Title: The Gilded Stag
Chapter 23: The Dragon's Ledger: Assets, Liabilities, and a New Reign's Dawn
The inferno that had consumed Viserys Targaryen and his last loyalists on Dragonstone had birthed a power unseen in Westeros for over a century. As the last embers of the sacrificial pyre died down in the Stone Drum's cavernous heart, three pairs of reptilian eyes, glowing with nascent intelligence and ancient instinct, fixed upon Robar Baratheon. The air thrummed with a primal energy, the scent of smoke and blood now mingled with the unique, almost metallic aroma of newly hatched dragons.
Robar, his bloodied hand still extended, felt the delicate rasp of the black hatchling's scales against his skin. It was a moment of profound, cold triumph. The successful acquisition of these assets was a coup that would redefine the entire business model of Westeros Inc.
"Maester Vaellyn," Robar's voice, though calm, held a new, resonant depth, amplified by the strange acoustics of the chamber and the sheer magnitude of what had transpired. "Phase Two of Project Incubate commences immediately. The survival, security, and optimal development of these… hatchlings… are now BCR's highest priority. You will answer directly to me. Spare no expense, but maintain meticulous records. Efficiency, even in dragon-rearing, is paramount."
Vaellyn, pale and visibly shaken by the ritual he had helped orchestrate, but also alight with a feverish, scholarly ecstasy, bowed low. "Yes, my Lord Protector! Their dietary needs, their environmental requirements… the lore is fragmented, but I will begin experiments at once. We will need a secure, controlled environment, warmth, specific types of meat, perhaps..."
"You will have whatever resources you require," Robar interjected. "For now, secure them. They are vulnerable. And valuable."
The Phoenix Team, their faces reflecting a mixture of awe, fear, and unshakeable loyalty to the man who had just commanded magic itself, moved to assist Vaellyn. The three hatchlings, surprisingly docile in Robar's presence, were carefully gathered. The black one, already showing a distinct possessiveness towards Robar, hissed at anyone else who came too near, only calming when Robar gave a subtle, Haki-infused murmur of reassurance.
Next, the matter of Daenerys Targaryen. She had been kept isolated during the ritual, but the sounds, the unnatural heat, and the primal energy unleashed would not have gone unnoticed. Robar found her huddled in a secured chamber, guarded by two of his female operatives. She was a slip of a girl, barely thirteen, her silver hair disheveled, her violet eyes wide with a terror that went beyond her brother's recent cruelties. She looked at Robar with an expression of pure, unadulterated fear.
"Daenerys Targaryen," Robar addressed her, his voice softening almost imperceptibly – not out of compassion, but because a terrified asset was an unstable one. "Your brother, Viserys, has… met with an unfortunate end due to his treasonous actions and his refusal to cooperate with the new administration of Westeros. You, however, are now a ward of Baratheon Consolidated Resources. Your safety and well-being will be assured, provided you demonstrate… cooperative behavior."
Daenerys simply stared, trembling.
"You will be treated with the courtesy befitting your station," Robar continued, already calculating her potential uses. Her Valyrian blood was a known quantity. Her connection to these newly hatched dragons, if any beyond bloodline, was yet to be determined. She could be a political pawn, a future bride for a key BCR ally to secure a Valyrian bloodline, or perhaps even a future 'handler' for one of the dragons if his own imprinting wasn't sufficient for all three. For now, she was a valuable unknown, to be managed with care. "You will accompany me back to King's Landing. A more… suitable environment will be provided for your continued development."
Dragonstone itself needed to be sanitized. Robar sent a raven to Lord Stannis, whose fleet maintained the tight blockade. The orders were concise: land a thousand men, eliminate all remaining Targaryen loyalists within the fortress, and secure Dragonstone as a primary BCR research and development facility under Maester Vaellyn's direct oversight. No witnesses to the hatching ritual outside his Phoenix Team and Vaellyn were to survive. Stannis, Robar knew, would execute these orders with his usual grim, unquestioning efficiency. The island that had birthed dragons would now become their first gilded cage, and a laboratory for unlocking their full market potential.
The return journey to King's Landing was undertaken with extreme secrecy. Robar, the three hatchling dragons concealed in specially prepared, warmed chests, and a heavily sedated (for her own "comfort and security," as Robar termed it) Daenerys Targaryen, traveled aboard the Stormdancer. The knowledge of what they carried was confined to Robar and the innermost circle of his Phoenix Team.
Upon his arrival in the capital, Robar immediately convened a council, not in the public throne room, but in the secure depths of Maegor's Holdfast. Present were Tywin Lannister, a visibly intrigued Ser Jaime, a cautious Grand Maester Pycelle (who had been summoned under conditions of extreme secrecy), and a newly arrived Cersei Lannister, her beautiful face a mask of curiosity and apprehension.
When Robar had the chests brought in and, with a theatricality he usually disdained but recognized as situationally effective, revealed the three living, breathing hatchling dragons, the reaction was profound.
Tywin Lannister, the man who rarely showed emotion, actually took a step back, his pale green eyes widening almost imperceptibly. The implications – military, political, dynastic – were instantly clear to his sharp mind. This changed everything.
Cersei gasped, her hand flying to her mouth, her emerald eyes alight with a mixture of fear and an intoxicating, ambitious fire. Dragons. Real dragons. And her betrothed, this cold, terrifying man, controlled them. Her future as Queen suddenly seemed infinitely grander, and more dangerous.
Jaime Lannister let out a low whistle. "Seven Hells, Baratheon," he murmured, his cynicism for once giving way to genuine shock. "You don't do things by halves, do you?"
Grand Maester Pycelle looked as if he might faint. He began muttering prayers and snippets of ancient lore, his eyes darting between Robar and the hatchlings as if witnessing a god or a demon.
"These," Robar announced, his voice resonating with quiet power as the black dragon hatchling climbed onto his gauntlet, its ruby eyes fixed on him, "are the new guarantors of stability and prosperity for Westeros Inc. They are the ultimate market deterrent, the ultimate tool for enforcing BCR contracts, and the ultimate symbol of the new Baratheon dynasty." He then outlined a carefully crafted narrative: the eggs, long thought inert, had "miraculously quickened" in his presence on Dragonstone, a clear sign of divine favor for his righteous cause and his assumption of leadership. The blood magic, the sacrifice of Viserys, these details were omitted, classified under "BCR Proprietary R&D."
"Maester Pycelle," Robar commanded, "you will begin drafting the official histories. The return of dragons under the new Baratheon stewardship. Emphasize the themes of destiny, renewal, and the divine mandate for our new, efficient order. BCR's Department of Public Narrative will provide you with key talking points."
Pycelle, still trembling, could only nod vigorously.
Tywin Lannister recovered his composure quickly. "Dragons," he said, his voice a low rumble. "This… alters the strategic landscape significantly, Lord Protector. Their power, if harnessed…"
"Will be harnessed, Lord Tywin," Robar assured him. "Project Incubate, under Maester Vaellyn's directorship, is already underway. BCR is allocating substantial resources to their development, training, and eventual deployment as key strategic assets." He looked at the dragons, then back at his council. "Their existence will remain a closely guarded BCR secret for now. We will choose the optimal moment for their public unveiling – perhaps the coronation? A king who brings forth dragons… that is a powerful brand identity."
The following weeks in King's Landing were a whirlwind of clandestine activity centered around the dragons, even as the public consolidation of Robar's rule continued. A secure, heavily guarded section of the Red Keep, deep within Maegor's Holdfast, was converted into a temporary nursery and research facility for the hatchlings. Maester Vaellyn, armed with ancient texts and BCR's unlimited budget, experimented with their diet, their environment, and their training. Robar spent several hours each day with the hatchlings, reinforcing his bond with them. He found his Haki, particularly his Conqueror's Haki, had a profound effect on them. They were intelligent, fiercely loyal to him, and growing at an astonishing rate. The black one, which he privately named Mammon for the old world deity of wealth, was the largest and most aggressive. The green, Viridian, was cunning and agile. The cream-and-gold, Aurum, was calmer but possessed of an unnerving intelligence.
Daenerys Targaryen was kept in luxurious, isolated confinement within the Red Keep. Robar assigned Lady Cersei the task of her "education" and "companionship," a subtle way of keeping both women occupied and under observation. Cersei, initially resentful of the task, soon found herself intrigued by the last Targaryen princess, and perhaps saw in Daenerys a reflection of her own gilded cage, albeit a far more tragic one. Robar, however, ensured their interactions were monitored. Daenerys was too valuable an asset – her bloodline, her potential connection to the dragons – to be left unmanaged.
With the Reach pacified and its resources flowing into BCR's coffers, and with dragons now a secret, terrifying trump card, Robar's strategic focus sharpened. The formal coronation was indeed the next logical step. It would be the ultimate PR event, the official launch of the Baratheon dynasty and the public unveiling of Westeros Inc.'s new CEO. He envisioned a spectacle that would awe the realm into submission, a coronation where the dragons themselves might make a brief, terrifying appearance, cementing his rule as divinely ordained and brutally enforced.
News of the dragons, even as Robar tried to contain it, would inevitably leak. He knew this. But he would control the leak, shape the narrative. The story would be one of miraculous rebirth, of a chosen king. Not of blood, fire, and a ruthless CEO acquiring the ultimate weapons of mass destruction.
He stood on the balcony of the Red Keep, overlooking King's Landing. The city was orderly, productive, its commerce flowing, its taxes filling BCR's vaults. His new administration was taking hold. The dragons were growing. His power was consolidating. The ledger of Westeros was looking increasingly profitable. The only outstanding question was how quickly he could expand his market share to encompass the entire known world. With dragons, even that seemed like a modest quarterly target.
Word Count: Approx. 3050 words