Title: The Audit of Vows

Title: The Audit of Vows

Year and Month: 107 AC, 3rd Moon

The acceptance from Winterfell transformed a strategic proposal into an impending reality. The royal wedding of King Aeryn I and Lady Lyanna Stark was no longer a matter of policy, but of project management. A project of unprecedented scale, complexity, and importance. In my mind, it was not a marriage. It was the public unveiling of the realm's most significant merger, a high-stakes marketing event designed to awe shareholders, intimidate competitors, and solidify the brand identity of my new regime. Every detail, from the logistics of housing a thousand lords to the precise theological wording of the ceremony, was a variable to be controlled, a line item on the most important budget of my reign.

While the poets and singers of the court began composing syrupy ballads about the union of the Dragon and the Wolf, I convened my Small Council for the first of many wedding-related operational meetings. The atmosphere was not one of celebration, but of intense, focused work. I did not ask for their opinions on flower arrangements or the flavor of the cakes. I treated them as the executive committee of a corporation launching its most critical product.

"My lords," I began, spreading a massive, newly commissioned map of King's Landing across the council table. "In three months, this city will host the largest gathering of noble houses since my grandfather's Golden Jubilee. This presents us with several critical challenges: security, logistics, and messaging. We will address each in turn."

I looked first to the Master of Coin. "Lord Beesbury. The budget. I have reviewed your preliminary estimates. They are insufficient. You have budgeted for a royal wedding. I want you to budget for a six-month military campaign. The cost is irrelevant. The impression of effortless, overwhelming wealth is the objective. I want every lord, from the richest Lannister to the poorest crannogman, to be so humbled by the Crown's resources that the thought of challenging us becomes laughable. Double the budget for provisions. Triple the budget for wine. And hire every skilled artisan from here to the Arbor. I want the city to glitter."

Lord Beesbury, who had spent his life pinching coppers, looked as though he might have a stroke. "Your-Your Grace… triple? The expense will be staggering!"

"The return on investment, my lord, will be a generation of unquestioning obedience," I replied coolly. "A cost-effective trade. See to it."

Next, I turned to Lord Corlys Velaryon. "Lord Admiral. Security. Your Velaryon fleet will form the outer cordon, blockading the bay. Nothing enters or leaves Blackwater Bay without your express permission. The Dragon Fleet, under Prince Viserys's nominal command, will form the inner cordon. I want a visible, constant patrol of the waters around the city. Let no visiting lord arrive without seeing the power of our navy."

Corlys nodded, a glint in his eye. He understood displays of power. "It will be done, Your Grace. The bay will be a Targaryen lake."

"Furthermore," I continued, "my nephew, Prince Daemon, and his Gold Cloaks will be responsible for the city itself. I want patrols doubled. I want every inn, tavern, and brothel under surveillance. There will be no brawls between the men of rival houses, no drunken insults, no conspiracies hatched in dark corners. The King's Peace will be absolute. Any lordling who causes trouble will be confined to his quarters, regardless of his family name. Make that abundantly clear."

I was not just planning a wedding; I was orchestrating a city-wide lockdown under the guise of a celebration, a demonstration of the state's total security apparatus.

But the most complex logistical challenge fell to my twin sister. Gael, in her capacity as the head of the Office of Royal Almonry, had become a surprisingly adept administrator. Her empathy, which I had once seen as a weakness, made her a brilliant manager of public perception and welfare.

"Gael," I said, my tone softening slightly as I turned to her. She was the only person in the room for whom I affected a semblance of warmth. "The influx of people will strain the city's resources. The smallfolk will suffer the most from inflated prices. Your office will be responsible for ensuring this does not happen. You will use the royal granaries to distribute free bread to the populace for the entire wedding week. You will set up camps outside the city walls to house the retainers and servants of the visiting lords, complete with sanitation facilities and access to clean water. I want the common man to see this wedding not as a burden, but as a blessing. I want them to celebrate their King's generosity."

Gael's eyes lit up. This was a task she understood, a mission that resonated with her compassionate nature. "They will sing your name in the streets, Aeryn," she said, her voice full of genuine admiration.

"That is the operational goal, yes," I replied, my mind already moving to the next, most contentious issue. "Now, to the ceremony itself."

I looked at Grand Maester Allar and the empty space where the High Septon, who had pointedly refused my summons to this initial meeting, should have been sitting.

"This will not be a standard Andal wedding," I announced. "My bride is a daughter of the North. She keeps the Old Gods. Her culture and her faith will be shown the highest honor. This is non-negotiable."

A tense silence fell over the council. This was the most dangerous part of my plan, the one that could provoke genuine, widespread discontent.

"The ceremony will have two parts," I explained, my voice leaving no room for debate. "The first will take place in the Red Keep's godswood. Before the heart tree that is currently being planted at my command, Lady Lyanna and I will be joined in the northern tradition. Lord Rickon Stark will give his daughter away. We will speak the old words."

"Your Grace!" Grand Maester Allar finally sputtered, his face pale. "To be wed before a heart tree… in the manner of the First Men… it is… it is paganism! The Faith… the High Septon will never countenance such a thing! It will be seen as a grave insult to the Seven!"

"The High Septon's countenance is his own affair," I said flatly. "He may countenance it, or he may not. It will happen regardless. The insult would be in me failing to honor my Queen and her ancient heritage. The North's loyalty is being purchased with this marriage, and this gesture is part of the price. A price I am more than willing to pay."

I continued, ignoring the maester's trembling horror. "After the northern ceremony, we will proceed to the Sept of Remembrance. There, before the High Septon and the eyes of the southern lords, we will perform the second ceremony. We will be cloaked, we will speak the vows of the Seven, we will be blessed as man and wife in the Andal tradition. We will honor both faiths, both cultures. We will demonstrate that under my rule, the Old Gods and the New can coexist in mutual respect, all under the unifying authority of the Crown."

It was a brilliant compromise, I thought. A political masterstroke that would simultaneously appease the North and fulfill the requirements of the Faith. But I knew the High Septon, a man whose power was built on dogma and tradition, would see it as a profanation.

His refusal to attend the planning meeting was the first move in his game of opposition. My response was to ignore him entirely. I continued my preparations, letting it be known throughout the court that the dual ceremony was the King's will. Let the High Septon posture and protest. Let the devout lords grumble. My authority did not derive from their gods. It derived from the fire-breathing god laired in the Dragonpit.

A week later, the High Septon requested a private audience. He was an old man with eyes like shrewd, dark pebbles, his face a mask of pious disapproval. He entered the throne room, where I received him alone.

"Your Grace," he began, his voice thin but surprisingly strong. "I have come to speak to you as the voice of the Seven on this earth. This plan to hold a pagan ritual before your holy wedding… it is an abomination in the eyes of the gods. The people will be confused. The foundations of the Faith will be shaken."

"The foundations of the Faith, Your Holiness," I replied, my voice dangerously soft, "are built upon the patronage and protection of the Crown. A foundation that can be… re-evaluated."

He bristled at the implied threat. "Are you threatening the gods, Your Grace?"

"I am stating a fact of economics," I said, rising from the throne and descending the steps to stand before him. I towered over him. "The Faith is a great and powerful institution. It has vast lands, great septs, and the love of the people. It is also an institution that pays no taxes to the Crown. An institution whose septons are granted special legal protections. These are privileges, granted by my ancestors out of piety and respect. Privileges that can be revoked by their successor out of… practicality."

I let the words sink in. I was threatening to do what even Maegor the Cruel had not dared: to subject the Faith to the financial and legal authority of the state.

"You will officiate the second ceremony," I stated, my voice leaving no possibility of refusal. "You will give my union the blessing of the Seven. You will speak of a new age of unity between the children of the First Men and the Andals. You will present this not as a concession, but as a moment of holy reconciliation. In return for this… cooperation, the Faith will continue to enjoy the Crown's protection and its current financial exemptions. If you refuse… I will find another, more… flexible Septon to lead the Faith. And I will begin a full audit of the Starry Sept's treasury. I am sure Lord Beesbury would be most interested to see your books."

The High Septon stared at me, his face ashen. He had come here to lecture a young king on theology. He was now being blackmailed by a ruthless executive who viewed his entire religion as a tax-exempt corporation. He saw in my eyes not a flicker of piety, not a trace of fear for the gods, only the cold, hard glint of absolute power.

He bowed his head, a gesture of complete and utter defeat. "The Faith… serves the Crown, Your Grace. I will… I will prepare a sermon on the theme of unity."

"Excellent," I said with a thin smile. "I am glad we have reached an understanding."

The final piece of my wedding plan was the spectacle. The message. I needed to create an event so memorable, so awe-inspiring, that it would be spoken of for a thousand years. I needed to remind every lord, every commoner, and every foreign dignitary of the fundamental truth of my reign.

I would achieve this during the procession from the Red Keep's godswood to the Sept of Remembrance. As my bride and I walked, the sky above King's Landing would belong to the dragons.

My nephew Viserys would ride his young dragon, Arrax. My nephew Daemon would fly his agile mount, Caraxes, the Blood Wyrm. My niece Rhaenys would ride the magnificent red Meleys. Her daughter, Laena, would be astride the legendary Vhagar. Her son, Laenor, on the silver Seasmoke. Five dragons, a sight of awesome power not seen in the sky together for decades.

But they would only be the opening act.

As we approached the Sept, I would give a silent command. And from the Dragonpit, Balerion the Black Dread would rise. He would not join the others. He would blot out the sun, a living mountain of shadow and power, his immense form a stark, terrifying silhouette against the sky. He would circle the Sept of Remembrance once, his shadow falling over the entire procession, a silent, absolute declaration of my personal power. He was my dragon. The others were mere extensions of the House. He was the King of Dragons, and he answered to the King on the throne.

The message would be clear. This was not just a wedding. It was a demonstration. The merger was complete. The brand was unified. The CEO was in absolute control. And the greatest asset in the history of the world was his, and his alone. The audit of vows was complete, and all accounts were now in my favor.