Chapter 38
- [90 AC]
The Targaryen fleet, a grand procession of ships bearing the dragon banner and the sigils of countless Westerosi houses, finally reached the distant shores of the Silvanor Empire. For days, the journey had been a mixture of anticipation and unease. Whispers of arid, volcanic lands and strange, forbidding peoples had filled the lower decks. What greeted them, however, was a landscape born of dreams.
Instead of desolation, they found a vibrant, emerald coastline where ancient, colossal trees met the shimmering turquoise waters. The air was thick with the exotic, intoxicating scents of blooming, luminescent flora, and a subtle, almost palpable magical energy seemed to hum and tingle on the skin.
As their ships sailed inland, navigating a wide, crystal-clear river, the true marvel of the Silvanor Empire's capital, Ael'tharion (The Grand Capital), began to unfold. It was a city unlike anything in Westeros or even the grand tales of old Valyria. Imposing structures of polished white stone, almost impossibly graceful, did not merely stand amongst trees, but seemed to grow from them, their elegant spires reaching into the sky like petrified blossoms. Living vines covered entire buildings, glowing softly at their edges, and great, arching bridges crafted from what appeared to be solidified starlight spanned the river. Strange, delicate creatures with wings that shimmered with all the colors of the rainbow flitted through the air, their calls like wind chimes.
The docks of Eldoria were themselves masterpieces, carved not from cut stone, but from the immense, ancient roots of trees, smoothed and polished over millennia to form perfect mooring places. As the lead ships glided towards them, the Westerosi lords gathered on deck, their jaws slack. A welcoming procession awaited them, unlike any parade or muster they had ever seen.
Thousands upon thousands of Silvanor warriors stood in perfect, silent formation along the riverbanks and on the terraces above. Their armor gleamed, not with dull steel, but with a polished, bronze-like material that seemed to shimmer and shift in hues of green and gold as they moved. These were the Silvanor themselves: tall, impossibly graceful figures with pointed ears, their eyes glowing with an inner light, holding an air of quiet, ancient command.
But it was the creatures interspersed within these disciplined ranks that truly snatched the breath from the Westerosi lords and replaced it with a cold, primal fear. Towering figures, not merely twice the height of a man, but closer in scale to the most terrifying legends of King Kong, marched with a disciplined, ground-shaking precision. Their colossal, muscled bodies were covered in dense, dark fur, so immense that they dwarfed even the largest warhorses of Westeros. These were the Great Apes of House Silvanor, creatures of unimaginable strength and unwavering loyalty, serving as both formidable warriors and the Emperor's personal guard. They moved with an eerie, devastating agility for their bulk, each step reverberating through the ships. Their intelligent eyes, the size of human heads, observed the arriving Westerosi with a potent mix of primal curiosity and raw, untamed power. Many wore crude but effective armor—thick, woven vines reinforced with massive bone plates—while some wielded entire tree trunks ripped from the earth as weapons, others effortlessly carried boulders the size of small wagons, ready to be hurled.
The entire formation was a living, breathing tapestry of overwhelming military might, a silent, yet thunderous, demonstration of the power and diversity of the Silvanor Empire. It was not the familiar clang of steel and the rumble of cavalry, but a display of disciplined, almost ethereal power interwoven with the raw, elemental strength of nature's behemoths. The awe on the faces of the Westerosi lords twisted into something akin to terror. The power of dragons, which they understood, seemed almost elegant compared to the raw, untamed, earth-shattering might embodied by these colossal apes. Whispers of fear and disbelief rippled through their ranks. This was not just a welcoming ceremony; it was an undeniable statement, a stark glimpse into a civilization far older, far more powerful, and far more wondrous and terrifying than they could have ever imagined. The alliance they had forged now carried a weight and a potential they were only just beginning to comprehend.
As the Targaryen family and the leading lords disembarked, Emperor Kaelen stood at the forefront of the welcoming party. Beside him stood other members of his long-lived family, their ageless faces bearing expressions of polite, measured curiosity. Flanking Kaelen were several of the colossal Great Apes, standing like silent, living mountains, their immense forms a potent and terrifying symbol of the Emperor's authority. The lords felt a chill that had nothing to do with the sea air – they were not merely visiting an ally, but entering a realm where power was measured on a scale beyond their comprehension.