The Long Night had fallen. Though the new empire had long prepared for it, and the people had gradually adjusted as the daylight hours dwindled, dread still gripped them once the endless darkness truly descended.
When the boundless night finally shrouded the land, panic swept through the populace. No one could calmly face such a world-ending calamity.
The harsh truth was this:
—Even with Regalus's disaster reserves, not all the common folk could be fed. From the start, those stores were always meant for the elite. Such was the cruelty of reality.
For decades, the New Citadel had poured effort into staple crop research. Though little progress was made with grains, breakthroughs were achieved in cultivating mushrooms and algae. As early as five years before the Long Night, seeds of these new staples had been distributed through post stations to noble domains. By the time the Long Night fully arrived, the people's diets had largely shifted to these substitutes.
The citizens of the new empire struggled to adapt to life in perpetual night, while Regalus hurried to strengthen the realm's defenses—for with the darkness came the resurgence of Magic itself.
The glass candles of the New Citadel flared back to life. In ancient graveyards, the corpses of the First Men stirred and creaked. Beyond the Wall, Night's Watch rangers once more reported signs of White Walkers.
On the Iron Islands, witnesses in the ports swore they saw Kraken. In the abyssal valleys of the Vale, the roars of Gryphons echoed. In the Wolfswood outside Winterfell, Direwolves howled with chilling voices. On the Isle of Faces in the Gods Eye, the Children of the Forest sang from deep within the trees. In White Harbor, some even claimed to have glimpsed Mermen.
It was as though the very instant the Long Night fell, all manner of supernatural beings had returned to the world. No one knew whence they came. Perhaps Gryphon eggs had hatched in the deep earth. Perhaps the Mermen palace beneath the sea had been unsealed. Speculation spread everywhere.
Regalus believed the gods had loosed their own kin upon the world. Humanity now had to contend not only with the endless night but also with these divine creatures, fighting them for space to survive. Some of these races were friendly, others treated humans as enemies to be destroyed, like the White Walkers beyond the Wall.
Thus, the Long Night brought both the threat of human extinction and the dawn of an age of rising supernatural races.
And yet, the Long Night was not entirely without blessing. Across Westeros, battle energy practitioners broke past long-standing bottlenecks under the surge of Magic, attaining new heights of power. Warrior training began to take on a formal structure: from aspirant warrior, to warrior, to great warrior, and at last to legend.
When the extraordinary races sought to invade human lands, they were stunned to find mankind not as weak as their bloodline lore claimed. The common folk might appear as fragile as sheep, yet the strength of the nobility had grown so great that many supernatural beings dared not provoke them lightly.
To face the White Walker threat, Regalus sent his second son, Aemon, and his wife to guard the Wall with their dragon. Shrouded in darkness, they knew little of the Night King or his host, not even where they dwelled. Aemon thus carried the crucial task of uncovering the enemy's nature. Once their strength was known, Regalus vowed he would act himself to crush the darkness.
With the glass candles restored, the empire could now maintain real-time contact with distant domains. Jaehaerys, the King's Firstborn in Essos; Princess Daenerys of the Valyrian Peninsula; Aemon, Commander of the Night's Watch; and the Tullys and Greyjoys guarding the Iron Islands—all received unified command from the central throne through the visions of the candles.
The strength of central authority shone clearly in the coordination of relief supplies and the issuing of decrees. The new empire stood united as never before.
But lands beyond its reach fared far worse. In Slaver's Bay, rebellions broke out in nearly every state. Supernatural races plundered freely, countless humans perished, and the Church of the Gods began blood-soaked rites.
Jaehaerys reported grim tidings to the capital: during one such ritual in Slaver's Bay, a towering monster, several dozen meters tall, manifested—a harpy-faced beast.
Regalus treated this with utmost seriousness. Such divine monsters were among the few threats even to dragons. Perhaps, seeing the Targaryen Empire endure against the Long Night, the gods had cast their own avatars into the mortal realm—like the link between Aegon's fragment and his true self. For a true god, creating such a projection was no great feat.
From the Iron Islands, the Duke of Tully sent word: the far-off isle of Lonely Light had been utterly destroyed by a colossal Kraken.
One after another, divine creatures surfaced across the world, launching devastating assaults on human settlements in the endless night.
Fortunately, most of the royal princes had already come of age. And one after another, their dragons rose into the darkened skies.
Dragons were untouched by darkness, their vision keen as ever. The Targaryen Pureborn now stood as humanity's strongest line of defense.
Since Regalus had granted the children of his consorts the right to train dragons, the number of royal dragonknights steadily increased. The King's Firstborn of Essos commanded five dragonknights, while in Old Valyria and at the Wall, several more served under princes and princesses. Altogether, their numbers approached twenty.
Yet the empire still hungered for more dragonknights. Calls grew louder for Regalus to amend the dragon-riding laws, granting even the Pureborn bastards the right to claim a dragon.
Swayed by public sentiment, Regalus wavered. But he was met with fierce resistance from his consorts, the Empress, and his trueborn children, who would not see their glory sullied. Reluctantly, Regalus put the matter aside—for now.
...
In the eighty-fourth year of the Conquest, Prince Baelon, stationed at the Wall, received rare joy: his wife Alyssa was once more with child. He confided to his elder brother Aemon that he hoped, this time, for a daughter.
Months passed, and Alyssa endured a long and punishing labor. Fate, however, proved cruel. She bore Baelon their third son.
Out of reverence for their father, they named the boy Aegon—after the Conqueror.
At Alyssa's bedside, Baelon gazed at her tenderly and whispered, "They call me 'Brave' Baelon. But to me, you are braver still. I could fight ten brutal wars without fear, yet I would never have the courage to endure what you just have."
Alyssa laughed softly, her eyes glowing with warmth. "You were born to fight, and I was born to bear our children. Viserys, Daemon, and now Aegon—I've given you three strong sons. Once I recover, we'll try again. I'd love to give you twenty sons, enough to form an army all your own!"
Yet fate was ever cruel.
Though Alyssa Targaryen had a heart as steadfast as any warrior's, her body could not match the strength of her spirit. After Aegon's birth, her health declined sharply and never recovered. That very year, at only twenty-four, Alyssa passed away, carrying her regrets with her.
Baelon, shattered by her loss, found solace only in Viserys and Daemon—the sons she had left him. For the rest of his life, he mourned the wife he had adored, with her crooked nose and mismatched eyes.
When the imperial couple in King's Landing received word of Alyssa's death from the Wall, Regalus tasted for the first time the grief of losing a daughter.
Stricken, he warned his children sternly: "You must train diligently in battle energy. Only as strong warriors, with hardened bodies, can you guard yourselves against fate's cruelties. If you lack the gift, then go to Old Valyria, climb the Long Stair, and strengthen your nature. I will not endure another loved one lost to chance."
...
The most troublesome and humiliating chapter of Regalus's reign revolved around their ninth child, Princess Saera.
Three years younger than Daenaera, she seemed to have inherited all the courage her sister lacked—and an endless hunger besides. Milk, food, affection, praise—she demanded them all in excess.
As an infant, she screamed more than she cried. Those piercing shrieks became the Red Keep's curse, haunting every maid.
"She demands everything, and she demands it instantly," Grand Maester Elysar wrote of the two-year-old Princess. "When she grows, may the Seven save us. The Dragonkeepers would be wise to lock the dragons away."
He could not have known how true his words would prove.
Years later, after carefully observing the twelve-year-old Princess, Septon Barth offered a sharper judgment:
"She is the king's daughter, and she knows it well. Servants rush to answer her every whim, though even the slightest delay displeases her. Lords and gallant knights court her favor, noble ladies indulge her temper, and girls her age clamor to be her friends.
Saera takes it all for granted. Had she been the king's firstborn—or his only daughter—perhaps she would have been content. But she is ninth-born, with six elder siblings who outshine her: Jaehaerys, the heir; Aemon, commander of the legions; Baelon, likely to be the Regalus's Hand; Alyssa, with the dignity of a queen mother; Vaegon, the learned scholar; Maegelle, the pious believer. And as for Daenaera… well, when does she not need comforting?
Whenever Daenaera is soothed, Saera is overlooked. They say she is a fierce little girl who needs no comfort. I say they are wrong. Everyone needs comfort."
In her youth, Consort Rhaella had been deemed the very model of wildness, willfulness, and defiance. Yet beside the young Princess Saera, even Rhaella could have been called a lady.
It's difficult to tell whether a child's behavior comes from innocent mischief, reckless pranks, or true malice. But one thing was certain—Princess Saera had long since crossed the line.
She knew her sister Daenaera feared cats, yet she would constantly sneak them into her chambers, once even filling her chamber pot with bees. At ten, she slipped into the White Sword Tower, stole every white cloak she could find, and dyed them pink. By seven, she already knew the perfect times and methods to sneak into the kitchens to steal cakes, pies, and other treats. At eleven, she had moved on to stealing wine and ale. By twelve, she was often too drunk to pray when summoned to the Sept.
The Emperor's fool, Turnip Tom, was the target of many of her jokes and, unwittingly, the accomplice of others. At one grand feast attended by nobles from across the realm, she convinced Tom to perform naked to liven the mood, throwing the hall into chaos. On another occasion, far more cruelly, she told him that climbing onto the Iron Throne would make him king. Ever clumsy and trembling, the fool left with his arms and thighs shredded by the throne's blades.
"She was a vicious child," her Septa remarked afterward.
In truth, Princess Saera had already gone through six Septas—and just as many bedmates—before her thirteenth year.
Yet the princess was not without her gifts. Her Maesters admitted she was remarkably intelligent, rivaling her brother Vaegon in many ways. She was also strikingly beautiful—taller and healthier than her sister Daenaera, and as strong, agile, and spirited as her sister Alyssa. When she chose to wield her charm, no one could resist her; her brothers Aemon and Baelon often laughed at her mischief.
From childhood, she had known how to wheedle her father into granting her every desire, whether it was a kitten, a hound, a foal, a falcon, or even a full-grown horse. At least Queen Alysanne was not so indulgent, and Septon Barth often noted that Saera's sisters found her more than a little irritating.
With the coming of her first blood, Saera entered maidenhood. After the torment of finding a husband for Daenaera, the Emperor and Empress were relieved to see Saera showing great interest in the young men at court—and them in her.
But only days later, the Emperor received a vision of Saera's future through his [Apocalypse Dreamtrace].
It was a shameful, loathsome sight he dared not reveal to anyone—his own daughter engaged in debauchery with men of many races and colors. The Emperor did not sleep for three nights after that vision.
It was then that he fully grasped the pain of parenthood. He remembered what the world so often said of the Targaryens:
—Whenever a Targaryen Dragonlord is born, the gods flip a coin—one side for greatness, the other for madness.
And from the vision he had seen, it was clear his daughter Saera was destined for madness.
So began his path as a stern father. Within the Red Keep, no man with a sword—or without—would be allowed near Princess Saera again.
When Saera turned fourteen, a merchant from the Summer Isles came before the court. This dark-skinned man, whose presence made Daenaera pale with fear, was named by Saera as a potential suitor.
The moment the Emperor heard those words, his face darkened, uglier than the merchant's black skin. Rage and dread churned inside him. He resolved to tighten his grip on Saera, determined to keep her from walking a road that would damn her forever.
But his harsh measures met fierce opposition from the Empress.
Eyes blazing, she lashed out at her husband, condemning his treatment of Saera as an unforgivable crime that violated the very duties of a father.
Helpless, the Emperor revealed the terrible vision he had seen. With no other way forward, he placed his hopes on his wife, praying she could guide their daughter toward a sound path.
At first, the Queen was horrified by the absurd prophecy. But as she thought back on Saera's words and deeds, the more she considered it, the more she feared the Emperor's vision might indeed come true.
For a moment, even the usually composed and steady Empress found herself at a loss.
She summoned Saera to her side and spoke to her daughter gently yet solemnly:
"Child, do you truly care nothing for the moral standards of this world? I only wish to hear your true feelings. Whatever your choice may be, I will respect it."
At these words, Saera's lips curved into a confident, defiant smile as she answered without hesitation:
"I crave the world's most exquisite pleasures. As Regalus' most beautiful and captivating daughter, this is what I deserve."
Hearing her daughter's reply, the Empress could only give a bitter smile and shake her head, her heart sinking with helplessness. She could think of no way to change Saera's mind.
Regalus had been silently observing their conversation. When he heard Saera's words, he let out a heavy sigh, weighed down with sorrow and despair. His own daughter wished to be a whore. As a father, he felt both pain and worry, yet he was powerless to stop it.
In the end, worn down by the Empress's persistent pleas, Regalus eased his control over Saera. Still, his heart remained clouded with dread, uncertain where his daughter's path might lead.
...
When Princess Saera turned fifteen, suitors gathered in droves. Knights and heirs to great houses vied for her attention, and three became her clear favorites: Jonah Mooton, heir to Maidenpool; Red Roy Connington, the fifteen-year-old Lord of Griffin's Roost; and Braxton Beesbury, the nineteen-year-old knight known as "The Stinger," famed for his unmatched lance skills in the Reach and heir to Honeyholt.
The princess also formed close bonds with two girls her own age—Ferelina Moore and Yara Trebor—whom she affectionately called "Little Fifi" and "Little Riri." For over a year, the six of them were inseparable at feasts and balls. They hunted together, flew hawks, and even sailed across Blackwater Bay to Dragonstone.
When the three young lords practiced jousting or swordplay in the yard, the three maidens cheered them on.
Regalus, meanwhile, was ever consumed with Small Council sessions and devising policies to prepare for the Long Night. Now, with three young men already circling around Saera, there seemed little need for an elaborate search to secure her a husband.
But Regalus's furrowed brow and frequent sighs betrayed his unease. His instincts warned him that matters were far from simple.
Alysanne, too, was doubtful. In her eyes, the two girls were little more than empty-headed fools, while Connington and Mooton were merely immature boys.
One day, the Queen shared her worries with Regalus:
"Saera is clever, yes, but she lacks wisdom in her choices. That one they call 'Bee Sting'—I truly dislike him. It's said he has a bastard in the Reach, and another here in King's Landing. Such a man is not to be trusted."
Regalus's expression grew heavier still.
"What troubles me is that vision of prophecy. It seems more inevitable by the day. I cannot bear the thought of Saera becoming a whore in the eyes of the world. I have one final option—something that may change her nature, though it would cause her pain. I am torn, not knowing what to do..."
"What method is it?" the Empress asked.
Regalus drew a deep breath and replied in a grave tone:
"To surgically remove Saera's sexual desire."
"Ugh..." The Empress's eyes widened in shock. After a long pause, she finally asked, "Could you... remove only part of it?"
"You actually agree?" Regalus stared at his wife in surprise.
The Empress said nothing, only held his gaze in silence before nodding slightly.
"Very well," Regalus said at last. "I will attempt partial removal, but I cannot guarantee success."
That night, under the stillness of darkness, the Emperor carefully performed the delicate procedure on Saera. When it was done, he called upon his divine power, healing the wound instantly and restoring her body.
From that day forward, Princess Saera seemed like a different person. Her behavior underwent a complete transformation. The disreputable companions who once clung to her were cast aside.
She became serene and restrained.
More than once, Saera begged her mother to let her join the faith, to escape the noise and strife of the world.
Her request was denied. The Empress knew that although Regalus had severed only part of Saera's desires, she was still able to bear children and live the life of a normal woman.
"One cut, a permanent cure," Regalus mused.
Seeing his daughter's profound change, the Emperor's long-troubled heart finally eased, and a rare smile of relief touched his lips.
Yet Saera seemed to have discovered an unwavering devotion to the faith. At last, the Queen had no choice but to grant her request.
Half a month later, Aegon and Alysanne offered their second daughter to the church. Princess Saera, not yet seventeen, entered the newly built Sept of Seven Stars in King's Landing, placed under the care of Septa Maegelle.
...
Year of the Conquest, 86.
Queen Alysanne announced the betrothal of her fifteen-year-old daughter Viserra to Gwayne Gardener, Warden of the South. According to Regalus, this marriage would bind one of the great houses of the Reach to the Iron Throne, strengthening the unity of the realm.
Gwayne Gardener was celebrated not only for his valor in battle, but also as a Dragonseed of Dragonlord blood. Under his rule, the southeastern Reach thrived.