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Chapter 18: The Empire's Name, The Maester's Gaze
Time: Circa 100 AC (The End of the Century of Blood)
POV: Kaelen Silvanor
The Century of Blood, a hundred years of relentless conflict and shifting allegiances in Essos, had finally begun to wane. While the Free Cities exhausted themselves in their endless feuds, the Silvanar Empire rose, not with dragons and swords, but with an unwavering tide of trade. My ships, sleek and silent, had become the lifeblood of Westeros, ferrying essential foodstuffs to every major port, from the burgeoning Gold Road trade of Lannisport to the distant, frozen shores of White Harbor, and even the strategic fortress of Dragonstone.
Through this consistent, indispensable supply, the name Silvanar Empire was no longer merely a whispered curiosity but a recognized entity. I, Kaelen, the merchant from its distant, verdant lands, had become known not just for reliability, but for an uncanny ability to always deliver, regardless of storm or war. Over the decades, as my trade network intertwined with the very fabric of Westerosi and Essosi economies, the questions about the true nature of my homeland grew more insistent. I had answered them always with the same measured truth: "The Silvanar Empire exists in Sothoryos, a land of ancient ways. We do not make contact with the outside world often, but the recent turmoils have shown us the world's great need, and our lands are bountiful." This carefully cultivated mystique, combined with undeniable economic power, transformed a reclusive people into a force acknowledged, even if not fully understood. The world now knew the Silvanar Empire for its trade, its consistent provision of plenty.
It was in this era, as the fires of the Century of Blood began to dim, that a most unexpected delegation arrived at the shores of Ael'tharion. A fleet of Maester's ships, emblazoned with the chains and rings of the Citadel, sailed into our main harbor. They were granted safe passage, observed by my well-armed and ever-vigilant fleets, their intent relayed through careful communication. They did not come for trade. They came, astonishingly, to meet the Emperor of the Silvanar. The era of the "merchant Kaelen" had subtly, irrevocably, shifted. The world knew the name, and now they sought its heart.
I received them in the grand council hall of Ael'tharion, a space of living wood and luminous stone, unlike anything they had ever witnessed. The delegation was led by a Grand Maester, his chain heavy with rings of every metal, his face a mask of scholarly gravitas. Around him stood several other Maesters, their eyes wide with a mixture of awe, suspicion, and scientific fervor as they beheld the unique architecture and the distinct, ageless beauty of my people. Our skin tones, our unusual hair colors, our eyes that often held an ancient depth, and most notably, the slight, elegant point of our ears – all marked us as profoundly different from the men of Westeros.
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"Greetings, Emperor Kaelen," the Grand Maester began, his voice surprisingly steady. "We are representatives of the Citadel of Oldtown, the heart of knowledge in Westeros. For decades, your empire's trade has been a lifeline to our lands. Yet, your people remain an enigma. We have heard tales, seen the subtle distinctions in your kin who accompany your vessels. We seek, with your leave, to study the Silvanar Empire."
He gestured to my people, his gaze lingering on a young Silvanar with sapphire-blue hair and sharp, intelligent eyes. "To understand your origins. Your unique physiology. Your apparent resistance to disease and the ravages of time. Your people are unlike any other known race, and the Citadel's purpose is knowledge, to understand the world in all its forms."
The unspoken words hung in the air: You are different. You are magical. And the Citadel has historically held a deep-seated distrust of magic. Their words were cloaked in scholarly curiosity, but the underlying tension was palpable. They sought to unravel us, perhaps to understand us, or perhaps, to control what they could not comprehend.
I listened, my gaze unwavering, my mind sifting through their intentions. This was a risk, a calculated gambit forced by our very success. To refuse outright might brand us as hostile, or worse, confirm their darkest suspicions. But to allow them unfettered access... that was unthinkable.
"You seek knowledge," I stated, my voice resonating through the hall, calm but with an undercurrent of steel. "And the Silvanar Empire values understanding. You may establish a small presence here in Ael'tharion, under strict supervision. You may observe, you may question, you may record. We will share certain aspects of our history and our interaction with the natural world, in ways we deem appropriate."
My eyes locked onto the Grand Maester's, and the air in the chamber grew still, thick with unspoken power. "But let me be clear. Your purpose is knowledge, not interference. We are a people of peace, but our strength runs deeper than you can fathom. If a single one of my people is harmed, if any of your studies prove to be a pretense for espionage, or if you attempt to cross the boundaries I set, know this:"
My voice dropped, becoming a low, dangerous rumble that seemed to echo from the very stones. "I will make the Citadel pay for it a hundred times over. There will be no corner of your world, no ancient text, no hidden lore that will be safe from the wrath of the Silvanar Empire. You will find our reclusiveness was a choice, not a weakness."
The Grand Maester, for all his scholarly courage, visibly paled. The implied threat was clear, delivered with an authority that transcended mere words. He swallowed hard, then slowly nodded. "Understood, Emperor. We seek only knowledge."
And so, the doors of the Silvanar Empire opened, if only a crack, to the watchful, wary eyes of the Citadel. The world's recognition had now brought forth its probing hand, and the delicate dance between revelation and secrecy had just begun.
Please let me know if you can see both parts of Chapter 18 now. Once confirmed, we can discuss what happens next.