The heirs to his throne played in the garden below the balcony, their laughter light in the air, the smiles on their faces carefree and genuine. He watched those around him enjoy the afternoon, the warm sun on their faces, the rich smells of the garden and the midday banquet mixing in the air around them. His daughter relaxed on a divan, stretched out absently talking with a lady in waiting, one eye on her children as they played. His son in law, the Prince of the Holstamp province, and patriarch of the High House Holstamp Tomas sat next to him, engaged in a game of crooks and kings.
Beyond the walls of the garden Imperial City bustled. Stretching around the palace further than any other city in the known world, it was the jewel of the Empire of Man, called Raakonia after it was rebuilt when the dragons burned it to cinders. In this city his face was on every coin, his name on the tips of every tongue. His families’ legacy around him, the rebuilt walls of all that symbolized the order of the world. In the garden of heroes, a statue of his oldest brother, who had died in the effort against the dragons, and at his command. One day, his statue would stand next to him. Everything around him was wrought by the millennia of Imperial History and forged into what it was now by his hand.
“Any new word from the south your grace?” His son in law asked, making his next move on the board.
“None. Your cousin readies his march. We await word of his work.”
“He’ll be splendid. He’s been waiting for this moment for most of his life.”
The dragon considered the pieces on the board in front of him, an easy metaphor for his life of rulership. The crowns were the High Houses, the rulers of the provinces and the glue that held the empire together. The low houses were the crooks, the pieces that worked the will of the emperor, the high houses, and formed the next line of leadership and defense of the land. All the houses were organized similarly, but each had their own traditions. The patriarch, or matriarch of a noble house was by imperial tradition and law the leader of the house. Second to them, the neopatriarch or matriarch. There was no distinction between the sexes, as imperial law had long ago settled the matter of equality.
Carthus, his son in law was a good man. He made his daughter happy, and he was a good father. He existed in two realms, one as the husband of the Empress’s daughter, and second as the patriarch of the Holstamp Tomas, perhaps the richest and most influential of the high houses of Raakonia. His most formal title was Prince, and he was the regent, subordinate only to the Emperor of the province of Holstamp. Carthus’s family the Holstamp Tomas was a combination of two older, powerful houses that had traditionally ruled Holstamp province, to the west of the Imperial province, Imperious, the seat of the emperor. They were, at least currently the richest of the high houses, their coffers filled with the trade from the white city Holstamp’ s docks, and their mines in Black mountains, nestled in the middle of their province. The emperor had many thoughts about the Holstamp Tomas, and in truth, the only one of them he could stand to spend time with was his son in law. He was the exception to the pit of vipers the rest of his family exemplified. Carthus was their patriarch, his neopatriarch Janus; but just a generation before the matriarch had been Anessa, who quietly went by the wayside after Valhelm’s ascension. Carthus’s hold on the house was tenuous at best.
To the south of Imperious province was the breadbasket of the empire, Aragon. Ruled by the Aragonian high house, one of the most ancient families of the empire. Their current patriarch was Prince Lionel the twelfth a kind, wise man who was in his waning years. Lionel had stood with the dragon during the war, and after been one of his chief supporters in the rebuilding effort. He was old now, and rarely left the Lion Keep, and the dragon believed that he would not see another winter. His second was Lionella, sixth named of the Aragon, a dour, unimaginative woman who Valhelm found humorless. He had prepared for years for her ascension into leadership of the Aragon, knowing full well that while she would support him, he could expect nothing inspirational from her.
To the south of Aragon was the iron province of Libertan, which bordered both the high elven kingdom, and the savage lands of the Val E Naa. Libertan was ruled by the High House Vacul, their current patriarch Prince Stadislav, an absolute cudgel of a man. The Vacul were traditionalists, formal, and devout to the God of Order. Stadislav exemplified the Vacul’s staunch black and grey and had remained a stalwart supporter of the dragon since the war’s conclusion decades ago. Where Valhelm had claimed the crown after the death of Emperor Alexander the tenth, who was a Vacul by birth, the Vacul did not oppose him. Stadislav had made it clear it was more important to defeat the dragons. His belief in the empire over the needs of his house exemplified the honor and dignity his house strived to showcase. Unfortunately, he was now old, and while not on his waning bed as Lionel was, he was not far from it. His second, the neopatriarch Dragus was young, hungry, and ambitious. The dragon was concerned what type of direction his leadership would take for the Vacul when his time came.
To the south of Holstamp and west of Aragon was the youngest province of the empire, their frontier as it was. Led by High House Grimm, the western province was an untamed land, conquered from the ogres a few hundred years before. He was born and Grimm and had left his name behind when he became Imperious. Their patriarch was Arbetus the second, named after Valhelm’s brother who had perished in the war. The current Arbetus was nothing like his namesake. Valhelm’s brother had been a great man, a pious man, and a warrior of renown. Arbetus the second was none of those things. It was a sore point for him that his former house had become so lackluster in just a few decades. He wanted to lift them up but showing any type of favoritism to the family he left behind for the throne was not proper. They would have to find their own way up.
The only High House without a province was the Honadel, the oldest house of the empire, currently led by Farus, a compatriot and supporter of the Valhelm. Farus had been one of his first voices of support when he took the throne during the war, and had stayed a stalwart, trusted ally. His daughter Angelica was neo, matriarch and would inherit the house when Farus passed. Luckily, Farus was in good health and showed no signs of moving on soon. Angelica was like most of her generation, headstrong, having never had to feel the horrors of the wars their fathers and grandfathers fought.
After the High Houses came the low houses which waxed and waned with the age and the fortunes of those who were noble. There were some that stood the test of time, the MeClure, Faulk, Abbott, Devas and Miller; and some that were relatively newer like the Calloway, Weiss, Decker, and Payne. Some, like the Faulk controlled vast tracts of land in the empire and were almost a High House, while others like the Calloway were barely more than a large merchant family. The low houses, with the priesthoods, and the Knights of Dawn solidified what made Raakonia the largest empire on the continent.
While not a province, perhaps one of the most important places of the empire was the Vanguard, situated to the west of the Imperious border that separated the empire from the vast Thies desert. The Vanguard was one of the engineering marvels of the empire, a massive fortress situated in the Thies pass. It protected the land from ogre incursion, setting as a bulwark in the only reasonable pass through the mountains. Stationed there was a large force of the imperial legion, and the nobles’ houses rotated young sons and daughters to stand their turn in vigilance on the Vanguard. The ogres had remained a foe of the empire for as long as there had been an empire, their ideologies vastly different to those of man. There was never ‘peace’ with the ogres, only lulls in the fighting between the two peoples.
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
The last province of his land lay to the north of Imperious was the rocky home of the mountain elves. It was with their agreement to be led some two millennia prior that had established the Raakonian empire from the Kingdom of Man. Jeb the first had solidified the compact which put the tribes of mountain elves under Imperial banner, and it had been so since. Their prince Taren Irontree was nearing the end of his reign, as it rotated among the tribes. Taren, and the mountain elves in general were unproblematic, and had served as staunch backbones of the empire since the dragon war, and long before. Valhelm often wished all the nobility acted as the mountain elves did. They were wholly unlike their cousins the high elves, who sat on the empire’s southwestern border.
The high elven kingdom was far older than the Raakonian empire. The historians said at least it was double the age of the empire, at best, three times. They were older lived, about twice the length of a human’s life, and slower to change. There had been peace with the high elves, and war, the fortunes of both nations intwined with the spirit of the age in which they lived. The empire and the high elves had locked in legitimate war at least six times over the course of two millennia, perhaps the bloodiest of all during the birth of the Kingdom of Man, the precursor to the empire. The early Raakonians called it the battle of ‘Nation Forge’ the high elves, ‘The War of Aggression’. The humans had won, defeating a far superior foe, and claiming lands from what was now Aragon to Imperious. The empire came later, but the birth of the nation started with the legitimacy of beating the high elves. Peace came, peace went, and now, thankfully the border was small, relegated to the narrow tract of land where Bordertown sat. Now, there was peace, and had been since the dragon war. The dragon knew of no signs this would change. The high elven king was old and kind and had not the taste for war.
The other border of the empire was occupied by the savage Val E Naa, of which Carthus had spoken. The dragon had sent the legion south for the last two decades, not to conquer, but to quell the border and give his soldiers something to sharpen their sword against. It was a source of debate in the empire, but the dragon was certain that war was always on the horizon, and a well, prepared legion and fighting corp was necessary for the long, term safety of his people. He was not a warmonger, but he knew the precipice the empire had looked down from during the dragon war.
The second great war, third dragon war, often called simply the ‘dragon war’ was the defining chapter of Valhelm’s early rule. For it was he, Valhelm, formerly of the house Grimm until he took the mantle of House Imperious, the house of the Emperor. Valhelm to those who were intimate with him, the emperor to those who kneeled, and the dragon to all. Depending on his mood he was either comfortable with the moniker ‘the dragon’ or he detested it, but it was clear the histories would remember him as the dragon. He was three men in one, three names in one, all with a different face.
He had been born as one of many sons of Luther Grimm, a soldier in the Legion who rose to enough acclaim that he was made a nobleman and given lands and title. He served as a knight in his youth, a lord early on, and a prince soon thereafter. He had ruled the West and stood as the patriarch of House Grimm. All was well in the world until the dragons came. Imperial City burned. The provinces were rife with chaos and death. Emperors died in the flames of dragons, and entire noble houses had been destroyed. He was a Grimm then, fighting alongside his brothers, trying desperately to scrap ahead enough to survive against the dragons. By fortune or fate, he strung one victory after another together, and then men followed him. Other houses followed him. Mages followed him. Person by person he had been the man who inspired the fight against the horde. He had been the man who had pushed back against the dragons, drawn blood, and showed the empire it was not defeated.
He who was called the ‘Dragon Emperor’ for he had saved the Empire, if not the entire world from the hordes of dragons that sought to enslave it. It was he who held the line and rallied the forces of men, elves, and others to fight against the masters they sought to destroy them. It was he who had killed them, taught others to kill them, and executed the greatest victories the Empire had known. In two thousand plus years of Imperial history, it was he whose name was shouted into the history books, he who was called the greatest emperor to walk the land that Raakon had founded.
That was a generation ago and then some, now was the time of his children, and their grandchildren. It was he who had known war for so long, and now he knew peace for even longer, yet the battles of the past still weighed heavy on his shoulders. There was no melancholy about him, he didn’t dream at night of dragon fire. Those days were passed, and now he ruled the lands he had saved. Still, it weighed heavy. The constant threats to their safety and sovereignty. The high elves on the border, restless now. The ogres to the east, always clamoring for blood. The Anoram a sea away, quickly becoming a true rival in both military and culture to the Empire of Man. The Iron Kingdom to the north, their pirates and raiders ever willing to take what they could. The Val E Naa to the south, a constant thorn in the side of the empire, and Valhelm’s struggle over the last decade. Despite his desire for peace, he had played at war with the Val E Naa for near two decades now, to keep his legions trained and ready to defend his realm.
Valhelm realized he had been lost in thought, and Carthus had continued extoling the virtues of his cousin, now going south to lead the harrying of the Val E Naa. In truth, he didn’t listen, nor care. The general in the south was another general, a new name in a long string of men sent to harass the Val E Naa.
“This is family time. Not meant for talk of war and politics.” His daughter said, casting a look of disapproval at her husband. The emperor nodded in agreement, his daughter smiling as he did, a contented smile of a mother with her children, surrounded by those she loved. It was sudden, as it often was, the pangs of regret the emperor felt when he looked at her. In the lines of her face, he could see his son, many years gone now. Whenever he thought of him the same scenarios came to mind; ‘what if he hadn’t?’, ‘what if he was not the way he was?’ In all the decisions he had made over five decades of rule, in peace and in war, his son haunted him the most. There was no escape from confronting the past whenever he saw her.
He stood, and reflexively so did everyone else, his son in law, his daughter, all present. He waved his hand to the side and they returned to their leisure. He turned and walked down the stairs next to the balcony, down with his grandchildren. They chased each other in the garden, spitting images of each other in male and female variety, twins, near identical save their sex. He watched them play, just shy of an age with any real responsibility. Not long until they would undertake harder lessons, more responsibility and learning for the day when inevitably he would pick which one of them was his heir. Never had the empire been in such a predicament, two heirs, born at the same time, both in line to inherit. Further complicated that they would inherit from arguably the greatest and most powerful Emperor of all who had come before him. Perhaps most complicated of all: Valhelm could tell now that neither of them had what was needed to take the throne.
The Dragon Emperor watched his grandchildren play in his garden, the scents of the roses and lilacs hanging in the air around him. For a moment he put aside the burden of ruling all he surveyed, and the choice between the two he would make one day, and simply enjoyed the afternoon as a grandfather watching his lineage play.
