Chapter 6: The Dragon's Enlightenment and Iron Grip
King's Landing, 33 AC – 50 AC (Fast-Forward Montage)
With the Faith Militant crushed and the Seven Kingdoms kneeling in uneasy peace, King Aenys I Targaryen turned his gaze inward. The Iron Throne was secure, but true dominion required more than swords and flames—it demanded minds bent to the dragon's will. The Citadel in Oldtown had long hoarded knowledge like misers clutching gold, their maesters whispering in lords' ears, subtly undermining Targaryen supremacy. Aenys would shatter that monopoly.
In 34 AC, he decreed the founding of the Royal Academy in King's Landing—a sprawling complex of black stone towers and crimson-roofed halls rising on the Hill of Rhaenys, dwarfing the Great Sept's remnants. "Knowledge is fire," he proclaimed at the groundbreaking, Vhagar's Shadow roaring overhead. "And fire belongs to the dragons."
The Small Council debated fiercely. Visenya, ever the warrior, argued for martial focus: "Teach them to swing swords, not scribble scrolls." Lord Orys Baratheon nodded agreement, fearing diluted loyalty. Maester Gawen cautioned: "The Citadel will rebel subtly—poison pens over blades." Qhorin Velaryon saw opportunity: "Train our own officials; cut the maesters' strings." Aenys synthesized their advice with the system's cold logic: [Institution Building Unlocked. Loyalty Indoctrination: +40% Efficiency].
The Academy's curriculum was a weapon forged in secrecy. Mathematics sharpened minds for siege engines and tax ledgers—algebra from distant Yi Ti texts, geometry for fortresses unbreachable. Swordsmanship blended Valyrian forms with Aenys's weapon-master prowess: students sparred daily, learning parries that could fell giants. Literature wove tales of heroism—epics of Aegon's Conquest retold with divine flair, Targaryens as god-kings descended from Old Valyria's flames. History glorified the bloodline: "The Andals groveled in mud while dragons ruled empires," instructors intoned. Every lesson exalted House Targaryen—parables equating disobedience to heresy, loyalty to salvation.
To train officials for the King's court, specialized tracks emerged: administration drilled in royal law, diplomacy in subtle intrigue, economics in trade mastery. Graduates—selected from noble sons and promising smallfolk—emerged as bureaucrats, judges, envoys. But the core was loyalty: studies portrayed Targaryens as gods incarnate. Texts claimed Valyrian blood held divine essence; rituals involved swearing on dragonbone, chanting "The dragon's will is heaven's command." System-enhanced hypnosis (minor unlocks via hidden quests) embedded fanaticism—eyes glazing with zeal during lectures. By 38 AC, Academy alumni filled the court: a tax collector beheading a cheating merchant with a cry of "For the god-king!" A diplomat poisoning a rebellious envoy, whispering "Mother Visenya approves."
The Citadel howled in protest—Grand Maester petitions arrived like ravens, decrying "usurpation of sacred learning." Aenys hosted a grand debate in the throne room, exposing Citadel forgeries: altered scrolls downplaying Targaryen divinity. "Your chains bind the realm; our Academy frees it." Lords withdrew sons from Oldtown, flocking to King's Landing for prestige and power. Citadel influence crumbled; maesters became relics, their links rusting in irrelevance.
Innovation surged to cement control. In 35 AC, Aenys unveiled the printing press—a mechanical marvel from system blueprints [Invention Tree: Tier 2 Unlocked]. Forged in Dragonstone's volcanic smithies, movable type of hardened steel stamped pages with alchemical ink. Books flooded the realm: Targaryen-glorifying histories distributed to every sept and holdfast, mathematical primers for builders, sword treatises for knights. "Let every man read the dragon's truth," Aenys decreed. Pamphlets spread like wildfire—tales of "God-King Aenys's mercy," turning smallfolk devotion into cultish fervor. Literacy tripled; villages chanted Academy hymns at harvest.
Pure glass followed in 37 AC—crystal-clear sheets from sand, soda ash, and system-alchemy [Purity Boost: +90% Clarity]. Windows adorned the Red Keep, bathing halls in sunlight like divine halos. Lenses crafted telescopes for spotting rebellions leagues away; mirrors signaled across kingdoms. Trade exploded: Braavosi bankers paid fortunes for "dragon lenses"; Pentoshi perfumers for flawless vials. Gold poured into the treasury—coffers swelling from export tariffs, funding grander projects.
Soap revolutionized in 39 AC—a humble bar of rendered fat, lye, and herbal essences [Hygiene Upgrade: Unlocked]. Scented with Reach lavender or Dornish citrus, it cleansed bodies and minds. "Purity honors the gods," Academy edicts preached. Distributed free to barracks and slums, it curbed plagues ravaging Flea Bottom. Healthy workers toiled longer; taxes rose. Brothels gleamed; even whores whispered Targaryen praises while bathing clients.
King's Landing transformed under Aenys's vision. Chaos yielded to order: streets gridded like a battle map, cobblestones laid by Academy engineers. Sewers tunneled beneath, flushing Blackwater filth to the bay. Markets zoned—fishmongers here, smiths there—guarded by Bloody Dragon patrols. The Dragonpit expanded, a colossal dome for roosting beasts. Grandest was the Dragon High Tower: spiraling 600 feet from Aegon's High Hill, black stone fused with red iron, topped by a perpetual flame fed by wildfire vents. From its pinnacle, Aenys surveyed the city—system holograms overlaying data: population counts, trade flows, loyalty metrics. Ravens nested in alcoves; telescopes pierced horizons. "The dragon's eye sees all," he murmured.
The loyal fanatics multiplied exponentially. In 40 AC, Aenys formalized them as the Bloody Dragons—named for rituals where initiates sliced palms over dragon skulls, mingling blood in fanatical oaths. Numbers swelled from 10,000 to 100,000 by 45 AC: orphanages converted to indoctrination camps, bastards recruited from every kingdom, converts drawn by Academy propaganda. Training was relentless—dawn sword drills, noon history lectures glorifying Targaryens as deities, dusk chants: "Father Aenys, eternal god-king!" Even toddlers like Maegor (now a strapping youth, wielding a system-gifted axe) inspired awe: "Little Father commands!" They garrisoned annexed lands—Riverlands keeps, Reach meadows—rooting out dissent with fire and blade.
By 50 AC, the royal treasury overflowed with gold. Printing presses minted wealth through book exports to Essos; pure glass illuminated Volantene temples for princely sums; soap scented Lysene pleasure houses, tariffs fattening coffers. Academy officials streamlined taxes—mathematical models predicting yields, sword-trained collectors enforcing with Bloody Dragon escorts. Rebellions fizzled before sparking: a Reach lord's grumble ended in a midnight raid, his head on the Traitor's Walk.
Targaryen control solidified like Valyrian steel. Lords bent knees deeper, fearing the god-king's gaze from the High Tower. Smallfolk prospered—clean streets, full bellies, books teaching dragon divinity. Visenya, graying but fierce, patrolled on Vhagar, twins Vaella and Olena ruling as queens consort, their children—Maegor a brutal general, Alyssa a cunning diplomat—extending the line. The system pinged triumphantly: [Empire Consolidated. Control Metric: 98%. Next Era: Expansion Unlocked.]
The Seven Kingdoms thrived under the dragon's shadow—peace forged in innovation, loyalty etched in blood, gold gleaming like scales.
(Word count: 2003)