The dome of the Throne Room in the Red Keep was high and distant, towering and solemn. Massive black stone pillars stood like silent giants, supporting this hall of the Seven Kingdoms' highest power.
The cold early winter wind seeped through the gaps in the high windows, carrying the damp chill of The Blackwater Rush. It brushed past the iron throne, forged from a thousand blades, making a low, sobbing sound.
Aegon sat upright upon the iron throne, dressed in well-tailored black casual wear. Only the Targaryen three-headed dragon sigil was embroidered on his chest with dark gold thread, shimmering with a restrained luster under the natural light.
His silver hair was tied back, his expression cold and stern. His violet eyes looked down calmly, an invisible majesty overpowering the entire room.
Leaning against one side of the throne were two valyrian steel swords: Dark Sister, slender and elegant with dark ripples on the blade, and Blackfyre, broad and heavy with a faintly visible edge, silently proclaiming his lineage and martial prowess.
Standing solemnly below the iron throne were the core members he had brought from across the Narrow Sea: officers of the Golden Company, knights of the Bloodsworn, and commanders of the Narrow Sea Fleet. Except for the Ash Company, which was away on campaign, all the important military backbones under his command were present.
On a side seat, Margaery Tyrell sat alone. She attended this core council as the special envoy of Highgarden, a unique identity with a transcendent status.
Dressed in a lake-green gown, her posture was elegant, her expression gentle and appropriate. With a perfect smile at the corner of her lips, she appeared to be merely an observer, but her gaze was sharp, quietly memorizing and meticulously dissecting everyone's reactions and the deeper meanings of the orders given in the hall.
Oberyn Martell stood loosely in the shadows behind and to the side of the throne, his position somewhere between a guard and an observer.
He wore colorful Dornish finery that clashed with the solemn atmosphere of the Great Hall. His expression was lazy and casual, yet in his eyes, sharp as a viper's, an inscrutable calculation flashed occasionally.
"Today's council," Aegon began, his voice steady and clear, carrying over the entire hall with unquestionable authority, "shall discuss only three matters."
His gaze slowly swept across the crowd, emphasizing each word:
"Determining the strategy for the subsequent war."
"Promulgating the new military and political systems of the kingdom."
"Rewarding merit and ennobling those who have served."
The three sentences struck hearts like heavy hammers. The hall fell into a dead silence as everyone held their breath in concentration.
After a brief silence, a general stepped forward quickly, knelt on one knee, and spoke in a loud voice that carried a trace of imperceptible tension:
"Reporting to Your Highness! Of the castles in The Crownlands that were stubbornly resisting, eight or nine out of ten have been recovered or have surrendered under our army's advance. Those who resisted have been broken, save for... one place, Stokeworth!"
He looked up, his face serious. "This castle is defended by its terrain, with high walls and thick ramparts. The garrison's resistance is exceptionally fierce! Our army has attempted to storm the walls several times, but each time we were repelled by the defenders!"
"In particular, among the defenders, there is a commander who is extremely fierce and brave. He wields a greatsword with both hands and wears heavy plate armor, like a hound from hell. Every time our army is about to successfully scale the walls, he leads the Soldiers in a counterattack, unafraid of death. Our brave warriors have suffered many casualties, and we have yet to conquer it!"
Stokeworth? Aegon's fingertips tapped almost imperceptibly on the cold iron armrest of the throne.
He had some impression of this castle; it was located in the heart of The Crownlands. It wasn't a famously strong fortress, but its terrain was indeed somewhat treacherous.
Before he could speak, Jon Connington, standing at the front of the generals, took a step forward. His voice was steady and solemn, carrying the insight of a veteran of many battles:
"Your Highness, according to the latest reports from scouts and confessions from prisoners, within Stokeworth, there are not only the original castle garrison but also a significant number of Soldiers wearing the red cloaks and armor of House Lannister."
"And that exceptionally fierce commander who has repeatedly repelled our forces... according to descriptions, he is as massive as a mountain and often wears a hideous hound-shaped helmet. His fighting style is wild and violent... It matches the physical characteristics of Sandor Clegane, the 'Hound' of the Kingsguard under the pretender Joffrey Baratheon, perfectly."
Jon paused slightly, a sharp light flashing in his eyes as he voiced the most crucial and boldest speculation: "The will to resist in this castle is so determined, far exceeding the norm. There must be someone, or something, extremely important hidden inside."
"Based on various intelligence reports, I infer that the most likely ones hiding there are Tommen Baratheon and Myrcella Baratheon, who were nowhere to be found in the Red Keep on the day Your Highness took King's Landing."
Aegon's fingertips, resting on the armrest of the throne, tapped the cold metal almost imperceptibly.
Thoughts whirled in his mind.
The day he took the Red Keep, he had ordered Joffrey's execution, but Tommen and Myrcella had indeed vanished without a trace.
These two must have been moved out of the city long ago, perhaps even before the negotiations at Duskendale failed and the army arrived at the gates.
Cersei might be short-sighted and mad, but her brother, that 'Imp' Tyrion Lannister, could never be so foolish as to place all the direct bloodlines of House Lannister in a single dangerous spot like King's Landing.
In the original story, Myrcella was sent to Dorne for a marriage alliance early on to secure Martell support.
But now, Doran Martell, the prince of dorne, was Aegon's own uncle. No matter how mad the Lannisters were, they would have to weigh this indelible blood bond.
This time, would Tyrion still dare, or even be able, to send Myrcella to Dorne?
Stokeworth... was a decent hiding place. It was easy to defend and hard to attack, not too far from King's Landing, and situated at the intersection of The Riverlands and The Crownlands where various forces overlapped, making it easy to hide and... wait for an opportunity or transfer.
"Send word to Luke to suspend the clearing of other remaining castles and mobilize all available main forces of the Ash Company within The Crownlands to surround Stokeworth."
"Attack at all costs! We must take this castle in the shortest time possible and find out the truth."
His gaze turned toward the Golden Company: "Laswell Peake."
A middle-aged general with a capable aura and sharp eyes immediately stepped out and bowed in response: "I am here!"
"After this council concludes, you are to immediately lead your division of Golden Company Soldiers north to join The Crownlands recovery campaign and capture Stokeworth together."
"As you command, Your Highness!" Laswell Peake accepted the order in a deep voice, battle intent igniting in his eyes.
Aegon's gaze then fell upon the several Fleet commanders in the hall, as if he could pierce through the stone walls to see the vast Narrow Sea outside Blackwater Bay.
"The war for Westeros has shifted entirely inland, but the Narrow Sea Fleet must not remain idle. Since Balon Greyjoy is letting the fat meat at his mouth go uneaten and turning back to the North to play petty tricks..."
A cold curve flickered at the corner of his mouth.
"Then we shall do for the Iron Fleet what they should have done but didn't."
His voice was clear, his military order as firm as a mountain: "The main Fleet is to prepare immediately. Set sail from Blackwater Bay, head south through the Stepstones, pass through the waters of Dorne, bypass the southern tip of the continent, and enter the Sunset Sea."
"Then, head all the way north, raiding all Ports, towns, and coastal fortresses of the Westerlands along the coastline. Burn ships, loot warehouses, destroy docks, and harass every target along the coast that supports the Lannister war potential..."
"I want you to be like a red-hot dagger, stabbing deep into Tywin Lannister's lower back. Cut off his sea trade, destroy his supply lines, and throw his heartland into chaos, so he cannot attend to both ends."
The order was cold and aimed directly at the foundation of House Lannister's rule: the wealthy coastal regions of the Westerlands.
Bloodthirsty and excited light instantly erupted in the eyes of the several Fleet commanders. Naval warfare and raiding were their original trade.
"Your Highness," a soft but firm voice sounded. Margaery Tyrell rose elegantly and performed a flawless curtsy toward the throne, "The Fleet will pass through the waters of The Reach. On such a long expedition, provisions and supplies are of paramount importance."
"Highgarden is willing to do its utmost, opening its coastal Ports to provide Your Highness's army with all necessary grain, fodder, fresh water, and essential repair materials. The granaries of The Reach are at Your Highness's disposal at any time."
Her words were beautifully spoken, expressing Highgarden's support while framing it as 'assisting the royal army.' It did not seem overly fawning, yet it provided a practical boost that Aegon could not refuse...
A safe and well-supplied southern sea route.
Aegon nodded slightly, accepting it calmly without saying much. His gaze, however, seemed to drift faintly over Oberyn Martell, who was leaning against a pillar.
Oberyn met that gaze and raised an eyebrow almost imperceptibly.
'What are you looking at me for? The sea route passes through Dornish waters? Naturally. But whether to grant passage or be on guard, that is a matter for Sunspear and Prince Doran to worry about. He cannot make that decision.'
Of course, he only ran these words through his mind; his face remained that same lazy, play-watching expression.
With the first major matter of 'determining the war strategy' settled, Aegon did not dally. The tone of his voice suddenly shifted, the temperature seemingly dropping several degrees, his majesty growing even more intense, like a cold wave sweeping through the hall:
"The old system of feudalism, of dividing land and granting titles, where lords held their own armies and fought one another, treating royal commands as nothing, is the root of the Seven Kingdoms' thousand years of incessant war and the decline of the royal family. From this day forward, this system..."
He paused, his violet eyes sweeping over every face below, declaring each word with absolute clarity:
"...is completely abolished."
There was no impassioned speech, no lengthy critique, just a calm pronouncement, yet it was as heavy as a mountain pressing down.
Immediately following, he gave no one time to digest or question it, and began to promulgate the framework of the new system he had long been preparing:
"To eradicate the scourge of war and forever end the peril of lords carving out their own domains, the 'Crownlands Garrison System' shall be implemented. It will start in The Crownlands and then be extended to the Seven Kingdoms."
"Every hundred miles shall be one district, where a Garrison Office shall be established. Fortifications will be built at key locations, with permanent Soldiers stationed to maintain basic local defense and public order."
"Five Garrison Offices shall combine into one Garrison Fort, with one Commander-in-Chief appointed. The Commander-in-Chief shall only have the power to train troops, enforce military discipline, and maintain peace within the territory of the five offices under their jurisdiction."
"Without a written decree signed by the King and the seal of the hand of the king, they have no right to mobilize a single Soldier to leave their defense zone, nor the right to start any conflict. Violators shall be dealt with as traitors."
"All Soldiers belonging to the Garrison Offices and Garrison Forts shall have their rations, armaments, and pay centrally allocated and issued by the royal family. Localities may not privately maintain a single Soldier or hide a single suit of armor or blade under any pretext."
"Garrison Soldiers, during times of peace, may till the fields and perform their duties, only needing to undergo regular training—half Soldier, half civilian."
He paused briefly, his gaze becoming even sharper:
"Salt and iron are the foundations of the national economy and people's livelihood, strategic assets of the state."
"As of today, they are reclaimed as royal monopolies. Any family or individual is strictly forbidden from private mining, smelting, or selling. Violators will be severely punished and their property confiscated."
"Local justice, which in the past was decided by the word of the lord, led to inconsistent laws and widespread injustice. This flaw must be eliminated. I shall order the drafting of a unified code of laws for the Seven Kingdoms and establish a system of judicial officials directly under the royal family for independent trials."
"Henceforth, Westeros shall have only one royal law and one set of criminal codes."
With these words, he analyzed and stripped away the core privileges upon which the old nobility depended—military power, financial power, and judicial power—layer by layer, centralizing them.
This system was cold, efficient, and centralized all power in one person. It completely overturned the feudal order that Westeros had followed for a thousand years. Its ruthlessness and decisiveness were unprecedented.
However, after the brief dead silence in the hall, the expected commotion or resistance did not occur.
The officers of the Golden Company, the Bloodsworn, and the Fleet initially showed shock on their faces, which then quickly turned to contemplation. Subsequently, an implicit excitement and eagerness appeared in many of their eyes.
Who were they? They were the descendants of exiles, mercenaries drifting on the sea, pirates living on the edge of a blade, and officers of low birth who had fought their way up with courage.
The old nobility's system of hereditary fiefs, private armies, and manorial rights had never had anything to do with them.
They followed Aegon across the sea, risking their lives in battle. What were they seeking? Was it not wealth, status, and the chance to change their fates?
This new system, while stripping the old nobility of their privileges, also completely shattered the old order that judged people by bloodline and birth, replacing it with direct royal appointments and rewards based on merit.
This meant that as long as they were brave enough, loyal enough, and earned enough merit, they could potentially obtain positions they never dared dream of before through military service: Garrison Commander-in-Chief, judicial official, or even a future Salt and Iron Monopoly Envoy!
They were no longer mercenaries or private Soldiers dependent on some great lord, but the 'Royal Army' directly under the King!
This was also why Aegon had recruited desperadoes like mercenaries and pirates.
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