to herself, eyes fluttering shut. "Don't tell me you're a romantic now, Shadow Monarch."

Aeron chuckled, the sound rumbling against her back. "I'm a realist. becaues I know what is waiting out there in the cold."

"Let it wait a little longer," she whispered.

****

The storm had not ceased.

Snow and ice fell in thick curtains, the wind dragging it sideways in erratic gusts that howled, but within the tent, the air remained warm protected by firelight and shadow alike.

Daenerys slept, undisturbed by the storm's fury. Her body curled beneath thick furs, pale skin catching the flicker of the brazier beside the bed. A lock of her silver hair had fallen across her cheek. Her breathing was slow, steady the rhythm of someone who, for the first time in many nights, did not dream of fire or war.

Aeron watched her from across the tent, his form half-draped in the dark cloak that shifted with the shadows around him. He stood near the tent's entrance, one hand resting lightly on the wooden frame as the cold seeped through a narrow opening in the flap.

His eyes glowed faintly, violet flame smoldering within blackness as they moved from her sleeping form to the white void beyond the entrance.

Outside, shadow-sentinels marched their silent patrol, shapes moving through the snow like memories given form. No torches. No chatter. They did not feel the cold, nor did they question the wind's bite. Their presence kept the outer camp protected in a way no mortal host ever could, but still… Aeron remained.

Still and watchful.

A breath curled from his lips, misting in the cold draft.

"It seems almost peaceful… this weather," he murmured.

The words were low, barely more than a thought given voice, his gaze lingered on the snowstorm not with awe, but with wariness, like a man listening for a whisper buried beneath the wind.

Behind him, the fire crackled.

Daenerys shifted slightly in her sleep, a soft breath catching as her hand reached instinctively for the space where he had once lain. Even in dreams, she sought his warmth.

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