Title: The Final Dividend
Title: The Final Dividend
Year and Month: 145 AC, 9th Moon
The machine worked. For forty-two years, I had sat upon the Iron Throne, not as a king who reigned, but as an engineer who operated. The Seven Kingdoms, once a chaotic, feudal morass, were now a single, seamless entity. The Royal Army was a professional, disciplined force. The Royal Judiciary administered a single, predictable law. The Royal Bank controlled the flow of capital, and the Royal Granaries controlled the flow of sustenance. My Great Restructuring had been a complete success. The company I had built was stable, prosperous, and held an absolute monopoly.
I was now sixty-three years old. The super-soldier serum that had been a gift of my rebirth still hummed in my veins, a quiet fire that had held the worst ravages of age at bay. My body was that of a healthy man of forty, my mind as sharp and clear as it had ever been. I could have ruled for another twenty, even thirty years, my hand firm on the levers of power. But I was not like the kings before me, men who clung to their crowns until death pried them from their cold, wrinkled fingers. To do so would be to introduce the ultimate inefficiency, the ultimate chaotic variable, into the system I had so meticulously built: an unplanned leadership transition.
A wise CEO does not run his company until he collapses at his desk. He identifies his successor, he trains him, and then he executes a smooth, orderly transfer of power, ensuring the long-term stability of the enterprise. My work as chief executive was done. It was time to retire, to move to the board of directors, and to collect the final, greatest dividend of my life's work: a secure and perpetual dynasty.
My heir, Prince Jaehaerys II, was now thirty-six years old. He was no longer the solemn boy I had trained, but a man in his prime, possessed of a brilliant, analytical mind. I had personally overseen his education. He understood the intricacies of the financial systems I had created, the logistical complexities of the army and the granaries, the cold, hard logic that underpinned my every decision. He was a master of the machine because its chief architect had been his only teacher. He was ready. To keep him waiting in the wings any longer would be a waste of a perfectly trained asset.
My daughter, Visenya, was his twin in age and his opposite in temperament. She was the she-wolf, the warrior queen, the commander of the Dragon Fleet, and the rider of the mighty Vhagar. She was my brother Daemon's protégé, a master of strategy and warfare, her fiery spirit a perfect complement to her brother's cool logic. They were the two pillars upon which the next generation of my dynasty would be built.
The decision was made. The plan was drafted. It was time to announce my abdication.
I convened the Small Council for the last time as its undisputed master. The men around the table were not the feudal lords I had inherited; they were the professional ministers of my centralized state. Lord Alester Hightower, a shrewd administrator from Otto's line whom I had found more useful and less ambitious, was my Master of Laws. The Master of Coin was a brilliant merchant from Lannisport. My nephew Daemon, his hair now more silver than gold, still served as Grand Marshal, his wildness tempered by age and decades of structured command. Lord Corlys Velaryon was long dead, and his grandson now held the title of Master of Ships, a loyal and competent officer of the Crown.
"My lords," I began, my voice as calm and steady as ever. "I have summoned you today to inform you of a change in leadership."
A quiet tension filled the room. They likely expected me to announce a change in one of their positions. None of them expected the truth.
"For forty-two years, I have served as the chief executive of this realm," I continued, using the business terminology they had all been forced to learn. "We have achieved all our primary objectives. We have centralized the government, modernized the military, stabilized the food supply, and secured the economic future of the continent for the next five hundred years. The restructuring is complete. The company is stable. My work as its active head is therefore concluded."
I let the words sink in. I saw the dawning confusion, the disbelief in their eyes.
"As of the new year," I declared, "I will be abdicating the Iron Throne. The crown will pass to my heir, the Prince of Dragonstone, who will henceforth be known as King Jaehaerys, Second of His Name. His sister, the Princess Visenya, will be named Hand of the Queen—a new title, for a new kind of partnership—to serve as his primary military and strategic advisor. This decision is absolute and final."
The silence that followed was so profound it felt as if the world had stopped turning. Daemon was the first to recover, a slow, disbelieving laugh escaping his lips. "Abdicate?" he said, shaking his head. "Uncle, kings do not abdicate. They die. It is the one job from which there is no retirement."
"That is an inefficient tradition, nephew," I replied coolly. "One that invites instability. The transfer of power should be a planned, orderly event, not a chaotic scramble that follows a funeral. I have built a self-perpetuating system. It is time to prove that the system works, that the identity of the man on the throne is less important than the integrity of the institution itself. My son is prepared. It is his time."
"But… what will you do, Your Grace?" Lord Hightower asked, his mind struggling to comprehend a reality in which I was not the absolute center of power.
"A successful founder does not abandon his company after he steps down as CEO," I explained. "He takes a seat on the board of directors. He offers his counsel and his experience to the new leadership. I will be retiring to Dragonstone. I will act as a senior advisor to the King and the Hand. I will be available for consultation. But the day-to-day operations of the realm will be theirs. The final authority will be theirs."
I had just announced the most radical political act in the history of Westeros, and I had done it with the calm, dispassionate language of a corporate succession plan. My council was stunned, but they were also men who had learned that my logic, however strange, was undeniable. There were no arguments. There was only the quiet, dawning acceptance of a new reality.
My conversation with my family was more complex. I summoned Lyanna, Jaehaerys, and Visenya to our private solar that evening. The fire crackled, casting a warm glow on the faces of the people who represented the entirety of my personal world.
"You are leaving us?" Visenya asked, her voice sharp with an emotion I could not quite parse—was it anger, or fear? "You are giving up the throne?"
"I am not giving it up," I corrected her. "I am transferring it. It is the logical culmination of our entire family strategy. You and your brother have been trained for this since birth. You are ready."
"I am ready to serve you, Father," Jaehaerys said, his voice quiet but firm. "As your Hand. Not to take your place."
"Your place," I said, looking at him, "is on the Iron Throne. My place is to ensure the long-term stability of the dynasty. To cling to power until my mind fails or my body breaks would be to endanger everything I have built. It would be an act of supreme selfishness. And I, if nothing else, am not a sentimental man."
I turned to my Queen, my partner of so many years. Lyanna's grey eyes were sad, but they held a deep understanding. "You are tired," she said softly.
"I am not tired," I replied, which was the truth. "I am… complete. The project is finished. The machine is built. It needs a new operator, one who will be here for the next fifty years." I looked at my children. "A machine that must be ready for the true war that is to come."
I was reminding them of the great secret, the prophecy of the Long Night, the true purpose behind my entire reign. This was not an abandonment of my duty; it was the ultimate fulfillment of it. I was ensuring that the leadership of the realm would be young, strong, and prepared when the darkness fell.
"You will rule together," I told my children. "Jaehaerys, you will be the head, the law, the mind. Visenya, you will be the hand, the sword, the will. You are two halves of a single, perfect whole. You will be the greatest rulers this world has ever seen."
My son, my heir, finally nodded, a look of grim acceptance on his face. He understood the logic. My daughter, the warrior, still looked rebellious, but she understood the duty.
"And what of you and mother?" she asked. "You will simply sit on Dragonstone and watch?"
"Your mother has earned her rest," I said, taking Lyanna's hand. "And I… I have a final project to oversee." My gaze drifted to the window, to the darkening sky. "Balerion is old, even with the gifts I gave him. He is the last great relic of a forgotten age. His time, like mine, is coming to an end. A king should know when to leave the stage. And a dragon… a dragon should have the chance to fly home one last time."
The coronation of King Jaehaerys II was as solemn and efficient as my own had been. In the throne room, before the assembled lords of my court, I removed the Conqueror's crown from my own head and placed it upon the head of my son. He knelt as a prince and rose as a king. I then knelt before him, the first of his subjects to do so.
"My King," I said, my voice clear.
"My father," he replied, his voice full of a heavy, newfound authority.
The transfer of power was seamless. The lords, already briefed, swore their fealty to their new king without hesitation. The machine did not sputter. The engine of state did not falter. It was a testament to the strength of the system I had built.
My last act as King was a personal one. I walked from the throne room, leaving my son to his new duties, and went to the Dragonpit.
Balerion was waiting. He was immense, a creature of shadow and memory, his golden eye burning with an ancient intelligence. He felt the change in me. The weight of the crown, a metaphysical burden I had carried for over four decades, was gone.
The work is done, I agreed. It is time to go home, old friend.
For the last time, I climbed onto his back. His scales were as familiar to me as my own skin. We rose into the sky, leaving the city of my labors behind. We did not soar. We did not perform tricks. We simply flew, a long, slow, majestic flight east, over the Blackwater Bay.
I looked down at the kingdom I had forged. It was a land of order, of peace, of prosperity. It was a single, unified entity, strong and resilient. It was a perfect, self-sustaining machine, built to endure. My work had been to conquer the chaos of men, to bind them in the chains of logic and shared profit. I had succeeded. My children would now inherit that machine, and they would use it to face the great, cold, illogical chaos that was still to come.
As we flew towards the rising sun, towards the volcanic smoke of our ancestral home on Dragonstone, I felt a sense of profound and final completion. The ledger was balanced. The accounts were closed. My company, my kingdom, my legacy, was secure. I had been a son, a prince, a king. Now, I was something else. A founder. A legend. A silent guardian, watching from the boardroom of history as the great enterprise I had built marched on into the future. The final dividend had been paid. And it was peace.