Chapter 26: The Dragon King's Decree: Oaths, Opulence, and Ominous Ambitions
The roar of a living dragon, a sound torn from the pages of forgotten legends, had ripped through the stunned silence of the coronation ceremony, and with it, the last vestiges of Westeros's old order. As Mammon, Viridian, and Aurum took to the sky above the Dragonpit, their leathery wings beating a powerful tattoo against the air, their juvenile screeches echoing across King's Landing, the assembled lords and ladies of the Seven Kingdoms could only stare, their faces a mixture of terror, awe, and dawning, horrified comprehension. This was not merely a new king being crowned; this was the advent of a new god, or a new devil, depending on one's perspective.
Robar Baratheon, the First of His Name, now the self-proclaimed Dragon King, stood impassive on the specially constructed platform before the Red Keep, the newly forged crown of black iron and gold resting heavy on his brow. He let the spectacle unfold, his Haki a subtle, suffocating blanket that pressed down on the crowd, amplifying their fear, ensuring their attention. The dragons, young but already radiating an immense, primal power, circled once, their shadows falling upon the pale faces below, before settling on the battlements of the Dragonpit, their reptilian eyes fixed on Robar with an unnerving, possessive intelligence. Mammon, the black, let out another piercing cry, a clear assertion of his bond with the man who was now King.
"Behold, Lords and Ladies of Westeros!" Robar's voice, amplified by BCR's discreetly placed sonic resonators, boomed across the square, cutting through the shocked whispers. "The ancient power of Valyria is reborn! The gods themselves, or perhaps a more… pragmatic force of cosmic alignment, have seen fit to bless my reign, your new King, with these magnificent assets! They are a guarantee of peace, an assurance of stability, and an unshakeable foundation for the prosperity that Baratheon Consolidated Resources will bring to every corner of this realm!" His "divine favor" narrative was already being deployed.
He then turned his gaze, cold and penetrating, upon the assembled nobility. "The age of fractured loyalties and inefficient feudalism is over. A new era of unified purpose and centralized, dragon-enforced authority begins today. Therefore, I require each of you, here and now, to renew your oaths of fealty. Not merely to Robert Baratheon, your King, but to the Baratheon Dragon Dynasty, and to the guiding principles of order, efficiency, and unwavering loyalty to Westeros Incorporated!"
The demand hung in the air, heavy and absolute. There was no room for negotiation, no space for dissent. The unspoken alternative – dragonfire – was a potent silencer of objections.
Tywin Lannister, his face a mask of cold, calculating approval, was the first to step forward. His movements were deliberate, his voice firm as he knelt before his new son-in-law and King. "I, Tywin Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock, Warden of the West, pledge my fealty, my armies, and the full resources of House Lannister to you, King Robert, First of Your Name, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, Protector of the Realm, and Master of Dragons. May our allied Houses bring unparalleled prosperity and order to this land." His oath was a masterclass in political maneuvering, emphasizing the alliance, the power, and the (Lannister-shared) spoils.
One by one, the other Great Lords followed, their reactions a telling barometer of the new political climate. Mace Tyrell, Lord of Highgarden, practically tripped over himself in his haste to bend the knee, his earlier humiliation at Ashford now compounded by sheer, unadulterated terror. He mumbled his oath, his eyes darting nervously towards the distant, watchful dragons. Lady Olenna, beside him, watched Robar with an expression of grudging, bitter admiration. This new King was a monster, yes, but a terrifyingly effective one.
Jon Arryn, Lord of the Eyrie, and Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell, came forward together, their faces grim. The sight of living dragons, weapons of horrific, indiscriminate destruction, had clearly shaken them to their core. This was not the liberation from Targaryen tyranny they had fought for; this was the replacement of one form of absolute power with another, potentially far more dangerous one. Yet, what choice did they have? Open defiance was suicide. They knelt, their oaths correct but delivered with a heavy heart, their eyes betraying their deep unease. Robar noted their reluctance; they were valuable assets, but their loyalty would require careful, ongoing "performance management."
The representatives from Dorne, a minor prince of House Martell and his entourage, were among the last. Their faces were pale, their dark eyes burning with a mixture of fear and ancient pride. The legacy of dragons in Dorne was one of resistance, not submission. For a moment, it seemed they might refuse, or offer a qualified, insolent oath. Robar's gaze narrowed, a flicker of his Conqueror's Haki brushing against them, a silent promise of overwhelming force. The Dornish prince hesitated, then, with a barely perceptible tremor, knelt and muttered the words of fealty, his voice laced with a venom that did not go unnoticed by Robar or Tywin. Dorne, Robar knew, would require special "market penetration strategies."
The coronation feast that followed was an exercise in opulent, BCR-managed propaganda. The Great Hall of the Red Keep was festooned with Baratheon and Lannister banners, interspersed with the stark black and gold of BCR. Food and wine flowed freely (all costs meticulously audited by BCR accountants for maximum goodwill ROI), but the mood was one of subdued awe and palpable fear. The dragons, though not present in the hall, remained visible on the ramparts of the Dragonpit, their occasional roars a chilling reminder of who truly held the power.
King Robar, seated on the Iron Throne – which now felt less like a seat of ancient kings and more like the ultimate CEO's chair – made his first royal decrees. He formally named Tywin Lannister as his Hand, a move that surprised no one but solidified the Lannister stake in the new regime. Stannis Baratheon was officially confirmed as Master of Laws and Chief Security Officer of the Realm, his portfolio expanded to include oversight of all internal policing and compliance with BCR regulations. Grand Maester Pycelle was reconfirmed, his primary duty now being the chief propagandist for the Dragon King. Other positions on the Small Council were filled with a mixture of Robar's most loyal Stormlander commanders and BCR's most efficient executives, men chosen for competence and unwavering loyalty, not birthright.
He announced the formation of the "Royal Draconic Legion," an elite military force whose primary purpose would be to support and protect BCR's most valuable assets – the dragons themselves. Maester Vaellyn was officially named Grand Conservator of Draconic Assets, with an unlimited budget for "Project Incubate." New taxes were proclaimed – the "Dragon's Due," a realm-wide levy for the upkeep and "security investment" represented by the dragons, and a "BCR Infrastructure Tithe," to fund the ambitious public works projects Robar envisioned. These edicts were met with silence, the unspoken threat of dragonfire ensuring immediate, if resentful, compliance.
In private meetings following the feast, Robar further consolidated his power. With Tywin, he discussed the immediate strategic imperatives: the formal annexation of Dragonstone as a Crown (BCR) territory, the dispatch of "economic envoys" (backed by military force) to Dorne to negotiate their full integration, and plans for expanding BCR's trade networks into Essos, now that they possessed the ultimate "negotiating tool."
His meeting with Ned Stark and Jon Arryn was more… delicate. Robar acknowledged their concerns, his voice devoid of emotion. "My lords," he had said, "I understand your reservations. Dragons are… unconventional instruments of governance. But they are also a guarantee of peace. A lasting peace, built on unshakeable strength. Under my rule, and with these assets, there will be no more rebellions, no more civil wars. Just order, stability, and prosperity – for those who comply with BCR's strategic directives." He offered them continued positions of honor and authority within their own regions, provided they remained loyal and ensured their territories met BCR's production quotas. It was a gilded cage, and both men knew it.
Cersei Lannister, now Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, found her new reality both exhilarating and terrifying. She stood beside a man who commanded not just armies, but dragons. Her children would inherit this power. Yet, Robar remained as cold and distant as ever, treating her with a formal courtesy that was more unnerving than any overt cruelty. He had given her dominion over the Red Keep's household, a budget that was generous but meticulously tracked, and the "companionship" of Daenerys Targaryen. Cersei, observing the pale, frightened Targaryen girl, saw both a threat and an opportunity. Daenerys was a living link to the dragons' past; perhaps she held secrets to their control, secrets Cersei could exploit for her own children.
Daenerys herself, a silent prisoner in her luxurious chambers, felt the roars of the dragons resonate deep within her soul. She didn't understand it, but she felt a strange pull towards the creatures her family had once commanded, a sorrow for their current servitude to the man who had destroyed her house. She was a forgotten princess, a living relic, her value to King Robar still being calculated on his cold, internal ledger.
Whispers of the Dragon King of Westeros began to spread to the Free Cities of Essos, carried by merchant ships and terrified refugees. A new, formidable power had arisen in the West, one armed with the ancient magic of Valyria. Some powers, like Volantis, which still dreamed of Valyrian glory, might see opportunity. Others, like Braavos, would view this new, dragon-backed Westeros with deep suspicion and fear. Robar, through his BCR agents, was already initiating feelers, assessing potential markets, rivals, and future acquisitions in Essos.
As King Robar stood on the balcony of the Red Keep that night, the lights of King's Landing spread out before him, the distant roars of his young dragons a lullaby of power, his mind was already calculating his next moves. Westeros was merely the first phase. With dragons, his ambition knew no bounds. He was no longer just CEO of a kingdom; he was on the verge of becoming CEO of Planetos Inc. The Iron Throne was comfortable, but the world was a far larger, more profitable acquisition. The Dragon King's reign had truly begun, and its shadow was already lengthening across the known world.
Word Count: Approx. 3050 words