Title: The First Day of Business

Title: The First Day of Business

Year and Month: 103 AC, 3rd Moon

The seven days of mourning for my father were a masterclass in political stagecraft. While the realm wept for the passing of the Old King, I worked. Grief was a luxury the chief executive of a continent-spanning enterprise could not afford. My father's death was not a tragedy to be endured, but a transition to be managed. Every action taken during that week was calculated to project an image of seamless continuity, solemn strength, and absolute, unwavering control.

The funeral pyre was a spectacle of breathtaking scale. It was built in the great courtyard of the Red Keep, a massive pyre of oak and weirwood. My father's body, wrapped in the black and red silks of our house, was placed upon it. Every lord and lady in King's Landing was commanded to attend. I stood at the head of the procession, my face a mask of stern, dignified sorrow. I did not weep. The realm needed a rock, not a river of tears.

The honor of lighting the pyre fell to the new King. But I chose a different path. I did not use a torch. Instead, as the sun set and cast long shadows across the courtyard, a great black shadow fell from the sky. Balerion, whom I had summoned, descended with a slow, ponderous grace that befitted the occasion. He landed with a ground-shaking thud that was felt in every courtier's bones, his immense form blotting out the last of the dying light. He was not just a dragon; he was a living symbol of our House's history, the last creature alive who had known Jaehaerys as a boy.

He lowered his great head, his golden eyes reflecting the sea of watching faces, and from his throat came not a torrent of fire, but a single, controlled, lance of pure, white-hot flame. It struck the pyre with a soft whoosh, and the wood erupted in a column of fire that climbed a hundred feet into the air. It was a funeral fit for a god-king, a stark reminder to all who watched that while one dragon-blooded king was gone, another, commanding the greatest dragon of all, was now in his place.

My coronation, held the day after the mourning period ended, was the opposite in tone. There was no grand procession, no public feast. I held it in the throne room, a solemn, almost spartan affair. I sought to project not divine splendor, but grim purpose.

I walked to the Iron Throne alone, my Valyrian sword Ledger at my hip, the clack of my boots the only sound in the cavernous hall. I wore a simple doublet of black velvet, devoid of ornamentation save for the three-headed dragon of my house embroidered in crimson thread over my heart.

The High Septon, a man whose political influence I had carefully curtailed over the years, stood ready with the crown. It was not the ornate, jewel-encrusted crown of my father. At my command, they had brought forth the original crown of Aegon the Conqueror: a simple, severe circlet of dark Valyrian steel, studded with square-cut rubies. It was a warrior's crown. A conqueror's crown. A businessman's crown. It was a tool, not a toy.

I knelt. The High Septon recited the ancient oaths, his voice trembling slightly in my presence. I repeated my vows in a clear, strong voice, my words echoing in the hall. He then placed the Conqueror's crown upon my head. It was heavy, its cold weight a familiar, welcome pressure.

I rose from my knees, turned, and faced the assembled lords of Westeros. I was King Aeryn of House Targaryen, First of His Name. I did not smile. I did not wave. I simply met their gazes, my own eyes sweeping across the hall, making a silent, individual assessment of every major lord present. I let the silence hang, letting the weight of the moment, the weight of my gaze, settle upon them.

"My lords," I began, my voice calm, amplified by the hall's acoustics. "Today is not a day for celebration. It is the first day of business. My father's reign was one of peace. My reign will be one of prosperity. Peace is the soil in which a kingdom grows, but prosperity is the harvest. For too long, we have been content with a bountiful harvest for some. I tell you now, every corner of this realm, from the frozen shores of the North to the sun-scorched sands of Dorne, will see the fruits of their labor increase under my watch."

My speech was not filled with promises of glory or honor. It was a corporate mission statement. I spoke of road expansions, of harbor dredging, of standardized weights and measures for all seven kingdoms, of a royal bank that would offer loans to merchants and charters for new enterprises. I spoke of efficiency, of order, of a return on investment for the taxes they paid.

"Your loyalty to the throne will be measured in the prosperity and order of your lands," I concluded. "A lord who rules over a peaceful, well-fed, and productive populace will have no greater friend than me. A lord who rules over chaos, poverty, and strife will find his accounts being swiftly and severely audited by the Crown. There will be order. There will be growth. There will be a single, unified, profitable enterprise. That is my only vow to you today. Now, let us begin the work."

I turned, ascended the final steps, and seated myself upon the Iron Throne. The blades and barbs of the ancient chair, which had so often tormented kings, felt… correct. It was not comfortable. It was not meant to be. It was a seat of power, a place of work, the ultimate executive chair.

My first Small Council meeting as King was held that afternoon. The dynamic had fundamentally changed. I no longer sat at the right hand of an empty chair. I sat at the head of the table, in the King's own seat. The crown of the Conqueror rested on my brow.

"Lord Beesbury," I began without preamble, "a full audit of the treasury, to be presented to me in three days. I want every coin accounted for, every expenditure justified."

"Lord Corlys," I said, turning to the Sea Snake. "A detailed report on the readiness of the Royal Fleet and the progress of the Dragon Fleet. I want projected timelines for the completion of the new fortress in the Stepstones. Your budget for the next fiscal year will be contingent on your performance."

"Grand Maester Allar," I continued, "the Citadel is to begin a comprehensive survey of the realm's natural resources. I want to know about every untapped mineral deposit, every forest that can be sustainably harvested, every river that can be dammed for irrigation. Knowledge is an asset we have underutilized."

I went around the table, issuing direct, specific, and non-negotiable directives to each council member. I was not seeking their counsel. I was giving them their quarterly objectives. I was establishing the chain of command. I was the CEO. They were my department heads. Their role was to execute my vision.

Only Lord Corlys seemed to thrive in the new environment. The other lords were visibly shaken by the cold, brutal efficiency of it all. Corlys, a self-made man of immense ambition, saw in me a fellow predator, a man who understood that power was a tool to be used, not a robe to be worn.

"You have a bold vision, Your Grace," he said, a genuine smile touching his lips for the first time that day. "It will require a great deal of… capital."

"The realm is rich, my lord," I replied, meeting his gaze. "It has simply been poorly managed. We will unlock its true value. For all of us."

In that moment, an understanding passed between us. He understood that his own ambitions would be best served by aligning them with my own. He would be my most powerful, and most dangerous, ally.

After the council meeting, after a day spent reviewing reports and signing decrees with a speed and comprehension that left the royal scribes breathless, I finally allowed myself a moment of respite. As dusk fell over King's Landing, I went to the Dragonpit.

Balerion was waiting. He felt my presence, my new status. There was no need for words, mental or otherwise. I was the King. He was my dragon. I climbed upon his back, the familiar feel of the warm scales and the great saddle a comfort. With a single, powerful thrust of his hind legs, we launched into the sky.

We soared over the city, a black shadow against a sky of bruised purple and orange. King's Landing glittered below me, a jewel of a million lights. From this height, it was not a city of people with their hopes and fears. It was a map. An asset. A sprawling, complex piece of machinery that was now mine to command.

I saw the Red Keep, my corporate headquarters. I saw the Great Sept, a rival institution whose influence I would continue to methodically curtail. I saw the bustling port, the heart of my economic engine. I saw the city walls, the perimeter of my security.

I had spent twenty-one years as a prince, a son, a shadow. I had played the long game, the game of patience, of waiting, of quiet manipulation. I had managed the griefs and ambitions of my family, neutralized my rivals, and navigated the currents of history until the path was clear. Every move had been calculated. Every loss had been accounted for.

My father had asked what the sum of it all was for me. As I circled on the back of the Black Dread, the cold wind whipping at my face, the crown of the Conqueror heavy on my brow, I knew the answer.

It was this. The view from the top. The quiet, cold, absolute satisfaction of a successful acquisition. The Seven Kingdoms were now a wholly owned subsidiary of my will. The books were balanced. The previous management was gone. And today was the first day of business. My business.