Chapter 53: House Tyrell’s Reckoning

Spring, 301 AC

The halls of the Red Keep were still thick with the scent of ash and blood. The banners of the lion had been torn down, replaced by the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen. The war was over, but the business of ruling had only just begun.

Seated upon the Iron Throne, Aemon Targaryen exuded the cold authority of a king who had won his crown through fire and blood. Before him stood the delegation from House Tyrell, newly freed from their imprisonment after months of house arrest. Lord Mace Tyrell, his usually pompous demeanor subdued, knelt before the king. Lady Olenna Tyrell, ever the sharp-eyed matriarch, stood beside him, her expression unreadable. And in the center of them, poised but silent, was Margaery Tyrell.

The once-proud rulers of the Reach now stood in supplication before the dragon.

The Oath of House Tyrell

Aemon's voice was like steel when he spoke. "Lord Mace Tyrell, House Tyrell once swore fealty to the Targaryens. Yet when Robert's Rebellion came, you bent the knee to the usurper. When the Lannisters ruled, you flocked to their cause. And now, you stand before me."

Mace's throat bobbed as he swallowed. "Your Grace, we—"

Aemon raised a hand, silencing him. "Your House is rich. Your lands fertile. Your armies strong. But loyalty?" His violet eyes burned into the lord's. "That is something you lack."

Olenna's lips pressed into a thin line. She had no rebuttal.

Aemon let the silence hang before he continued. "You will swear fealty to the crown. Not as you did to the Lannisters, not as you did to Robert. You will swear as subjects who know the cost of betrayal."

Mace knelt lower. "We swear, Your Grace. House Tyrell will serve you and your line faithfully."

Aemon nodded, but his gaze remained icy. "Then hear my terms."

The hall tensed as Aemon leaned forward. "For your past disloyalty, House Tyrell will bear the burden of heavy taxes for the next twenty years. Your wealth will fill the Crown's coffers, ensuring the stability of my rule."

Mace's face reddened, and he opened his mouth to protest, but Olenna's grip on his wrist silenced him. "As you command, Your Grace," she said smoothly.

Aemon's gaze flickered to her. "Your wisdom serves you well, Lady Olenna."

Margaery, silent until now, finally spoke. "And what of me, Your Grace?"

Aemon regarded her carefully. "You will serve as Lady-in-Waiting to my Queen, Sansa Stark."

A ripple of murmurs passed through the court. Margaery's lips parted slightly in surprise, but she quickly schooled her expression into one of acceptance. "As you will, my king."

Aemon's lips curled slightly. "You will learn what true loyalty means, Lady Margaery."

Sansa, seated beside him, studied Margaery with quiet calculation. The game of queens had begun.

The Lannisters' Debt

Aemon's attention turned to Tyrion Lannister, now Warden of the West. "House Lannister built its fortune on the backs of others," Aemon said. "Let that fortune now serve the realm. House Lannister will pay all the Crown's debts."

Tyrion, never one to back down from a sharp remark, exhaled through his nose. "A generous demand, Your Grace."

Aemon's gaze was unyielding. "It is not a demand, Lord Tyrion. It is the cost of your family's sins."

Tyrion inclined his head. "Then let it be done."

Varys Put in His Place

As the court session neared its end, Varys, the ever-smiling spider, stepped forward. "Your Grace," he said smoothly, "your rule is now secure, but ruling requires more than strength. Information is power, and I—"

Aemon cut him off with a cold look. "Enough, Varys."

The Master of Whisperers blinked, caught off guard for the first time in years.

"I know what you are," Aemon continued, his voice quiet yet filled with steel. "A man who serves the realm—when it suits him. A man who whispers in many ears, never truly belonging to any."

Varys opened his mouth, but Aemon leaned forward. "I do not need your counsel, nor your games. You will serve, but on my terms."

The words landed heavily in the room. For the first time, Varys bowed his head, his expression unreadable. "As you wish, Your Grace."

Aemon let the silence settle before he spoke again. "Court is dismissed."

The Queen's Game Begins

As the lords and ladies filed out of the hall, Sansa remained seated beside Aemon. Margaery stood before her, their gazes locking for a long moment.

Sansa spoke first. "I trust you will serve me well, Lady Margaery."

Margaery's lips curled slightly. "Of course, my queen."

Daenerys, watching from the shadows, said nothing. She had been raised in Essos, where strong men took many women. Aemon was king now, and she knew what was to come.

The game had changed, but it was far from over.