Chapter 15: The Unyielding Bastion and the Shifting East
The Thousand-Year Peace (Circa 2,500 BC)
The Thousand-Year War wasn't a conflict that ended with a grand, decisive battle. It concluded with a profound, weary silence. For a millennium, waves of Andal warlords, zealous priests, and ambitious kings had thrown their armies against the impenetrable might of House Leywin. They had seen their iron turn to dust, their siege engines dissolve, their armies vanish into the aether, or simply freeze solid under my will. Generations of Andals had grown up with the terrifying legend of the Immortal Lord of House Leywin, the Soul Reaper of the Gods Eye, the being who made the central Riverlands an inviolable domain.
Finally, they simply stopped. The Andal kings and warlords, having cemented their rule over the south, west, and Vale, implicitly accepted the boundaries. The Riverlands, particularly the core protected by House Leywin, became a unique anomaly: a bastion of the First Men, a place where the Old Gods were openly revered, guarded by a power that defied all understanding. The war had not been won by conquest, but by absolute, unwavering deterrence.
"Took them long enough to get the memo, Princess," Regis observed, his shadowy form lounging on a sun-drenched battlement of the Grand Castle of Leywin, watching a small fleet of Andal merchant ships sail far to the south, giving the Gods Eye a wide berth. "A thousand years just to figure out 'don't poke the ancient, pissed-off demigod with a stick'. Humans, am I right?"
Ceara, overseeing the training of a new cohort of Leywin levies – tough, disciplined First Men warriors who were fiercely loyal to their protectors – chuckled. "It's a form of victory, Regis. They learned."
Under my protection, the lands of House Leywin flourished. The smallfolk and First Men who had flocked to our banner lived in an unprecedented era of peace and prosperity. Our territories became a melting pot of First Men traditions, safe from Andal persecution. My rule was light, focused on justice and cultivation of the land. It was a testament to what could be achieved when mortals were shielded from endless conflict.
The Transient Kings of the Rivers and Hills
Beyond Leywin's direct protection, the wider Riverlands remained a turbulent realm. The Andal invasion had created a power vacuum, filled by a succession of First Men houses who rose to prominence, only to fall again, testament to the fleeting nature of mortal power compared to my own immortality.
One such house was House Mud. The Mudds, claiming descent from the legendary King Mudd, rose from the western reaches of the Riverlands. They were a powerful, warlike First Men house, renowned for their earth-shaking cavalry and their fierce devotion to the ancient ways. I observed their ascent, their consolidation of power, and their valiant, though ultimately futile, efforts to push back the Andal tide beyond the protective shadow of House Leywin. I never directly interfered in their internal struggles or their wars against other Andal houses, as my pact was with my protected lands, but I would sometimes subtly aid them in battles against overwhelming Andal numbers, lending a whisper of aetheric reinforcement to their defenses, or conjuring opportune mists to cover their retreats. Their strength was a fleeting thing, however. After generations of dominance, their line ultimately buckled under combined Andal pressure and internal strife, their kings vanquished, their lineage shattered.
Then came the House Justman. From the ruins of the Mudds' power, another First Men house rose to claim the Riverlands. The Justmans, renowned for their strongholds and tactical prowess, managed to carve out a new kingdom. They established greater order, building new castles and asserting their dominance over the numerous smaller lords. Their reign, though significant, was also destined to pass. They warred with their neighbors, faced new Andal incursions, and eventually, after centuries of rule, their own line too faded, dissolving into the annals of history, a familiar pattern of mortal rise and fall.
"It's like watching a bunch of toddlers build sandcastles, Princess," Regis commented during the collapse of one of the Justman strongholds to a new Andal army. "So much effort, so little staying power. Maybe they should ask for tips from your 'Death-Trap-Deluxe' castle here."
"Their struggles, Regis, are what forge their destiny," I replied, my gaze distant. "My purpose is not to dictate their rule, but to ensure that life itself, and the memory of the Old Gods, endures."
The Rise of the Free Cities: Valyria's Shadow
While Westeros reshaped itself through centuries of internecine warfare and the Andal conquest, my global aetheric senses remained attuned to the East. The Valyrian Freehold had reached its zenith, its empire sprawling across a vast portion of the continent.
Their expansion, however, wasn't just about conquest; it was about the creation of new centers of power. As Valyria consolidated its gains after the Ghiscari Wars and began the brutal Rhoynar Wars, new cities, many of them former trading posts or rebel colonies, emerged from the chaos. These were the Free Cities.
I watched as Lys, Myr, Tyrosh, Pentos, Braavos, and others began to rise. Some, like Braavos, were founded by refugees fleeing the Valyrian yoke, a defiant stand against their might. Others, like Pentos and Lys, were powerful trading ports that found themselves increasingly independent as Valyria focused its efforts elsewhere or simply extended its protection in exchange for tribute. They flourished under the vast economic web created by the Freehold, even as they retained their unique identities.
This wasn't a sudden event, but a gradual unfolding over centuries. Valyria's insatiable need for slaves, resources, and strategic outposts ironically fostered the growth of these independent, mercantile city-states. They became havens for diverse cultures, new faiths, and, crucially, centers of immense wealth.
"So, the dragon-riders are busy playing 'empire-builder'," Regis noted, his mental voice laced with amusement as I processed distant aetheric readings of a massive Valyrian naval engagement against the Rhoynar. "And in doing so, they're accidentally creating these little rebellious mini-states. How utterly predictable."
"It is the ebb and flow of mortal ambition," I mused, observing the countless ships, the flashes of water magic from the Rhoynar, and the overwhelming fire of the dragons. The Rhoynar, though brave, were destined to fall. Their desperate plight, their eventual flight across the narrow sea, was a future already forming in my aetheric perceptions.
My time as the Immortal Lord of House Leywin had defined centuries of Westerosi history, creating a secure, unique haven in the Riverlands. But the world beyond our sanctuary continued its relentless march, driven by the ambitions of men, the rise of empires, and the constant, subtle dance of fate. My role, with Ceara and Regis by my side, continued to evolve, preparing for the next great challenge, whatever form it might take.