Divide and Conquer, Chapter 35: The Forging of the Empire

Sixth Moon, 126 AD (25 AC)

Aerion

It was Midyear’s Day of the one hundredth and twenty-sixth year since the Doom of Valyria. But once the day had passed, they would never again date their calendar from the Doom, from that day of tragedy and disaster. They would date it from a day of glory and power, a date that would forever be remembered for the greatness of his house.

At long last they were ended. After almost thirty years, the Wars of Conquest had come to an end at last. The Liberation of the Riverlands, the Iron and Gold War, the Coalition War against the Faith and the remaining Andal kingdoms, the Warg War, the Conquest of Dorne, the Disciplining of the Daughters, and all the other campaigns had concluded.

In the past few months, they had finished the final consolidation of their new territories and tributaries in Dorne and Essos, moving large amounts of treasure, magical and historical artifacts, tomes of knowledge and lore, and freed slaves and other immigrants to help repopulate the depopulated regions of Westeros and forever change the fate of the continent, altering the demographic composition and loyalty of its peoples.

With full dominance of the Free Cities and Westeros, formalized in the treaties signed by the former, House Targaryen had asserted its position as the Last of the Forty Families, heirs to and rightful successors of the Valyrian Freehold and its role as Mother and Hegemon of the Daughters, the Free Cities.

Many Valyrian-blooded scions and elites had been taken as hostages from their cities to the court of Summerhall in Westeros, where they would serve as courtiers and intermarry with the local nobility, bringing their skills and purity of Valyrian blood to enrich Westeros at the expense of their homelands who knew them to be hostages for good behavior and compliance.

Those hostages were joined by dignitaries, lords, envoys, and nobles hailing from all across the Known World. From all corners of Westeros between the Wall and the Summer Sea, every noble, every Master, Keeper, Defender, and Warden, and from the Free Cities and the Summer Isles and beyond, even from lands as far as Qarth, Saath, and Ibben.

All had come at the bidding of House Targaryen to bear witness to their glorious ascension and do them their rightful homage.

Each and every single one of them was looking in awe and suspense, and Aerion knew why. The Hall of a Hundred Hearths had had some notable new additions since the last time it had been open to the public and court had been held within. Where the old throne his father had used since Summerhall had been taken from the Hoares all those decades ago was now a black fused dragonstone dais with steps creating a raised platform upon which the crystallization of his family’s vision sat.

The Iron Throne.

Melted down and reforged from thirty years’ worth of swords and other weapons taken as trophies from all the conquered foes of the Wars of Conquest, it was not a rusted and dangerous mishappen monstrosity like his father had seen in that alternate world.

No, it was deadly and elegant, with a large block of solid smooth metal at its center. The railing and steps were forged into the throne itself, with the latter inlaid in dragonbone. They led up to a high seat of solid Valyrian steel cushioned and draped luxuriously with red velvet and silk. Dragonbone armrests extended from the seat, carved in the shape of dragon heads with ruby gemstones embedded in the eyes. Fixed right into the seat beside the armrest heads where the user’s wrists would be stood two tall candle holders and dark red glass candles that could be lit at will, standing vigil like an acolyte before an altar and making the throne an all-seeing seat from which a monarch could survey the entire realm and speak with their servants from afar.

Swords were partially sheathed into the sides and base of the throne, running all along and up to the back where they formed a crown of blades jutting outwards up above and behind the seat in a symmetrical pattern so the entire throne looked almost like a hill of swords. Every blade was dulled for safety and made identical, for the swords and metal used in the throne had been remade anew by Taro Mott and the other smiths that had labored for months beside his father and Balerion to create the impressive structure with blood magic and skill.

It was a tower of glory; despite its name, all the iron and steel within the throne had been reforged and enchanted in the Valyrian ways of old, the dark smoky ripples making it clear to all that it was true Valyrian steel. It was possessed of a strange and harsh beauty, all black and fiery, with red swirls running all over it so that at the right angle it might look like the embers of a fire burning blood red in the dark night sky.

By law, none but the reigning monarch may sit on the throne. Regents, consorts, chancellors, and even crown princes would use a humble wooden chair placed at the base of the throne when holding court in the Emperor’s name, to ensure that none of them ever thought beyond their station and grasped for more than they should have, that there was no mistake in the eyes of the people who the true ruler of the realm was.

Fiery red lettering was inscribed in the dais upon which the Iron Throne rested, carved into the dragonstone by magic and thus permanent and unalterable unless spells and rituals were used to alter them. It was no simple décor either, the lettering was a full transcription of the Dynastic Laws of House Targaryen and had also been inscribed upon the walls and pillars of the Hall of a Hundred Hearths. After today’s ceremony, written copies would be sent out to every corner of the realm as well so that all would know and understand them.

The Dynastic Laws had taken up the rest of their time since the final campaigns in Essos had ceased. Even as they had overseen the final consolidations of their conquests, the forging of the Iron Throne, and the preparations for today’s ceremony, they had been hard at work finalizing the codex that would be the foundation upon which their dynasty would be built. Hence the reason for carving it permanently into the dragonstone upon which the Iron Throne had been set.

It had been a code decades in the making, the pinnacle of his father’s vision and master plan. A full codex of laws governing and outlining the rights and responsibilities of every member of their family in relation to each other and to the head of house, especially in matters concerning succession, dragons, cadet branches, Exceptionalism, polygamy, incest, and the importance of maintaining the purity of the blood of the dragon.

The final document had been signed by every member of their family old enough to hold a pen, Aerion and all of his siblings, their children, and their parents, giving it a legal basis that could not be challenged. No one could simply alter the laws, not even his father, and not Aerion either when he eventually ascended the Iron Throne.

And that had been by design. For the laws themselves declared that they could not be altered unless an amendment was proposed by the head of House Targaryen and ratified by two-thirds of the dragonriders, ensuring that no future ruler could simply change the succession or give out dragons to the unworthy on a whim, as had happened in the world his father had seen.

The Dynastic Laws were sacred; they would be the bedrock upon which their dynasty and the peace they had won would rest. A sacrosanct constitution that governed all the critical functions and protocols of the realm and its dragonriders.

It was his father’s great vision becoming a reality at last. His dream, his throne, his laws, and his realm. And one day, it would be Aerion’s responsibility to maintain and protect them.

The idea would have been terrifying to him once. It still was to a part of him, but Aerion was no longer the green-as-grass young prince that had gone to war to protect his country and made so many foolish mistakes. He had fought and bled in many battles, waged countless wars, and endured hardship and strife. And that crucible had forged him into something more.

He felt a certain surety now. Though he hoped it would be many more years yet until the time came for him to ascend the throne, he knew that when it did, he and his family would be ready for it.

Aerion’s eyes glanced over to where his beloved sister-wife, Valaena stood with their six children. There was Aegon, whom they had named for their father, a boy of fourteen and yet already looking so tall and strong. Aerion felt secure in his lineage and family knowing that one day, Aegon, the Second of His Name, would rule well after him.

Aegon’s younger siblings mulled around as well, the impatience and intemperance of youth clashing with the duty and training compelling them to stand still. Vaella, Baelon, Daemon, Jaehaerys, and Jaehaera, all young but healthy and growing fast.

How time flew. Sometimes it felt like only yesterday that Valaena, he, and their siblings had been where they had been and yet now all of them had children of their own, even the youngest, Aemon and Elaena.

He looked around, seeing all of his siblings and their children, their parents’ grandchildren, standing in line, looking every inch the proud scions of the Last of the Forty, as they waited for the ceremony to begin at last.

Finally, it began. A triumphant symphony of horns sounded as a platoon of Dragonguard entered, carrying reverently the crowns and regalia of the Hoares, Lannisters, Arryns, Durrandons, Gardeners, Starks, Martells, and every other major royal and ruler their family had conquered or destroyed during the Conquest. They held them aloft for all to behold, like trophies on display, as his aunt announced his father’s current set of titles one last time.

“All hail His Grace, Aegon of House Targaryen, the First of His Name, King of the Rivers and Hills, King of the Isles and Rock, King of Mountain and Vale, King of the Storms and Reach, King of the North and Dorne, King of the Three Daughters, Lord of Summerhall and Dragonstone, Protector of the Realm, and Shield of His People!” she proclaimed, looking pleased as she always did when she announced that long list.

His father was dressed magnificently, with the full regalia that had been prepared by Taro Mott and the other craftsmen. He wore a thick red velvet cloak and beneath it was a full set of Valyrian steel armor, one of the sets that they had found in Maegon’s vault long ago and expertly reworked into a symbol of strength and glory.

Though the armor was made out of full plate with a Valyrian steel-mail undershirt, similarly to the Dragonguard, the plate was made to resemble dragon scales and looked like traditional Valyrian-steel scale armor while the helm had a stylized head resembling Balerion, like a Dragon-Helm of old.

Attendants and Dragonguard carried his father’s sword, Blackfyre, as well as an orb, a sceptre, and a ring with two intertwined dragon heads, all made out of Valyrian steel, gold, silver, and other precious metals and gems as befit the crown jewels of their new empire. Aerion’s mother meanwhile carried the traditional Valyrian steel crown his father had worn since his first coronation as King of the Rivers and Hills all those years ago, a crown many had already started referring to as the Crown of Conquest.

Aerion couldn’t help but wonder if perhaps one day, the ruby necklace he had given to Valaena might pass to their son as yet another crown jewel, especially given all the work she was doing to enchant it. It would be an amulet more than fit for kings and emperors.

The hall fell completely silent as his father walked to the front of the dais to address the crowd, the attendants bearing his crown jewels following him closely as his father took off his helmet and handed it to yet another attendant.

“My lords, friends, envoys, and dignitaries from far off realms, thank you for being here today,” his father greeted. “I welcome you here to my hall on this auspicious day. For the past twenty and nine years, my house and I have waged the Wars of Conquest to bring all the lands of Westeros between the Wall and the Summer Sea to heel as well as compel the submission of the Free Cities. Now at long last, after almost three decades, the work is complete.

“As you all heard from my queen’s proclamation, I am now, by right of conquest and glory, King of the Rivers and Hills, King of the Isles and Rock, King of Mountain and Vale, King of the Storms and Reach, King of the North and Dorne, and King of the Three Daughters,” he said, gesturing to all the crowns and regalia of the conquered kingdoms.

With a wave of his hand, the Dragonguard stopped holding those trophies aloft and took them away.

“But those are titles for lesser men. Lesser crowns for lesser kings. They will never be used again, beyond simply being relics of a bygone era, trophies for the glory of my house. For I have a far greater crown to wear and a far mightier title to bear. From the very day I first set foot upon this continent, I knew that I could never be but a mere king.

“Before you all is the Iron Throne! A symbol of conquest and unity! For I have taken all the swords and weapons of my defeated enemies and had them melted down and reforged into one new whole! A hill of swords! A throne made out of Valyrian steel and dragonbone! A literal symbol and representation of many becoming one whole greater than the sum of its parts! A worthy seat for a mighty realm greater than any mere kingdom!

“This day, Midyear’s Day, will forever be remembered and celebrated as a national annual holiday for years to come, for it shall mark the beginning of a new era; the age of petty kingdoms is at an end! Here and now, I declare the dissolution of the kingdoms of old and proclaim their forging into an Empire of Westeros that shall endure for a thousand years! An empire of many lands and peoples that have been brought together as one just as the many swords and pieces of the Iron Throne have been remade into one whole!

“From Skagos and the Wall to the Arbor and the Summer Sea, from Lonely Light to the Narrow Sea and the Verdant Heel of Essos and the Three Daughters of Tyrosh, Lys, and Myr, there shall be only one throne, one banner, one empire, one emperor!”

Aerion had kept his eyes peeled on his father, enraptured by his speech, yet he couldn’t help but tear his gaze away to see how everyone else was reacting and their reaction was most pleasing. Upon all the faces of the crowd full of nobles, vassals, and dignitaries, Aerion saw looks of amazement, awe, devotion, and fear.

“The Iron Throne rests upon a dais of dragonstone inscribed with the most sacred laws, the Dynastic Laws of the imperial dynasty of Targaryen itself. Those laws are the unbreakable foundation upon which the Empire shall be built! Couriers and ravens shall carry their full texts to every corner of the realm along with the proclamation of a new empire, a new Imperial Calendar, and the immediate commencement of the Year 0 IC that shall last for six months until the turn of the year at which point 1 IC shall begin, while the previous months of the year from the last turn shall be remembered in records as 0 BE, Before Empire,” Aerion’s father continued and he turned his gaze back to him as he concluded his speech.

He took off his armored gauntlets and in full view of the crowd, took the ring and slid it onto his fingers before taking all the other crown jewels and symbols of power. He took Blackfyre and strapped it to his belt before picking up the sceptre and finally as he was right at the steps of the throne, he bowed slightly before his mother, allowing her to place the familiar crown atop his head.

The silence was almost suffocating in the room as his father climbed up the stairs of the Iron Throne, the sound of his footsteps upon the dragonbone stairs echoed across the hall before he finally seated himself upon the chair at the top. Near instantly, the two glass candles beside the armrests lit up and burned furiously, their strange light warping the colors as they always did.

His aunt Rhaenys heralded him again then.

“All Hail His Imperial Majesty, Exalted Above All Gods and Men, Aegon of House Targaryen, the First of His Name, Emperor of Westeros, King of the Valyrians, the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of Summerhall and Dragonstone, Archon of Valyria, Grand Marshal of the Dragonlords, Protector of the Realm, and Shield of His People!”

Aerion remembered his aunt’s relief when it had become clear that his father’s list of titles would not be shortened due to all of the changes and the joyful look on her face when it had in fact gotten longer. He really didn’t want to think on the why’s for all of that, shaking off the thought to focus back on the ceremony as he proclaimed with pride, “Long live the Emperor! Long live the Empire!”

The crowd and the rest of his family chorused his proclamation seven whole times, only stopping as the familiar instrumental opening notes of All Hail Targaryen began to play.

Truth and hope in our Motherland!

And death to every foe!

Our soldiers shall not pause to rest,

We vow our loyalty!

Old traditions they will abide,

Arise young heroes!

Our past inspires noble deeds,

All Hail Targaryen!

Immortal beacon shows the way,

Step forth and seek glory!

Hoist your swords high into the clouds!

Hail Targaryen!

Our Emperor stands astride this world,

He’ll vanquish every foe!

His truth and justice shine so bright,

All hail his brilliant light!

Never will he be overthrown,

Like mountains and sea,

His bloodline immortal and pure,

All Hail Targaryen!

So let his wisdom guide our way,

Go forth and seek glory!

Hoist your swords high into the clouds!

Hail Targaryen!

Only one word had been changed in the lyrics from the original iteration of the anthem, swapping out ‘King’ for ‘Emperor’. Though if there ever was an Empress (Regnant) in the future, they’d have to alter even more lyrics accordingly.

Once the song ended, Aerion’s father descended from the throne and Aerion’s mother and aunt moved forward to kneel before where he stood right at the base of the throne’s steps. With the attendants bringing forth their Valyrian-steel circlets on pillows, his father held them aloft and crowned them both just as he had exactly twenty-nine years ago, this time as his Empress-consorts and as the Third and Fourth Marshal respectively of the new Order of Dragonlords formed by the Dynastic Laws.

After his mother and aunt, Aerion knelt before his father and was invested and crowned as the Crown Prince of the Empire with all the power and responsibility that entailed, recognized as heir apparent and second to none in the entire realm or the Elder Council but his father. Not even his mother and aunt were considered to have authority greater than his anymore, even if their rank was theoretically still higher. Accompanying this authority, was his title as Second Marshal of the Dragonlords, first lieutenant of his father in his role as the First/Grand Marshal.

Once Aerion was invested, his sister-wife, children, siblings, and nephews and nieces were all invested in turn as Princes and Princesses of the Empire with all the responsibilities, titles, and privileges that accompanied that title. His younger brothers, Aegor, Aenar, and Aemon were also additionally created as Grand Princes of the Blood, heads of their own Princely cadet branch houses with their own landed estates and incomes, seals, coats of arms, and hereditary rights to dragons as outlined in the Dynastic Laws they had all consented to and signed.

Aegor had been created as Grand Prince of the Blood Azantys, Aenar as Grand Prince of the Blood Ondoryen, and Aemon as Grand Prince of the Blood Calanyon. And while they were allowed to wear Valyrian-steel circlets as Princes of the Empire and members of the Imperial Family, to pass on down to their grandchildren whom would not be extended that lofty title, they were re-bestowed their Valyrian steel swords Heartsbane, Lamentation, and Vigilance as symbols of their office and rank as Grand Princes of the Blood. No doubt a tradition of all future Princely Houses being bestowed a Valyrian steel sword upon creation.

Aerion knew that his brothers and their children would never betray him and his own children, but they had all learned too much from their father’s visions of that other world to believe it would last forever. The Princely Houses of the Blood and the Dynastic Laws by which they were bound would, with any luck, ensure that there would never be a Dance of the Dragons.

The long years of the Wars of Conquest had come to an end and the Iron Throne had been forged. Now began the Imperial Peace.

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Author’s Note: I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! The Empire has been forged at long last!

Note, Aegon’s helmet is inspired by the Dragon-Helm of Dor-lómin, his ring by the Ring of Barahir, and Valaena’s ruby necklace by the Amulet of Kings. I have also attached some images on what the Dragon Helm look like as well as Aegon’s Valyrian steel armor!

Definitely check the Elder Council Appendix again for a refresher on the roles, powers, and responsibilities of the Crown Prince and Empress-Consort as well as the organization of the Empire and the Elder Council in the epilogue now that the Empire has finally been created in the main story!

Along the topic of appendices, the Dynastic Laws that have been mentioned so many times in this chapter and are so crucially important have also been written out, at least in an abridged form with all the important points presented. Definitely read that as well!

Please let me know your thoughts, suggestions, and questions in the comments below or over on Discord!

There’s just two chapters of Divide and Conquer left so stay tuned for the last ride of the story!