Chapter 27: The Conciliator and The Emerald Prince
Time: 75 AC
POV: Aerion Silvanor (and Jaehaerys I Targaryen)
Seventy-four years had passed since my birth, yet to my Ael'athar senses, I was still but a young man, though one now steeped in the knowledge and responsibilities of the Silvanor Empire. The Valaean Academy had forged us, the children of Kaelen and Vala, into potent forces, each a living bridge between our ancient Elven heritage and the fiery Valyrian legacy. My training in diplomacy, in the delicate dance of inter-kingdom relations, was now to be tested on the grandest stage: the newly unified realm of Westeros.
My father, Emperor Kaelen, had deemed it time. After decades of prosperous, yet largely detached, trade relations, it was prudent to formally greet King Jaehaerys I Targaryen, the so-called Conciliator, a ruler renowned for his wisdom and long reign. This was not a negotiation of terms, but a gesture of respect, a quiet acknowledgment of the new world order, and a subtle display of the Empire's continued vitality. I would lead the delegation.
The journey from the emerald heart of Sothoryos to the sprawling, stone-clad capital of Westeros was a study in contrasts. Ael'tharion hummed with the quiet vitality of living wood, its structures breathing, its light organic and diffused. King's Landing, even at its best, was a cacophony of human activity, its Red Keep a formidable mountain of red stone, cold and unyielding compared to the fluid warmth of our own architecture. I had flown ahead on Veridian, my magnificent green dragon, whose scales seemed to shimmer with the essence of growing things. She was a wonder, even to the smallfolk of Westeros who had witnessed the Targaryen dragons, her movements impossibly graceful, her presence radiating a calm strength. The rest of my delegation, comprised of Belaerys advisors and discreet Silvanar guards, followed by sea, carrying diplomatic gifts of unparalleled rarity.
The meeting was set for the following day, in the newly completed throne room of the Red Keep. The Iron Throne itself was a grotesque masterpiece, jagged and cruel, a testament to the brutal conquest that had forged the Seven Kingdoms. It seemed to exude the residual fear and pain of a thousand swords. My pointy ears, usually hidden beneath careful strands of silver hair, were subtly exposed today, a deliberate choice; I was here as a Silvanor Prince, not merely a foreign dignitary. My attire was the formal raiment of our Empire: robes of deep emerald silk, embroidered with silver threads that mimicked the flowing lines of our living cities, adorned with a single, flawless amethyst stone—a tribute to my mother.
King Jaehaerys sat upon the throne, a man in his prime, his silver hair long, his purple eyes sharp and intelligent, bearing the weight of his crown with an unruffled calm. He possessed an aura of quiet authority, a sagacity that was palpable even across the vast hall. Beside him stood his Queen, Alysanne, equally serene and respected. And around them, a handful of their children, among them the Crown Prince Aemon, and his younger brother, Prince Baelon, both already renowned dragonriders. Their presence underscored the importance of this meeting.
"Prince Aerion Silvanor," Jaehaerys's voice was deep, resonant, and calm. "Welcome to King's Landing. We have long held deep respect for your Emperor and the prosperity your Empire brings to our shores."
"Your Grace," I responded, my voice carrying the subtle, melodic cadence of the Ael'athar tongue, which my interpreters then rendered into flawless Common. "The Emperor Kaelen sends his felicitations on your long and wise reign, and extends his enduring goodwill to the unified realm of Westeros. It is our hope that the harmonious trade established decades ago will continue to flourish, bringing mutual benefit to both our peoples."
After the formal pleasantries and the presentation of gifts—luminous, living woods that shed their own soft light, finely woven Silvanar silks that felt like spun moonlight, and gems of impossible clarity—King Jaehaerys's curiosity, well-known throughout the realms, came to the fore. His purple eyes fixed on me, keen and assessing.
"Prince Aerion," he began, his voice taking on a more personal tone, "your Empire remains a realm of much fascination to us. Its wonders are whispered by merchants across the seas. We know you are a people of ancient wisdom, with knowledge of arts long lost to us. Tell me, if you would, of the lands of Sothoryos under your Emperor's dominion. What marvels lie hidden there?"
I chose my words carefully, revealing enough to intrigue, but retaining the mystique that served us well. "Sothoryos, Your Grace, is a continent of immense, untamed beauty. Under His Imperial Majesty's guidance, we have cultivated vast swathes of it, transforming wilderness into sustainable, thriving lands. Our cities, like Ael'tharion, are not built from quarried stone, but grown from the very earth and living wood, breathing structures that adapt and grow with us. The air is always clean, the water pure, and the natural world thrives in harmony with our presence."
I spoke of our unparalleled botanical gardens, where flora from across the world flourished under our care, yielding exotic medicines and unique resources. I mentioned our deep reverence for the natural cycle, our understanding of the earth's very heartbeat. "We learn from the world, Your Grace, rather than simply conquering it. This allows for technologies and understandings that appear miraculous to those who rely only on steel and stone." I subtly gestured to my pointy ears, a quiet emphasis on my distinct lineage. "Our people have long lifespans, allowing for generations of accumulated wisdom in every craft, every art."
Prince Aemon, a powerful and curious man, leaned forward. "And the dragons, Prince? We hear tales that House Belaerys, famed dragonlords, are now allied with your Emperor. Do their beasts also fly over your skies?"
"Indeed, Prince Aemon," I confirmed, meeting his gaze directly. "The noble House Belaerys, through a deep and enduring alliance forged with Empress Vala's union to my father, are a fundamental part of the Silvanar Empire. Their dragons fly as freely and proudly over the Sunstone Isles and the emerald heart of Sothoryos as they do over Dragonstone, bound to our Empire by mutual respect and shared destiny. Their might is now ours, and ours, theirs." It was a statement, delivered calmly, but its weight was unmistakable.
The meeting continued smoothly for hours. We discussed trade routes, the shifting political landscapes of Essos, and the intricacies of long-distance communication. Jaehaerys was a keen listener, asking precise, insightful questions, clearly weighing every word. His children, particularly Prince Aemon and Prince Baelon, observed me with a mixture of awe and competitive curiosity, their eyes occasionally drifting to the window, as if imagining Veridian's vast wings in the sky above King's Landing. By the end, a renewed agreement for trade was formalized, and a precedent set for future diplomatic exchanges.
POV: King Jaehaerys I Targaryen
The doors of the throne room closed with a resonant thud, sealing away the last of the Silvanar delegation. I leaned back on the unforgiving blades of the Iron Throne, a sigh escaping me that had nothing to do with weariness and everything to do with profound contemplation. My Queen, Alysanne, moved to my side, her hand resting gently on my shoulder.
"Well, husband?" she asked, her voice soft, knowing my thoughts were already a whirlwind. "What do you make of our Emerald Prince?"
"Aerion Silvanor," I mused, the name tasting strange on my tongue. "He is every bit as remarkable as the whispers suggest. Ageless grace, that peculiar silvery hair, and those eyes… emerald, like the deepest forests. But it's not just his appearance. There's a stillness about him, a profound calm, yet beneath it, a power that even my dragons might acknowledge. He moved through this hall as if it were a garden, not a place of cut stone and sharp edges."
My gaze drifted to Aemon and Baelon, who still lingered, their faces alight with fascination. It was clear Aerion and his dragon had left a powerful impression. "A Dragonlord Prince," I continued, more to myself than to Alysanne. "Not merely a Prince, but a Dragonlord. Their alliance with the Belaerys is even more profound than we had suspected. It means the Silvanar Empire now commands dragons—a dozen of them, if the whispers are true, possibly more—alongside their own enigmatic powers."
Alysanne nodded. "He spoke of cities grown from living wood. Think of it, Jaehaerys. A city that breathes. What other wonders do they possess? And those ears, husband. Truly like something from an old fable."
"Indeed. He spoke of ancient wisdom, of living in harmony with nature, yet their wealth is immense, their influence global. They are not like the Summer Islanders, or the peaceful folk of Yi Ti. There is a steel to them, subtle but undeniable. That statement about interfering with their trade… it was not a threat, but a simple, cold declaration of fact. A nation that speaks like that, and owns a dozen dragons, cannot be taken lightly."
I reflected on his answers. He was careful, diplomatic, revealing just enough to satisfy curiosity but guarding their deepest secrets. The sheer age of his people, their different perception of time, was chilling in its implications. To them, my burgeoning kingdom, my "thousand-year dynasty," was but a brief flicker.
"They respect us, Alysanne," I said, a rare smile touching my lips. "They respect the peace we've forged. And they seek to profit from it, as do we. It is a mutually beneficial arrangement. But this visit was more than trade. It was a formal acknowledgment of my reign, and a subtle warning that Westeros is not the only power in the world, nor the only one with dragons. No, the Silvanar Empire is something else entirely. A sleeping giant, perhaps, one that has now stirred, and whose children ride beasts of fire. It is wise to have them as friends."
I rose from the Iron Throne, the cold steel pressing into my back. This was a day of import. Aegon had unified Westeros. Now, a new player had stepped out of the shadows, and their hand was a powerful one. I would need to ensure the lines of communication remained open with Ael'tharion. The world was growing smaller, and the wise would understand the value of every alliance, especially with a people whose very nature defied the relentless march of time.