Chapter 28: The Serpent's Gambit: Dornish Answers and Draconic Arguments
The air in King's Landing crackled with anticipation. Weeks had passed since King Robar Baratheon's draconic "flyby" along the Dornish Marches, a calculated display of overwhelming power intended to expedite Prince Doran Martell's compliance. The BCR delegation, led by the pragmatic Lord Jon Connington and the steely Ser Addam Marbrand, had long since delivered their King's non-negotiable terms to Sunspear. Silence had been Dorne's only reply, a silence that Robar, with his acute understanding of political maneuvering, interpreted not as defiance, but as protracted, internal deliberation – a common tactic of the proud and cunning Martells. He had, however, set a firm deadline for their response. That deadline was today.
In the Red Keep's main solar, now a ruthlessly efficient nerve center for Westeros Inc., Robar presided over his Small Council. Lord Tywin Lannister, his Hand, sat to his right, his expression as impassive as ever, though his eyes held a keen interest in the Dornish predicament. Stannis Baratheon, Master of Laws and Chief Security Officer, stood stiffly by the map table, his gaze fixed on the southernmost kingdom. Grand Maester Pycelle fussed with a stack of BCR-approved proclamations, while Janos Slynt, Commander of the City Watch, preened in his newly issued, BCR-funded gilded armor.
"The Dornish," Robar began, his voice cutting through the low murmur of administrative chatter, "are masters of the long game. They prefer to sting from the shadows, to wear down their opponents with patience and poison. However, BCR operates on quarterly earnings reports and strict adherence to project timelines. Their window for voluntary integration is closing."
"They will attempt to negotiate, Your Grace," Tywin Lannister predicted, his voice a low rumble. "Offer tokens of submission while seeking to preserve their traditional autonomy. They will speak of past grievances, of their unique culture, of the desert's harshness as a defense."
"Their culture, Lord Hand," Robar countered, "is an irrelevant variable in BCR's economic modeling, except where it can be monetized for tourism or exotic goods – under exclusive BCR license, of course. Their desert is a logistical challenge, not an impenetrable barrier, especially when one factors in aerial assets." He allowed a faint, chilling smile. "Their grievances are historical sunk costs we are not inclined to reimburse."
As if on cue, a herald announced the arrival of a Dornish delegation, requesting an immediate audience with the King. Not just minor envoys this time, but a party of significant import: Prince Oberyn Martell, the infamous Red Viper, his reputation for lethality and impulsiveness preceding him, accompanied by his elder brother Doran's eldest daughter and heir, Princess Arianne Martell, a woman whose beauty was said to be matched only by her ambition and cunning.
Robar's eyes gleamed with cold interest. "Send them in. Let us hear the serpent's final offer before we unleash the dragons' argument."
Prince Oberyn Martell strode into the solar with a dangerous, predatory grace, his dark eyes burning with an intensity that matched his moniker. Princess Arianne, voluptuous and exotic in flowing silks, followed, her expression a carefully crafted mask of polite deference that barely concealed a calculating mind. They offered perfunctory bows, their pride evident even in submission.
"King Robert," Oberyn began, his voice smooth as poisoned silk, "Prince Doran, my brother, sends his greetings and his profound apologies for his inability to attend your… auspicious coronation. The desert sun has been unkind to his health. He has, however, empowered us to convey his response to your… generous proposals for Dorne's future prosperity."
"Generous, Prince Oberyn?" Robar's eyebrow arched. "BCR prefers the term 'equitable and market-driven.' The terms are non-negotiable. Has Prince Doran authorized you to accept them in their entirety?"
Arianne Martell stepped forward, her smile dazzling but her eyes sharp. "Your Grace, Dorne has always been a loyal friend to those who respect its ancient customs and its unique position. We understand the need for a strong, unified Westeros under your wise rule. My father proposes a path of… mutual understanding. Full recognition of your sovereignty, of course. A pledge of Dornish spears to your armies. And a trade agreement that will see the choicest Dornish wines, spices, and silks flow north, enriching your coffers and ours." She paused artfully. "In return, he asks only that Dorne's traditional laws and rights of self-governance be respected, and that the… 'Special Integration Fee' you propose be renegotiated to reflect Dorne's current economic realities, perhaps offset by favorable long-term trade tariffs exclusively for BCR."
It was a classic Dornish gambit: offer superficial compliance while attempting to retain substantive autonomy and haggle over the price. Tywin Lannister's lip curled in a sneer of contempt. Stannis looked as if he'd swallowed a lemon.
Robar listened impassively until Arianne had finished. Then, he spoke, his voice dropping to a deceptively soft, yet utterly implacable tone. "Princess Arianne, Prince Oberyn. Your father is a man of renowned patience. I, however, am a man of quarterly reports and immutable deadlines. BCR's terms for Dorne's full integration into the Westeros Inc. portfolio are, as previously stated, non-negotiable. Your 'traditional laws' will be brought into alignment with BCR's standardized legal framework for optimized governance. Your 'rights of self-governance' will henceforth consist of efficiently implementing BCR directives. And the Special Integration Fee is not a proposal; it is an invoice, payable in full, in gold or equivalent high-value assets, within the current fiscal quarter."
He rose from his seat, his towering form casting a literal and metaphorical shadow over the Dornish envoys. "You speak of Dornish spears. BCR appreciates the offer of additional manpower, which will be integrated into our existing military structures under commanders of my choosing. You speak of wines and silks. BCR will, of course, assume exclusive control over their export and marketing, ensuring optimal pricing and distribution through our global trade network. Your profit share will be… equitable, as determined by BCR's central accounting office."
Oberyn Martell's hand twitched towards the hilt of the spear he still, audaciously, carried at his side. "You speak of conquest, King Robert, not alliance. Dorne has never broken to conquerors. Not even to dragons of old."
"Ah, yes," Robar said, a chilling smile playing on his lips. "The dragons of old. Perhaps a demonstration of the… new dragons is in order, to clarify any misunderstandings about current market dynamics?"
He gave a silent command, a pulse of his Haki. From outside the Red Keep, from the direction of the Dragonpit, came a series of earth-shattering roars – Mammon, Viridian, and Aurum, their voices deeper, more powerful than before, a symphony of primal fury that shook the very foundations of the city. Even within the solar, the vibrations could be felt, the air trembling with their unseen power.
Princess Arianne went pale. Even the formidable Red Viper's dark eyes widened almost imperceptibly, his bravado faltering for a split second.
"Those are… larger than the whispers suggested," Oberyn admitted, his voice a fraction tighter.
"BCR invests heavily in research and development, Prince Oberyn," Robar said smoothly. "Our assets appreciate rapidly. Now, to the matter at hand. Dorne has two options. Option A: Full and immediate compliance with all articles of the BCR Integration Mandate. You will publicly swear fealty, transfer the stipulated Integration Fee, and welcome BCR administrators to oversee the restructuring of your economy and governance. Princess Arianne," his gaze flicked to her, "may be required to remain in King's Landing for a period, as a… guest of the court, to facilitate cultural exchange and ensure a smooth transition. A betrothal to a suitable BCR loyalist of high standing could further cement this new partnership."
"And Option B?" Arianne asked, her voice trembling slightly despite her efforts to maintain composure.
Robar's smile vanished, replaced by an expression of absolute, terrifying coldness. "Option B, Princess, involves a personal visit from myself and my… senior executive assets… to Sunspear. It would begin with a comprehensive aerial audit of Dorne's defenses, followed by a rapid, decisive, and exceedingly fiery hostile takeover. All existing Dornish assets, including House Martell itself, would be liquidated. The subsequent restructuring would be… total. BCR projects a significantly higher casualty rate and infrastructure damage under Option B, which negatively impacts long-term profitability. We would prefer Option A. It is more… cost-effective for all parties."
The threat was not veiled; it was a stark, brutal statement of intent, backed by the undeniable reality of three growing dragons whose roars still echoed faintly in the air.
Oberyn Martell looked at his niece. He saw the fear in her eyes, but also a flicker of the famous Martell resilience. He was a warrior, a man who had never backed down from a fight. But this… this was not a fight. This was annihilation.
He turned back to Robar, his dark eyes burning with a helpless fury. "You are a tyrant, King Robert. A monster clad in a merchant's coat."
"I am a CEO, Prince Oberyn," Robar corrected him. "And I am offering Dorne a chance to become a profitable subsidiary in the most powerful corporation this world has ever seen. Choose wisely. The market is unforgiving of poor decisions." He gestured to the door. "You have one hour to convey your acceptance of Option A to Lord Hand Tywin. After that, I will assume you have opted for the… more direct restructuring approach."
The Dornish delegation departed, their pride shattered, their options nonexistent. Robar watched them go, his expression unreadable. He knew Doran Martell, for all his cunning, was a pragmatist. Faced with oblivion, he would choose survival, however bitter the terms.
An hour later, a shaken but composed Princess Arianne Martell returned to the solar, accompanied only by a grim-faced Oberyn. She knelt before Robar, her dark eyes downcast.
"King Robert," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "Prince Doran Martell, ruler of Sunspear, Lord of Dorne, accepts your terms. Dorne… submits to your Targaryen will. Dorne will integrate."
Robar nodded, a flicker of cold satisfaction in his eyes. "A prudent decision, Princess. BCR appreciates prompt compliance. Lord Hand Tywin will oversee the specifics of your integration. You, Princess, will indeed remain in King's Landing as our… honored guest. Consider it an extended diplomatic mission."
Dorne had fallen. The last of the Seven Kingdoms was now under his undisputed, dragon-backed control. The hostile takeover of Westeros was complete.
His gaze drifted towards the maps of Essos that now adorned his solar walls, new BCR intelligence reports already highlighting potential markets, untapped resources, and inefficient local governance ripe for "optimization." The Dragon King's ambitions were only just beginning to take flight. Westeros Inc. was about to go global.
Word Count: Approx. 3000 words