Chapter 31: The Dragon's Peace and the Price of Defiance
The dawn that broke over King's Landing after its fall was grey and choked with the smoke of quenched fires and the stench of death. The jubilant, savage roars of Vaelyx Targaryen's dragons had given way to an eerie, watchful silence as they roosted upon the scarred towers of the Red Keep, their colossal silhouettes a new and terrifying crown upon the ancient fortress. Within the city, the disciplined tread of the Aegis Guard and Serpent's Scale veterans echoed in the largely deserted streets, imposing a grim martial law. Boros, with his Dothraki, had been reluctantly reined in after an initial, bloody period of "pacification" in the districts that had offered the fiercest resistance; their savagery had served its purpose, and now Vaelyx demanded order.
His first priority was control. Commander Valerion, his Unsullied face impassive, oversaw the disarming of the populace and the establishment of strict curfews. Malakai's agents, arriving with the main body of the fleet that now choked Blackwater Bay, fanned out to seize the Royal Treasury (found to be surprisingly depleted by Robert's excesses and the recent war effort), secure the records of the Iron Bank's Westerosi branch, and assess the city's granaries. Vaelyx, drawing on Voldemort's understanding of controlling conquered populations, knew that hunger bred desperation, but a cowed, minimally sustained populace was easier to manage. He ordered the distribution of basic rations, just enough to prevent mass starvation and riots, a calculated act of "imperial magnanimity" that did little to alleviate the chilling fear his dragons inspired.
Lyra's operatives, meanwhile, were diligently hunting down Aerys's forgotten wildfire caches. Vaelyx, with his magical senses, had detected their volatile energies. He had no intention of allowing such uncontrolled destructive power to remain a threat – or a temptation – to others. Under his direct supervision, several key caches were magically neutralized, their terrifying potential nullified. Others, he had secured for his own future… contingencies.
The Red Keep itself was being transformed. Baratheon stag banners and Lannister lion tapestries were torn down, consigned to pyres that burned with a strangely satisfying symbolism for Oberyn Martell, who stalked the castle like a vengeful wraith. In their place, Vaelyx's three-headed dragon, breathing its distinct Essosi flames, was raised over every gate and tower. The atmosphere within its bloodstained halls was one of stark efficiency and unspoken terror. His Essosi commanders and administrators, battle-hardened and utterly loyal (or magically bound), moved with purpose, a stark contrast to the fawning courtiers and scheming nobles of previous regimes.
Then came the judgment of the vanquished.
Queen Cersei Lannister, her golden beauty now marred by fear and impotent fury, was brought before him in the Throne Room. Her children, Tommen and Myrcella, pale and terrified, were with her. Vaelyx, seated upon the Iron Throne – a cold, uncomfortable perch that nevertheless radiated an undeniable aura of power – regarded them with an expression of utter detachment.
"Cersei of House Lannister," his voice was soft, yet it filled the vast hall, amplified by a subtle enchantment. "Wife of the Usurper, daughter of the Traitor Tywin, mother of… bastards." The last word was delivered with chilling precision. Vaelyx knew the truth of her children's parentage from the fan-memory, a secret that stripped away any legitimacy they might have possessed.
Cersei's eyes blazed. "How dare you! They are Robert's trueborn–"
"Silence," Vaelyx cut her off, his voice like chipping ice. "Your lies are as tedious as your defiance. Your father is dead. Your Usurper husband is ash. Your House is broken. You have no power here." He considered her, a predator examining its prey. "For your crimes against House Targaryen, for your treasonous union, for befouling the royal line with your incestuous spawn, you are sentenced to death."
Cersei gasped, her bravado crumbling. Tommen began to weep. Myrcella stared, wide-eyed with terror.
"However," Vaelyx continued, a cruel amusement flickering in his pale eyes, "a swift death is too merciful. You will be stripped of your titles and holdings, and confined to the deepest cells of this Keep, to live out your days contemplating the ruin you helped bring upon your House. Your son, Tommen, and your daughter, Myrcella… they are abominations, true, but they are also children. They will be… re-educated. Sent to separate, secure locations within my Essosi dominion, to learn humility and obedience. Perhaps, in time, they might even prove useful. Or perhaps they will simply fade into obscurity. Their fate depends entirely on your… continued cooperation from your cell, Queen Dowager." It was a fate, he knew, that would be a living torment for a woman like Cersei.
Next came Ser Jaime Lannister, the Kingslayer, dragged before the throne in chains, his golden armor battered, his handsome face set in a mask of defiant cynicism.
"Ser Jaime Lannister," Vaelyx drawled. "The knight who slew my father, King Aerys. An act many would call treason. Yet, an act that also rid the world of a dangerous madman. A conundrum."
Jaime met his gaze, a flicker of surprise in his green eyes. "Do what you will, Targaryen. I've grown weary of kings and their judgments."
"Indeed," Vaelyx said. "You swore an oath to protect your King, and you broke it. You then swore an oath to Robert Baratheon, and you fought for him. Your oaths, it seems, are as flexible as a Lysene courtesan's morals." Vaelyx tapped a finger on the armrest of the Iron Throne. "I have a use for a warrior of your skill, Kingslayer. But I require loyalty that is… less flexible. You will swear a new oath, to me. An oath bound not by mere words, but by magic that will sear your very soul should you betray it. You will serve in my Kingsguard, a constant, visible reminder of Lannister submission and Targaryen forgiveness – or, perhaps, Targaryen cunning. Refuse, and you will join your father in whatever hells await him."
Jaime Lannister looked at the Targaryen Emperor, at the seven colossal dragons visible through the shattered windows of the Throne Room, at the unwavering lines of Unsullied guarding the hall. He thought of Cersei, of Tyrion (wherever he might be). His choice was no choice at all. With a bitter laugh, he knelt. "I swear." Vaelyx nodded to one of his attendant Essosi sorcerers, a grim Volantene shadowbinder who had pledged fealty after his city's fall. The binding would be exquisite.
Finally, Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell was brought forth, his grey eyes filled with a quiet, unyielding dignity, though his face was drawn with grief and exhaustion.
"Lord Stark," Vaelyx began, his tone almost conversational. "You fought for your friend, the Usurper. A misplaced loyalty, but loyalty nonetheless. Your North is vast, cold, and notoriously difficult to hold. I have little desire for a protracted war in its snows."
"My loyalty was to the King, and to the realm he sought to protect from your father's madness," Ned Stark said, his voice steady.
"My father's madness is a matter of record," Vaelyx conceded coolly. "As is your treason. However, I am a pragmatic ruler. Swear fealty to me, Lord Stark. Return to Winterfell. Govern the North in my name. Ensure its peace and its tithes. Do this, and you may live. Your son, Robb, who now styles himself Lord of Winterfell in your absence, will be… invited… to my court as a ward, to learn the ways of my new empire. Your daughters, if they are found, will be treated with the courtesy due to their station, under my protection." He paused. "Refuse, and the North will burn. My dragons have seen snows before, Lord Stark. They find it… invigorating."
Ned Stark looked at Vaelyx, a profound weariness in his eyes. He thought of his children, of his people. To defy this Dragon Emperor meant the utter ruin of his House and his land. With a heavy heart, he knelt. "For the sake of the North… I swear fealty… to King Vaelyx Targaryen." The words tasted like ash in his mouth. Vaelyx knew the oath was false, but Stark's public submission, and his son as a hostage, would suffice for now. The North would be brought to heel, one way or another.
With these judgments rendered, Vaelyx issued his first imperial decrees from the Iron Throne. His reign as Vaelyx I Targaryen was proclaimed throughout the Seven Kingdoms. All lords were commanded to come to King's Landing within three moons to swear their oaths or be declared traitors. The lands and titles of House Baratheon and its most ardent, unrepentant supporters were declared forfeit, to be redistributed amongst Vaelyx's loyal followers. Oberyn Martell was named Master of Laws and granted significant holdings in the former Baratheon lands, a reward for Dorne's allegiance. Boros was made Master of Horse, his Dothraki now the Emperor's personal outriders. Ser Damon Sand became Lord Commander of the City Watch, the Gold Cloaks being swiftly reformed with his Golden Company veterans at their core. Commander Valerion of the Aegis Guard was named Lord Commander of Vaelyx's new Imperial Kingsguard, with Jaime Lannister as its most notorious, and magically bound, member. Lyra, as always, remained his Mistress of Whispers, her network already sinking its tendrils deep into the fabric of Westeros.
The High Septon, a terrified, trembling old man, was brought before Vaelyx and "persuaded" to offer the Faith's blessing upon the new King, a ceremony conducted under the watchful eyes of all seven dragons, ensuring the gods themselves seemed to sanction Vaelyx's reign.
The reactions from the rest of Westeros were varied but predictable. The North, upon hearing of Lord Stark's captivity and coerced oath, fell into stunned, angry silence, young Robb Stark reportedly calling his father's bannermen to Winterfell. The Vale, with Jon Arryn dead, retreated behind the defenses of the Eyrie, its lords squabbling and uncertain. The Riverlands, caught between more powerful kingdoms, began sending tentative envoys of submission. Stannis Baratheon, still besieged on Dragonstone (though the Targaryen children were long gone), sent a raven filled with furious defiance, declaring himself Robert's true heir and the rightful king – a defiance Vaelyx noted with cold amusement. He would deal with Stannis in due time; Dragonstone was, after all, his ancestral seat. Balon Greyjoy of the Iron Islands, ever the opportunist, declared himself King of the Iron Islands and launched his longships against the now vulnerable Westerlands and Reach coastlines, a nuisance Vaelyx would also address once the mainland was secure.
King's Landing, battered and terrified, slowly began to function again under Vaelyx's iron grip. The fires were extinguished, the bodies cleared, the markets reopened under the watchful eyes of Unsullied patrols. The common folk, who had suffered under Aerys's madness and Robert's neglect, found their new Dragon Emperor a terrifying but surprisingly efficient overlord, as long as they remained obedient. Fear was a potent motivator for peace.
Vaelyx Targaryen sat upon the Iron Throne, the weight of his new Westerosi kingdom settling upon his shoulders alongside his vast Essosi dominion. The conquest of the capital was complete, but the true subjugation of Seven Kingdoms, a land of proud and stubborn lords, had only just begun. His dragons, roosting on the Red Keep, were a constant reminder to all of who now held the ultimate power, their shadows stretching across a continent that was slowly, inexorably, bending to the will of the Last Dragon, the Emperor of Ash and Silk.