Chapter 12: The Red Keep Lockdown & The Dawn of a New Ledger
The air in Aerys's solar was thick with the metallic tang of spilled blood – mostly Rossart's – and the lingering, acrid scent of fear and spent pyromantic components. The Mad King himself, a whimpering, disheveled heap on the floor, was swiftly bound and gagged by two members of the Phoenix Team. His wild eyes darted around, promising silent, impotent curses. This was no longer a king, Robar thought with cold detachment, but a non-performing asset about to be written off the books.
"Vaellyn," Robar's voice cut through the tense silence, "begin a systematic sweep of Maegor's Holdfast. Every chamber, every passage. Locate and neutralize all wildfire. Interrogate any captured pyromancers – I want a full inventory of every cache in this city, their trigger mechanisms, everything. Use whatever methods you deem… persuasive. The rest of you," he addressed his core team, "secure this Holdfast. Bar all entrances, silence any alarms, and eliminate any remaining resistance. I want Maegor's locked down tighter than a miser's coin purse within the hour."
His team moved with the silent, brutal efficiency he had drilled into them. Maegor's Holdfast, designed to be the ultimate bastion of Targaryen power, quickly became Robar's first secured acquisition in King's Landing. Pockets of confused household guards or terrified servants were either cowed into submission by the sheer ferocity of the Phoenix Team or, if they showed fight, were dealt with permanently and quietly. The primary pyromancers captured with Rossart, stripped of their incendiaries and dignity, were dragged before Maester Vaellyn, whose expression was one of grim scholarly interest as he prepared his tools for… 'persuasion'.
Robar then turned his attention to the two Kingsguard knights. Ser Jonothor Darry looked like a broken man, his honor shattered by the madness he had been sworn to protect. Jaime Lannister, however, was watching Robar with a strange, calculating look in his green eyes, a hint of cynical amusement playing around his lips despite the gravity of the situation.
"Ser Jaime, Ser Jonothor," Robar said, his tone all business. "Your king is… indisposed. His reign is over. You have a choice. Swear fealty to the new management – that's me – and your skills may yet find profitable employment. Or, you can choose a path of pointless resistance, which, I assure you, will be exceedingly brief and unpleasant."
Jaime Lannister let out a short, humorless laugh. "New management? Is that what this is? A corporate takeover of the Iron Throne?"
"Precisely," Robar affirmed, appreciating the younger man's quick grasp of the situation. "Aerys Targaryen was running this kingdom into the ground. His business model was unsustainable, his policies detrimental to shareholder value – the shareholders being the people and lords of Westeros. I am here to initiate a restructuring."
"And what becomes of our sacred oaths, Lord Baratheon?" Ser Jonothor asked, his voice heavy with despair.
"Oaths, Ser Darry," Robar said, his gaze dismissive, "are contractual obligations. When one party – in this case, your King – breaches the terms of that contract through gross incompetence, madness, and intent to commit mass asset destruction, the other party is released from its obligations. Consider your contracts… renegotiable." He focused on Jaime. "Tywin Lannister is a man who understands the value of a good investment, Ser Jaime. I wonder what he would advise his son in this situation? Align with a failing regime doomed to liquidation, or partner with the ascendant market leader?"
Jaime's cynical smile widened. "My father would advise backing the winner, of course. And ensuring Lannister interests are well represented in the new corporate charter." He paused, his gaze flicking to the bound Aerys. "He also despises incompetence. And madness." After a moment, he slowly unbuckled his sword belt and let it fall to the floor with a clang. "Very well, Lord Baratheon. Let's discuss the terms of this… new employment."
Ser Jonothor Darry, seeing Jaime's capitulation, looked even more defeated. After a long silence, he too unbuckled his sword. "The King… is truly mad. The city… it would have burned." He seemed to be convincing himself as much as anyone else.
"A pragmatic decision, gentlemen," Robar acknowledged. "Your former colleague, Ser Barristan, was less… flexible. He is currently indisposed but unharmed in a secure location. You may find his counsel illuminating later." He would deal with the complexities of their Kingsguard vows later. For now, their neutrality, and Jaime's potential value as a liaison to Casterly Rock, were sufficient. "For now, you will be confined to comfortable quarters within Maegor's. Consider it a period of… due diligence."
With Maegor's Holdfast secured, Robar established his command center in Aerys's desecrated solar. The map of King's Landing, with its horrifying green wildfire markers, became his immediate focus. Vaellyn soon reported that the pyromancers, under… 'enhanced interrogation techniques', were proving remarkably cooperative. A more comprehensive map of the city-wide caches was already being compiled. The immediate threat within Maegor's was being neutralized, vial by vial.
Robar then dispatched Finn, his Flea Bottom guide, with a coded message. It wasn't for Stannis or his fleet yet. It was for Davos Seaworth's network of BCR agents within King's Landing. The message was simple: 'Management change effective immediately. Secure key city assets. Minimize disruption to commercial activity. Prepare for public announcement.' His agents were to begin subtly turning key officials, Gold Cloak commanders, and influential merchants, spreading rumors of Aerys's incapacitation and the arrival of a strong hand to ensure order. Bribery, intimidation, promises of future profit – all the tools of his trade were to be employed.
The next phase was the lockdown of the wider Red Keep. This was more challenging. Maegor's was a fortress within a fortress, but the rest of the castle was a sprawling complex, teeming with courtiers, servants, guards, and Targaryen loyalists.
"Ser Jaime," Robar said, turning to the Lannister knight who was now under guard but not in chains. "You know this castle better than my men. Provide us with schematics of guard rotations, key personnel loyal to Aerys, and the locations of the Grand Maester, the rookery, and the main armory. Your cooperation will be… favorably noted in your performance review."
Jaime, with a sardonic bow, began to speak, his knowledge of the Red Keep's inner workings proving invaluable. He seemed to derive a perverse pleasure from dismantling the regime he had sworn to protect, particularly when it involved undermining individuals he personally disliked.
Under the cover of the pre-dawn gloom, the Phoenix Team, now guided by Jaime's intelligence, began to systematically secure the Red Keep. It was a silent, brutal affair. Small guard posts were overwhelmed, key Targaryen loyalists were taken from their beds, either imprisoned or, if they resisted too fiercely, permanently retired. Grand Maester Pycelle, roused from his sleep, found himself facing Robar's icy gaze and quickly swore eternal allegiance to the new power, offering full access to the castle's records and rookery. Ravens bearing Robar's carefully crafted messages – announcing his "stabilizing intervention" – would soon fly to the corners of the realm.
The main gates of the Red Keep were secured by a detachment of the Phoenix Team, reinforced by Gold Cloaks whose commander had swiftly seen the wisdom (and the gold) in Robar's new regime. The armory was seized, its weapons now at Robar's disposal. The dungeons were audited – political prisoners who might be useful (like certain merchants Aerys had imprisoned for daring to question his ruinous taxes) were earmarked for release and potential recruitment into BCR. Die-hard Targaryen loyalists joined Aerys in the cells.
As dawn approached, casting its grey light over the city, the Red Keep was effectively under Robar's control. Confusion reigned among the courtiers and servants, but the presence of Robar's black-clad, disciplined soldiers and the now-compliant Gold Cloaks enforced a nervous order.
Robar stood on a balcony overlooking the vast courtyard of the Red Keep. Below, his men were organizing the castle guard, disarming those of uncertain loyalty, and establishing clear lines of command. He had issued orders for a "public announcement" to be made to the assembled household and court officials. He would inform them that King Aerys, overcome by his tragic malady, had been placed in protective seclusion, and that he, Lord Robert Baratheon, acting in concert with other concerned Lords of the Realm (a convenient fiction), was assuming stewardship of the Crown to prevent chaos and ensure the continued stability and prosperity of King's Landing. It was a narrative designed to minimize panic and buy him time.
Maester Vaellyn arrived, his robes stained, his face pale but triumphant. "My Lord Baratheon. We have located and neutralized all major wildfire caches within the Red Keep. The pyromancers have provided maps for the city-wide deposits. It is… extensive. Far worse than we imagined. Weeks, perhaps months of work to render it all safe. But the immediate threat of a chain reaction from within the castle is contained."
"Excellent work, Vaellyn," Robar said, a rare note of approval in his voice. "Your bonus will be substantial. Begin organizing teams to address the city caches. Discretion is paramount. We don't want a city-wide panic."
He looked out at the rising sun. King's Landing, a jewel of a city, a prime economic hub, lay before him. It was still largely unaware that its king was deposed, its destiny now in the hands of a man who saw it not as a seat of honor, but as the headquarters of his largest subsidiary.
His internal ledger was already running the numbers. The cost of this covert operation – a few lives from his Phoenix Team, some expended resources, the risk to himself – was negligible compared to the value of the asset acquired. The Iron Throne, the Crownlands, the Royal Treasury (which he intended to audit personally and thoroughly), the city's vast trade potential – it was a staggering return on investment.
He thought of Stannis, currently slogging through the Kingswood, and Ned Stark, consolidating the Riverlands alliance. They were playing checkers. He was playing a far grander, more profitable game.
The first raven he'd allowed Pycelle to send was not to his allies, but to Tywin Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock. It was a simple, unsigned message: "King's Landing under new, fiscally responsible management. Your son, Ser Jaime, is well and proving a valuable consultant. Opportunities for mutually beneficial partnerships abound. Suggest immediate discussion."
Let the old lion chew on that.
The Red Keep was his. The dawn was breaking on a new ledger for Westeros. Now, to secure the city itself, and then, the continent. The hostile takeover was proceeding ahead of schedule.
Word Count: Approx. 3050 words