Solo Leveling in Westeros

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The cold bit deep. Even through thick furs and layered cloaks, the chill seeped into Aeron's bones like an old curse. The road to the Wall was long, the trees of the Wolfswood thinning with every passing mile, giving way to the open, frost-laden lands of the North. 

The men of the Night's Watch escorting him were not the friendly sort. Hardened by exile and duty, they treated strangers with the same warmth as the icy winds that battered them. A few rode ahead, their hands never straying far from their swords. The rest kept Aeron in their periphery, like a pack of wolves unsure if they were walking with prey or a predator. 

One of them, a grizzled man with a missing ear, finally broke the silence. "You're an odd one, lad. Most who come this way ain't got a choice. You're the first I've seen in years that walks willingly into the cold... well the second.., Makes a man wonder… what are you running from?" 

Aeron smirked, shaking off the frost from his cloak. "If I were running, why the hell would I be heading to the Wall? There's no escape from that place." 

The man chewed on that for a moment before spitting into the snow. "A fair point." 

Still, the air remained heavy with suspicion, and Aeron knew their doubts wouldn't vanish overnight. 

**** 

Castle Black was a fortress of stone and wood, ancient yet worn by time. The walls stood tall, but not as imposing as the monstrous Wall itself—an icy behemoth stretching endlessly into the sky. Aeron had read about it, seen it in visions of another life, but nothing could compare to standing before it in the flesh. 

The banners of the Night's Watch flapped in the wind as they rode through the gates. Black-clad men moved about with purpose, some sparring in the yard, others hauling supplies. Their faces were a mixture of criminals, exiles, and broken men—some hardened, some still clinging to who they once were. 

Aeron was led straight to Jeor Mormont, the Lord Commander himself. The Old Bear sat by the fire in the main hall, his heavy fur cloak draped over his broad shoulders. He glanced up as Aeron entered, his sharp eyes studying him with interest. 

"So," Jeor rumbled, "what's this then? Another stray pup?" 

Aeron met his gaze without hesitation. "I was sent by the Lord of Winterfell as reinforcement." 

For a moment, silence. Then, the Old Bear laughed—a deep, hearty sound that filled the hall. "Hah! That's rich. Reinforcements, is it? From a single lowborn lad? You must think me a fool." 

Aeron only shrugged. "I don't think anything, Lord Commander. I go where I'm needed." 

Jeor's eyes lingered on him before he stood. "Alright, then. If Winterfell trusts you, let's see if you're worth your weight in steel. Pick a sword." 

Aeron arched a brow. "What for?" 

Jeor turned toward the training yard and called out, "Snow!" 

The name sent a jolt through Aeron. He knew who would answer that call. And sure enough, Jon Snow emerged from the barracks, dressed in black, Longclaw strapped to his back. His face was sharp, pale from the cold, and his dark curls were damp with sweat from training. 

"It's actually him," Aeron thought to himself, suppressing the strange feeling of recognition. 

Jon approached, his expression unreadable. 

"Your opponent," Jeor said simply, gesturing toward Aeron. 

Jon frowned, glancing between them. "Him? He's not even sworn to the Watch." 

"Even better, we won't feel sorry if he ends up dying here. " 

Jon exhaled through his nose, then nodded. "Alright, then." 

Aeron grabbed a sword from the rack, testing the weight. He turned to Jon and smirked. "I never expected to spar with you of all people." 

Jon's lips twitched, but he didn't bite. Instead, he stepped into the yard, rolling his shoulders. The crowd gathered, eager for a distraction from their usual routine. 

They exchanged looks, both at the ready wasting no time Jon moved first, his footwork precise, his blade swift. Aeron barely had time to bring his sword up before steel met steel in a sharp clang. The force of the impact sent a jolt up his arms. 

Jon didn't hesitate—he pressed forward, each strike faster, sharper, relentless. He wasn't just skilled; he was a natural, molded by years of training. 

Aeron was forced on the defensive, barely managing to parry the onslaught. Sparks flew from their blades, breath misting in the cold air as they clashed again and again. The gathered brothers of the Watch watched with keen interest, murmuring among themselves. 

Jon was better. That much was clear. But Aeron had something else. Ruler's Authority. 

As Jon went for a downward slash, Aeron barely sidestepped, extending his hand without touching him. 

Jon's wrist jerked—just slightly—throwing off his balance. 

It was subtle, nearly imperceptible, but Aeron saw it in Jon's eyes—the flicker of confusion. 

Aeron took advantage, pushing forward with sudden aggression. He twisted his grip, parried hard, and sent Jon stumbling back. 

Jon recovered quickly, but now there was something different in his expression. He knew something was off. 

Aeron grinned. "Getting tired, Snow?" 

Jon didn't answer. Instead, he adjusted his stance—and lunged. Aeron countered, but this time, he didn't rely solely on his sword. With a subtle flick of his fingers, he shifted a stone beneath Jon's boot. Jon tripped. Only slightly. But it was enough. Aeron stepped in, blade to his throat before Jon could recover. 

Silence. 

Jon stared at the blade, his chest rising and falling. His grip on his sword tightened—then loosened. He stepped back, exhaling heavily. 

The crowd erupted into murmurs. Some were impressed. Others skeptical. 

Jeor Mormont stroked his beard. "Hmph. That was something." 

Jon wiped his brow, eyeing Aeron carefully. "You're fast." 

Aeron smiled. "You're better. I just cheat sometimes you see." 

Jon laughed, shaking his head. "I'll have to learn a few things from you then." 

Jeor chuckled. "Not bad, lad. Not bad at all. But don't get too comfortable. We're not in the business of handing out victories. The real test is yet to come." 

Aeron sheathed his sword, his mind already turning. 

**** 

The hall of Castle Black was dimly lit, the fire at its center flickering against the stone walls. The night was bitterly cold, the kind that crept into a man's bones and refused to leave. Aeron sat with a cup of watered-down ale in his hands, barely sipping from it as the gathered black brothers exchanged murmured conversations. 

Then, Jeor Mormont's voice cut through the room like a blade. 

"We're planning a ranging beyond the Wall," he announced, his gravelly tone leaving no room for debate. "Too many missing rangers. We need to find out what's happening in the far North. Those who ride with us will be tested—not just by the cold, but by whatever's out there." 

A silence settled over the room. Beyond the Wall was a place only fools and dead men took lightly. 

Aeron leaned forward, tapping a finger against the rim of his cup. This was it. This was his chance. 

"I'll go," he said without hesitation. 

A few men snorted, others laughed outright. 

"The hell you will," one of them—a thick-bearded ranger with a scar running down his cheek chuckled. "You think just 'cause you won a spar against Snow, you're fit to ride beyond the Wall?" 

Aeron met his gaze, unimpressed. "I think I'd last longer out there than you." 

Another brother, younger but with sharp eyes, smirked. "Aye? And what makes you so confident, lowborn? The gods whisper in your ear?" 

Aeron smirked back. "Something like that." 

The bearded ranger grunted, shaking his head. "Boy, the things beyond that Wall aren't just bandits and outlaws. It's the cold. It's the things you don't see 'til they're upon you. A pretty sword won't save you when the wind freezes your cock off." 

Aeron just took another sip of ale. "Good thing I'm not planning on losing my cock, then." 

Laughter rippled through the room at that, though some still eyed him with doubt. 

Jeor watched the exchange with mild amusement before speaking. "You bested Snow, and you've got no fear in your eyes. That's more than I can say for some. You'll accompany us either way." 

Some men grumbled at that. Others simply nodded, accepting Jeor's decision. 

Aeron set his cup down and stood, stretching his arms. 

"Good," he said, rolling his shoulders. 'That's the only reason why i came here anyways' Aeron thought to himself. 

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