Chapter 1: Death of the Chosen; Birth of the Divinely Gifted
- Andur, the Imperial Heartlands | 36th Century AF -
The Imperial Heartland, a swathe of land from which the Empire of Ardur had come to be born in. It is here in the Imperial Heartlands where the many Emperors of Ardur, from Ardur 'The Founder' to the current Emperor, Artureos 'The Chosen,' were born and raised. It is in the Imperial Capital of Andur, where the Imperial Palace is located.
Inside the Imperial Palace, specifically the Imperial Bedchambers, where Emperor Artureos resides. After his eighty years of reigning as the sovereign of the Empire and the successor to Ardur, his body had failed him as for several months he had been bedridden, unable to govern the Empire that now falls to his son, Crowned Sword Artenos, physicians had been called all around the Empire to heal the Emperor but they have continuously stated their inability to do anything, in turn, Artureos ordered for the quick ascension of his son Artenos to the Imperial Throne while also giving him full Imperial Powers as he was the only one capable of managing the Empire.
It was like any normal day for Artureos but today, over several weeks of mental debate, he had decided that over several failed attempts at healing his ailing body, Artureos got a knife and prepared to die. He had debated in his mind whether or not he'd do such a thing but after knowing preparations for his son's ascension were completed, he was finally content with his life. He had conciliated the subjects of his ancestors' empire, pushed back the Infernal Legions, regained the loyalty of the Imperial Colonies, started what many now called the 'Scientific Revolution,' and acquired a friendship in one of the 7 Elven Kingdoms of Jedela.
Many in the Empire called him one of 'The Greatest,' emperors the Empire had ever seen but in his eyes he could've done many more things, one such thing was the redeeming of his father's image and reputation. That was the only wish he had asked of his son, to change the history that was written against his father, to write down the truth instead of laying all the evils he did and hiding and erasing any good he had done.
It was one of the rare days where his body was strong enough to move on its own, the way he wished to die was for him to lay in his bathtub, whilst taking a hot bath then for him to slit his wrists and die of blood loss. It was once his own father's way to leave the mortal plane and join Ardur in the heavens... And now it was his.
In the thirty-sixth century, five days since the recent restart of Oiran's cycle, in the personal bath chambers of the Emperor of Ardur, there lay in the tub was the body of Emperor Artureos as his blood mixed with that of the steamy water. Later in the morning, the bells of the city rang for ninety-two times, a symbol of the deceased emperor's long reign, his body was prepared for his royal funeral procession with it escorted around the Imperial Capital and the nearby cities. The procession lasted five days until finally, his body was buried in the Imperial Cemetery with thousands of onlookers watching his burial. For those of the highly educated, the Emperor's death marked the end of a millennium old era, an era of fear and death, with the recent discoveries and inventions made by the many men and women of the Empire, time would only tell until the Empire of Ardur completely 'industrialised,' yet it also gave off a melancholic feeling as with the death of Artureos means the death of the many fables and tales of heroic knights and divine heroes.
- King's Landing, Westeros | 281 AC -
Westeros, the far western continent of the Known World, that which inhabits the Kingdom, or kingdoms, of the Iron Throne. For nigh three centuries, the old Valyrian House of the Targaryens called the Iron Throne theirs and Westeros their domain but their reign has ended. Upon the two hundred eighty-first year after Aegon's Conquest, the House of the last Dragons of Valyria was brought down by the antlers, the fangs, the beak, the gills, and the claws of their former vassals. Fortunately for some, the last children of the Dragon have survived yet was it truly worth to continue living if your life was to be on the streets, begging for the most meager of foods and shelters.
The kidnapping of the Stag Baratheon's betrothed and rumored imprisonment and rape at the hands of the Crown Prince of the Iron Throne, Rhaegar Targaryen. Then the imprisonment of the heir of the North, Brandon Stark, for the release of his sister as well as an honorable duel with the Crown Prince. When news that his son was imprisoned, the Warden of the North, Rickard Stark, left and rode to King's Landing to plea for the release of his son. Yet those pleas fell on deaf ears as the Scab King, Aerys, merely laughed at the Warden of the North and imprisoned him as well, in a few days, Brandon was taken to the throne room, there, he saw his father, suspended in the air as wildfire was lit below him. Brandon, hindered by the laces around his neck from a Tyroshi device, tried to save his father by attempting to acquire a sword at his finger tips yet the device pulled further and further until both son and father died. The screams of the Warden and the muffled shouts of the heir were not heard as the room was filled with the joy and laughter of the Mad King. The rest was history, Houses Baratheon, Stark, and Arryn rebelled with the following of House Tully after some deliberate diplomatic talks.
From the carcass of the dragon, the Stag Baratheons reign triumphant as they now styled themselves the new Kings of the Iron Throne, of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men. Yet there are still those who ill speak of the Stag-King, those who still sing praises to the Targaryens and call the Stag a Usurper. Though the alliance of the Stag, the Falcon, and the Direwolf cease any discontent and rebellion against the new regime for many lessons were taught in the War for Westeros, one such lesson was the power and might of the North, once again, the South learns that the North is not a barren wasteland filled with barbarians but an untamable land where from warriors of great strength and skill were born and made.
The realm was kept tight with the alliance, though thin as it was, but the experienced Falcon knew for the betterment of the realm that a marriage needed to be formed between the elevated Royal House of Baratheon and that of their strongest and wealthiest supporter, the Lions of Casterly Rock, the Lannisters. And so it was, the bells of Baelor's Sept rung as Cersei Lannister, called the most beautiful maiden of the realm, wed the battle-hardened Stag-King, Robert Baratheon.
Like every Westerosi marriage, a feast was called for immediately after the newlyweds made their vows. For several hours, the feast for the union of the Stags and the Lions commenced, the Stag-King, in all his great strength and martial prowess, succumbed to one of his two greatest vices, the Stag chugging down on more and more glasses of wine. After some hours, the many Lords and Ladies that arrived to celebrate the union of the two Houses called for the Bedding Ceremony.
For thousands of years, Westerosi tradition called for the groom and bride to be carried off by their fellow Lords and Ladies to be stripped of their clothing and left to their bedchambers where they shall consummate their marriage. For many Westerosi couples, the tradition was well kept and respected and many a time this would be where the maiden would be first penetrated by her first and only, the ideal scenario for a couple, but it was not to be for Cersei Lannister and Robert Baratheon.
As they were consummating their marriage, Robert, intoxicated from several dosages of alcohol, whispered into the ear of his Lady-Wife... "Lyanna..." The Stag-King's former beloved, ever since he laid eyes upon the She-Wolf, he could never forget ever again. Such an act had angered the Lioness, having only one thought in her mind... 'A dead girl is far more appealing than me?' For what could have been a loving family became a Husband who couldn't forget his former, and a Wife who would never forget the slight done against her.
Several weeks went by with the new Queen either completely avoiding the King or outright ignoring her. The King, in response, made many hunts into the nearby Kingswood, both king and queen avoiding each other yet on this day, they would be forced to meet. After several visits to the Grand Maester Pycelle, Queen Cersei found out that she was pregnant with the King's child. This was a cause for celebration and merriment, dozens of ravens flew out of the rookery of King's Landing, to the various holds and keeps of the Lord-Paramounts and Wardens.
In a few weeks, nearly every one of the High Houses of Westeros gathered in King's Landing for the celebration of the news to the Queen's pregnancy. It would be a quick celebration though, as the many Lord-Paramounts went on to return to their seats to govern and rule in the name of His Grace, King Robert Baratheon.
Over the several months, the Queen was cared for by both Wet Nurses and her Handmaidens. Several times in a single day did the Queen have terrible pains and kicks from her child, as if saying he wished to be born sooner yet the natural order of things hindered them to be born. Though on this particular day, the pains became so unbearable that the Queen was forced to the bed, it was so concerning that the Queen's brother, and fellow White Cloak Brother, Jaime Lannister, called for Grand Maester Pycelle to see if whether or not such pains were normal.
The Grand Maester, at first glance, quickly shouted for the Wet Nurses to prepare the equipment.
"What's happening, Pycelle?!"
Jaime questioned.
"My Lord, your sister, Her Grace, is going through labor."
"Jaime!"
Cersei screamed for her twin. Quickly did he come to her side as she took hold of his arm and gripped it. The Kingsguard exhaled a breath of air from the strength used by his twin.
"Remind me to never be on your bad side ever..."
He said in a weak voice as he gripped his shoulder.
"Quiet!"
Cersei screamed at her twin's remark.
Throughout the room, many Wet Nurses, fellow Maesters and Pycelle prepared the equipment for the pregnancy. For several hours, the screams and cries of the Queen filled the halls of the Red Keep, nay, King's Landing in its entirety. By now, the King had returned from one of his hunts into the Kingswood, waiting outside of the room with his Kingsguard.
"Tell me, Kingslayer. How long do you think this thing will last?"
"I don't know your grace, I've never been in the presence of a laboring woman."
"How about you Barristan? You've been in the Kingsguard for years, you've at least been in the presence of the birthing of the Silver-Headed shits."
"Well, your Grace, the former Queen Rhaella had difficulties in the birthing process, many a time did the babe become a stillborn, it was a great thing when Viserys was born."
"Viserys."
At the utterance of the word, the face of Robert became disgusted as if the mere utterance of the name revolted him.
"Once my son is born, one of you get me my fucking Master of Whispers."
The two Kingsguards nodded to their King as the continued cries and screams of the Queen echoed throughout the Red Keep.
Another several hours later, the three men remained where they were like a few hours before. The queen's screams died down and regained their momentum over and over again.
"Seven Hells! I could've bashed the Dragonspawn at the Trident again at this point!"
Suddenly, the screams became shouts of joys as Pycelle's voice could be heard congratulating the Queen. At that, Robert stood as Jaime and Ser Barristan stood at attention. As the door opened, a midwife came out carrying a white bundle.
"It's a boy your Grace!"
Quickly did Robert go over to the midwife and stare at his son. In shock, Robert shouted a question.
"Why isn't the damn boy cryin'?!"
"We don't know your Grace."
"Mayhaps he isn't as loud as you are your Grace."
Jaime had remarked gaining a sigh of disappointment from his Lord-Commander and a quick gaze from his King.
"He isn't as loud as me but at least he has my damn strength!"
Then he quickly entered the room and stared at Pycelle, the old Grand Maester stiffed his body in fear.
"Why isn't the boy cryin'?"
"Well your Grace. It is rare for a babe to be born without crying but it is not unheard of."
"He's healthy at least?"
"Oh perfectly your Grace."
Then slowly, Robert went to beside Cersei and knelt.
"What'd you wanna name him, Cersei?"
The Queen, weak as she was, mustered all the strength she still had and said.
"Artur... Artur Baratheon."
"Aye. A strong name. He'll be bashing skulls and fucking girls like his father!"
As Robert said that, the midwife went to the left side of the Queen and handed her her son. The boy made a sound at being given to his mother.
"See! He can't even wait to start!"
"He'll be the greatest King Westeros will ever see... "
Cersei whispered, silent enough for Robert to not hear it but loud enough for her son to hear. Clutching her child, both mother and son quickly slept together, being left alone to let both sleep in silence.
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