Chapter 02: Spreading Glory

-104 AC. King's Landing. Reed Keep-

Remond found himself in the gardens of the Red Keep, seated beside King Viserys under the watchful eyes of the Kingsguard. The king's curiosity about the Achamaedia Empire had only deepened since their first meeting, particularly after the revelation of the empire's ability to produce Valyrian Steel—and metals even stronger. Viserys was a man enamored with the legacy of Valyria, and the thought of a civilization that might rival or even surpass it fascinated him.

The merchant lord sipped his wine with evident pleasure, savoring the rich flavor. He was a connoisseur of fine wines, having collected bottles from across his homeland, and the vintage before him was a welcome addition to his palate.

"I must admit, Your Majesty," Remond said, raising his cup, "this wine is truly delightful."

Viserys smiled, pleased by the compliment. "It is the finest Westeros has to offer, my lord. I am glad it meets your approval." He took a sip of his own wine before leaning forward, his expression growing more serious. "You spoke at length about your empire yesterday, Lord Remond. I wish to hear more."

Remond considered the king's request carefully. The Inquisitor's warnings echoed in his mind: Westeros was a land where magic was viewed with suspicion, even fear, thanks to the influence of the Faith of the Seven. He would need to tread lightly, choosing his words with care.

"What would you like to know, Your Majesty?" Remond asked, his tone polite and measured.

"You mentioned magic," Viserys began, his voice tinged with curiosity. "Valyria was renowned for its blood and fire magic. I wonder... what of Achamaedia's magic?"

The question caught Remond off guard, though he masked his surprise behind a practiced smile. Magic was a delicate subject, and he would need to navigate it with precision.

"We... harness magic in many forms, Your Majesty," Remond replied, choosing his words carefully. "Tell me, what do you believe shapes the natural world? What forces govern it?"

Viserys frowned, considering the question. "Stone? Water? Wind? These are the elements of nature, are they not?"

"Indeed, Your Majesty," Remond said with a nod. "And those are but a few. Our magic seeks to control these forces, each governed by its own lore. Some mages command fire, others water or earth. The possibilities are as vast as the world itself."

Viserys's eyes widened in disbelief. "Are you saying your sorcerers can wield any type of magic?"

"It is as you say, Your Majesty," Remond confirmed. "Our magic shapes the very fabric of the realm. One such lore is that of Destruction—a school of magic dedicated solely to its devastating potential. The most powerful mages of this lore can summon storms of stone to annihilate entire armies. And if the old tales are to be believed..." He paused, his voice growing somber. "Two thousand years ago, during the Unification War, a mage of the Psijic Order unleashed a plague that wiped out millions of the Emperor's soldiers."

As he spoke, Remond felt a flicker of unease. The history of the Unification War was shrouded in myth and legend, even among his own people. The Remembrancers, the empire's chroniclers, had filled their records with biased accounts, painting the empire as an invincible force. Yet, the physical evidence of that ancient plague—the ruins of dead cities, the mass graves—suggested that the tales held some truth.

"That sounds like the stuff of fairy tales, my lord," Viserys said, though his tone was more intrigued than dismissive.

"Many would agree with you, Your Majesty," Remond admitted. "The Unification War is our earliest history, and much of it is clouded by legend. The Remembrancers' accounts are often... embellished, to put it kindly. But the scars of that time remain. The cities left in ruin, the graves that stretch for miles—they speak of a power beyond our understanding."

Viserys leaned forward, his interest clearly piqued. "This Unification War... you've mentioned it several times now. Tell me more."

"The Unification War was a great conflict that unfolded two thousand years ago. Our continent, Suthos, is now a patchwork of hundreds of kingdoms and empires. Yet, it was not always so. Legends speak of a time before the Achaemedia, when the entire continent was united under the Lokedonia Empire. But for reasons lost to history, the Empire crumbled millennia before the Unification Wars, plunging the land into the Age of Strife. Our first sovereign, Emperor Tyber Alargon, was born in the humble kingdom of Yordan, nestled at the heart of the continent. The tales of his rise are many and contradictory. Some claim his conquest began with a divine revelation, while others whisper it was born of vengeance. The truth, as ever, remains shrouded." The merchant paused, taking a long sip from his cup before exhaling deeply.

"A fascinating origin, Lord Remond," Viserys said, his voice tinged with genuine intrigue.

"The rest of the tale mirrors your own Conqueror's deeds in Westeros. Emperor Tyber overthrew countless rulers and ordos, uniting the continent beneath a single banner. He forged a vast and centralized governing body, which he named the Lex Administratum. Unlike the Seven Kingdoms, where power is dispersed among the great houses, our empire is tightly structured. Raising vast armies and replenishing them within a year is a simple matter for us." Remond leaned back in his chair, his tale complete.

"Your empire sounds a marvel, Lord Remond. I should like to see it one day. But you spoke of dragon riders earlier. Pray, tell me more of them," Viserys said, his excitement palpable. His eyes gleamed with curiosity, like a child hearing of dragons for the first time.

"Before the Unification, the dragon lords ruled a mighty empire in the eastern reaches of Suthos. Their dominion was said to be steeped in the arcane arts of fire and stone, their wealth forged from the very bones of the earth. But all that changed when Emperor Tyber turned his gaze upon them. The war lasted five long years, but in the end, the dragon lords were subdued. Once masters of dragons, they became mere riders, bound to the Emperor's will. Though they were fiercely independent at first, two thousand years of effort have woven them into the fabric of our military. Their ancient lore of fire and stone now lies under the control of the Psijic Order."

Remond watched as Viserys's expression shifted from fascination to unease. The king's face darkened, his earlier excitement replaced by a shadow of dread.

"The dragons... were defeated?" Viserys asked, his voice cold and trembling, as though the very thought chilled him to the bone.

"In Suthos, there are countless ways to slay even the mightiest of dragons, magical or no," the merchant lord replied simply. His words hung in the air, leaving the king speechless.

"Is it possible to learn such power?" Viserys asked slowly, his tone measured but laced with desperation.

"Perhaps," Remond said, his voice diplomatic. "But such a decision must wait until the emissary arrives."

"I see… I shall be delighted to meet them, then," Viserys said, a faint smile playing upon his lips.

Remond returned the smile, though his thoughts were elsewhere. He drained his cup of wine in one long swallow, the dregs bitter on his tongue. The Hydra's machinations troubled him still. Even now, after a day's respite, their influence spread like a creeping shadow. From the Lord Inquisitor's own reports, they had already wormed their way into the courts of lesser lords, whispering promises and sowing discord.

Viserys' fascination with magic and power gave Remond pause. Did the king hunger for something beyond his grasp? He thought of Viserys' obsession with siring a male heir, of Queen Aemma's stillborn babes, and the weight of the crown that seemed to bow the king's shoulders.

Leaning back in his chair, Remond stared at the foods laid out before him.

____________________________________________________________________

-A few days later-

Remond's gaze lingered on Prince Daemon, the king's brother, who seemed determined to provoke him at every turn. Though the prince's presence was tolerated—even favored—by King Viserys and Princess Rhaenyra, the Hand and many of the councilors viewed him with thinly veiled disdain. For Daemon, however, the hostility was mutual, and his pride had been wounded deeply by Remond's tales of the Achaemedia Empire and its conquest of the Suthos, the Valyrian-like dragonlords of the east.

Now, more and more of the Empire's galleons—great, hulking ships of war and trade—docked in Blackwater Bay. Their holds brimmed with exotic goods, exchanged for Westerosi wares in a lopsided trade that served a greater purpose. The Hydra's tendrils stretched further with each passing day. Remond plucked a grape from the platter before him, savoring its sweetness as he watched the bay teem with life, bustling with the activity brought by Achaemedia's wealth.

The door to his chambers creaked open, and Princess Rhaenyra stepped inside, her violet eyes sharp and inquisitive.

"Princess," Remond said, inclining his head in a respectful bow.

"Lord Remond," she replied without preamble. "I wish to speak of your nation."

Remond offered a polite smile, gesturing to the chairs nearby. "Shall we sit?"

"No," Rhaenyra said, her tone firm. She strode to the balcony, standing beside him as the sea breeze tugged at her silver hair. "Your goods have brought color to our halls, Lord Remond. The court has never seen their like."

"It pleases me to hear that, Princess," the merchant replied, his smile unwavering.

Rhaenyra hesitated, her gaze fixed on the horizon. "Tell me… is it true? The story of your empire conquering the dragonlords?"

"It is true, Princess," Remond said, his voice steady. "If you wish, I can tell you the tale in full."

"Tell me," she said, her voice low but insistent. "Tell me how your emperor brought them to their knees."

Remond drew a deep breath. He had known this question would come, and he had dreaded it. He wondered if the princess would carry his tale to her uncle, fanning the flames of conflict. Yet, the story of Achaemedia's subjugation of the Lorensia Empire was one of the most renowned in all of Suthos, and he could not refuse her.

And so, Remond began his tale, recounting the days when the Unification War had reached its zenith. By then, Achaemedia had conquered half the continent, its power swelling to such heights that even the mighty Lorensia Empire could not withstand its advance. He spoke of the twenty legions forged by the Emperor, each a masterpiece of magic and steel, honed to perfection. These were no ordinary armies; they were instruments of conquest, each with its own purpose and prowess. The I Legion, known as the Emperor's Exterminators, was tasked with bringing the Lorensia Empire to its knees.

What followed was a war of annihilation, a clash of magics so terrible that the land itself bore scars that would never heal. The Lorensians, with their dragons and blood-soaked sorceries, struck first and struck hard. In the early days of the invasion, they held the upper hand, their winged beasts raining fire and ruin upon the Achaemedia forces. But the I Legion had earned its grim title. Since the dawn of the Unification, it had been the hammer that shattered kingdoms deemed too powerful to bend. Though its ranks were often thinned, its resolve never wavered. It did not know defeat.

Five hundred thousand men marched under the banner of the I Legion, and they faced thousands of Lorensian dragons. The skies burned, and the earth trembled as the two forces collided. Yet, the Achaemedia legions pressed on, their weapons and sorceries adapting to the chaos of battle. They shattered the dragon lords' defenses, piercing through their blood magic and fire. The old tales speak of lands forever altered—mountains reduced to rubble, lakes swallowed by stone, and craters vast enough to drown cities.

Two pivotal moments sealed the fate of the Lorensia Empire. The first was the Massacre of Dust Mountain. The XX Legion, masters of deception, lured one hundred fifty thousand Lorensian soldiers and three hundred dragons into a trap. In a single, cataclysmic ambush, the I Legion unleashed sorceries of such destructive power that the entire region was obliterated. Not a single soul escaped; the dragons and their riders were butchered to the last.

The second came during the siege of Aegor, the capital of Lorensia. Protected by ancient sorceries long forgotten by the rest of the world, the city held firm for four moons. The I Legion, battered and bloodied, was forced into a defensive stance as the remnants of the Lorensian forces sought to break the siege. It seemed the tide might turn—until the Emperor arrived with the full might of the X and XV Legions.

Together, the legions broke the Lorensians' last stand. The XV Legion, wielding sorceries of overwhelming destruction, breached the city's magical walls. The Achaemedia armies surged into Aegor, slaughtering all who dared resist. Though the Lorensians fought with the strength of desperation, their defeat was inevitable. Day by day, their defenses crumbled, until at last, the city fell.

The fall of Lorensia marked Achaemedia's dominion over the northern reaches of the continent. The Empire absorbed its conquered foe, studying its magics and reshaping its lands to serve the crown. The dragons, once lords of the skies, were now bound to the will of Achaemedia, their ancient lore harnessed and controlled.

Rhaenyra listened to the tale in silence, a mixture of dread and fascination coursing through her. The Lorensia Empire, much like the Valyrian Freehold of old, had been a dominant power, its dragons and sorceries unrivaled. Yet here was a story of a civilization akin to Valyria, brought to its knees by another. The thought was as thrilling as it was unsettling.

"That is my tale, Princess," Remond concluded, taking a step back as he observed the young woman's reaction. She stood there, her expression a blend of awe and unease.

"...Does your Empire seek to conquer us?" Rhaenyra blurted out, her words sharp and unguarded. Almost immediately, she regretted her candor. "My apologies, my lord. I spoke out of turn."

"There is nothing to forgive, Princess," Remond replied smoothly, his tone dismissive. "The current Emperor holds firm to the values of his great-grandfather, who sought to maintain the peace of the Empire—what we call Pax Imperialis. Conquest is not his aim."

"Will we have the chance to meet these emissaries?" Rhaenyra asked, her voice measured but tinged with curiosity.

"In a few moons' time, the Empire will send its envoys, Princess," Remond said, bowing slightly. "You shall see for yourself then."

Rhaenyra paused, her mind racing, before she drew a deep breath. "I would hear another story of your homeland, if it pleases you, Lord Remond."

At this, Remond's eyes gleamed with calculation. He sifted through his memories, searching for a tale that would captivate her.

"Very well," he said at last. "I shall tell you the story of Princess Aclamexia Alargon, the only daughter of Emperor Xirius Alargon, Second of His Name, who lived two hundred years ago. She was a figure of great renown—and great fear—for she held a position of immense power within the Imperial court."

"What role did she hold, Lord Remond?" Rhaenyra asked, her interest piqued.

"She was the Council Leader of the Senat Penumbram," Remond explained, his voice low and deliberate. "This granted her command over the Imperial Assassins, the Inquisitions, and the Spies—three of the most formidable shadow organizations in the Empire. And Princess Aclamexia herself was no mere figurehead; she was a member of the Inquisitions, trained in their arts and steeped in their secrets."

At this, Rhaenyra's eyes widened. The thought of a princess wielding such power was both thrilling and unnerving.

"Tell me more of these three," she said, her tone firm, almost commanding.

"With pleasure, Princess," Remond replied, a faint smile playing on his lips.