The Shadowcat Prince
Fourth Moon, 128 IC/254 AD (153 AC)
What would Loren think?
Tyland couldn’t help but wonder sometimes. What would his ancestor think of how far House Lannister had come in the century that had passed since he had first fled the Wall and founded the Kingdom of Hardhome?
In that time, they had slowly spread out across all of Loren’s Point and the neighboring bay to the west, extending their influence up the coast all the way to the Antler River. New major settlements had been founded, such as Tygett’s Maw and Shadowcat Cove, that served as extensions of Hardhome itself and coordinated their trade and defense with the neighboring wildling clans along with their normal network of forts and watchtowers.
Shadowcat Cove was on the mouth of the Antler River and Tygett’s Maw was on the mouth of another river. Both rivers’ headwaters started deep inside the Haunted Forest, allowing their longships to penetrate deep inland to project power, acquire resources, and trade with the wildlings.
Their population had swelled. Loren had ruled twenty thousand souls, Tyland’s father, Tygett, ruled over a hundred and fifty thousand. A vast population that had been grown by the natural births of Loren’s original founding population, the assimilating of allied wildling tribes and clans that had settled in their lands and eventually joined with their people, and the continuous flow of prisoners and exiles from the Empire which used them as a replacement penal colony after the abolition of the ancient Night’s Watch. Some of those prisoners sent from south of the Wall ended up as thralls or concubines similarly to the captives taken whenever they made war upon their enemies, further helping to grow their population as the first generation of untrustworthy men and women were made to serve them while their children were born free and raised as true folk of Hardhome.
This population was tiny even compared to the least of the wards and provinces of the Empire, but beyond the Wall, they were the single greatest clan or tribe. Greater even than the Thenns. And they fed their people in many ways, with whatever crops they were able to grow and scratch off the cold barren rocks of the Far North, the creatures they hunted and reared in their lands and beyond, and the vast bounty of the sea which brought them a great wealth of whales, seals, fish, crabs, lobsters, urchins, and more to eat and trade.
Whatever they could sell and trade they would, trading furs, ambers, fish, and more with the Imperial Wards of Skagos, Last Hearth, Karhold, and even beyond, with some of their longships, cogs, and whalers heading as far as White Harbor, Braavos, and Ibben. And often, they would return with not gold, but ever more food or resources of some kind that would help them survive winters.
Their shipbuilding and stoneworking was quite limited in the North, and Loren had invested much in bringing as many of those resources and men trained in those trades when he had moved North. There was only one major stone fortification in their whole kingdom, built during the days of the Night’s Watch, and there was only one shipyard capable of truly building and repairing ships meant for the deep open sea. Both of them were at Hardhome itself. The rest of their kingdom relied on wooden buildings and palisades, and built longships for travel, trade, and war.
Ever they traded desperately with the Empire and their other trading partners, hoping to acquire more knowledge and resources to improve and expand their shipyards and their stone and metalworks. They even had far-fetched hopes of one day acquiring enough glass to build a proper glass garden.
Gold was near useless beyond the Wall. You could not eat gold in the depths of winter; you could not use it to keep warm in the night chill. Whatever gold they had, they kept only for trade with southerners and outsiders, for all trade in the lands beyond the Wall were conducted solely by barter.
It was a rather far cry from the life his famous ancestor must have led once. Loren the Founder had been King twice in his life, but Tyland was in line only to inherit his second kingdom. His first had been a faraway land to the south, full of bounty, warmth, and mountains of gold.
Casterly Rock, oh how did his ancestor lament its loss and write endlessly of its beauty and glory. Yet to his sons and grandsons who had no memory of it, it was nothing more than the shadow of a ghost.
Even Loren’s banner had changed. No longer was it the roaring lion on red. His sons had swapped out the red field for a blue field and his grandsons the lion for a shadowcat, finding it more fitting. For what red was there to be found in the lands beyond the Wall? It was only the deep blue of the sea that gave them life and the night sky that guided their paths. What were lions to men who had never seen them before? Beyond the Wall, the shadowcat was the greatest and most beautiful cat there was, a fearsome predator that could challenge even the mighty direwolves and snow bears.
So yes, sometimes Tyland did truly wonder what Loren would think of Hardhome now. They had fulfilled his wildest dreams and hopes for Hardhome, building it into a truly thriving kingdom. Humble and meager yes, yet strong and prosperous in its own right. However, in doing so, they had adapted to their surroundings and changed far more than Loren would likely have wanted.
Their religion wasn’t even fully the same. Loren had left the Night’s Watch without any septons and barely any religious texts and had then proceeded to practice polygamy. They still considered themselves worshippers of the Seven, but their septs were nothing like those in the south (which had themselves been perverted by Imperial Exceptionalism).
The Targaryens had killed the Old Gods, destroying every last weirwood tree in the world, while those exiles who had first come to Hardhome had changed much of their religion without septons or texts to guide them. The end result was some mismatched religion, where they carved the faces of the Seven into seven trees in a circular grove and prayed and worshipped in those makeshift godswoods, or septwoods as some called them. Combining, evolving, and altering the traditions of both the extinct Old Gods and the diminished Faith of the Seven. Something Loren likely would have found heretical for all that he had strayed from his own faith by taking many wives into his bed.
Tyland shook the thoughts from his head as he approached his destination. His father’s solar, deep in the insulated depths of Hardhome Castle.
“You summoned me, Father?” he asked.
“Ah, Tyland! Yes, do come in, my boy,” came his father’s reply.
Tyland entered the room and took a seat in front of his father’s desk, taking in his appearance with no small amount of grief. The harsh conditions beyond the Wall could kill even the strongest man and his father was no longer as strong as he once was, having grown old and grey. A large part of why their family took so many wives so that they might have even one son that lived to have sons of their own. Tyland himself had had five stepmothers and eight brothers, yet only one had lived to adulthood with him.
“The time has come for us to deliver our annual tribute and homage to the Empire. I have collected an entire ship’s load full of shadowskins, furs, and other luxuries from our lands that even the court of Summerhall must find pleasing enough. I believe it is past time, that you delivered this tribute in person. As my heir, and eventual King of Hardhome, your forming of a direct relationship with the Dragon Emperor could only be to our people’s benefit.”
Tyland couldn’t help but scowl. “Why do we spend our days scraping up enough tribute to pay these far away dragonlords? What have they ever done for us and ours?”
His father grew alarmed. “Speak not aloud this foolishness! You never know who could be listening! Have you not heard the rumors of the Emperor’s Eyes? Of the glass candles that could spy even upon us here in the Far North?”
He whispered then. “You know why we do this, Tyland. Our people are dependent upon the Empire, upon the trade and food it brings us, the prisoners they send us to replenish our ranks. The Founder feared, and rightfully so, that the Targaryens could wipe us from this world with ease. So long as we pay tribute and appease the hunger of the dragon, we will nave naught to fear. And mayhaps, as they have in the past, if they find our tribute pleasing enough, they will give us gifts in return that will improve the lives of our people.
“You must go! Do this for our people. That is your duty. Am I understood?” his father demanded.
Tyland nodded, ashamed of his outburst. “Yes Father. I will go.”
“Good,” he said, content with his answer. “It is no mean task I give you, my son,” he reassured him. “All your doubts and misgivings will fade away as soon as you lay eyes upon the Imperial City.”
There was a strange look of wistfulness and quiet, aged awe in his father’s eyes. A nostalgic tone to his voice.
Tyland couldn’t understand for the life of him why his father felt this way, but perhaps he might, very soon.
_______________________________
Sixth Moon, 128 IC/254 AD (153 AC)
Loath as he was to give the Empire credit, Tyland knew the journey wouldn’t have been as safe and smooth as it was without them. The Imperial Navy patrolled the Narrow and Shivering Seas, keeping them completely clear of pirates and corsairs and making the trade lanes safe to travel.
With favorable winds, they had made good time from Hardhome, sailing south past Skagos and the Bay of Seals and stopping at ports along the way to rest and resupply. Every town and port they had visited was larger than Hardhome, something which had stung at his pride as much as it had awed him.
Finally, as they had passed the Vale, they had turned due west and sailed up the Bay of Crabs and the Trident, visiting the vast cities of Gulltown, Wickenden, Saltpans, and Maidenpool. Each of the four was larger than anything Tyland had ever dreamed possible and he had thought that surely there could be nothing greater.
Harroway had proved him wrong. The city stood astride the forks of the Trident and a vast artificial canal and river that led south, with several bridges linking the different sections of the immense city together. Their cog had been moored there, unable to go any further, and they had loaded up their cargo onto a river barge they had commissioned for the journey through the canal to Summerhall.
As they had headed south to the Imperial City, they had passed by gentle rolling hills and fields of farmlands as far as the eye could see. It was picturesque, pleasant, and beautiful, even if the temperatures were warmer than anything Tyland had ever known, even as mild as they should have been at the start of spring.
They had still been several days away from the city when he had spotted them on the horizon. Five enormous towers clawing into the sky like the digits of a black, menacing hand.
The captain of the barge had noticed his awestruck reaction and laughed. “Aye. There they are. The five towers of Summerhall. Each is well over a thousand feet or so they say, built with blood magic and sorcery, the same arcane arts that the Targaryens use to make Valyrian steel, cast fireballs, and keep their women and children safe from the dangers of childbirth and sickness.”
There was a strange reverence in the man’s voice, something almost worshipful.
“You admire the Targaryens?” Tyland could not help but ask.
“Of course I do,” the man said with pride. “Maybe it’s not something a Lannister of Hardhome like you can understand, but we are all dragon men down here. The seasons might continue to come and go, but the Targaryens have brought an eternal summer of peace and prosperity. Of warm halls and full bellies. That’s why the damn city has the name it does! You’ll not find a single soul there who does not worship that family and the Seven pray for you if you utter a word of insult against them,” the captain warned him sternly.
His speech was strange. Tyland always struggled to understand the Common the Southrons used. It differed so very much from what he was familiar with, mixed and muddied with words and grammar from a dozen different dialects of Valyrian as it was and filled with unfamiliar slang and accents. He was able to parse the captain’s meaning well enough in the end though, and it left him with much to think about.
Even by ship on the river, it took another three days before they finally reached the city after they had first sighted the towers. If they took the road south from Harroway, he estimated they would have been able to see the towers at least a week’s ride before reaching the walls of the city.
As they neared the city, Tyland’s awe only grew. The towers that had seemed so distant and imposing even from afar became truly enormous as they approached within a day’s journey of the city. They soared high into the heavens, scraping the skies and parting the clouds like the topless towers of old. Dozens if not hundreds of dragons thundered and swarmed in the skies above the city, casting dark shadows over the land below, yet the tops of the towers seemed above even the heights where the dragons most often flew, and Tyland knew then why the greatest and tallest of the towers was known as Dragonsreach.
It was taller than some hills and mountains he had seen beyond the Wall, taller even than the foothills of the Frostfangs. Sixteen hundred and fifty feet high, the barge captain told him. More than twice the height of the Wall. It boggled his mind to even imagine such enormity and yet it stood right before his eyes now. Like a spike of dragonglass that soared into the sky, a tower of midnight that had survived till noon.
It was still miles and miles away though, separated from him by the entirety of the Imperial City. The Outer Wall easily rose over a hundred feet and two gargantuan forts guarded each bank of the approach where the river flowed into the city. Both were at least another forty feet taller than the Outer Wall. The entirety of Hardhome Castle could fit just into one of those forts, let alone two of them, and an enormous boom chain was lined across the river between both forts, linked to winches.
It was loose now, lowered to the bottom of the River Aelys to allow the great host of river traffic to pass into and out of the city, but Tyland knew that at a moment’s notice the winches in the forts could be cranked to pull the chain tight to the surface and bar entry to any ship.
There was no stench like one might expect from a city this size, only a pleasant lakeside breeze and the scent of good food roasting over an inn’s oven.
The barge continued its journey into the city, and Tyland felt smaller than ever as he beheld the huge riverside ports and markets of the city, which were by themselves larger than the town he had called home for his whole life. As the captain brought the barge in to moor at one of the docks, Tyland saw a company of armed men waiting for him.
“Greetings Prince Tyland! Welcome to Summerhall. I trust your journey has been pleasant?” the man at the head of the company said politely but not deferentially. He had the typical look of a Valyrian, with silver-gold hair and violet eyes.
“It was yes. Who are you?” Tyland replied.
“My name is Lord Rhaegar Perzan. I will be your host and guide for the duration of your stay here in Summerhall.”
At that, Tyland frowned. “Thank you, but I was under the impression that my men and I would be hosted at the castle. We are meant to pay homage to the Emperor.”
Perzan’s reply was quick and firm. “The Emperor has many things to see to and many guests who have arrived to pay tribute and homage. Your time will come. Until then, he has instructed me to offer you the hospitality of my manse and my guidance for a tour of the city before you are summoned to present yourself before His Majesty.”
Reluctantly, Tyland conceded, well aware that there was little he could do about it. With the help of Lord Perzan’s men, his party successfully moved all of their luggage, including the tribute, to a warehouse that he owned, before they were led to the man’s manse.
“Who exactly are you? And what is your position within the Empire, Lord Perzan?” Tyland asked as they walked.
“Lord Rhaegar if you would please. Perzans are a dime a dozen in this city. Lord Perzan could easily refer to a hundred other men apart from myself,” he replied.
Tyland was intrigued. “Is House Perzan truly so large and prosperous?”
At that, Lord Rhaegar smiled, his expression full of pride and triumph. “There is no House Perzan. Perzan is a surname given to all trueborn and pure members of House Targaryen that lack princely titles.”
“You are a Targaryen then?” Tyland was surprised. While Rhaegar Perzan did have the Targaryen look about him, he was well aware that the Empire had many, many Valyrians, and he had not thought him to be one of them.
“Yes. I am the Emperor’s third cousin, once removed, if we are being specific, and my right name is Rhaegar Targaryen-Perzan, though it is rare that anyone ever refers to me as such. The legend and prestige of the Targaryen name would be lessened if it was so simply used by a humble individual such as I, and so I am referred to solely as Rhaegar Perzan for the most part. The Targaryen part of my name and heritage would only be emphasized if the Emperor gave me the honor of riding a dragon of my own.”
“How many Targaryens are there then? And how many dragons?” Tyland asked, curious.
Rhaegar seemed to think on that answer, counting in his head before he replied. “I would say, easily more than four hundred Targaryens if one is to include the Imperial Family, the Princely Houses, and all the Perzans. As for dragons, the latest count I believe put it at two hundred and twelve, with one hundred and seventy-five bonded and ridden.”
“Princely Houses?” Tyland knew less about the Empire’s inner workings than he was comfortable admitting.
“Cadet branches who have so distinguished themselves that they are awarded the hereditary rights to dragons and princely titles. They take a second princely name in addition to Targaryen as well to distinguish their branch from all others. As you might imagine, it is the hope of many Perzans such as myself that we might one day serve well enough to be honored with a dragon and then a Princely House of our own, but such elevations are rare and storied.
“There have been many Targaryen-Perzan dragonriders, but only four have ever been created as the Grand Prince of a new Princely House in their own right. With the original three Princely Houses created by the Conqueror from his younger sons, that gives us a total of Seven Princely Houses of the Blood who stand above anyone else but the Imperial Family itself in status.” Perzan explained with a wistful look in his eyes.
Tyland could tell that the lack of a dragon or princely status was disappointing for the man, but he was tactful enough not to pry any further on the topic.
“What is it that you do with the Empire then? What rank do you hold?”
At that some, measure of pride and ego returned to Lord Rhaegar’s expression. “I may not be a prince, but as a Perzan I am considered equal in status with the Wardens, the greatest of the feudal nobles. And arguably the blood of the dragon that flows as strongly in my veins as it does in His Imperial Majesty’s puts me higher still.
“We Perzans may not have dragons or princely titles, but we have not been left bereft or penniless either. Each of us was given an estate of some kind. Some lands to call our own and raise produce on, some fine manses and business assets that we could grow into something more. And of course, we are more trusted than most others, called to serve and distinguish ourselves in honor within the Legion, the Navy, or the bureaucracy and ministries, all in the hope that one day, the Emperor might notice our deeds and make true our greatest dreams.”
Tyland nodded. He felt he was beginning to understand a little more about how the Empire worked.
“Your name, Perzan, is it derived from the Valyrian translation of House Targaryen’s words? Fire and Blood? ‘Perzys se Ānogar’?” he asked curiously.
Rhaegar looked genuinely surprised and intrigued by that. “I would not have thought a Lannister of Hardhome to possess any knowledge of High Valyrian.”
Tyland was pleased to have finally impressed one of the damn Imperials, to show them that Hardhome was more than just the backwater they no doubt thought it to be. “We may be humble and meager, but Hardhome is a faithful servant and tributary of the Empire and my father ensured that I and all my siblings received lessons with your mother tongue.
“I feel I would be more capable of attending court and conversing there than I would with the smallfolk on the city streets. The Common here is strange, and very much unlike what I am used to. High Valyrian at the very least is still familiar and consistent.”
There was an understanding look in Perzan’s face. “Yes, I do get what you mean. The Common spoken by the people has diverged a great deal from the language that had been spoken before the Conquest. A mongrel tongue, mingled with a dozen Essosi Valyrian dialects and constantly evolving. Imperial Common it is called. We are always trying to standardize it and guide its evolution, but it surprises even us sometimes with how fast it is developing and changing.”
“Still, my friend, it is not like your speech is any different. You may not have noticed it, but your people have picked up far more than you think from the barbaric accents and dialects of the wildlings,” Perzan prodded, almost mockingly.
To that, Tyland had no reply. Whether he agreed or not with the statement, he decided it would be best not to antagonize his host. He was about to ask another question when his eyes grew wide in astonishment as he noticed what was before them.
It was a huge manse, with its grounds covering almost as much land as Hardhome Castle did and was far grander to boot, with marble pillars and columns, colored glass windows, and lush gardens. It was easily richer and more luxurious than anything Tyland had ever seen back home and he could only imagine what staying in such a home might be like.
“Welcome to my humble home, Prince Tyland,” Rhaegar Perzan said with pride.
This was the home of a mere third cousin to the Emperor?? How wealthy the Empire must be if such a treasure could be easily granted to such distant kinsmen! He was almost terrified to imagine what the Imperial Castle of Summerhall itself would be like when he was finally granted his audience.
______________________________________
Rhaegar feasted Tyland and his men in his manse that night, and for the rest of the week he taught them the important etiquette and protocols of the Imperial Court in the nights while in the days he guided them in grandiose tours about the whole city. He had shown them the markets, the port, the university, the neighborhoods of the poor, the well off, and the wealthy alike, as well as the Dragon’s Way, the Imperial Arch, and the Imperial Basilica.
They had also walked through the Imperial Gardens and Menagerie on a most pleasant and peaceful day, and Tyland had been thrilled to finally see a lion for himself there, the ancient and former sigil of his house. Along with a great many other creatures, some of whom he could never have imagined even existing. White lions, pouch tigers, manticores, Little Valyrian lemurs, and even fearsome lizards who could walk on two legs like men.
Every single day that passed, every wonder or grand monument that he beheld, simply made Tyland more and more awed, and he felt smaller and lesser than ever before. Deep down, a part of him still grumbled that they would give any of their hard-earned treasures as tribute to such a wealthy and fortunate Empire that took its riches for granted, but he knew better than to speak that aloud.
The power and might of the Empire were beyond question, and he knew all too well that Hardhome could be so easily crushed like a gnat beneath their foot. They wouldn’t even need to send one of their two hundred and twelve dragons to do it. One of their legions might just suffice, and the Empire had thirty of those. Hardhome could barely muster at best some seven thousand warriors and they were not nearly as well armed or armored as the Imperial Legion.
No. Perhaps his father was right, as he so often was. There was wisdom in befriending such a mighty realm. The hope that your tribute might buy you ignorance at worst and kingly gifts and aid at best. There was precedent for it. The Dragon Emperor had gifted his father an entire ship the last time he had come to Summerhall in person.
They were so wealthy here, so obscenely rich it was beyond imagination. On a whim they could give as a gift something that would have cost a lesser man a fortune; a new flagship that had become the pride of Hardhome’s fleet as they were simply unable to build anything of its like on their own. And as the dragon giveth, the dragon so easily taketh away if it is made wroth.
Precious stones are pebbles indeed, Tyland thought, remembering the old saying about the wealth of the Empire.
He had even met a distant cousin of his during his time in the city, a Lannister of Lannisport who had come to ply his trade in the markets of the Imperial capital. He had instantly recognized Loren the Founder’s old banner, the gold lion on red, and he hadn’t been able to resist striking up a conversation with him and learning all he could of Lannisport, Casterly Rock, and the rest of his ancient homeland.
Tyland wondered if he might actually want to visit the Westerlands for himself once he was done here in Summerhall. But perhaps it would be best not to. The bitter blow to his pride might be too great if he saw all those wonders for himself and remembered they could have all been his if not for the dragons.
And speaking of dragons, one could not go a single day in the Imperial City without seeing at least a dozen in the sky, ridden or unridden. They flew freely and without ruckus, with the people of the city giving not a care for their presence. So used to them were they, so confident that they would bring them no harm. Some had even grown comfortable living beneath their shadows, drawing security and strength from the perceived safety of their protection.
For his part, Tyland could not help but look upon the dragons in both awe and terror every time they flew over the city. They were beautiful and majestic, yet also fearsome and terrifying to behold. Some of the larger dragons could roar so loudly it could be heard for miles and shake the entire city down to its foundations, and yet still the smallfolk here were not afraid.
He would never forget the day he saw Vhagar for the first time, all bronze and green and enormous. The last of the original three dragons of the Conquest, the largest living dragon left in the world now with Balerion and Meraxes passed from old age (Tyland had seen their skeletons for himself in the Imperial Mausoleum, they were as enormous as they were terrifying).
Vhagar’s roar was the loudest sound he had ever heard in his life. He had felt it vibrating his very bones and shaking the ground beneath his feet. Her wings darkened entire sections of the city when she flew overhead; he had watched her land at the top of Dragonsreach once and her wingspan had stretched halfway to the outer walls of the castle. The same castle Rhaegar had told him was three thousand and three hundred feet across from one end to the other.
And wasn’t that gargantuan? The entirety of Hardhome, not just the castle but the whole town, could fit inside Summerhall Castle. It was more than large enough to be a city in its own right, and yet it was only the centerpiece of a far larger and greater whole, a city home to more than a million souls.
Tyland’s mind could only be overcome with awe so many times. He could only take so many blows to his diminished ego and pride. He was almost thankful when the summons had finally come for his audience with the Emperor on the seventh day after his arrival in the city, but his feelings became rather more mixed when he finally arrived at the castle gates with Rhaegar.
They had travelled past the Imperial Arch and Basilica, past the two-hundred-foot grounds of land cleared for archers about the castle, and now standing before the gates of Summerhall Castle, Tyland felt like an ant.
The gatehouse alone was larger than the entirety of Hardhome Castle. And the walls were so high Tyland knew he would not have been able to see the five towers if they hadn’t themselves been ridiculously high. A part of him wondered how they even got water and the like up there, what sorcery or innovation allowed them to transport things that high? Winch elevators perhaps? Pipes powered by blood magic?
In the end, Tyland’s ruminations were cut off when the enormous gates swung open and allowed them passage into the largest castle ever built.
As they walked through the courtyard towards the famous Hall of a Hundred Hearths, Tyland beheld the enormous marble statues of Empresses Visenya and Rhaenys on either side of the entrance to the hall, Visenya with a sword and Rhaenys with a book in hand.
The Hall of a Hundred Hearths most definitely lived up to its name. Larger, and grander than any hall Tyland had ever stood in before. Fifty hearths lined the building on the left and the right, providing lighting and warmth to go with the sunlight entering through the colored windows in the galleries above the elevated walkway. And there at the end it stood.
The Iron Throne.
It was a hill of Valyrian steel, about forty feet high; a mass of dark swords sheathed into a central smooth block of solid metal that led up to a seat forged into the throne itself, covered in red velvet and dragonbone and crowned with blades.
And upon that seat, sat the most powerful man in the world. The Targaryen Emperor himself. The rider of Vhagar, the largest living dragon in the world. Aegon, Third of His Name.
People said that he was the spitting image of the Conqueror, and Tyland, having seen the statues and portraits of the Conqueror in the Imperial Mausoleum, could not help but agree. It must be the incest House Targaryen practiced that made it so, for with his silver-gold hair, his violet eyes, and his chosen haircut and styling, the Dragonkeeper looked exceedingly like his namesake and ancestor.
The heralds were quick to announce them as they approached the Iron Throne.
“Announcing Prince Tyland Lannister of Hardhome, and his guide, The Most Honorable Lord Rhaegar Perzan, a kinsman of His Imperial Majesty!”
The Dragonguard halted them as they approached the dais, close enough for Tyland to see the red lettering of the Dynastic Laws inscribed upon it.
“Halt! You stand before His Imperial Majesty, Exalted Above All Gods and Men, Aegon of House Targaryen, the Third 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! State your intentions!”
If he was anywhere else, Tyland would have laughed aloud at the absurdly long list of titles. Not here. If there was any other monarch in the world had the power to warrant such a list, he did not know, but he was not about to question the Dragon Emperor’s glory to his face.
He could feel his steely gaze upon him. Watching him, judging him. He could see the emissaries from other lands looking at him, some having come from as far as the Free Cities, Summer Isles, Qarth, Leng, and Yi Ti. And worst of all, he could hear the courtiers whispering to each other mockingly. So self-assured of the Empire’s power that they did not even bother to hide their disdain or mockery.
“Hardhome? Isn’t that the penal colony beyond the Wall? How quaint and rustic.”
“It still surprises me whenever I hear there are Lannisters that haven’t accepted their days as Kings are over. They’re worth nothing more than merchants.”
“Look at this supposed prince. He’s little more than a savage. The Emperor should just annex Hardhome and make it a Ward already. It would be so much better off for all of us.”
The whispers and murmurs continued, driving Tyland mad with a steaming rage and humiliation he could do naught but keep bottled up inside. Never before in his life had he felt this powerless, yet he gritted his teeth and ignored them, knowing there was nothing he could do about it.
“Greetings to you O Great Emperor! Your Imperial Majesty! Tales of your glory and wisdom have spread far and wide, even to the ears of my people in Hardhome! Long have we been faithful servants and tributaries of your mighty empire and today we continue that tradition! I have come on behalf of my father, King Tygett of Hardhome, to renew our bond of service and fidelity to your throne and bring our tribute as proof of our word!”
The Dragonguard barked at him. “Speak louder, Lannister. The Emperor can’t hear you,” they said, gesturing to how high the seat of the Iron Throne was.
Tyland flushed red in embarrassment as the courtiers chuckled at his expense and repeated his words, almost shouting them this time.
His servants brought forth the examples of the tribute they had brought, fine pieces of dragonglass, shadowskins and other furs, and many more fine goods and luxuries from beyond the Wall. Just as his father had predicted, even some of these pompous courtiers and nobles looked upon the tribute greedily and he hoped that it would be received well by the Emperor.
For a few terrifying moments, the Emperor said nothing, and Tyland began to fear for his life, knowing full well that Aegon III could see him fed to his dragon if he so wanted and there was nothing Hardhome could do about it.
His fears proved to be for naught in the end when Aegon III finally spoke.
“Your tribute is generous, Prince Tyland. Lord Rhaegar already oversaw the transport of the rest of it to our vaults, and the quantity and quality is most pleasing. The Empire accepts your gifts and renews its bond of protection and trade with your people.”
Tyland didn’t know how, but despite seeming to speak so softly, the Emperor’s voice was deafening by some sorcery, easily audible and clear throughout the whole hall. He was beginning to wonder if the Dragonguard hadn’t just been mocking him too when they had told him to speak louder.
As the Emperor continued to speak, the glass candles beside his armrests continued to burn brighter and brighter, almost seeming to twist all the colors in the room. Blacks turned into holes in the world, and whites became as bright as freshly fallen snow and reds and oranges as furious as flames and yellows shone like beaten gold.
“We must confess, we are most impressed with your composure and temperament, Prince Tyland. Few would be able to withstand such rudeness as you have. Your manners and etiquette are impeccable. More than I can say for some of the esteemed members of this court,” the Emperor said with an almost fatherly and disappointed tone in his voice as his eyes swept over the crowds of haughty courtiers.
They had once seemed so arrogant and mighty but now they quailed and kept silent beneath the rebuke, and Tyland saw it all in awe. With but a few words, the Emperor had reminded them all of their place. Reminded them that he was above them all and they had no right to mock his guest and servant.
Tyland did not doubt that the Emperor saw him as beneath him too. He was simply disabusing his courtiers of their impression that they were any higher than Tyland instead of all of them being equally beneath him and subject to his power.
He was so caught up in his thoughts that he almost failed to catch the Emperor’s question.
“Tell us Prince Tyland, how is your father? Is he well? It has been many years since last we saw him in this court.”
“Well enough, Your Majesty. I’m afraid that he has grown old and grey and will not be able to make the trip anymore. Myself or some other envoys will come to pay the annual tribute and homage from now on. He always speaks fondly of your city and your person, your Imperial Majesty, and having seen them both for the first time, I very much understand why.”
The Emperor smiled just a little at his words. “You flatter us, Prince Tyland, but we accept your kind words. It grieves us much to hear that the decay of age has taken your father. He was ever a faithful friend and a leal ally, and it will be a great loss when he passes from this world. Do pass him our regards when you return to Hardhome and bring him a fine gift as thanks for his long years of friendship with this Empire: a thousand pounds of fresh clear glass, straight from the glassmakers and furnaces of the city.”
Tyland was speechless. “You honor us with your generosity, Your Majesty,” he said as he bowed graciously before the Emperor. “Hardhome will never forget this gift. We will name the glass garden in your honor!”
The Emperor was pleased. “Good. We hope that you in particular remember this gift well when you come into your kingship, Prince Tyland,” he said with a meaningful look in his eyes and for a moment Tyland couldn’t help but remember the rumors about the powers of the glass candles, and his father’s absolute terror when they had last spoken.
A chill went down his spine as he reminded himself to tread with more care in the future. Whatever his thoughts on them, the Targaryens could not be so easily gainsaid.
That feeling of awe and terror stayed with him even as he boarded his ship in Harroway days later for the long journey back home. All these long years, he had never understood his father’s feelings about Summerhall and the Targaryens, but now having seen them for himself, Tyland finally understood.
The Empire was the greatest realm the world had seen since Old Valyria; its Targaryen rulers were closer to gods than men and lesser men such as they defied them at their peril.
___________________________________
Author’s Note: I’m experimenting with posting directly on Patreon again but if the scraping returns, we’ll go back to just being on the website and Google Docs. Which is why this chapter can also be read over on Tertius711.com!At long last, we are done with Divide and Conquer! Thank you all for reading and sticking with the story this long! I hope you all have enjoyed the whole story and enjoyed this nice little epilogue to see the proud Lannisters put in their place one last time and all the details about the world in 153 AC when the dragons went extinct in canon.
Definitely read the Imperial City Appendix that accompanies this chapter! Please let me know your thoughts, suggestions, and questions in the comments below or over on Discord!
And I hope to see you all for the new Star Wars story!