Chapter 18: The King's Justice, The Lioness's Game, and the Reach's Reluctance
The public square before the Red Keep was a sea of grim faces. The citizens of King's Landing, a mixture of fear, morbid curiosity, and a cautious hope for stability, had gathered to witness the final act of the Targaryen dynasty. Banners of Baratheon, Lannister, and the stark black-and-gold of BCR fluttered above the crowd, a clear statement of the new order. The Iron Throne, normally a symbol of absolute power, was conspicuously absent. Instead, a simple wooden platform had been erected, a stark stage for the coming spectacle.
Robar Baratheon, clad in his usual severe black, stood at the edge of the platform, his gaze sweeping over the assembled masses. He projected an aura of cold, implacable authority, his presence a force that seemed to press down on the very air. Beside him stood Tywin Lannister, his face a mask of grim satisfaction, and a visibly uncomfortable Cersei, her beauty diminished by the harsh light and the grimness of the occasion. She had learned, in her brief time with her betrothed, that displays of emotion were largely wasted on him. This was not a man to be swayed by tears or feminine wiles.
Aerys Targaryen was brought forth, bound and gagged, his silver-gold hair matted with filth, his eyes wide with a terror that had finally silenced his madness. He was a pathetic shadow of the once-proud king, a broken puppet being paraded for the crowd's judgment. He was dragged onto the platform, his whimpers barely audible above the murmur of the crowd.
Lord Tywin Lannister stepped forward, his voice booming across the square. "People of King's Landing! Before you stands Aerys Targaryen, the Second of His Name, the Mad King. He stands accused of high treason, the murder of his own lords, attempted genocide against this city, and gross malfeasance in his duty to protect and provide for his people. The evidence of his crimes has been presented, and his guilt is undeniable." He paused, letting his words sink in. "By the authority vested in me, and by the right of conquest, I pronounce the sentence of the court: death."
A hush fell over the crowd. This was not a formal execution, a dignified end for a fallen king. This was a public spectacle, a brutal display of power. Robar, however, had calculated the political ROI. A swift, clean execution would have been seen as merciful, perhaps even a sign of weakness. This was a statement. This was the end of an era.
Tywin gestured to Jaime Lannister, who stepped forward, his golden hair gleaming in the sunlight, his face a mask of grim duty. He drew his sword, the Valyrian steel flashing. A gasp went through the crowd. Jaime, the Kingslayer, was to be the instrument of this justice.
Jaime, his expression unreadable, approached Aerys. The Mad King, sensing his impending doom, began to struggle against his bonds, his eyes wide with terror. Jaime raised his sword.
But before he could strike, Robar's voice cut through the silence, amplified by a subtle application of his Haki. "Hold, Ser Jaime."
All eyes turned to Robar. He stepped forward, his presence commanding the square. "The sentence has been pronounced, and it will be carried out. But not by your hand, Ser Jaime. You have served the Targaryens long enough." He looked at the crowd, his gaze sweeping over them. "The man who ends the reign of madness should not be a knight bound by oaths to a madman. It should be a man who represents the future. A man who understands the value of order, efficiency, and a clean ledger."
He gestured to a burly Stormlander soldier, one of his original Stormblade Cohort, a man who had proven his loyalty and ruthlessness in the taking of Felwood. The soldier stepped forward, his face grim. Robar handed him a massive, unornamented warhammer – the same weapon he had carried into battle.
"This is the weapon that will forge the new Westeros," Robar declared, his voice ringing with authority. "Let it be the instrument of justice."
The soldier, his eyes fixed on Robar, took the hammer. He approached Aerys. The Mad King, his terror now absolute, began to scream through his gag, a sound that was quickly cut short by the sickening crunch of bone and the dull thud as the hammer crushed his skull.
A collective gasp went through the crowd, followed by a stunned silence. Then, slowly, a ragged cheer began to rise, growing in volume as the realization sank in: the Mad King was dead. The Targaryen dynasty was over. A new era had begun.
Robar allowed the cheers to continue for a moment, then raised his hand, silencing the crowd. "This is the end of the old order," he declared, his voice ringing with power. "A new age dawns. An age of order, prosperity, and strength. An age guided by the principles of efficiency and sound management. An age under the rule of House Baratheon." He paused, his gaze sweeping over the assembled faces. "And Baratheon Consolidated Resources. Let this day be remembered. The ledger is now closed on the Targaryens. The books of the new Westeros are open for business."
The execution of Aerys, brutal as it was, served its purpose. It was a clear, unambiguous statement of Robar's power. It terrified his enemies and galvanized his supporters. The message had been sent: the new CEO of Westeros was not to be trifled with.
While the city absorbed the shock of Aerys's death, Robar focused on the next major strategic challenge: the Reach. Mace Tyrell's response to the Baratheon-Lannister alliance and the Ironborn raids had been predictably indecisive. He had pulled back forces to defend his own lands, but he had not yet committed to outright war. Robar, however, was not content to wait. He preferred to dictate terms, not react to events.
He summoned a war council in the Red Keep's map room, his inner circle assembled around a detailed map of the Reach. Stannis, ever the pragmatist, advocated a swift, overwhelming military campaign. Tywin Lannister, his face impassive, suggested a more subtle approach, using economic pressure and political maneuvering to divide the Reach lords. Jaime, lounging in a corner, offered cynical observations on the Tyrells' vanity and their dependence on their abundant harvests.
Robar listened to their arguments, his mind already several steps ahead. He decided on a multi-pronged approach, combining military force with economic incentives and targeted diplomacy.
"We will offer Mace Tyrell terms," Robar declared, his voice decisive. "A generous offer, but one with a deadline. He can bend the knee, swear fealty, and integrate the Reach's agricultural output into BCR's distribution network. In return, we will guarantee the security of his lands, offer him a position on the newly formed 'Agricultural Advisory Board' (which will, of course, be under BCR's control), and allow him to retain a measure of his dignity."
He looked at Tywin. "Lord Lannister, your reputation for… persuasive negotiation precedes you. I task you with drafting the formal terms. Emphasize the benefits of cooperation and the… less desirable consequences of resistance."
He then turned to Stannis. "While Lord Tywin negotiates, we will prepare for military action. The Stormblade Cohort, augmented by a contingent of Lannister forces, will advance on the Reach's borders. We will secure key strategic locations – Highgarden, if necessary, but also the major ports and trade routes. We will make it clear that resistance is futile and economically unsound."
He then addressed Jaime. "Ser Jaime, your knowledge of the Reach lords, their rivalries, their ambitions, will be invaluable. I want you to identify any potential allies within the Reach – lords who might be swayed by promises of increased trade, land grants, or preferential treatment within BCR's new economic order. We will exploit any divisions within the Reach to minimize bloodshed and maximize our profit."
The plan was set. The carrot and the stick, wielded with ruthless efficiency. Robar was determined to acquire the Reach, one way or another. Its vast agricultural resources were too valuable to leave in the hands of a reluctant partner.
As the wheels of his plan began to turn, a raven arrived from Dragonstone. It bore the seal of House Targaryen. The message was from Viserys Targaryen, the self-proclaimed King, and it was a furious, rambling declaration of war, vowing to reclaim his throne with fire and blood. He demanded the immediate release of his sister, Daenerys, and threatened Robar with the wrath of dragons.
Robar read the message, his expression unchanged. "Dragons," he murmured, more to himself than to the others. "An interesting… potential asset. To be acquired or neutralized, depending on their market value." He crumpled the parchment. "Inform Lord Tyrell that the terms of our offer are non-negotiable. And inform Stannis that the timetable for military action has been accelerated. It seems the market is about to become… more volatile."
The game of thrones was escalating. But for Robar Baratheon, it was simply a business deal reaching its next, potentially most lucrative, phase. The ledger of Westeros was still open, and he was determined to control every entry.