Chapter 15: The Dragon's Decree and Horizons Unbound
King's Landing, 130 AC – 140 AC (Rhaegar I's Mid-Reign Montage)
King Rhaegar I Targaryen's gentle rule had weathered its first storms—the rebellions crushed, the Velaryon challenge quelled, the realm's lords reminded that the harp could conceal a hidden blade. At seventy, Rhaegar remained the Silver King: silver hair flowing to his shoulders, violet eyes thoughtful behind spectacles crafted from pure glass, fingers still nimble on harp strings during council sessions. His court was a blend of Maegor's iron legacy and Aenys's enlightened vision—Academy scholars debated philosophy, Bloody Dragons drilled in courtyards, and the Dragon Bank's gold fueled an age of quiet ambition.
Yet the Laenor Velaryon incident lingered like smoke after a dragon's breath. Whispers persisted: if a Velaryon could attempt to mount a dragon without immediate execution, what stopped a Lannister or Baratheon? The Targaryens' divine monopoly on dragonriding—the foundation of their authority as the world's only true dragonlords—felt frayed. Rhaegar, ever the diplomat, had pardoned Laenor with exile, but mercy bred boldness. In 131 AC, a minor Reach lord's bastard son sneaked into the Dragonpit, approaching a hatchling. The beast scorched his arm; guards dragged him away, but the act ignited rumors. "The dragons weaken with the king," tavern talk went.
Rhaegar acted in the Small Council chamber that autumn. Alyssa—dowager queen, now frail at eighty—sat silent beside him. Visenya the Younger (sixties, sword arm still lethal) urged fire; Aegon (sixty, axe-wielding general) demanded blood; Jaehaerys (diplomat) suggested nuance; Aemon (tactician) mapped consequences. Rhaegar raised a hand, voice soft but unyielding: "Gentleness has its limits. The dragons are ours alone—the gods' gift to Valyrian blood. To challenge that is to challenge heaven."
The new law was decreed the next dawn from the Iron Throne, printed on broadsheets distributed by Bloody Dragon riders to every holdfast: "The Dragon's Edict." It stated plainly: Only those of pure Targaryen blood may approach, mount, or claim a dragon. Any from other houses or families who attempt it—noble or common—shall see their entire family executed, lands forfeited to the crown, and names stricken from histories. No mercy, no trial, no exceptions. "The world's only dragonlords guard their flame," Rhaegar proclaimed, harp silent beside him.
The edict sent shockwaves. Lords who had toyed with ambition paled; smallfolk cheered the reaffirmation of divine order. In the Westerlands, a Lannister cousin who had boasted of "taming a wyrm" was dragged from his bed—his family of twelve executed in Lannisport's square, heads displayed on pikes. Their mines annexed to the crown, workers now paid royal wages. In the Stormlands, a Baratheon knight's drunken dare near the pit ended with his house's erasure—castle burned, survivors scattered as nameless beggars. The Velaryons, already chastened, sent fresh oaths of fealty; Laenor, from Essosi exile, vanished into obscurity, rumored drowned.
By 133 AC, attempts ceased. Dragons roosted unchallenged; the Targaryens' monopoly—unique in the world—stood reaffirmed. Rhaegar's gentleness now carried a sharp edge: pardons for minor crimes, but dragon challenges met with familial annihilation. The realm bowed deeper, the edict etched into law like Valyrian runes on steel.
With authority secured, Rhaegar turned to progress. Trade had always been the dragon's quiet weapon—Dragon Bank gold flowing like blood through veins—but roads remained the realm's weakness: muddy tracks slowing wagons, bandits preying on merchants, winter snows isolating the North. In 134 AC, Rhaegar decreed the Royal Roads project—a network of stone-paved highways linking every major city.
The Small Council planned meticulously. Visenya the Younger scouted routes from dragonback; Aegon led Bloody Dragon engineers; Jaehaerys negotiated with lords for land; Aemon calculated costs with Academy mathematicians. Construction began in spring: from King's Landing, the Goldroad west to Casterly Rock, the Roseroad south to Highgarden and Oldtown, the Kingsroad north to Winterfell and the Wall, the Ocean Road along the western coast, the River Road through the Trident, and spurs to Storm's End, Sunspear, and the Eyrie.
Workers—thousands of smallfolk paid in Dragon Bank coin, fed from royal granaries—labored under Academy supervision. Stone quarried from Dragonstone fused with alchemical binders for durability; pure glass lanterns lined the paths for night travel; waystations with soap-clean inns and Bloody Dragon guards dotted every ten leagues. Bandits hanged from roadside gibbets; tolls (light for commoners, heavy for lords) funded maintenance.
By 137 AC, the roads transformed trade. Wagons rolled thrice as fast; Reach fruits reached Winterfell fresh; Westerlands gold flowed to Essos without spoilage; Dornish spices scented northern halls. Markets boomed—King's Landing's harbors doubled in size, Dragon Bank tariffs swelling coffers. Smallfolk traveled safer; pilgrims visited reformed septs without fear. Rebellions fizzled—troops moved swiftly on paved paths, Bloody Dragons quelling unrest before it spread. Rhaegar toured the roads on Stormwing, harp playing for workers, declaring: "The dragon paves the path to unity."
Ambition turned outward. The world beyond Westeros beckoned—tales of shadowed Asshai, steaming Sothoryos, lost Valyria's ruins. In 135 AC, Rhaegar commissioned exploring fleets: twenty dragon-prowed ships, crewed by Velaryon sailors (redeeming their house), Bloody Dragon marines, Academy scholars, and dragon-riders for protection.
The first fleet sailed east to Asshai-by-the-Shadow in 136 AC, led by Aemon on his dragon, Shadowclaw. They navigated the Jade Sea, dodging Qartheen warlocks and Yi Ti patrols. Asshai loomed dark—black stone streets, masked inhabitants, air thick with sorcery. Scholars bartered pure glass and soap for shadowbinder tomes, dragonglass artifacts, and spells whispered in forgotten tongues. Aemon claimed a wild shadow-cat as trophy; the fleet returned laden with silks, spices, and grimoires that filled Academy libraries. Rhaegar studied the texts personally, harp silent as he pondered Valyrian echoes.
The Sothoryos expedition launched in 138 AC, commanded by Jaehaerys on Harpwing, a lithe golden dragon. They hugged the Summer Sea coast, battling basilisks and brindled men. Jungles swallowed scouting parties; fevers claimed dozens. Yet they mapped rivers, harvested rare herbs for maesters, and unearthed ruins of ancient civilizations—stone ziggurats etched with dragon motifs. Jaehaerys negotiated with Naathi tribes, trading soap for butterfly silks and peace lilies. The fleet returned scarred but triumphant—cargo holds bursting with gold idols, exotic beasts (caged wyverns for the pit), and maps expanding Westerosi charts.
Success bred boldness. By 140 AC, annual fleets sailed: to Ulthos for timber stronger than ironwood, to the Thousand Islands for pearl-diving alliances, even probing Valyria's smoking ruins (though none returned from those mists). Trade exploded—Asshai shadow-wine in royal cellars, Sothoryos spices in smallfolk kitchens. The Dragon Bank minted new coins: one side Rhaegar's profile, the other a ship under dragon wings. Lords who once whispered weakness now vied for fleet commands, their ambitions channeled outward.
Rhaegar's gentle rule proved resilient. The Dragon's Edict deterred internal threats; royal roads bound the economy; exploring fleets projected power across seas. At eighty, Rhaegar sat the Throne, harp in lap, eyes on horizons. Alyssa passed in 139 AC, milk memories fading; Visenya the Younger patrolled roads on Emberwing, ensuring peace. The grandchildren—Jaehaerys's sons wedding Dornish princesses, Aemon's daughters claiming new hatchlings—extended the line.
The Seven Kingdoms stood united, prosperous, unchallenged. Whispers of weakness silenced; the world's only dragonlords reigned supreme.
(Word count: 2002)