Book V: The Golden Reign

Chapter One – The War of Conquest

The dawn over the eastern horizon of Essos was streaked with fire and gold, a reflection of the dragons that soared above the seas. Emperor Richard I Baratheon, astride Caesarion, the Golden Dreadlord, gazed across the waters, his violet eyes shimmering with ambition and certainty. Beside him, Empress Daenerys Targaryen rode Rhaenyr, her silver hair flowing like molten sunlight in the wind. Together, they embodied the unity of Westeros and Valyria, a dynasty of fire and blood poised to bring the Free Cities of Essos under the banner of the Westerosi Empire.

The campaign that had begun with Braavos, Lorath, and the Stepstones was far from complete. The cities of Volantis, Pentos, Norvos, and Qohor—ancient centers of wealth, culture, and mercenary power—still resisted the call of imperial unity. These cities, proud and ancient, would soon understand the might of Westeros when dragons and steel converged upon them.

From the Imperial Palace of Rygoros, Emperor Richard had coordinated a tri-pronged strategy:

Volantis, the oldest of the Free Cities, would be approached with a show of overwhelming force. Its fleet would be engaged on the Gods’ Eye River, dragons patrolling above to cut off escape and reinforce imperial intimidation.
Pentos and Norvos, historically rivals yet linked by mercenary guilds and trade alliances, were to be subdued through a combination of diplomacy and calculated military strikes, their city walls no match for dragons or the disciplined legions of the Empire.
Qohor, famed for its smiths and the famed Unsullied of Essos, would be won through both awe and negotiation, recognizing the Empire’s ability to protect and enrich its provinces while demonstrating the futility of resistance.

The Empress Daenerys, ever the diplomat and strategist, met with envoys of the Free Cities, her presence both intimidating and alluring. Rumors of her Valyrian blood and command over dragons spread fear and respect, softening the hearts of some while uniting the defiant against the inevitable.

Meanwhile, Emperor Richard’s siblings marshaled the forces of the Empire:

Prince Randall Baratheon, Lord Chancellor and Prince of Storm’s End, coordinated the logistics, ensuring fleets, armies, and provisions moved seamlessly across the Narrow Sea and the eastern ports of the Empire.
Princess Rosalia Baratheon, General of the Order of the Golden Sun, led elite legions, ensuring that every military strike was precise, swift, and decisive.
Prince Lucas Baratheon, Defender of Aegon’s Landing, commanded the imperial fleet, blockading ports and preventing mercenary fleets from reinforcing the cities under siege.
Princess Marianne Baratheon, Princess of Courtesy, oversaw diplomatic channels, negotiating with guilds, city councils, and merchant princes to secure surrender where possible, tempering imperial wrath with reasoned diplomacy.

The first blow fell upon Volantis, its riverfront ablaze as the combined fleets of Westeros engaged the Volantene navy. Caesarion soared above, golden flames turning the river into a molten mirror, the shadow of the dragon striking terror into all below. The Volantenes, seeing the dragon and the disciplined legions, capitulated before their city was razed, swearing fealty to Emperor Richard I and pledging tribute and soldiers to the Westerosi Empire.

In Pentos, diplomatic channels opened first. Princess Marianne personally led the talks, promising protection, trade privileges, and autonomy under imperial oversight. Yet when some factions resisted, Rosalia Baratheon’s legions moved with precision, seizing key gates and fortresses while leaving the city largely intact. Pentos acknowledged imperial authority, and its mercenary guilds swore allegiance.

Norvos, known for its warrior priesthood, attempted a last stand, but the twin dragons above, Caesarion and Rhaenyr, along with the disciplined imperial legions, rendered their defiance meaningless. The priests of Norvos bent their knees in the courtyard of the city, formally swearing loyalty to Emperor Richard and his Empress Daenerys.

Finally, Qohor opened its gates not in fear, but in admiration. Emperor Richard and Empress Daenerys landed with minimal forces, their presence alone signaling both power and protection. The city’s smiths and mercenary companies offered oaths of service, and Qohor’s wealth and strategic location were integrated into the Empire with near ceremonial ease.

As dusk fell over Essos, the banners of the Westerosi Empire fluttered above the conquered cities. The golden dragon of the Empire, now matched in presence by the dragons of the Assarion cadet branch in the Stepstones, cast long shadows over the lands. Emperor Richard and Empress Daenerys looked upon the newly unified eastern territories, their vision almost complete.

“Soon,” Emperor Richard said, his voice carrying across the deck of the flagship, “the Free Cities will no longer be independent. All of Westeros and the western shores of Essos shall stand united under the Westerosi Empire. The Age of Fire and Storm will stretch across the Narrow Sea, and none shall challenge the might of our dynasty.”

Daenerys placed her hand on his arm, her violet eyes reflecting the flames from Caesarion’s wings. “And together, we will rule wisely, Richard. The Empire will not only be feared, but respected. Our people will know justice and prosperity, and our dragons will watch over them all.”

From Volantis to Qohor, the Golden Reign of the Baratheon Dynasty had begun. Westeros had extended its dominion across the Narrow Sea, completing Emperor Richard’s vision of conquest, and the age of unchallenged imperial rule in both Westeros and Essos dawned with fire, storm, and glory.

Chapter Two – Provinces of Fire and Gold

The morning sun rose over the eastern harbors of Essos, casting golden light upon the cities that now fell under the shadow of the Westerosi Empire. Emperor Richard I Baratheon, astride Caesarion, the Golden Dreadlord, surveyed the newly conquered lands with violet eyes alight with satisfaction. Beside him, Empress Daenerys Targaryen rode Drogon, the black-scaled terror of the sky, wings beating like storm clouds across the harbors of Volantis, Pentos, Norvos, and Qohor. Below, Princess Rosalia Baratheon, General of the Order of the Golden Sun, rode Rhaenyr, her silver-scaled dragon matching Drogon’s flight, a symbol of imperial authority in the skies above Essos.

With the fall of the Free Cities, Emperor Richard formally integrated them as provinces of the Empire of Westeros. Volantis, the oldest of the Free Cities, became the Province of Volantis, its merchant councils retained as advisory bodies under imperial oversight. Pentos became the Province of Pentos, Norvos the Province of Norvos, and Qohor the Province of Qohor, each city pledging loyalty to the Emperor and Empress while retaining elements of their own local governance.

The Baratheon siblings played key roles in securing the provinces:

Prince Randall Baratheon, Lord Chancellor and Prince of Storm’s End, oversaw the civil integration, ensuring governors were appointed, laws codified, and imperial authority respected.
Princess Marianne Baratheon, Princess of Courtesy, guided negotiations with merchant guilds and city councils, smoothing the transition of power with tact and diplomacy.
Princess Rosalia Baratheon, atop Rhaenyr, enforced imperial decrees, demonstrating the might of the Empire to any who might resist.
Prince Lucas Baratheon, Defender of Aegon’s Landing, ensured the imperial navy secured ports and trade routes, keeping the Narrow Sea under Westerosi control.

Emperor Richard proclaimed from the steps of Volantis’ Triarchal Palace:

“The Empire does not conquer to enslave. It conquers to unify. Volantis, Pentos, Norvos, and Qohor are now provinces of the Empire of Westeros and Western Essos. Your traditions will be honored; your cities protected; your people will flourish under the wings of our dragons and the might of our legions.”

Empress Daenerys added, her voice rising over the assembly, “The Empire’s reach now spans from Rygoros to the shores of Essos. Prosperity, justice, and safety shall touch every province. Our dragons watch over you; our laws guide you; and our hands uphold you.”

In Volantis, merchants and guildmasters swore allegiance, kneeling beneath the shadow of Drogon, while Rosalia’s Rhaenyr circled above, a testament to the power of the Baratheon Dynasty. Pentos, Norvos, and Qohor followed, pledging loyalty to the Emperor and Empress. With banners of the Empire unfurled and dragons patrolling the skies, the authority of the Westerosi Empire was absolute.

As night fell, the dragons’ roars echoed across rivers and harbors, and the cities glowed beneath the fires of imperial control. The Empire, now officially named the Empire of Westeros and Western Essos, had taken firm root across two continents. Emperor Richard and Empress Daenerys returned to Rygoros, their eyes toward the horizon, knowing the foundations of a vast and enduring dominion had been laid.

The conquest was complete, but governance, diplomacy, and the integration of diverse cultures were only beginning. The Golden Reign of the Empire stretched across the Narrow Sea, dragons and imperial authority binding Westeros and Western Essos into one unbroken realm.

Chapter Three – Shadows Of Valyria

The winds of the Valyrian Peninsula carried with them the stench of sulfur and smoke, as though the earth itself remembered the Doom that had shattered Valyria. Across this desolate yet enduring land, three cities still stood—Mantarys, Tolos, and Elyria—each scarred by history but still proud of their Valyrian blood.

From the skies came the roar of dragons. Caesarion, gleaming gold, bore Emperor Richard I Baratheon aloft. Beside him, Empress Daenerys rode Drogon, wings vast and dark as night, while Princess Rosalia, his younger twin, soared on Rhaenyr, whose silver-white scales shimmered against the ash-filled sky. The sight of three dragonlords descending upon them stirred awe and terror alike among the people.

They landed first in Mantarys, a city of strange customs and guarded hearts. In the citadel’s shadow, two figures watched from concealment—Aegon Targaryen, called “Young Griff,” and his sister Rhaenys Targaryen, children of Prince Rhaegar Targaryen and Princess Elia Martell.

They did not bear the pale beauty of House Targaryen, but the striking looks of their Dornish mother. Dark brown hair, almost black as coal, and deep brown eyes—the heritage of House Martell had claimed them wholly. Their survival was a secret gift of Lord Varys the Spider, who had spirited them away from King’s Landing—now renamed Aegon’s Landing—when Robert’s war burned the capital.

“They’ve come for the cities,” whispered Rhaenys, clutching the hilt of her blade as she gazed up at the circling dragons.
“They’ve come for all of Essos,” Aegon replied grimly. “And one day, they will come for us.”

In the plaza of Mantarys, the Emperor dismounted, violet eyes gleaming with both resolve and vision. His voice, when it rose, was not in the Common Tongue but in High Valyrian, the language of dragonlords:

“Nyke Emperors hen Westeros se Essos. Nyke gaomagon ao jorrāelan ēdruta se dāervi ēdruta. Ao gaomagon qopsa, ao gaomagon rytsas.”
(“I am Emperor of Westeros and Essos. I bring you order and prosperity. Bend the knee, and you shall know peace.”)

The citizens of Mantarys fell to their knees, the sound echoing through the plaza like rolling thunder. Even their high council, proud descendants of old Valyria, could not deny the sight of three dragons standing sentinel behind the Emperor and his kin.

From her dragon’s side, Daenerys spoke in High Valyrian, her silver hair shining in the light of Drogon’s flames:

“Se āeksio ābrar syt ao se pryjagon. Se ābrar nyke dōrī iā se ābrar ūndegon.”
(“The blood of dragons is for you to serve and to protect. The blood I carry will never abandon you.”)

Rosalia, clad in the armor of the Order of the Golden Sun, raised her hand in solemn grace, her own words flowing sharp and flawless in High Valyrian:

“Ao ūndegon se Embār hen Westeros. Se Embār ēdruta ñuha hāre, ñuha lentor, ñuha ossȳngno.”
(“You belong to the Empire of Westeros. The Empire is my heart, my home, my command.”)

With Mantarys bending, the Empire’s host advanced upon Tolos and Elyria. The display of dragons, imperial armies, and words spoken in the tongue of their ancestors broke all resistance. Both cities, fearing fire and desolation, pledged fealty with offerings of gold, ships, and soldiers.

Yet within Mantarys, in the forgotten halls of its ancient citadel, Aegon and Rhaenys remained hidden, their Martell eyes fixed on the golden dragon of Richard Baratheon. They whispered to each other in their mother’s tongue of Dorne, not High Valyrian.

“He rules with dragons,” said Rhaenys bitterly. “But does he rule with justice?”
“Time will tell,” Aegon answered, though his jaw clenched. “We will endure. The day will come when the world remembers we are Targaryens still.”

As the dragons roared above and firelight danced upon the walls, the Empire of Westeros and Western Essos pressed ever deeper into the Valyrian Peninsula. The Doom’s ruins would soon bear the banners of the golden stag and dragon entwined.

Chapter Four – The Hidden Heirs

In the shadowed halls of Mantarys, away from the roaring of Caesarion and Drogon, the two surviving children of Prince Rhaegar Targaryen lived like exiles among ruins. To the people of Mantarys they were orphans, wards of a secretive order of healers. Only a handful of trusted souls knew their true names: Aegon and Rhaenys, children of Rhaegar and Elia Martell of Dorne.

They bore no trace of their father’s pale Valyrian majesty. Instead, the black-brown hair and warm brown eyes of their mother marked them unmistakably as Martells. In a land where Valyrian features were revered and feared, their appearance was both a curse and a shield. Few imagined them as dragons’ kin.

Still, their blood whispered of destiny.

Each night, Aegon would climb to the broken towers of Mantarys and stare at the sky, watching Caesarion’s golden wings carve the heavens, and Drogon’s shadow spread terror over the city.

“Do you see how they kneel?” Rhaenys asked one evening, her tone sharp with both awe and bitterness. “He does not just conquer with fire, brother. He conquers with presence. The people love him as much as they fear him.”

Aegon’s gaze was steady, lips pressed thin. “And yet we are the blood of Rhaegar. We are the true-born heirs of Elia Martell. But what have we? No dragons. No swords. Only whispers and shadows.”

“You speak as if you envy him,” she chided, though her eyes flickered with the same doubt.

“Not envy,” Aegon admitted. “Resolve. If the world will not remember us, we must make it remember.”

When the Emperor’s work in Tolos and Elyria was done, Richard Baratheon and Daenerys returned to Mantarys to oversee its integration into the growing empire. The great plaza, once scarred by the Doom’s legacy, now bore the banners of the golden stag entwined with the dragon, sigil of the Imperial House Baratheon.

Rosalia Baratheon, ever restless, took her leave. Mounted upon Rhaenyr, her silver-scaled dragon, she flew east to Volantis, tasked by her brother to oversee the city’s new governance and the Order of the Golden Sun stationed there. The parting between the twins was wordless, but the bond remained unbroken; both knew duty called them in different directions.

Within Mantarys, word reached the Emperor of “two Dornish exiles” sheltered by the healers. Suspicion roused him. Dornish exiles, surviving since the fall of Aegon’s Landing? It stirred memories of the Spider’s whispers long ago.

In a chamber lit by dragonflame, Richard and Daenerys entered together. There, standing proudly despite the weight of years in hiding, were Aegon and Rhaenys Targaryen.

The moment struck like thunder.

Daenerys gasped softly, violet eyes widening. Her nephew and niece—children she had thought dead—stood before her, very much alive.

“By the Seven…” she breathed in the Common Tongue before shifting, tears threatening, into High Valyrian:

“Ñuha ābrar… ao ūndegon. Ao dōrī morghūltas.”
(“My blood… you live. You were never dead.”)

Rhaenys, dark eyes burning, met Daenerys’s gaze with a mixture of longing and mistrust. “We lived, Aunt. But not because of crowns, or dragons, or thrones. We lived because men like Varys risked all to save us.”

Aegon inclined his head, his voice measured yet unyielding. “We do not kneel easily, Majesty. We are Targaryens still. Our claim is not forgotten, even if we do not bear the dragon’s looks.”

Richard, silent until now, studied them with his violet eyes—keen, deliberate, weighing them as he would lords and generals. The Emperor saw not rivals, but threads in the tapestry of his empire.

“You survived when the world would have crushed you,” Richard said at last, his voice carrying both storm and steel. “That alone earns you respect. Whether you bend the knee or not will decide if you are remembered as heirs… or as enemies.”

The chamber thickened with silence, broken only by Drogon’s low rumble outside and Caesarion’s distant roar.

Daenerys stepped forward, hands trembling yet strong, her voice soft but commanding. “You are my kin, my brother’s children. I will not see you cast aside or destroyed. Whatever paths you choose, they will be within this family. Within the Empire.”

Aegon and Rhaenys exchanged a glance. The moment of decision loomed, and though neither bent the knee that night, the seeds of their fates were planted in Mantarys.

For Richard, it was the beginning of another game—one of blood, loyalty, and the question of whether dragons without wings could share the sky with dragonlords.

Chapter Five – Blood of the Dragon, Blood of the Stag

The long voyage from Mantarys to Westeros ended not in fear, but in awe. For Aegon and Rhaenys Targaryen, children once thought slain, the sight of the Imperial Capital of Rygoros was beyond imagining.

Nestled in the mountainous heights of the Vale, Rygoros spread like a crown upon the peaks. Marble avenues gleamed, banners of the golden stag entwined with the dragon snapped in the wind, and watchtowers rose like spears piercing the clouds. At the city’s heart stood the wonder of the Empire: the Imperial Palace of Rygoros.

It loomed above the capital, not carved from rock but built stone by stone into a marvel of majesty. Its spires of gold and obsidian thrust skyward, its domes gleamed with sunlight, and its halls seemed to hold the breath of nations. To Aegon and Rhaenys, who had lived their lives in exile and ruin, it felt as though they had stepped into the pages of myth.

Rhaenys, older than both her brother and the Emperor she was about to meet, caught her breath as the gates yawned wide.
“Mother,” she whispered, thinking of Elia Martell. “If only you could see us now.”

Aegon, the same age as Richard Baratheon himself, looked on in stunned silence. His brown eyes swept across the grandeur, and for the first time, he faltered. “This,” he murmured, “is what kings only dream of building.”

They were led into the Great Imperial Throne Hall. The chamber was vast, lit by braziers of dragonflame, its pillars etched with stags and dragons entwined. At its far end, raised high upon a dais of marble and firestone, stood the Golden Throne of Westeros.

Upon it sat Emperor Richard I Baratheon. His violet eyes burned like amethysts beneath the hall’s light, and his long, silky black hair flowed past his shoulders in stormy grace. At his side sat Empress Daenerys Targaryen, silver-haired and violet-eyed, younger by some months than Richard, and therefore younger than both Aegon and Rhaenys. Yet her presence was no less commanding, her beauty no less radiant.

When the siblings looked upon them—Emperor and Empress crowned not as monarchs of seven kingdoms but rulers of an empire—they stood in awe.

Richard rose from the Golden Throne, his voice carrying across the hall like thunder.
“You are Aegon and Rhaenys, children of Prince Rhaegar and Princess Elia of Dorne. Blood once thought extinguished, yet here you stand. I would not see you forgotten as exiles. Bend the knee, and you shall be restored as Prince Aegon Targaryen and Princess Rhaenys Targaryen, members of House Targaryen, honored in the Empire of Westeros.”

Daenerys’s voice followed, softer but heavy with feeling.
“You are my brother’s children—my kin. I lost you once, but I will not lose you again. The Empire has a place for you, if you will claim it.”

The hall hushed.

Rhaenys, older and more tempered by hardship, bowed her head first. “I kneel freely. Better to live as Princess, bound to family and honor, than to fade as exile. If you will have me, I am yours.”

Aegon hesitated longer, pride and years of whispered destiny clashing within him. At last, he lowered himself, his voice steady though quiet. “I was told all my life I was born for a crown. Yet I see now the crown belongs to another. If I may serve as Prince, let it be so. Let history remember me not as conqueror, but as loyal son of the dragon.”

Richard descended from the dais, his violet eyes blazing, and placed a hand upon their shoulders.
“Then rise. Rise as dragon reborn, as blood restored. From this day, you are Targaryens not in exile, but in honor.”

The court erupted in thunderous acclaim, the sound echoing through the vaulted hall.

Later, another figure stood before the throne: Lord Varys, the Spider.

Richard’s voice rang with solemn weight.
“When fire fell and blood was spilt, when hope should have ended, it was Varys who preserved the last of Rhaegar’s line. Without him, there would be no Aegon, no Rhaenys. For this, he is no longer merely whisperer, but Lord Protector of the Blood Royal, charged with their safety and their honor.”

Varys bowed low, for once his mask slipping into sincerity.
“Your Majesty, I have served the realm all my life. Now, I shall serve the Empire—its heirs, its future, and its destiny. Always.”

And so it was, in the heart of the Imperial Palace of Rygoros, beneath the brilliance of the Golden Throne, that two lost children were restored, and the Spider stepped from shadow into light.

The Empire of Westeros grew that day not only in strength, but in kinship—for stag and dragon were bound by blood once more.

Chapter Six – The Dawn of Two Realms

The Sun Rises in Dorne

When word reached Sunspear that Elia Martell’s children still lived, the halls of the Water Gardens shook with emotion. Prince Doran Martell, ever the patient ruler, wept openly for the first time in years. His frail hands trembled as he clutched the Emperor’s seal, its golden stag and dragon entwined, affirming what he had scarcely dared to hope: Aegon and Rhaenys Targaryen lived, and were restored to honor in the Empire of Westeros.

The Dornish court burst into celebration, and the smallfolk poured into the streets, lighting candles and singing ballads of Elia’s children reborn. Doran declared:

“The blood of Elia flows still. The sun of Dorne does not fade—it shines beneath the wings of the Empire.”

An embassy was dispatched at once to Rygoros, pledging loyalty to the Emperor Richard and Empress Daenerys, and vowing that Dorne would forever stand with their kin.

The Province of New Valyria

While Dorne rejoiced, the Emperor turned to the Valyrian Peninsula, where the cities of Mantarys, Tolos, and Elyria had bent the knee. Richard declared their unification into a new province, styled the Province of New Valyria—not as a rival to the ruins of Old Valyria, but as its heir under the banner of the Empire.

Mantarys, with its scholars, priests, and dark traditions, was chosen as the provincial capital.

Tolos, disciplined and proud, would serve as the military fortress guarding the eastern approaches.

Elyria, rich with trade and rivers, would thrive as the province’s mercantile hub.

To govern this province, Richard summoned Prince Aegon Targaryen to his private study hall within the Imperial Palace of Rygoros.

The Emperor’s Study

The chamber was vast, lined with maps of Westeros and Essos, its walls etched with antlers and dragons intertwined. Light poured through high windows as Emperor Richard Baratheon stood tall, his long black hair shining like silk, his violet eyes aglow with power and vision.

“Prince Aegon,” he said, his voice like distant thunder, “your father’s blood flows in you, and your mother’s strength binds you to Dorne. What better bridge between the realms of east and west than you? I name you Prince of Mantarys and Governor of New Valyria. Let the province rise under your hand, as the proof that fire and storm can rebuild where once all was ruin.”

Aegon, the same age as Richard yet humbled by the grandeur of the moment, bowed deeply. “Your Majesty, I once believed my life’s course would end in exile or crown. Now, I see its true path is service. I will govern as you command—for Dorne, for my House, for the Empire.”

Two Realms, One Empire

But Richard’s vision did not end there. The Empire of Westeros, already vast, had grown too large for one capital alone to administer efficiently. Thus, he announced before his court a bold restructuring:

The Western Realm, comprised of the entire Westerosi continent and the Stepstones, with Aegon’s Landing as its capital.

The Eastern Realm, comprised of all territories in western Essos, including the Valyrian Peninsula, with Braavos as its capital.

Each Realm would be overseen by a Grand Governor, ruling in the Emperor’s name. Richard declared that Aegon Targaryen would not only govern New Valyria but also serve as Grand Governor of the Eastern Realm, making him the Emperor’s right hand across Essos.

As for the Western Realm, the post of Grand Governor remained unfilled, for the Emperor would weigh the matter carefully, knowing it would shape the heart of Westeros itself.

The True Seat of Power

Yet Richard was clear: no division of realms would ever eclipse the heart of the Empire. The Imperial Capital would remain Rygoros, seated in the mountains of the Vale. From the soaring spires of the Imperial Palace of Rygoros, where the Golden Throne of Westeros stood, the Emperor and Empress ruled not two realms but one Empire, indivisible, unbroken, eternal.

As Daenerys declared to the court:

“Aegon’s Landing may be the heart of the West, and Braavos the beacon of the East, but Rygoros is the soul of the Empire. Here, upon the Golden Throne, we are one people—Westeros and Essos alike.”

The assembly erupted with acclamation, and thus the Empire of Westeros took its first steps into a new age: an empire of two realms, bound by one capital, one dynasty, and one vision.

Chapter Seven – Weighing the West

The Burden of Choice

Though the Eastern Realm now had its Grand Governor in Prince Aegon Targaryen, the question of the Western Realm remained unanswered. In the high council chamber of the Imperial Palace of Rygoros, Emperor Richard I sat with his advisors, his violet eyes fixed on the great map of Westeros stretched across the table.
The position was no mere title. The Grand Governor of the Western Realm would oversee the governance of all Westeros—from the frozen North to the Reach, from the Stormlands to the Iron Islands. It required loyalty, strength, and wisdom equal to the task of ruling in the Emperor’s stead.
Several names surfaced:

Prince Lucas Baratheon, the Emperor’s youngest brother, now Prince of Sunspear by marriage to Arianne Martell. His youth and vigor, coupled with his dragon Laeraxas, made him a strong candidate—but his duties in Dorne might divide his focus.

Robert Baratheon, Richard’s uncle and once King of Westeros. Though his reign had been marked by excess and drink, his name still carried weight among the Stormlands and the Reach. Could he be trusted with such a mantle? Richard doubted, yet others whispered of redemption.

Duke Jon Arryn of the Vale, wise, experienced, and fatherly. His loyalty to Richard’s cause was firm, and his governance in the Vale had proven steady. He embodied prudence, but his age raised questions of longevity.

Duke Eddard “Ned” Stark of the North, Richard’s steadfast ally, a man of honor whose word was iron. The North loved him as their own, and his appointment would bind them further to the Empire. Yet some feared his rigid honor might hinder the flexibility the role demanded.

Richard listened, silent, as Prince Randall, the Lord Chancellor, laid out arguments for and against each man. The choice would not be made lightly.

The Joy of New Life

As politics consumed the council, joy bloomed within the Imperial Palace. Word spread swiftly through Rygoros: Empress Daenerys had given birth to twins once more, the royal couple’s seventh and eighth children.
The bells of Rygoros rang as the announcement was made:

Princess Rhaenyra Baratheon, named in honor of Richard’s Valyrian mother, was born with her father’s black hair but her mother’s violet eyes—a striking blend of stag and dragon.

Princess Alysanne Baratheon, her twin, bore the unmistakable silver hair and violet eyes of Old Valyria, her beauty a reflection of her mother’s line.

The Empire rejoiced. Across Westeros and Essos, the birth of the twins was heralded as a sign of divine favor, a promise that the dynasty of dragon and stag would endure for generations.
In the throne hall, Richard stood with the newborns in his arms, violet eyes alight as he proclaimed:

“The Empire’s future is secure. From Rygoros to Braavos, from Aegon’s Landing to Mantarys, the blood of dragon and stag flows strong. Our children shall inherit not kingdoms divided, but an Empire united.”

The Weighing of the West

Yet even amidst celebration, the question lingered: who would wear the mantle of Grand Governor of the Western Realm?
Richard walked the high galleries of the palace that night, his mind heavy. Lucas, young and fiery. Robert, a relic of storm and war. Jon Arryn, aged but wise. Eddard Stark, honourable and steadfast. Each brought strength—and risk.
At last, Richard confided to Daenerys in the quiet of their private chambers, the twins asleep at her side.
“Ruling the East was easy enough,” he said, his silky black hair falling into his violet eyes. “Aegon is young, eager, and owes his place to us. But the West… the West demands more than loyalty. It demands balance. Whoever I name must command respect across lords, bannermen, and people alike.”
Daenerys, younger than both Aegon and Rhaenys yet queen in her own right, replied softly:
“Choose carefully, my love. For the Grand Governor of the West shall be the shield of Aegon’s Landing. And one day, perhaps, the shield of our children too.”
Richard nodded. The decision was yet to come, but he knew one thing: the Empire would not falter. Not while the blood of dragon and stag flowed through its veins.

Chapter Eight – The Princess of Two Suns

Rhaenys Finds Her Place

For much of her life, Rhaenys Targaryen had been a shadow—a daughter of Elia Martell and Rhaegar Targaryen, believed slain in the chaos of Robert’s Rebellion. Yet in the courts of Rygoros, beneath the soaring domes of the Imperial Palace, she was no longer a whisper of tragedy but a living princess.
Rhaenys inherited the dark hair and eyes of her mother’s Dornish blood, not the silver hair of her father’s line. Yet her beauty was undeniable, her presence commanding in a way both regal and warm. The Dornish loved her as Elia’s daughter, and the Targaryens embraced her as kin. Where Aegon had been given rule in the east, Rhaenys chose another path: she became a bridge.
She spent long days in the company of Princess Marianne Baratheon, learning how the Princess of Courtesy wove diplomacy with charm. She spoke often with Prince Doran Martell, her uncle, about the future of Dorne within the Empire. And in the throne halls, she stood beside Empress Daenerys, learning what it meant to carry the burdens of family and people alike.
In her, the court began to see the union of two houses—sun and dragon—bound now to the stag as well.

The Council Convenes

Yet while Rhaenys found her voice, her uncle, the Emperor Richard I Baratheon, faced a pressing dilemma: the appointment of the Grand Governor of the Western Realm.
Rather than decide by decree, Richard made a choice that shocked even his closest advisors. Summoning the Imperial Council of Westeros—comprised of dukes, princes, and governors from every province of the Empire—he declared:

“This Empire is not built upon my will alone. If the Western Realm is to thrive, let its guardian be chosen by counsel, not command. Each of you shall speak, each of you shall vote. Together, we will name the Grand Governor of the West.”

The hall erupted with murmurs. Never before had such authority been shared so openly. The candidates stood clear before all:

Prince Lucas Baratheon, young and bold, a dragonrider and Prince of Sunspear by marriage.

Robert Baratheon, once King, uncle to the Emperor, a man of great renown but shadowed by years of drink.

Duke Jon Arryn of the Vale, seasoned and wise, mentor to kings and father of lords.

Duke Eddard Stark of the North, unbending in honor, beloved by his people, yet rigid in his judgment.

Rhaenys’s Voice

When asked her counsel by the Emperor himself, Rhaenys stepped forward. Her voice rang steady in the council hall, the Dornish lilt of her mother clear.
“My lords, my kin,” she said, “I was once thought lost, and yet here I stand because choices were made—choices that spared me, choices that restored me. This Empire is no longer seven kingdoms but a union of peoples, east and west, bound in fire and storm. Whoever leads the West must be more than lord or soldier. He must be a guardian of unity.”
Her words, though few, struck deep. Some turned their eyes toward Eddard Stark, others to Jon Arryn, and some even considered the young vigor of Lucas Baratheon.
Richard listened, silent, violet eyes glimmering as he measured both the council and his niece. She was proving herself not merely survivor, but stateswoman.

The Moment Approaches

By decree of the Emperor, the vote would be cast within seven days. Until then, the council would deliberate, argue, and weigh the candidates.
Richard returned to his private chambers that night, the twin daughters Rhaenyra and Alysanne sleeping nearby, and confided in Daenerys:
“I have given them choice, but choice can bind as well as divide. The West must be strong, yet not fractured. The voice of the council will tell me if this Empire is ready to govern itself—or if it still needs only my hand.”
Daenerys, younger than her husband but no less wise, replied,
“Then let them choose, my love. For in their choice, they shall feel the Empire is theirs as well as ours. And that is how it will endure.”

Chapter Nine – The Voice of the Empire

The Council in Session

The Imperial Council of Westeros gathered in the vast marble chamber of the Imperial Palace of Rygoros, its golden domes gleaming above the mountainous capital. For the first time since the Empire’s founding, the lords and governors of Westeros would cast their vote not for law or levy but for a man who would stand as Grand Governor of the Western Realm.

The candidates were set forth before the council:

Prince Lucas Baratheon, young, daring, and a dragonrider. As Prince of Sunspear by marriage to Arianne Martell, his influence stretched into Dorne, though some whispered he was too green for such a vast burden.

Robert Baratheon, once King of Westeros, now reduced to wine and memory. His strength and name were not forgotten, but his fall from rule left doubts deeper than loyalty.

Duke Jon Arryn, Governor of the Vale, wise and measured, a man who had guided kingdoms through storms before. His advanced years, however, cast a long shadow.

Duke Eddard Stark, Governor of the North, a man of quiet honor, whose word was iron and who commanded fierce loyalty among his people. Some feared his unbending nature might prove too rigid for a realm requiring compromise.

Debates and Alliances

The debate raged for days.

The Reach, led by Duke Mace Tyrell, Governor of the Reach, praised Lucas Baratheon as the blood of the dynasty and a dragonlord in his own right.

The North and Riverlands stood firmly behind Eddard Stark, their banners raised high for his honor and integrity.

The Vale spoke unanimously for Jon Arryn, their Governor and trusted patriarch.

The Stormlands wavered, some swayed by the memory of Robert’s hammer, others disgusted by his drunken decline.

It was Princess Marianne Baratheon, the Princess of Courtesy, who calmed the chamber.

“This Empire is greater than banners, greater than blood. Choose not for pride, but for the realm. The West needs a man who can unite, not divide.”

The Emperor’s Presence

From the dais of the Golden Throne of Westeros, Emperor Richard I Baratheon watched in silence, his violet eyes fixed upon the assembly. His long black hair framed his face like a storm, yet his words were measured when at last he spoke:

“I have not gathered you to echo my will. The Grand Governor of the West will be chosen by the voice of the Empire. Speak as one realm, not many kingdoms. Speak for unity, not division.”

At his side, Empress Daenerys, younger by months than Richard but his equal in dignity, added:

“The East has Aegon, your kin restored. The West must have a guardian who binds Aegon’s Landing as surely as Braavos binds the East. Choose wisely, for this choice is not for a year—it is for an age.”

The Vote

On the seventh day, the votes were cast and counted, each governor and prince inscribing their choice upon ivory tablets.

Robert Baratheon: a scattering of votes, Stormlords clinging to his old glory.

Jon Arryn: a strong tally, his wisdom and constancy drawing many.

Lucas Baratheon: many supporters in the Reach and Dorne, though questions lingered.

Eddard Stark: a rising tide, his name spoken with respect across North, Riverlands, and beyond.

When the tally ended, one name stood above the rest: Eddard Stark, Governor of the North.

The Grand Governor of the Western Realm

In solemn silence, Eddard Stark stepped before the Golden Throne. He knelt low, his head bowed.

Richard rose from the throne and descended, placing a hand upon his shoulder.

“Rise, Grand Governor of the Western Realm, Duke of Winterfell and Governor of the North. You are the chosen guardian of the West, elected not by decree, but by the voice of the Empire.”

The council chamber thundered with applause, the sound reverberating off the gilded pillars. For the first time, the people of Westeros felt the Empire was not only ruled but shared.

A New Precedent

That night, Richard confided to Daenerys as their newborn daughters—Rhaenyra and Alysanne Baratheon—slept peacefully in their cradles.

“The people have chosen a man of honour,” Richard said, violet eyes thoughtful. “The West shall be safe in Eddard’s hands. And now, the Empire is bound not just by my will, but by their voice.”

Daenerys smiled, silver hair shimmering in the torchlight.
“Then it is not merely an empire of conquest, my love. It is an empire of trust. That is why it will endure.”

And thus was written a precedent that would echo for centuries: the first great vote of the Empire of Westeros, binding west and east beneath one throne, one capital, and one dynasty.

Chapter Ten – Heirs of Fire and Storm

The Oath of the Grand Governor

In the Great Imperial Throne Hall of Rygoros, banners of stag and dragon shimmered in the torchlight. The council and court gathered once more, not to vote this time, but to witness a solemn oath.

Duke Eddard Stark, Governor of the North, knelt before the dais where the Golden Throne of Westeros loomed high. His head was bowed low, his voice deep with solemnity as he spoke:

“Before the gods and this assembly, I, Eddard Stark, Governor of the North, pledge my loyalty to the Empire of Westeros, to the Emperor and Empress, and to the people of the Western Realm. I shall govern with honor, protect with justice, and uphold the unity of stag and dragon.”

Emperor Richard Baratheon, his violet eyes gleaming, descended from the throne and placed a hand upon Ned’s shoulder. His silky black hair spilled over his cloak of crimson and gold as he spoke:

“Rise, Uncle. Rise as Grand Governor of the Western Realm. You are the shield of the West, the voice of the North, and the chosen guardian of Aegon’s Landing.”

The chamber roared with applause. Eddard Stark, though stern and humble, met Richard’s gaze with deep respect.

“Your Majesty,” he said, rising to his feet, “the West shall not falter so long as Stark blood beats within it.”

The Strength of the Dynasty

No sooner had the Grand Governorship been secured than the court turned its eyes to the future of the dynasty itself. Within the Imperial Palace, eight children filled the halls with laughter, promise, and the weight of legacy.

Prince Daemon Baratheon: firstborn son, strong of limb and sharp of wit, already bearing the presence of a future sovereign.

Princess Elaena Baratheon: Daemon’s twin, graceful and perceptive, her silver hair recalling the old blood of Valyria.

Prince Aegor Baratheon: bold and spirited, with an adventurous heart that mirrored the stormlords of old.

Princess Rhaella Baratheon: named for Daenerys’s mother, gentle yet clever, beloved by her siblings.

Prince Rhaegon Baratheon: fierce, with his father’s intensity and a natural gift for leadership.

Prince Duncarys “Duncan” Baratheon: named in honor of Richard’s late father, bearing black Baratheon hair and eyes of violet-blue, the living embodiment of two heritages entwined.

Princess Rhaenyra Baratheon: with black hair and violet eyes, she carried the dual legacy of storm and fire.

Princess Alysanne Baratheon: silver-haired, violet-eyed, her beauty already sung of in ballads as a gift from the gods.

Together they were not merely children but living symbols of the Baratheon Dynasty—a dynasty of stag and dragon, destined to shape the Empire for centuries.

The Crown Prince

In a ceremony of splendor, the Emperor stood upon the steps of the Golden Throne, Empress Daenerys at his side, their children gathered before them. Richard’s voice rang across the hall:

“The Empire must endure beyond us. And so, before gods and men, I name my firstborn son, Prince Daemon Baratheon, as Crown Prince of Westeros and Heir to the Empire. From this day forth, he is Prince of Dragonstone, bearer of our legacy, and the future Emperor of Westeros.”

The hall erupted with acclaim. Nobles raised their voices, governors bowed, and knights struck sword to shield. Prince Daemon, still young but already tall and proud, stepped forward, kneeling before his father.

Richard raised him up with a hand.

“Stand tall, my son. Stand as the Empire’s future. The world will know that fire and storm endure through you.”

Daenerys, her silver hair gleaming, embraced Daemon and whispered words only he could hear: “Carry this burden with pride, my love. For one day it shall be yours.”

A Moment of Unity

As the court feasted that night, Rhaenys Targaryen sat beside Princess Marianne Baratheon, smiling as Dornish and Westerosi alike celebrated. Aegon Targaryen, now Governor of New Valyria, stood with Prince Randall, deep in discussion of eastern governance. Rosalia and Lucas, generals and governors in their own right, toasted to the future.

And in the center of it all sat Emperor Richard and Empress Daenerys, watching as their eight children played among the nobles.

Richard turned to Eddard Stark, seated in honor at his right.

“Uncle, the Empire is secure tonight. The West in your hands, the East in Aegon’s, and the future in Daemon’s.”

Ned bowed his head slightly, his voice calm but filled with respect.

“Your Majesty, so long as honor guides us, your Empire shall never fall.”

Chapter Eleven – Shadows Beyond the Wall

The Frozen North

While the Empire stretched its banners across two continents, another power stirred far from the golden halls of Rygoros. Beyond the shattered and windswept Wall, in the haunted wastes of the Lands of Always Winter, the air grew colder with each passing season. The long night had not yet fallen, but its heralds were moving.
From the forests and icy plains came whispers of the White Walkers—pale as death, their eyes burning with cold blue flame. They gathered strength, raising an army of the dead from cairns, graves, and battlefields long forgotten. Where they walked, life withered. Where they struck, whole clans vanished, reborn as wights beneath their command.
Even the Free Folk, once divided, fled southward in terror, murmuring that the Others had returned.

The Warning at Winterfell

News reached Grand Governor Eddard Stark first, through his network of scouts and rangers along the Wall. In the chill of Winterfell’s great hall, he read the reports with a furrowed brow.
He dispatched ravens at once to Rygoros, writing with the blunt urgency of a man who knew time was slipping:

Your Majesty, the dead walk. The Night’s Watch falters. This is no old wives’ tale but a truth I can no longer deny. The Wall alone cannot hold them. The Empire must turn its eyes north—or all else will crumble.

The raven reached the Emperor’s hand within days. Richard read the words aloud in the Imperial Throne Hall, his violet eyes narrowing. Around him, the council fell into uneasy silence.

The Emperor’s Reflection

Richard stood at the window of the Imperial Palace of Rygoros, the snow-capped mountains glistening in the sun. His Empire stretched from the Iron Islands to Elyria, from Aegon’s Landing to Braavos, from Sunspear to Mantarys. His eight children filled the halls, the future of his dynasty secure. Yet none of that mattered if the shadow from the north swallowed them all.
Turning to Daenerys, he spoke quietly:

“I have bent lords and cities, raised an Empire from ashes, but what use is gold and glory if the dead devour the living? Perhaps this is the true war for which I was born.”

Daenerys, seated with infant Rhaenyra and Alysanne in her arms, met his gaze with unshaken resolve.

“Then we will face it together. Fire was made for this darkness, and dragons were born to burn it away.”

The Gathering Storm

The Emperor summoned his council: Randall Baratheon, Rosalia, Lucas, Marianne, Aegon Targaryen, and Rhaenys Targaryen, joined by Governors from across the Empire. Together, they spoke of war—not with rebellious houses or free cities, but against death itself.
It was agreed that messengers would be sent to the Wall, to learn the truth from the Night’s Watch. Dragons would fly north to scour the frozen wastes. Armies would be readied in the West and East. And for the first time, the question of whether the Empire of Westeros and Western Essos could unite not against men, but against the end of all men, was asked in earnest.

The Closing of the Golden Reign

Thus ended the age historians would later call the Golden Reign. It was an age of conquest, prosperity, and order—a time when the Baratheon Dynasty, born of storm and fire, stretched its banners across two continents.
But as the book closed, the shadow of the north lengthened. The Golden Throne of Westeros gleamed bright in Rygoros, yet far away, beneath the frozen sky, the cold wind whispered of the dead.
And so the stage was set for the next age: not an age of empire against empire, but life against death, fire against ice, the storm against the night.