-A few days after the Princess arrival. King's Landing. Council Chamber-
King Viserys sat at the head of the council table, his fingers drumming lightly against the polished wood as his advisors debated the growing influence of the Achaemedia within the Seven Kingdoms. Princess Dalia and her entourage had captured the attention of the realm, their presence sparking both fascination and unease. His gaze drifted to the strange object resting on the table—a metallic construct they called a "pocket watch." It was no product of magic, the Maesters had assured him, but a marvel of intricate gears and machinery. A testament to the ingenuity of the Empire, and yet, it was but one of countless wonders they had brought from their distant homeland.
The pocket watch was a symbol of their power, a power that both intrigued and unsettled Viserys. The fact that they, too, were dragon riders only deepened his contemplation. He could not ignore the implications of their arrival, nor the weight of Aegon's prophecy. The realm must be united, he reminded himself. It was the duty of House Targaryen to protect the realm against the coming darkness. Now, with a house of such strength and sophistication at their doorstep, Viserys saw an opportunity—perhaps even a necessity—to forge an alliance. If they could tap into the power of the Achaemedia, perhaps they could secure the future of House Targaryen. And perhaps, in doing so, his dream of a son might finally come to pass.
"The Achaemedians are arriving in the city in greater numbers," Otto Hightower said, his voice cutting through the murmurs of the council. "I fear their presence may stir unrest among the smallfolk. Their ways are... foreign, and their influence grows by the day."
"They claim to have defeated dragons," Daemon added, his tone sharp and edged with skepticism. "It would be reckless to allow them to remain here unchecked, brother." His support of Otto's concerns earned a brief, wary glance from the Hand of the King.
"And you believe suddenly barring them from our ports would improve the situation?" Viserys retorted, his voice tinged with exasperation. "We cannot afford to act rashly."
"Perhaps it would be wiser to keep a close watch on them," Corlys Velaryon suggested cautiously, his words measured. As Lord of the Tides and a man who had sailed to the far corners of the world, his counsel carried weight.
Viserys turned his full attention to Corlys. "You have traveled farther than any man here. Your insight is invaluable. Speak plainly."
Corlys leaned back in his chair, his expression thoughtful as he weighed his words. From what he had seen and heard, the civilization of Achaemedia was unlike anything he had encountered in his voyages. Their administration and bureaucracy were more complex and efficient than even Yi Ti's. Their legions, if the tales were true, were more disciplined and formidable than the legions of Old Ghis. And their magic—if the whispers from Asshai were to be believed—surpassed even the shadow binders in sophistication.
Their economy, too, was a marvel. Centralized and driven by a network of private and state-owned enterprises, their wealth flowed like a river, directed by the will of the crown. They spoke of "mass production" and "industry," concepts that seemed to generate gold on a scale beyond comprehension. Even their currency, the throne coin, was purer and more valuable than the dragon coin, trading at a rate of four to one.
The Seven Kingdoms, Corlys realized, were outmatched in every conceivable way. To provoke the Achaemedia would be folly, inviting consequences far graver than they could afford. And yet, something about their presence gnawed at him. Something unseen, something... amiss.
"Their power is undeniable, Your Grace," Corlys said, his voice measured but firm. "It eclipses ours by a considerable margin. Yet, it is their nature as an empire that troubles me. Every empire I have studied, across the known world, has sought to conquer. Achaemedia is no different—they have already subdued their own continent. If their accounts are to be believed, it makes me wonder… why have they not turned their gaze upon us?"
The Sea Snake's words hung heavy in the air as his sharp eyes swept the council chamber, lingering on each face before settling on the king.
"Perhaps they are afraid," Daemon sneered, his voice dripping with contempt.
"Daemon," Viserys snapped, his tone sharp enough to silence his brother. The king's gaze softened as he turned back to the council. "My decision stands. We will welcome these outsiders. If their intentions are genuine, we may yet reap the benefits of their power."
The councilors fell into a tense silence, their faces unreadable. One by one, they nodded in reluctant acknowledgment, though the weight of uncertainty lingered in the room like a storm cloud.
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Rhaenyra and Alicent sat together in the Godswood, the ancient Weirwood tree casting its pale, watchful gaze over them. The air was cool and fragrant, the rustling leaves a gentle accompaniment to their conversation. They spoke of many things, but their thoughts kept returning to the Achaemedians and the tales they had brought from their distant land. Each noble from the Empire seemed to carry stories of wonders and marvels, and the two young women had been captivated by them.
"Do you believe it?" Rhaenyra asked, her voice tinged with awe. "A princess who wields more power than even the Great Houses, commanding the Empire's shadowy underworld, and yet... she is free." The story Lord Remond had told of Princess Aclamexia had left a deep impression on Rhaenyra. She had demanded to hear it repeated, eager to learn every detail of the princess's life. The idea of a woman holding such power, unshackled by the constraints of tradition, was intoxicating.
"I'm sure she was a remarkable princess," Alicent replied, her tone playful. "And their Empress, too, must have been extraordinary."
It was not just Rhaenyra who had been enchanted by the tales of the Achaemedian noblewomen. Alicent, too, had found herself drawn to the stories of their great ladies. She had been particularly struck by the tale of Empress Theodhera, wife of Emperor Cyrus Alargon, known as the Builder. Like his ancestor, Nariman Alargon—the Architect who had shaped the Empire's bureaucracy and laid the foundations of its infrastructure—Cyrus had left his mark on the land. He had built roads, bridges, canals, and cities of such beauty and grandeur that they seemed to belong to another world.
While the Emperor had focused on the material, the Empress had turned her attention to the spiritual. Theodhera had enacted sweeping reforms, crafting laws to protect women, children, and the welfare of all citizens. Though her changes had initially met with resistance, she had navigated the political landscape with grace and wisdom, forging compromises with every major faction in the realm. Yet, it was not just her intellect that had made her legendary. Theodhera was known for her fiery spirit, her determination to pursue her passions, and her ability to balance duty with love.
"If Westeros could become like the Empire..." Rhaenyra mused, her voice wistful. "Perhaps women like us could be something more."
"What a dreamer you are," Alicent said, chuckling softly.
"Look who's talking," Rhaenyra shot back, her tone teasing.
"At least my dreams aren't quite so lofty," Alicent replied, her laughter mingling with Rhaenyra's.
For a time, they sat together, their laughter echoing through the Godswood as they spoke of the Empire and its royal family. They marveled at the similarities between the Alargons and the Targaryens—the striking beauty, the air of otherworldliness, the legacy of Valyrian blood. Yet, beneath their fascination, there lingered a faint unease. Something about the Achaemedians, something unseen and unspoken, left them both wondering
"Princess Dalia's eyes... I cannot deny they are beautiful," Rhaenyra murmured, her voice low and contemplative. "But there's something... wrong about them."
"I would agree," Alicent said, her tone thoughtful. "Something... inhuman."
"Could it be related to their magic?" Rhaenyra wondered aloud.
"Perhaps," Alicent replied. "If we take Princess Dalia and Lord Remond's stories at face value, their Emperors have always been extraordinary. It would not surprise me if their magic has left its mark on them."
The tales of the Achaemedian Emperors, from Tyber Alargon to the current Odrin II, were filled with marvels and achievements. Not a single ruler had brought decline or ruin to the Empire; instead, each had elevated it to greater heights. Every Emperor had left behind a legacy of innovation, creating something unprecedented that enriched the realm. Their discoveries and inventions had become the foundation of the Empire's prosperity.
Take Emperor Lyden Alargon, the Archmage, for instance. His reign of ninety-eight years had been a golden age of magical advancement. He had pioneered dozens of new spells and magical breakthroughs, and his inventions had spawned hundreds of applications that transformed the Empire. Then there were the builders, who had crafted structures of breathtaking beauty and ingenuity, and the architects, who had shaped the realm as though it were clay in their hands.
Even the current Emperor, Odrin II, had introduced something called "centralized development." Though Rhaenyra and Alicent did not fully understand the concept, they gathered it involved harnessing the Empire's knowledge of magic and materials to produce goods on an unprecedented scale. This system allowed the Empire to build faster and more efficiently, turning losses into opportunities for growth.
It was as though the gods themselves had blessed the Alargon line, granting each Emperor the power to shape civilization itself.
"The Princess mentioned the Crown Prince, Cyrus Alargon," Rhaenyra said suddenly, her voice breaking the silence.
Alicent's gaze sharpened as she studied her friend. Rhaenyra had always been one to dream of the future, to chafe against the duties expected of her as a woman. The stillbirths of her mother's children had left her wary of the role she might one day be forced to play. Hearing Rhaenyra speak of the Crown Prince in such a tone piqued Alicent's curiosity—and her concern.
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Rhaenys Targaryen, the Queen Who Never Was, had come to King's Landing with her husband, though she would have much preferred to remain on Driftmark. Yet, the arrival of a princess from a distant and mysterious land had piqued her curiosity. While her husband, Lord Corlys, worked to steady the council's deliberations, Rhaenys sought to speak with the foreign princess herself.
She found Princess Dalia in the courtyard, seated at a table and enjoying a cup of tea. By King Viserys's decree, the Achaemedian princess had been granted the status of Honor Guest, affording her privileges rarely extended to outsiders. It was a mark of respect—or perhaps caution—from the crown.
As Rhaenys approached, Dalia rose gracefully from her chair and turned to face her, as though she had sensed her presence long before she drew near.
"Good evening, Princess Rhaenys," Dalia said, her tone polite but measured.
"Good evening, Princess Dalia," Rhaenys replied, matching the other woman's courtesy. She studied the foreign princess carefully, noting the sharp intelligence in her golden eyes.
"I wonder what brings you here," Dalia said, gesturing for Rhaenys to join her. She poured a cup of wine and offered it to the Targaryen princess. "I've heard you have a fondness for Driftmark."
"My cousin requested my presence in the capital due to your arrival," Rhaenys said, accepting the cup. "But I must admit, seeing your entourage—and you—has satisfied my curiosity."
"I see," Dalia replied, her expression thoughtful. After a moment, she added, "I've heard you have dragons, Princess Rhaenys."
"I do," Rhaenys said cautiously. "Meleys and Seasmoke."
Dalia smiled faintly, her gaze drifting to the sky above. "Do you think it wise to divide the most powerful weapons of House Targaryen?"
Rhaenys's eyes narrowed, her voice cooling. "I don't care for the direction of this conversation, Princess."
"Forgive me," Dalia said, though her tone suggested no apology. "I mean no offense. I see the value in your house's alliance with the remnants of Valyria. But after studying your realm, I cannot help but think it reckless to scatter such power."
The two women locked eyes, Dalia's golden gaze meeting Rhaenys's amethyst one. For a moment, the air between them crackled with tension.
"Does your Empire have a solution for such matters, Princess?" Rhaenys asked, her tone softening as she withdrew from the brink of confrontation.
"In the Empire," Dalia explained, "dragons are under the command of the Lord Commander of the Skyborn Division. Only those deemed worthy may bond with a dragon, and even then, they are bound by strict oaths of loyalty to the crown. Should they rebel, their dragons can be taken from them. The strongest dragons remain in the possession of the royal family. We have... consolidated our power, you might say."
Rhaenys took a sip of her wine, though the sweetness now tasted bitter on her tongue.
"I have a question for you, Princess," Dalia said, her smile returning. "Would you like to see a true dragon?"