Chapter 12;- The Oath of Kings

The great hall of Veldrith was no longer a place of bloodshed and treachery. The towering pillars, once stained with the echoes of betrayal, now stood tall under banners of unity. The torches along the walls flickered steadily, casting a warm glow over the throne where Rhaegar sat—not as the vengeful reaper of the past, but as a king with a future.

Before him, the lords and rulers of the lands he had once warred against knelt. Some out of respect, others out of fear. The weight of their gaze, filled with uncertainty and unspoken questions, did not faze him. He had been feared before. He had been hated before. But now, he had no desire to rule through terror alone.

Lucian, standing beside him, crossed his arms. "I can already see it in their eyes," he muttered. "They're wondering whether this peace will last."

Rhaegar's lips curled into the faintest smirk. "Then let's make sure they understand."

He rose from his throne, the heavy silence in the hall thickening. The gathered rulers straightened, eyes locked on him as he stepped forward. His voice, calm yet commanding, echoed through the vast chamber.

"You all swore your loyalty to men who condemned me. Men who saw my death as their victory. They raised their swords against me, against my name, and against my people. And where are they now?" He let the question hang, watching as unease crept into their expressions.

"Dead," he continued, his voice like steel. "Not because they opposed me, but because they betrayed their own oaths. They swore to protect their people, yet they fed them to war. They swore to lead with wisdom, yet they let greed and cowardice rule them. I did not kill them for revenge. I killed them because they were unfit to lead."

Murmurs spread through the hall. Some heads lowered, others nodded in grim understanding.

"Now, I ask you this—will you rule with wisdom, or will you follow the same path as those who fell?"

One by one, the rulers rose from their kneeling positions. An aging lord from the east stepped forward first. His face was lined with years of conflict, but his eyes held something new—reluctant trust. "I have seen the ruin of war," he said. "And I have seen the might of the Reaper King. My people have suffered enough. I will stand by this peace."

A younger ruler followed. "My kingdom was forced into war by the old order," she admitted. "I will not make that mistake again. Veldrith stands unchallenged. It would be foolish to resist a future under your rule."

One after another, the others pledged their loyalty. Some voices wavered with fear, others with conviction. But in the end, they all bowed their heads in agreement.

Rhaegar studied them, his expression unreadable. Then, with slow, deliberate motion, he drew his sword. Its dark blade shimmered under the torchlight, a reminder of the past he had fought to overcome.

"Kneel," he commanded.

They did.

"Swear your oaths, not to me, but to your people," he said. "Swear that you will rule not with greed, but with honor. Swear that you will uphold peace, not as cowards, but as kings."

One by one, they placed their hands over their hearts, repeating the oath as his blade hovered above them.

"I swear to rule with wisdom and strength."

"I swear to protect my people from tyranny."

"I swear to never betray the trust of those who follow me."

Rhaegar lowered his sword. "Then rise."

As they stood, a shift filled the air. Fear did not vanish overnight, nor did mistrust, but this was the first step toward something greater. A future not built on vengeance, but on something stronger.

Lucian let out a low whistle. "Look at you. Making kings out of cowards."

Rhaegar chuckled. "Someone has to."

And as the banners of Veldrith fluttered in the evening breeze, a new era began—not one of war, but of unity. The Oath of Kings had been sworn. Now, it was time to see if they would keep it.

Rhaegar turned his head slightly, casting Lucian an unimpressed glance. "I'll smile when there's something worth smiling about."

Lucian scoffed, folding his arms. "Please. We just won a war, made a bunch of old cowards swear loyalty, and you're finally sitting on your throne. If that's not worth a smile, I don't know what is."

Rhaegar exhaled, shaking his head. "There's still work to do. Peace isn't as easy as war. Keeping these lords in line will be more difficult than cutting them down."

Lucian shrugged. "Then cut them down if they betray you. Problem solved."

The corner of Rhaegar's mouth twitched in amusement, but he didn't take the bait. Instead, he scanned the gathered rulers once more. Some still looked shaken, while others seemed almost relieved. They had all bowed today, but submission out of fear was temporary. He needed loyalty forged from something stronger.

He turned his gaze to the eastern ruler who had spoken first. "What is your name?"

The older man stepped forward, placing a fist over his chest. "Lord Aldric of Dawnmere."

Rhaegar nodded. "Dawnmere is a land of scholars and tacticians, is it not?"

Aldric's face tightened with wary respect. "It was, before the war forced us to become soldiers."

Rhaegar held his gaze. "It will be again."

Murmurs spread through the hall. Aldric's lips parted in surprise, but Rhaegar wasn't finished. His voice carried the weight of a command. "Send word to your city. Reopen the libraries and academies. The war is over. I will not see knowledge buried beneath the ashes of battle."

Aldric bowed low. "As you command, Your Majesty."

Lucian raised an eyebrow. "Huh. So that's how you do it. Instead of threatening them with death, you give them something to live for."

Rhaegar glanced at him. "Fear fades. Purpose does not."

Lucian smirked. "Wise words, Your Majesty."

Rhaegar ignored the teasing tone and turned to the young queen who had pledged herself next. "And you?"

She straightened. "Queen Elira of Velmont."

"Velmont was known for its trade routes," Rhaegar continued. "And yet, I hear the roads are ruined. Bandits run free. Your merchants are too afraid to travel."

Elira hesitated, then nodded. "That is true. Without protection, we cannot rebuild."

Rhaegar's voice was steady. "You will have it. Veldrith's forces will clear the roads and secure them. The gold that once filled your coffers will flow again. Your people will prosper, under one condition."

Elira met his gaze warily. "What condition?"

"That when war comes again, and it will, your kingdom will stand beside mine."

Silence filled the hall. Rhaegar's words were not a request. They were a decree.

Elira hesitated only a moment before kneeling. "Then Velmont stands with Veldrith."

Rhaegar nodded, satisfied. He moved on, making swift decisions for each ruler. Some would strengthen their armies, others would rebuild their cities. A new order was being forged—not through conquest, but through unity.

Lucian leaned close. "I gotta admit, this is more interesting than watching you slaughter people. Almost."

Rhaegar didn't dignify that with a response.

As the final pledges were made, a shift filled the room. Where once there had been fear, now there was something else—anticipation. A new era was unfolding, and for the first time in a long time, Rhaegar allowed himself to believe in it.

Lucian grinned. "Alright, serious king. Let's go get drunk."

Rhaegar sighed. "I just united the kingdoms. You want me to throw it away for a night of drinking?"

Lucian clapped him on the back. "C'mon, you know I mean a celebration." He smirked. "You wouldn't deny your people a reason to celebrate, would you?"

Rhaegar rolled his eyes, but there was a hint of amusement in his gaze. "Fine. A feast. But if you start another fight, I'm letting you handle it yourself."

Lucian grinned. "No promises."

And so, the halls of Veldrith, once filled with war and bloodshed, were filled instead with laughter, music, and the promise of a new beginning.

The torches lining the stone walls blazed high, their golden light casting flickering patterns across the polished marble floors. Long wooden tables stretched the length of the hall, laden with roasted meats, honeyed fruits, and barrels of the finest wine. The scent of spiced ale and freshly baked bread filled the air, mingling with the sound of laughter and the occasional clinking of goblets.

Rhaegar sat at the head of the great table, his throne looming behind him like a silent reminder of the path that had led him here. He had never been one for festivities—war had never left him much time for indulgence—but tonight was different. Tonight was not just about victory; it was about something far more significant. A beginning.

Lucian, seated beside him, was already halfway through his goblet of wine, watching the revelry with a satisfied smirk. "You see this? This is what happens when you don't kill everyone in the room. People actually enjoy themselves."

Rhaegar scoffed. "A strange concept."

Lucian leaned back, balancing his goblet between two fingers. "Speaking of strange concepts, how does it feel? Sitting there, not as a rogue prince or a vengeful specter, but as a king?"

Rhaegar didn't answer immediately. He surveyed the hall, his gaze passing over the lords and rulers who had once stood against him. Some drank in cautious silence, still adjusting to the idea of his rule. Others, like Queen Elira, engaged in quiet conversation, speaking of roads to be repaired and alliances to be strengthened. And then there were the common soldiers, the men who had fought for him without hesitation, now raising their mugs in raucous toasts.

For the first time in a long while, he wasn't looking for enemies. He wasn't planning his next move with the weight of blood-soaked revenge on his shoulders. He was watching something he had never thought possible—peace.

"It feels..." He exhaled, setting his goblet down. "Strange."

Lucian barked a laugh. "The mighty Rhaegar Crowne, King of Veldrith, Overlord of Half the Continent, and all he can say is strange?" He shook his head. "I swear, you have the soul of a poet trapped in a warlord's body."

Rhaegar gave him a dry look. "And you have the soul of an idiot trapped in a soldier's body."

Lucian raised his goblet. "To idiots, then. Because one just helped you win a kingdom."

Rhaegar allowed himself the smallest of smirks before glancing toward the entrance of the hall. There, at the edges of the gathering, stood the men who had once called themselves his enemies. Lords who had fought against him, who had raised their banners in the name of another king. Now, they stood on his lands, under his rule, their expressions wary but resigned.

He knew that fear still lurked in their hearts. Fear that he would strike them down as he had struck down so many before. But that was not the path he had chosen. Not anymore.

He stood, and the hall quieted.

The music faded, the laughter died down, and all eyes turned toward him.

Rhaegar's voice was calm, measured, carrying across the chamber like the steady tide. "For years, war has defined us. It has taken our sons, burned our homes, and turned us against each other. I have walked the path of vengeance, and I have seen where it leads. Blood begets blood. Hatred begets hatred."

He let the silence settle, let his words sink into the hearts of those gathered. "But tonight, we are not enemies. Tonight, we stand not as conquerors or the conquered, but as survivors. As builders of something greater."

He gestured toward the tables, toward the men and women who had once knelt before different kings. "This is not just a feast. It is a beginning. A pact. A promise."

He let his gaze sweep across the room, ensuring every ruler met his eyes. "You swore your loyalty to me today. I will hold you to that oath. But loyalty is not forged in fear—it is built in trust. And so, I give you mine."

Murmurs rippled through the hall, some skeptical, others intrigued.

Lucian raised an eyebrow. "Look at you. Giving speeches and everything."

Rhaegar ignored him. "From this day forward, no kingdom will stand alone. When war comes, we fight as one. When famine strikes, we aid those in need. When treachery rises, we stamp it out together. This is the foundation of our new age."

He picked up his goblet, raising it high. "To Veldrith. To unity. To the dawn after darkness."

For a moment, there was only silence. Then, one by one, the lords, the warriors, the rulers—those who had once been his enemies—stood and raised their goblets in turn.

"To Veldrith!"

The hall erupted into a thunderous cheer, voices mingling as the toast was repeated again and again. The musicians struck up a triumphant tune, and just like that, the celebration resumed, this time with a newfound energy.

Lucian clapped Rhaegar on the back. "That was actually kind of impressive. Who knew you had a king's tongue to match that sword arm of yours?"

Rhaegar smirked. "A surprise to us both."

Lucian grinned. "Well, now that you've made your grand declaration, I say it's time to enjoy the fruits of your labor." He gestured toward the feast. "Eat. Drink. Maybe even dance—"

"I am not dancing."

Lucian laughed. "Coward."

Rhaegar exhaled through his nose, but there was something lighter in his chest than there had been in years. The ghosts of the past still lingered, their whispers still cold against his spine. But for now, for this night, they were silent.

And for the first time, Rhaegar allowed himself to believe that maybe—just maybe—this peace would last.

The roar of celebration filled the hall once more, but this time, it felt different. It wasn't the empty revelry of warriors drinking to forget the horrors of battle. It wasn't the desperate laughter of survivors clinging to the last embers of victory. No—this was something else entirely. It was the sound of something new being forged.

Rhaegar sat back in his chair, his goblet still raised though he had yet to drink from it. He watched as lords and knights who had once sworn to kill him now clinked their mugs together in uneasy camaraderie. The war was over. The lines that had once divided them had been shattered, though the cracks still remained.

"Alright," Lucian said, dragging a chair closer to Rhaegar's side and sitting down with all the grace of a man who had spent his entire life on a battlefield. "Let's talk about the real issue at hand."

Rhaegar arched an eyebrow. "Which is?"

Lucian smirked. "What kind of king doesn't have a queen?"

Rhaegar sighed, rubbing his temple. "I walked right into that one."

Lucian leaned in conspiratorially. "You did. And you can't avoid it forever. Every kingdom needs an heir, and every heir needs—"

"I am not discussing this."

"Fine, fine," Lucian said, throwing up his hands. "But don't come crying to me when some foreign diplomat shows up trying to offer their daughter's hand in exchange for an alliance. Actually—" He grinned. "—that might be hilarious."

Rhaegar took a slow sip of wine, considering the very real possibility that he might one day have to sit through such discussions. He despised the thought. But ruling wasn't just about war—it was about stability, about ensuring that his kingdom would last long after he was gone.

Lucian, ever observant, must have caught the flicker of seriousness in his expression. "You'll figure it out," he said, nudging Rhaegar's goblet toward him. "For now, drink. You're finally king, might as well enjoy it before the headaches start."

Rhaegar exhaled but allowed himself a small sip. It was stronger than he expected, burning down his throat with a fiery warmth that reminded him of battle. But there was no blood in the air tonight, no steel clashing against steel. Just the hum of music and the scent of roasted venison.

Across the hall, Queen Elira approached, her golden hair pinned back in a formal braid. She was one of the few rulers who had bent the knee willingly rather than out of fear. She carried herself with the quiet confidence of someone who knew the weight of a crown all too well.

"Your Majesty," she greeted, nodding at Rhaegar before glancing at Lucian. "And Lord Lucian."

Lucian grinned. "Oh, I like the sound of that. Say it again."

Elira ignored him, turning back to Rhaegar. "I must admit, I did not expect your speech tonight."

Rhaegar studied her carefully. "Did it surprise you?"

She tilted her head. "A little. You built your reputation on vengeance and war. And yet, tonight, you spoke of unity."

He leaned forward slightly. "Because war is a means, not an end. I didn't fight to burn the world. I fought to build something better."

She smiled faintly. "That is something I can respect."

Lucian nudged Rhaegar's arm. "See? She respects you. That's half the battle won."

Rhaegar shot him a look that clearly said shut up, but Elira only chuckled. "You may be king now, but I imagine ruling will be no easier than war."

"I imagine so as well," Rhaegar admitted. "Which is why I need allies who are willing to build, not just fight."

Elira nodded. "Then let us build."

With that, she walked off to rejoin her own people, leaving Rhaegar with the weight of those words lingering in his mind.

Lucian tapped his goblet against Rhaegar's. "I think she likes you."

"Lucian."

"Yes?"

"Shut up."

Lucian laughed, leaning back in his chair as the celebration carried on.

But even as the music swelled and voices rose in drunken cheer, Rhaegar's mind wandered beyond the stone walls of his hall. Outside these castle gates, beyond the mountains and rivers that marked his borders, the world was still shifting. Not everyone would accept his rule so easily. There would be whispers, quiet plots in the shadows.

Peace was fragile. And Rhaegar knew better than anyone how quickly it could be shattered.

Still, for the first time in his life, he had chosen to believe in something more than war.

And that, perhaps, was the most dangerous thing of all.