Under the reign of Regalus II, the sixty-third year of the Conquest had quietly arrived.
Regalus II made a momentous decision. He named his eldest son, Jaehaerys, Prince of Dragonstone, and formally declared him the rightful heir to the Iron Throne.
When the news spread, the Seven Kingdoms erupted in celebration.
At the investiture ceremony, Aegon II revealed a startling truth to all lords and subjects: his lifespan had diverged profoundly from that of ordinary mortals.
"Perhaps in the long years to come, I shall remain among you, ruling this land for generations to come."
Regalus turned his gaze to his advisers and spoke slowly.
"Even with such power, the realm still requires a reliable successor. For now, we have drawn the eyes of vile gods upon us. Know this: even among the true gods, slaughter is possible.
I am prepared to offer my life for our kingdom, for our house."
"Your Grace, perhaps you worry too much… Have the gods truly forsaken mortals?" asked Prime Minister Barth, concern etched on his face.
Regalus's expression was unwavering as he answered in a solemn voice:
"Whether it be the poisoning incident on Dragonstone, the White Walkers' probing incursions into our lands, or the outbreak of the Shaking Sickness two years past—these calamities are no mere coincidences.
Several gods have already begun testing our strength and resolve.
The New Citadel's measurements of daylight in recent years provide clear proof. At first, each year saw only a few minutes stolen. But last year…
Do you know what happened?
Last year, the gods stole a full half-hour of daylight!
My lords, the daylight upon which all living things depend diminished by one-twentieth in a single year. At this rate, the sun will set earlier and earlier. We can no longer afford to waste our hours in idleness."
The Emperor's words, heavy with foreboding, finally stirred his council.
...
Within the Hall of Conquest, the atmosphere turned tense as courtiers whispered among themselves.
Martyn Tyrell, the newly appointed Master of Coin, spoke first, his voice tinged with doubt.
"Could it be, Your Grace, that your relentless consolidation of power stems from foresight into the gods' conspiracy?"
"Perhaps," mused Lord Lyman Lannister of the Westerlands. "If humanity could truly unite under a strong central authority, it might well increase our chances of survival in the coming Long Night."
Prentys Tully of Riverrun offered his counsel next.
"I believe we should actively cooperate with the officials His Grace has appointed. At this moment, when humanity itself hangs in the balance, any measure that improves our chance of survival deserves our full support."
Lord Rodrik Arryn of the Eyrie agreed, lending his voice to Tully's proposal.
Soon, amidst the swell of discussion, nearly all the nobles present consented to Regalus's decision to install royal officials and centralize power.
...
Aegon II had not foreseen that the mere specter of the Long Night would wield such force. Yet it compelled even the most tradition-bound lords to abandon their resistance to central authority and instead embrace his absolute rule.
The reasons were many.
First, Regalus had led them to a decisive victory over the dread White Walkers, earning a prestige and fearsome reputation that commanded respect.
Second, the steady loss of daylight weighed heavily upon the nobility. For none could guarantee that they or their houses would survive the next Long Night.
Ancient myths, passed down across the Known World, told of the first Long Night in the Age of Heroes, eight thousand years ago.
Then came a winter that lasted a generation, plunging the world into darkness, famine, and terror. Humanity was devastated, with nine-tenths of its people perishing—a truth confirmed in the oldest texts.
Now, the third Long Night loomed, and fear hung over every soul like a gathering storm.
...
When the lords at last agreed to cede administrative power to his officials, Aegon II sought to reassure them.
"You need not fear for your houses—that they will wither in the new realm because you surrender such powers.
I promise you this: key officials will still be chosen from among your bloodlines.
So long as your sons and heirs prove themselves capable, they shall find honor within the Targaryen dynasty—and may even raise your houses to greater heights."
It was not that Aegon II refused to employ common-born maesters as administrators. But in truth, such a course was impossible. No commoner could hope to manage the disputes of noble houses with bloodlines stretching back thousands of years.
Thus, for now, the use of noblemen as royal officials was a necessary transition. Dynasties advanced only through gradual evolution—never in a single leap.
...
The Emperor's words of reassurance eased the nobles' anxieties. Yet they also caught his deeper meaning: noble heirs of true talent might rise to govern entire lordships.
It was nothing less than a reshuffling of the existing noble order.
And in the long run, the ones who stood to lose most from such change were the great lords themselves—the Seven current Dukes.
Thus, they turned their eyes toward Regalus, their gazes filled with expectation.
Each one hoped the Emperor would grant them political compensation.
Aegon II gave them a slight nod before addressing his advisers once more.
"The current Small Council shall remain unchanged, but the next Small Council will expand to seventy-seven members. These seventy-seven ministers will be chosen by me from the realm's various administrative districts.
Among them, seven permanent seats shall be reserved for the ducal houses. Each duke's house will hold one such seat, as compensation for the political losses caused by this administrative restructuring."
The seven dukes found Regalus's offer rather meager. When they looked back at the Emperor, Aegon II paid their gazes no mind.
What had begun as a banquet to celebrate the investiture of the Emperor's eldest son had unexpectedly triggered a sweeping transformation in the administrative structure of House Targaryen.
It was clear that, after this change, the power of the central court would grow immensely. Under such firm control, the Targaryen dynasty would be far more agile and capable in responding to great disasters, whether wrought by nature or man.
...
Three days after the banquet, to commemorate this profound transformation and to align with the new administrative order, the central court proclaimed to the world:
—The most powerful kingdom of mankind, House Targaryen, is hereby renamed the Targaryen Empire!
The news shocked the world.
The Disputed Lands no longer held any city-kingdoms; all had been reorganized into imperial provinces. Yet in Slaver's Bay, east of Volantis, several mighty Free Cities still endured. On hearing the news, they were left bewildered. Why had Westeros, with its noble administrative traditions stretching back thousands of years, suddenly embraced such sweeping reform?
But the Empire had already issued a gag order, tightly sealing word of the coming Long Night. Though filled with curiosity, the cities of Slaver's Bay learned nothing.
What followed was the Empire's massive overseas campaign to seize and stockpile grain. To prevent prices from spiraling into chaos—or collapsing entirely—the information blockade was a necessary measure.
Of course, such secrecy could not last forever. Inevitably, certain churches of the true gods or ambitious nobles would let the truth slip. But for the moment, it gave the Empire enough time to amass enormous reserves.
...
Yet the Empire faced another grave challenge—communication.
The Emperor no longer wished to govern lands too far afield. Even his existing domains strained under the weight of poor communication. Should the Long Night descend, it would grow only worse. Those territories too distant to manage had already been abandoned.
The New Citadel was devoting itself to developing the telegraph technology envisioned by Regalus, though progress was painfully slow.
By contrast, the ancient Valyrian art of the glass candles showed flickers of renewed magic. These enchanted candles allowed visions to pierce mountains, oceans, and deserts. By sitting before one, a user could enter another's dreams, projecting images and exchanging words across half the world.
...
As the Empire pressed on with reform and expansion, its machinery roared to life.
During the precious months after winter's retreat, the Empire bought and hoarded grain on a massive scale. Near King's Landing, in the Redrock Hills, the Emperor directed the digging of a vast underground granary—soon to be filled to the brim with stores to withstand the Long Night.
According to the New Citadel's calculations, the final descent of the Long Night remained decades away. Such time was sufficient to stockpile immense resources, to cultivate or discover crops that could thrive in darkness, and to prepare for the crisis to come.
...
The upbringing of the royal heirs was another matter to which Aegon II devoted his heart.
Prince Jaehaerys, now ten, had grown tall and handsome. Humble and courteous, he already bore the bearing of a king.
Prince Aemon, newly turned seven, was lively and inquisitive, full of restless energy.
Each morning, in the broad courtyard, he would spar and train alongside Prince Baelon, both under the patient guidance of their elder brother, Jaehaerys.
As the eldest, Jaehaerys embodied the role of "a brother who is as a father," watching over his brothers with care and instructing them in both skills and knowledge.
Aemon and Baelon shared a rare bond. They were the closest of friends, yet also fierce rivals. Aemon was taller and stronger, Baelon quicker and harsher. Their contests were so thrilling that they regularly drew crowds: servants, laundresses, knights' squires, pages, maesters, septons, and stableboys, all gathering to cheer for their favored prince.
Among these spectators, Lady Jocelyn Baratheon, the dark-haired daughter of the late Queen Alyssa, was a frequent presence. With time, she had grown into a striking young woman of grace and beauty.
At the grand banquet celebrating Jaehaerys's investiture as Prince of Dragonstone, the Queen herself had arranged for Lady Jocelyn to sit at his side. The two spent the evening in lively conversation and laughter, paying no mind to anyone else.
...
Midway through the sixty-third year of the Conquest, Prince Jaehaerys turned eleven. To further his training, the Emperor made a fateful decision: the boy would be sent to Essos to oversee affairs there.
The Queen, reluctant and anxious to see her eldest depart so young, nevertheless consented. She knew the kingdom would face countless perils ahead, and such trials were essential to his growth.
At year's end, the gods once more blessed Aegon and Alyssa with a daughter. They named her Maegelle.
From her earliest days, Maegelle showed herself gentle, selfless, and kind, yet also precociously intelligent. She quickly became the darling of all who met her.
Before long, she was trailing after her elder sister Alyssa, just as Alyssa had once dogged the steps of Prince Baelon.
Alyssa, however, grew impatient with the little one's constant chasing. Just as Baelon had once wearied of Alyssa's following, she too sought every trick to escape—sometimes snapping at the "little brat" who clung to her skirts.
Baelon, watching from the side, often laughed at his sister's flustered frustration.