A/N: even though I said I wasn't posting today, I already had chapter 9 done, but chapters 10 - 12 will be released tomorrow
Chapter 9: The Decade of Growth
Ten years changed everything.
Alaric stood on the castle balcony, the same spot where he'd watched an empty city so long ago, and looked at what Aetherion had become. The capital sprawled below him, terrace after terrace of white stone and silver-veined crystal, canals glittering in the morning light. Smoke rose from a thousand chimneys. Ships crowded the harbor. Children's laughter drifted up from the plazas.
One hundred and twenty thousand souls. That's what the city held now. More than some of the Free Cities. More than anyone beyond these shores knew.
Aurelia trilled from her perch, feathers gleaming silver-blue in the sun.
"I know," Alaric murmured. "It's a lot."
She trilled again, and he smiled.
☆☆★☆☆
The noble hierarchy had taken years to design.
Alaric hadn't wanted a copy of the systems he'd seen elsewhere, the entrenched nobility of Westeros, the merchant oligarchs of the Free Cities, the sorcerer-kings of Valyria. He wanted something that rewarded merit without forgetting mercy, that gave power to those who earned it while protecting those who didn't.
The Wizengamot of Aetherion, named for a system he remembered from another world, was his solution.
A legislative body and judicial court combined, it gave each noble house a voice while reserving final authority to the crown. The Most Ancient and Noble Houses held ten votes each. Ancient and Noble Houses held three to five, depending on their history and service. Noble Houses held two. Ministers, in their own right, held one.
It wasn't perfect. Nothing was. But it gave structure to power, a way for disputes to be settled and laws to be made without constant appeals to the throne.
The first session had been chaos. The tenth was almost orderly.
☆☆★☆☆
The Most Ancient and Noble House of Vengerberg
Yennefer had accepted her elevation with characteristic grace, which is to say she'd rolled her eyes and said "fine" in a tone that suggested she was doing everyone a favor. But she'd taken the responsibility seriously, building her house into something formidable.
Fifty noble houses owed fealty to Vengerberg, each headed by one of the original sorcerers and sorceresses who'd followed Yennefer from Sothoryos. They'd spread across the kingdom, establishing estates in the capital, their magical expertise woven into every aspect of Aetherion's life.
The Vengerberg seat in the Wizengamot carried ten votes. Yennefer used them carefully, always aware that her voice shaped the kingdom's laws.
Alaric had also fixed the damage done to her body long ago, the twisted womb that would have kept her from bearing children. She knew. She hadn't decided what to do with the knowledge yet. Some choices needed time.
☆☆★☆☆
The Most Ancient and Noble House of Wolf
Vesemir had tried to refuse.
"I'm a witcher," he'd growled. "I kill monsters. I don't sit in councils and vote on grain prices."
"You're the leader of three hundred witchers," Alaric had replied. "You've been making decisions for them for centuries. This just gives you a formal seat at the table."
In the end, Vesemir had accepted, grudgingly, suspiciously, but accepted. Twenty noble houses now owed fealty to House Wolf, along side 3 Ancient and Noble Houses (House Rivia, House Kaden (lambert) and House Eiden (eskel)) their heads chosen from the strongest witchers Vesemir trusted. The Wolf seat carried ten votes, and Vesemir used them sparingly, speaking only when witcher matters arose.
His lieutenants, the three original volunteers from the Vitaex trials, handled most of the day-to-day politics. Vesemir trained the new witchers and pretended not to care about anything else.
Everyone knew better.
☆☆★☆☆
The Ancient and Noble Houses of the Ministers
Daro Velaryon (he'd chosen the surname himself, liking the sound) held the Ministry of Ships and Trade. His house controlled the fleets that connected Aetherion to the world. Six votes in the Wizengamot.
Livia Celtigar—another chosen name—kept the kingdom's records with obsessive precision. Every birth, every death, every law, every transaction. Her house held six votes.
Mirri Maz Duur (the name from her homeland, reclaimed in freedom) had built the Ministry of Healing into something legendary. Healers trained in Aetherion were sought across Essos. Six votes.
(While minsters normally hold 1 vote they were made into Ancient and Noble Houses granting them 5 votes (5 + 1))
Marselen stood on the balcony with Alaric now, a decade removed from the boy who'd volunteered for the first healing. His City Guard had become the Phoenix Guard, four thousand soldiers in mithril armor, the finest infantry in the known world. His house held four votes. (Head of House Phoenix)
Valaena, just Valaena, she'd refused a surname, saying her name was enough, remained Steward of the Kingdom, coordinating everything and everyone. Her house held five votes, and she used them wisely.(head of House Valaena)
☆☆★☆☆
The Noble Houses
Fifty from Yennefer's sorcerers. Twenty from Vesemir's witchers. A dozen more from merchants who'd proven their worth, craftsmen who'd built industries, scholars who'd filled the academy with knowledge.
Each held two votes. Each had a voice in the Wizengamot. Each owed fealty to one of the great houses, creating a web of obligation and loyalty that held the kingdom together.
☆☆★☆☆
The armies had grown with the population.
The Sentient Corps, one thousand strong now, witchers who'd chosen to formalize their role as the kingdom's elite fighters. They trained constantly, took contracts across the known world, and answered only to Vesemir and the crown.
The Phoenix Guard, Marselen's six thousand, veterans of a thousand drills and a hundred small conflicts. They patrolled the capital, guarded the gates, and stood ready for any threat.
The Aetherion Guard, eight thousand common soldiers, recruited from citizens and trained to professional standards. They handled routine defense, supported the other forces, and gave every citizen a path to service.
And the Alchemical Army.
Ten thousand sentinels stood motionless in their barracks, waiting for commands that might never come. Five thousand aerial sentinels patrolled the skies above the capital. Five thousand gargoyles watched from every tower and roof.
Five thousand tanker knights, heavily armored constructs designed to hold any line. Five thousand spearmen knights, faster and more mobile, their formation fighting flawless. Five thousand heavy artillery knights, carrying enchanted weapons that could breach any wall.
They weren't alive. They didn't tire, didn't fear, didn't question. They were the kingdom's final defense, its ultimate guarantee.
Alaric hoped never to use them.
☆☆★☆☆
The navy had grown too.
Two hundred warships patrolled the waters around Aetherion, their crews drilled to perfection. Two thousand navy soldiers stood ready to board or repel. Two thousand aerial sentinels, alchemical constructs, not living, provided air support and reconnaissance (these Arial sentinelsarnt includedin the normal army amount but a separate navy unit).
And the merchant fleet: one hundred ships that sailed every trade route, carried every good, connected Aetherion to every port that would have them. Daro's pride, and rightfully so.
☆☆★☆☆
Ten years.
Alaric thought about everything that had happened, the healings, the buildings, the laws, the lives. Forty thousand to one hundred twenty thousand. Empty streets to crowded plazas. A dream to a reality.
"There's more," he said quietly.
Valaena, who'd joined him on the balcony, raised an eyebrow. "There's always more. What now?"
"Westeros."
She blinked. "Westeros? The continent across the sea? The one where they burn witches and fear magic?"
"That's the one."
"Why?"
Alaric looked north, though Westeros lay west. "The Children of the Forest. They're still there, in the deep north beyond the Wall. The last of them, hiding from the Andals and the First Men. I want to find them. Bring them here, if they'll come."
Valaena considered this. "And the others you've mentioned? The elves, the dwarves, the gnomes?"
"If I find them, yes. They're scattered across Westeros, hiding in forests and mountains. They deserve a home where they don't have to hide."
"That's a lot of searching."
"It is." He smiled. "Good thing I've got time."
Valaena shook her head, but she was smiling too. "You're impossible."
"I've been told."
"When do you leave?"
"Soon. A few months to prepare. Yennefer will run things while I'm gone, she's got the authority, and she'll enjoy bossing everyone around." He glanced at his steward. "You'll still handle the day-to-day. She'll just have final say."
Valaena nodded. "And after Westeros?"
"After Westeros, we build more cities. The island's big enough for three, maybe four. Spread the population out, give people room to grow." He looked out at the capital below. "One city's a start. A kingdom needs more and eventually I will expendthe island with magic if needed."
"It does."
They stood in comfortable silence, watching the city live below them. Aurelia preened on her perch. The sun climbed toward noon.
"Ten years," Alaric said eventually. "Doesn't feel that long."
"Time moves differently when you're building something." Valaena glanced at him. "You've changed, you know. When you first put me in charge, you were... urgent. Desperate, almost. Now you're calm."
"I've got people now. People I trust." He smiled at her. "That makes all the difference."
☆☆★☆☆
That evening, Alaric found Yennefer in her mansion's garden, reading by the light of enchanted orbs.
"Westeros," she said without looking up.
"Valaena told you."
"She told me you're planning to wander off into a continent that hates magic, looking for mythical creatures that may or may not exist." She glanced at him. "You're an idiot."
"Probably."
A pause. Then: "How long?"
"A year, maybe two. Depends what I find."
"And you want me to run things while you're gone."
"I want you to be the public face of the kingdom. The power behind the throne, visible and undeniable. Valaena will handle the details, she's better at that than either of us. But when decisions need to be made, when the Wizengamot needs direction, when someone needs to look at a problem and say 'this is how it's going to be', that's you."
Yennefer was quiet for a long moment. Then she set down her book.
"You trust me with this."
"I trust you with everything."
She met his eyes, and something shifted in her expression, surprise, maybe, or gratitude, quickly hidden. "Fine. Go find your tree people. I'll keep your kingdom from falling apart."
"That's all I ask."
☆☆★☆☆
The next months were preparation.
Alaric created supplies, studied maps, consulted every source he could find about the lands beyond the Wall. Vesemir shared what the witchers knew, which wasn't much; they'd never ventured that far north. Yennefer dug through Aretuza's archives, finding fragments about the Children, the Others, the magic that still lingered in the frozen wastes.
By spring, he was ready.
The Phoenix's Pride waited in the harbor, crewed by volunteers who'd jumped at the chance to serve. Aurelia perched on the figurehead, feathers gleaming. Alaric stood on the dock, saying his goodbyes.
"Don't die," Yennefer said.
"I can't."
"Don't get captured and tortured for centuries, then."
"I'll do my best."
Vesemir grunted. "Found any witchers want to come?"
"Three volunteered. They're on board already."
"Good. Don't let them get killed either."
Valaena stepped forward last. "The kingdom will be here when you return. I'll make sure of it."
"I know." Alaric clasped her arm. "Take care of them."
"Always."
He boarded the ship, staff in hand, and stood at the rail as the lines were cast off. The Pride eased away from the dock, sails catching the wind, cutting toward the open sea.
Behind him, Aetherion rose white and gleaming against the sky, his city, his kingdom, his people.
Ahead, Westeros waited. The lands beyond the Wall. The Children of the Forest. And the first steps toward a dream that had been growing since the beginning.
Aurelia trilled, loud and clear.
"I know," Alaric murmured. "Let's go find them."
The ship sailed west, into the sunset, toward a continent that didn't know it was about to change.