The middle-aged man from the House Caron was pressed almost flat against the cold ground, his forehead grinding hard into the cracks of the stone tiles. His voice shook beyond recognition as he struggled to survive amidst despair:
"Your... Your Highness... we already know our guilt! In the past, we were all muddled, forced by the situation and blinded by selfishness! From this day forward, we are willing to swear by our family's honor and bloodline to be loyal to Your Highness, to be loyal to the true dragon, and to never harbor a second heart!"
As soon as he finished speaking, the minor nobles below the dais, who had long since lost their wits, grabbed onto this life-saving straw one after another. They struck their heads against the ground and echoed in trembling voices:
"The House Bolling is willing to pledge loyalty to the true dragon unto death!"
"The Hatis Family harbors no second heart!"
"The Rogers Family follows Your Highness's lead alone!"
In the vast and deathly silent Throne Room, the rising and falling sounds of loyalty, tinged with sobbing and humility and mixed with the dull thuds of foreheads hitting the floor, sounded exceptionally desolate.
Aegon looked down from his high position, his gaze calmly sweeping over the shivering figures below the dais.
Deep within his purple eyes, there was no trace of emotion, only a coldness that saw through to the essence of things. The corner of his mouth curled into an extremely faint arc—not a smile, but an icicle formed of ridicule and understanding.
"Loyalty?"
His voice was cool and calm, yet like a thin, sharp ice blade, it easily sliced through all the piteous pleas and echoed beneath the dome with a sharpness that pierced the heart.
"Your loyalty," he paused slightly, letting the two words hang coldly in the air, "is it... too cheap?"
The sentence was like an invisible giant hand throttling everyone's throats; the cries of loyalty stopped abruptly. Everyone froze in place, even their trembling seemingly solidified, as a chill surged from their tailbones straight to the tops of their heads.
Aegon stopped looking at them, his gaze seeming to cast into the void, yet also seeming to pierce through a thousand years of reincarnation. He spoke slowly, his tone indifferent, each word like a quenched steel spike driven into the most rotten marrow of the Westeros system:
"For a thousand years in Westeros, the system of enfeoffment and tiered loyalty has sounded like an orderly hierarchy and strict legality." His voice was clear. "But all it has nurtured is 'loyalty' such as yours."
"The vassal of my vassal is not my vassal." His tone was full of cold mockery. "Thus, you have never been loyal to the monarch on the iron throne, nor to the legitimacy of blood, nor to the laws of the Seven Kingdoms. What you are loyal to is merely the power before your eyes, your own safety, your own territory, and the heads on your necks."
His gaze fell once more, like ice water flowing over every sweat-drenched nape.
"In the War of the Usurper, when Robert was powerful, you took up arms to overthrow the Targaryens, calling it 'justice'. When Robert died suddenly and Renly raised his banner, you swarmed to crown him king—did you have any regard for legitimacy then? When Renly died, you turned to Stannis and became his most steadfast loyalists. Now that Stannis has been destroyed and you have nowhere left to go, you kneel before me."
He leaned forward slightly, and the shadow of the iron throne loomed over the people in the front row.
"Today I am powerful, with dragons and soldiers, so your mouths are full of loyalty and righteousness. But if a stronger conqueror were to trample King's Landing tomorrow, you would just as unhesitatingly betray today's oaths and turn your spears. Just as you did to the Targaryens, Renly, and Stannis."
"This is not loyalty."
"This is following the trend, groveling for survival, an instinct carved into your very bones."
The hall was deathly silent, with only his cold words echoing, each word a heavy hammer shattering their last fig leaf of dignity.
No one dared to argue; this was the unspoken rule of the game they all played.
Everyone lay prostrate on the ground, their breathing so light it was nearly silent.
Aegon's voice did not soften; instead, it rose slightly, carrying a decisiveness that cut through all evasion, like a sword drawn from its sheath:
"And the root of this repeated war, betrayal, and division is precisely this set of things you hold as sacred... the decayed and backward old system of enfeoffment that nurtures selfishness and ambition!"
His words were like a sentence being passed, forceful and resonant:
"It allows lords to carve out territories, making orders ineffective and prohibitions ignored; it lets laws fall into disuse, with private punishment replacing royal law; it turns the Seven Kingdoms into a heap of loose sand, plagued by constant internal strife; it turns 'loyalty' into a cheap commodity that can be traded or discarded at will! It gave you the capital to jump back and forth, and it gave the continent endless blood and tears!"
"I have returned to Westeros," Aegon's voice was calm, yet contained an even more terrifying power, "not to restore a nauseating old system, nor to replay the game of thrones and watch your clumsy performances of loyalty today and betrayal tomorrow."
He paused for a moment, his gaze like frozen fire sweeping over the stiff bodies below the dais.
"What I intend to do is destroy all of this with my own hands."
"I am well aware of your crimes." Aegon sat upright on the iron throne, his voice cold and unwavering, a calm statement carrying the weight of a thousand tons. "According to the law, stripping of titles, confiscation of lands, or even execution would not be excessive."
That one sentence made the nobles feel as if they had fallen into an ice cellar; their faces turned ashen as their last shred of hope was completely shattered.
They lay flat on the ground like lambs to the slaughter, waiting for the final judgment.
"You have traveled thousands of miles with the army to King's Landing to kneel here," Aegon's tone held no mercy, only the coldness of a conqueror dissecting his spoils, "simply to seek a way to preserve your families and continue your bloodlines."
"In consideration of the fact that you did not dare to cause trouble after surrendering to Jon Connington, assisted in stabilizing the order of the Stormlands, and marched north to help besiege King's Landing—though you have no merit from bloody battle, you have the hard work of following orders," he stated his reasons clearly, not out of baseless kindness, "I can give you this way out."
No one dared to relax; the atmosphere instead became even more tense.
They already understood that the mercy of this true dragon was never given without cause; every gift was accompanied by even stricter demands and restructuring.
Sure enough, Aegon's voice suddenly turned sharp, his gaze like a cold blade sweeping over their lowered heads, speaking one word at a time with an absolute will that brooked no resistance:
"But the overstepping privileges left to you by the old enfeoffment system—the ones that allowed you to carve out territories and breed ambition—must be completely eradicated, without a single trace remaining."
"Starting today," his voice echoed in the silent hall, announcing an earth-shattering transformation:
"You are stripped of the right to privately recruit, maintain, or command soldiers. All armed forces within your territories not authorized by the royal family are to be disbanded. All weapons and armor, except for those required for legitimate guards, are to be surrendered. Henceforth, any private stockpiling of arms or recruitment of soldiers will be treated as treason, punishable by immediate execution without pardon."
"You are stripped of the right to independent justice and judgment within your territories. Henceforth, all litigation, criminal cases, and disputes within your lands, whether involving nobles or commoners, will follow the unified laws of the iron throne and be decided by officials appointed by the royal family. The use of private punishment will be severely punished."
"You are stripped of the right to independent taxation and the withholding of tax revenues. Taxes in your territories will be collected uniformly by tax collectors appointed by the royal family and turned over to the national treasury. The royal family will allocate governance funds and your stipends based on the situation. Those who dare to privately tax, under-report, or withhold royal taxes will be stripped of their titles and severely punished."
The three prohibitions struck directly at the core of a feudal lord's power... military power, legal power, and financial power. Three guillotines fell, severing the very foundations of their independence from royal authority.
He paused, then added a final cold sentence to completely cut off their fantasies: "I will not strip you of your noble titles, your hereditary rights, or your existing family estates."
"This is the bottom line, but it is not capital for you to harbor illusions that everything will remain as it was."
Losing these three major privileges meant that even if they kept their titles and castles, they were no longer local tyrants with their own armies. They could only become subjects completely dependent on the royal family and obedient to the iron throne.
The faces of those below the dais were grey with defeat, their bodies shaking uncontrollably. They felt no pain even as their fingernails dug into their palms, left only with bewilderment and dread.
The privileges passed down through generations were gone in an instant, and the road ahead was pitch black.
The middle-aged man from the House Caron felt his legs go weak, nearly collapsing. He knew better than anyone else that these three privileges were the iron triangle of a lord's power and the guarantee of a family's independence.
Without them, Nightsong still stood, but the House Caron was no longer a march lord capable of autonomous rule.
The desolation of seeing centuries of foundation ruined in a day weighed on him so heavily he could barely breathe.
Just as despair was about to consume everyone, the voice from the throne rang out again, forceful and cold, with no room for negotiation:
"House Caron."
The middle-aged man who was called out shuddered all over and looked up blankly.
"Your family has guarded the border for generations, resisting Dorne, and has a reputation for border defense in the Stormlands," Aegon said in a flat tone. "Furthermore, considering your peaceful conduct during this campaign, in view of this old reputation and your hard work, I appoint you as the Grand Commander of the Royal Borderlands."
The man from the House Caron froze, his face full of astonishment.
Aegon's gaze fell on his face, and he deliberately slowed his speech, making every word clear to prevent any misunderstanding:
"The army this position commands is the army of my Targaryen royal family stationed in the borderlands. They are the King's soldiers and horses, by no means the private property of your House Caron."
"You have only the power to command defense, train soldiers, and await orders. You have no power to privately recruit or move troops. Provisions, pay, and equipment will all be allocated uniformly by the royal family. All military actions must strictly follow the decrees of the iron throne, without the slightest overstepping."
"This title is permitted to be hereditary, and the stipend will be paid in full by the royal family. The duties encompass the defense of the border between the Stormlands and Dorne—fortifying, patrolling, and resisting enemies—reporting directly to me. Without my command, no one may move a single soldier or horse, nor overstep their authority by half a step."
These words drew a sharp line, and the Karen man froze completely. Just a moment ago he was mired in despair, and now a door he had never imagined had swung wide open.
The Grand Commander of the Royal Borderlands was no longer a minor lord in a corner, but a position of real power, bestowed by the royal family and holding legitimate border defense authority!
Commanding an army legitimately and guarding the entire border meant his status and reputation far exceeded what they once were.
He instantly understood the difference: what Aegon had taken away was his private power to carve out a territory; what he had granted was the public power to guard the border for the King.
By abolishing one and establishing the other, he had integrated his family into the royal military system, giving them a more legitimate and promising future.
A mix of emotions clogged his chest; he opened his mouth, but his throat was dry, and he couldn't say a word.
The people from the Bolling, Hasty, and other families were also dazed, not yet recovered from the massive ups and downs.
Aegon turned his gaze toward them, his tone still forceful:
"Bolling and Hasty, you shall retain your ranks as Landed Knights and be granted the positions of local Garrison Commanders. You will each guard your family's original areas of influence, responsible for local security and patrols, and command the standing soldiers stationed by the royal family... Remember, you command the Royal Army, you do not maintain private soldiers."
"The stipends will be generous. If you neglect your duties, disobey military orders, or treat the Royal Army as private property, you will be severely punished by military law without leniency."
"Gower and Rogers, you shall retain your original noble titles and lands, and be granted the positions of Assistant Officials to assist the local civil officials appointed by the royal family in handling trivial matters such as household registration, security, and tax calculations."
His gaze swept over everyone again, his cold eyes piercing through their weighing of options and their struggles:
"You can keep your titles, castles, lands, and family properties. This is the bottom line, which I will not take."
His words carried immense weight: "But from now on, there will be no more overstepping with private power. Your soldiers are the royal family's soldiers; your law is the royal family's law; your wealth is the royal family's wealth."
"You are no longer lords who can divide the land and bargain with me. You will be subjects of the royal family, following my laws, following my orders, and serving my kingdom. This is your only way out and the last chance I am giving."
"Accept," Aegon's voice suddenly turned cold, like a winter north wind, "and you can preserve your families, earn a future under the new order, and live in peace."
"Refuse," he paused slightly, his gaze drifting toward the hall doors as if seeing the execution ground outside, "and the execution ground outside has not yet grown cold. It can be reopened for you at any time."
No comfort, no compromise, no bargaining.
Everyone finally understood completely that this was not a simple pardon or punishment, but a thorough restructuring of power.
He had severed their foundations as independent lords and built a new structure entirely dependent on royal power upon the ruins.
The big stick had shattered the old power base, and the sweet date offered a new way to survive by clinging to royal authority.
This sweet date was not a reward, but a firmer shackle, tying their interests inextricably to the royal family.
The middle-aged man from the House Caron slowly lowered his head, his forehead hitting the stone tiles hard. His voice still carried a tremor, but the old desperate pleading was gone, replaced by a reverent certainty born of recognizing reality:
"I... the House Caron, thank Your Highness for your grace! Your Highness has clearly defined powers and responsibilities, showing both mercy and majesty. I am moved to tears of gratitude!"
"The House Caron will surely pledge loyalty to Your Highness unto death, fulfill our duties, command the Royal Army, and guard the border. We would never dare to be even slightly negligent, let alone overstep in the least! If we violate this, may the Seven not tolerate us!"
The other nobles also came to their senses from the shock and kowtowed heavily. Their voices were a mix of lingering fear and relief, but mostly submission to an absolute will:
"We shall follow Your Highness's decrees! We pledge loyalty unto death and would never dare to disobey!"
"The House Bolling accepts the command!"
"The Hatis Family accepts the command!"
They finally understood that Aegon's decision not to kill them was never out of soft-heartedness.
He wanted to completely dismantle the foundations of the old nobility's independence and transform potential opponents into tools that depended on and served the royal power.
Using both mercy and majesty, he broke the spine of the old era and put on the chains of the new.
"Withdraw."
Aegon said no more, faintly uttering two words. His tone was cold and majestic, not softening in the slightest because of their pledges of loyalty, as if he had just finished adjusting a batch of tools.
Everyone felt as if they had received a great pardon. With lingering fear, they did not dare to stay, kowtowing in turn before lowering their heads and bending their waists to quietly exit the Throne Room.
Their footsteps were no longer heavy with despair, but they were by no means light. Every step was taken on a newly planned path of destiny, full of uncertainty about the future and deep reverence for the man on the throne.
The heavy hall doors slowly closed, cutting off the light and the complex emotions outside the door.
The Throne Room returned to silence, leaving only Aegon sitting alone on the iron throne forged of sharp blades.
Deep within his purple eyes, the patterns of the dome were reflected like a silent ice lake, without a single ripple.
The pressure, reprimands, stripping of rights, and appointments from just now were not on a whim, but were part of his carefully considered, iron-fisted reshaping of order.
The big stick had to be hard and accurate, shattering the three pillars of private armies, private law, and private taxes to turn independent lords into royal subjects; the sweet dates had to be clear and limited, specifically granting new positions to integrate them into the new system of direct royal management.
He did not give sweet dates out of fear.
Fear that these minor nobles, whose claws had been pulled and whose courage had been shattered, would rebel?
What a joke.
Even if all the old nobles of Westeros united, before Ghidorah, they would be nothing more than ash.
If he wished, he could easily incite a rebellion and legitimately wipe the defiant ones, along with their castles and family crests, completely off the map.
Where thunder passes, all becomes scorched earth.
One can destroy, but it must not be without meaning.
He had returned, and what he wanted was not a wasteland of wailing.
If the people were all dead, the fields overgrown, and the markets withered, even if he sat firmly on the iron throne, he would only be ruling over a vast silence.
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