Solo Leveling in Westeros

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KING'S LANDING – DRAGON GATE – MORNING LIGHT 

The great dragon gate one of the seven gates that surround the huge walls of King's Landing groaned open with a low metallic wail, dust and age bleeding from their ancient hinges as the first light of day crept across the cobbled streets. No war horns. No siege towers. No fire. 

Just silence. 

Then, the rhythmic sound of sandals and boots striking stone. 

The Unsullied. 

Row upon row of steel and discipline. Spears upright. Shields gleaming. Faces serious beneath the weight of unshakable obedience. At the front, mounted in dark armor, Grey Worm, eyes cold and unwavering, scanned the city like he was reading it for a weakness. 

The people of the city had gathered. Not by command, but by instinct drawn like flies to the scent of upheaval. Merchants abandoned their stalls. Mothers clutched children to their skirts. And the old muttered prayers under their breath, hoping the gods still remembered them. 

"The Guards just opened the gates like that... and they are not fighting at all.." someone whispered. 

"The Targaryen banner..." another muttered. 

"Are they... here to kill us.. Or is this what Lord hand meant.." 

And then came the true terror. 

From beyond the ranks of Unsullied, the shadows came. 

Not from alleys or from under foot, but walking marching. 

Shadow Knights. 

Their entire figures and armor black as moonless night, eyes burning faintly with violet glow, weapons at their sides but unsheathed. No sound escaped them. No breath. No life. At their head, a woman in armor, Raya, first among Aeron's lieutenants, her stride smooth and poised, her gaze focused only on the Red Keep ahead. 

The people recoiled. 

"Gods..." 

"... it's them." 

But no sword was drawn. No wall scaled. No child harmed. 

They came to conquer without a blade lifted. 

And then 

The Bell. 

It rang across the city like the sound of judgment itself. Not the panicked bell of invasion. Not the roar of dragons or the clash of men. 

But the bell of surrender. 

Three long peals. 

King's Landing had fallen without a scream. 

Men wept. Some knelt in confusion, others in relief. Soldiers dropped their arms, and mothers still unsure clutched their babes tighter but did not run. 

From high above it all, standing on the balcony of the Red Keep, a figure watched. 

Aeron Grim. 

Clad in his armor and black cloak, the violet glow of his eyes simmered as he leaned forward on the stone balustrade. His hair stirred slightly in the morning wind, as did the black mist coiling faintly at his boots. 

He saw everything. 

And felt nothing. No sense of victory. No satisfaction. 

"How easy," he murmured, his voice low but echoing in the silence around him. "Just like that. This world is really too fragile for me..." 

He sighed, almost disappointed. 

The people had surrendered faster than even the shadow of fear had fully settled. 

"Well," he continued, folding his hands behind his back, "time to let Daenerys know she can come here, with her fleet, her dragons... her crown." 

He turned slowly, the violet in his eyes pulsing with a quiet storm. 

"And time for me to take care of the business in the North." His voice sharpened as he said it. "Once and for all." 

And then 

He vanished. in a soft hiss of black smoke, curling away from the stone like a wraith. 

In his place, a lone shadow soldier remained silent, watchful, and unmoving. 

**** 

DRAGONSTONE – PAINTED TABLE ROOM 

The Painted Table was littered with open scrolls, half-drained goblets, and flickering candlelight that cast long shadows across the stone walls. The sea wind whispered beyond the open balcony, stirring the long black and red banners of House Targaryen. 

Daenerys stood with her hands resting on the edge of the Painted Table, eyes locked on the coastline near King's Landing. Beside her, Varys, Tyrion, and Jorah stood in quiet conference. 

Missandei entered briskly with a small bundle of raven letters in her arms. She handed them to Varys with a bow. 

"One from Dorne," she said, and then handed a sealed one directly to Tyrion. "And one... addressed only to you, my Lord." 

Varys broke the wax with his usual grace and read in silence, his eyes scanning quickly, expression unreadable. Then, a faint smile pulled at the corner of his lips. 

"Dorne is pleased," he said, glancing to Daenerys. "Very pleased, in fact. They did not expect the new king to act so swiftly...nor with such... clarity and grace as they mentioned here.." 

He looked up, folding the scroll. 

"The Prince of Sunspear swears undying loyalty. He says he will sail north to King's Landing within the month. And..." his eyes flicked up at Daenerys, "he says he would love to see a Targaryen and this king on the Iron Throne when he does." 

Daenerys's lips curled slightly, pride flickering in her violet eyes. "so Dorne is with us, one less thing to worry about." she said. "He'll see a realm reborn." 

Jorah chuckled low in his throat. "Of course Dorne's pleased. Who would expect to see Tywin's head delivered like a wedding gift?" 

Tyrion's hand froze slightly mid-drink. A flicker of something crossed his face an involuntary wince that vanished in the next breath. He opened his own letter and read it in silence. His brow twitched. The corner of his mouth quirked upward. A slow exhale escaped him—relief. 

'So you are safe… thank the gods.' 

Daenerys looked over. "What is it?" 

Tyrion folded the letter quickly, slipping it into his doublet. "Ah, nothing of consequence," he said smoothly. "An old wine merchant in Lannisport finally agreed to refund me for a rather poor vintage." 

Daenerys narrowed her eyes briefly, but said nothing. 

Varys, however, observed him with sharp interest. The Spider knew the dwarf far too well, but he said nothing and Tyrion could feel those pale eyes pressing in. He knows, he thought. Of course he does. 

Just then, the doors creaked open and the wind shifted. 

A shadow knight, his obsidian form gliding with silent weight, entered the war room. He bowed with unnatural grace and extended a letter, not even sealed. 

Daenerys blinked. Jorah moved slightly toward her in reflex, but she waved him off. The knight remained still until Tyrion ever the brave fool reached for the letter. 

As he accepted it, he smirked and looked around the room. 

"Well, look at that," he said dryly. "Our king's own personal raven has arrived. Not quite as pretty as usual ones though, but far more punctual." 

Daenerys couldn't help but let out a breath of amusement. 

"Let's hear it then," she said. 

All eyes turned to Tyrion Lannister as he scanned the letter, The parchment was dark, slightly worn at the edges, yet the ink was freshly scrawled, bold, precise, and utterly unconcerned with formality. 

Tyrion cleared his throat, raised the letter, and began reading aloud in a tone equal parts bemused and wary. 

["To Her Grace, My Dear Daenerys Stormborn, Queen of the Andals and blah blah— 'I'm sorry but there is very little space in the paper to say the entire thing'. 

Don't bother docking at Blackwater Bay. Just sail straight into the city. Unless you like the smell of the sea. 

Enter the city. The lions and stags have stopped roaring and prancing. no banners left but dust. 

If you wait too long, the locals might crown a baker and call it a Free City like Braavos. 

So don't take too long or they'll start worshiping one of my shadow soldiers. 

I've had my fill with politics and diplomacy and noble hypocrisy for now... so I'm heading north. 

To kill the filth beyond the Wall. 

Be seeing ya. - Aeron. ] 

He lowered the parchment slowly. 

A stunned silence followed. 

Then, Daenerys lips parting, let out a laugh. A small, startled, almost incredulous laugh. 

"Well," she said, brushing her silver hair behind her ear, "he certainly has a way with words." 

Jorah remained quiet, arms crossed. Missandei blinked, half in disbelief. Varys exhaled through his nose, murmuring, "Seven save us... he actually did it alone just like he said he would.." 

Tyrion chuckled softly, the sound hollow in his throat. "A funny guy isn't it..." 

Then it hit him. 

The Lannister in him began connecting threads he hadn't noticed until just now until the weight of the letter made them impossible to ignore. His brow furrowed. His fingers tightened on the parchment. 

"So that's why…" 

"What is it?" Daenerys asked, noting the shift in his expression. 

Tyrion didn't look at her at first. He stared at the words again those final lines about heading north, the casual dismissal of diplomacy, the tone of a man finished with games. 

He finally looked up. 

"Nothing your grace." Tyrion said. 'that's why my Brother And Cersei fled the city. Gods... I thought they were just hiding or scheming. But no. They left. Actually abandoned the throne for good...' Tyrion thought to himself. 

He laughed again this time bitterly. 

'I can't believe it… Cersei actually did something smart.' 

Daenerys stepped forward, placing both hands on the Painted Table. Her eyes swept over the carved representation of King's Landing, now shadowed in the soft dawn light. 

"So the Capital is ours," she said slowly. 

Tyrion nodded. "Indeed, it is." 

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