Chapter 30: The Pentoshi Protocol: Dragons Over Essos & Cracks in the Realm
The response from the Magisters of Pentos to King Robar Baratheon's "generous invitation for enhanced economic integration" was precisely what he had anticipated: a masterpiece of Essosi prevarication. It arrived via a lavishly appointed trading galley, carrying a delegation led by a portly, silk-clad Magister named Nevio, whose eloquent speech was laden with flowery platitudes about eternal friendship, mutual respect, and the ancient commercial ties between Pentos and Westeros. He offered increased tribute, access to certain markets for BCR merchants, and even a golden statue of King Robar to be erected in Pentos's main plaza. What he did not offer was unconditional submission, full economic control for BCR, or adherence to Robar's non-negotiable "Special Integration Fee."
Robar received Magister Nevio and his delegation in the throne room of the Red Keep. He listened patiently, his face an unreadable mask, as Nevio spun his web of diplomatic pleasantries and carefully worded counter-proposals. Lord Tywin Lannister, seated at Robar's right as Hand of the King, observed the Pentoshi with undisguised contempt. Stannis Baratheon, ever the pragmatist, simply looked bored by the verbal sparring.
When Magister Nevio finally concluded his lengthy oration, expecting a period of protracted negotiation, Robar spoke, his voice cutting through the perfumed air like a shard of ice. "Magister Nevio, your eloquence is… noted. However, BCR's operational model prioritizes clarity and efficiency over rhetorical embellishment. Your city's counter-offer is deemed… non-compliant with established BCR integration protocols." He leaned forward, his gaze pinning the suddenly sweating Magister. "Pentos has twenty-four hours to dispatch a raven confirming unconditional acceptance of all articles outlined in my previous communication. Failure to do so will result in the initiation of BCR's 'Market Correction Protocol – Essos Division.' I trust my meaning is clear."
Magister Nevio, his face paling rapidly, attempted to stammer further arguments, but Robar raised a hand, silencing him. "Your ship is free to depart, Magister. Convey my regards, and my immutable terms, to your colleagues. The clock is ticking."
The Pentoshi delegation scrambled from the Red Keep, their earlier confidence replaced by a palpable terror. They knew, as all of Essos was beginning to learn, that the Dragon King of Westeros did not make idle threats.
Twenty-four hours later, no raven of unconditional surrender had arrived from Pentos. Only a desperate plea for "further dialogue and reconsideration."
Robar convened his war council. "Pentos has chosen the path of inefficient resistance," he announced, his voice devoid of emotion. "They require a more… persuasive demonstration of BCR's commitment to contractual enforcement. Lord Hand," he turned to Tywin, "ensure our naval assets in the Blackwater are prepared to transport a five-thousand-man BCR 'Security and Administration' force to Pentos once the market is… corrected. Stannis, you will command this force. Your mandate: secure all key Pentoshi assets, establish a BCR administrative council, and ensure a smooth transition to our operational framework."
"And the… correction itself, Your Grace?" Tywin asked, a gleam of anticipation in his eyes.
"I will handle the preliminary negotiations personally," Robar said, a chilling smile touching his lips. "With my senior executive assets."
Two days later, the skies above Pentos darkened. Not with storm clouds, but with leathery wings of immense span. Robar Baratheon, clad in black Valyrian steel armor (a recent BCR acquisition from a "persuaded" Volantene merchant prince), astride the now colossal Mammon, descended upon the unsuspecting city. Viridian and Aurum, nearly as large and equally terrifying, flanked him, their roars shattering the morning calm. On their backs, secured in specially designed BCR flight harnesses, were elite members of his Phoenix Team, armed with crossbows and Vaellyn's improved incendiary devices – not for widespread destruction, but for precise, intimidating displays.
Panic erupted in Pentos. Citizens screamed and fled, merchants abandoned their stalls, and Gold Cloak equivalents threw down their spears and ran. The Magisters, hastily assembled in their council chamber, watched in horror as the three dragons circled their city, their shadows like omens of doom.
Robar, on Mammon, descended slowly, hovering before the main plaza, the dragon's ruby eyes burning with intelligent malice. He didn't need to speak. Mammon did it for him, unleashing a single, controlled blast of black-and-red fire that vaporized a derelict hulk in the harbor, the resulting explosion and shockwave shattering windows for miles. The message was unambiguous.
Then, Robar's voice, amplified by Haki and BCR's compact sonic projector built into his helmet, boomed across the city. "Magisters of Pentos! Your deadline for voluntary integration has expired. You have chosen inefficiency. You now have one hour to present yourselves, unarmed, in this plaza, to formally cede control of Pentos to Baratheon Consolidated Resources and swear fealty to me, your King. Further resistance will result in the systematic dismantling of your city's infrastructure and the liquidation of all non-compliant assets, including yourselves. BCR offers generous severance packages for those who cooperate fully. Choose."
The hour was not needed. Within minutes, a terrified procession of Magisters, led by a trembling Nevio and a pragmatic, ash-faced Illyrio Mopatis, stumbled into the plaza, falling to their knees before the hovering dragon and its fearsome rider.
Robar landed Mammon with a ground-shaking thud. He dismounted, his presence utterly dominating the square. "Magister Illyrio Mopatis," Robar addressed the corpulent, once-powerful figure. "BCR recognizes talent and… local market expertise. You have a reputation for pragmatism. You will head the provisional BCR Administrative Council of Pentos, under the direct oversight of my brother, Lord Stannis, once he arrives. Your first task: ensure the smooth transfer of all Pentoshi municipal assets, guild monopolies, and trade agreements to BCR control. Your personal wealth will be… audited, but cooperation will ensure you retain a comfortable 'consultancy fee.'"
Illyrio, seeing a path to survival and perhaps even continued influence, however diminished, bowed low. "Your Grace… King Robar… Pentos is yours. Its wealth, its loyalty… all at your command."
Pentos, the first jewel of Essos, had fallen to Westeros Inc. with barely a whimper, its defenses rendered meaningless by the mere shadow of dragons. BCR officials and the Baratheon "Security and Administration" force, arriving by sea shortly thereafter under Stannis's grim command, began the systematic absorption of the city into Robar's rapidly expanding global empire. New taxes were levied, BCR trade monopolies established, and Pentoshi watchmen were retrained (or replaced) by BCR's uncompromising standards.
News of Pentos's swift, dragon-enforced submission sent shockwaves across Essos. Envoys from Myr, Tyrosh, and Lys arrived in King's Landing within weeks, not with defiance, but with hastily drafted proposals for "voluntary economic partnerships" with BCR, their terms remarkably similar to those Pentos had been forced to accept. Braavos, with its powerful fleet and staunch independence, remained aloof but watchful. Volantis, ancient and proud, debated its options, torn between fear and a nostalgic admiration for the return of dragon power. Robar received these overtures with cold satisfaction, his BCR analysts already drafting tailored "integration packages" for each Free City.
Back in Westeros, however, the demonstration of Robar's absolute power was having a different effect on some. Lord Eddard Stark and Lord Jon Arryn, summoned to King's Landing for a "Realm Strategic Alignment Summit," arrived with heavy hearts. They had witnessed the fear in the eyes of the Pentoshi envoys who had passed them on the road, heard the chilling tales of dragons over Essos. Their private correspondence, which Robar's agents had, of course, continued to monitor, spoke of their growing despair and their fears for the future of Westeros under a king who commanded such terrifying, unchecked power.
The meeting took place in Robar's private solar, the atmosphere thick with unspoken tension. Tywin Lannister was present, a silent, imposing figure.
"Lord Stark, Lord Arryn," Robar began, his tone devoid of any of the old camaraderie he knew Robert once shared with them. "Welcome. I trust your regions are fully compliant with BCR's latest resource allocation directives and the Dragon's Due levy?"
"The North meets its obligations, Your Grace," Ned Stark said, his voice stiff, his honorable gaze unwavering despite the clear power imbalance. "Though the burden on my people is… considerable."
"Efficiency requires investment, Lord Stark," Robar countered. "And investment requires capital. BCR ensures that all regions contribute equitably to the realm's prosperity and security." He turned to Jon Arryn. "And the Vale, Lord Arryn? Your new port facilities at Gulltown, funded by BCR capital, are proceeding on schedule, I trust?"
Jon Arryn, looking older and more careworn than ever, nodded. "They are, Your Grace. The Vale… contributes."
"Excellent," Robar said. "Because Westeros is now entering a new phase of development. With Essosi markets opening up to BCR enterprise, our resource needs will only increase. I expect the North and the Vale to lead by example in productivity and unwavering loyalty." He paused, his gaze hardening. "I am aware of certain… 'reservations'… some of you may harbor regarding my methods of governance. Let me be clear: BCR's operational framework is not subject to debate. My reign is not a council of equals. It is a hierarchical corporate structure with a clear chain of command. You are valued regional managers. Your continued success, and indeed your continued tenure, depends on your ability to meet your performance targets and ensure absolute compliance within your territories."
The thinly veiled threat hung in the air. Ned Stark looked as if he might speak, perhaps voice the protests of his conscience, but a sharp, warning glance from Jon Arryn silenced him. They were trapped. To defy Robar now, with his dragons, his vast armies, and the ruthless Tywin Lannister at his side, was to invite annihilation.
"We understand, Your Grace," Jon Arryn said at last, his voice heavy with resignation. "We will… endeavor to meet your expectations."
Robar gave a curt nod. "See that you do. Your regional performance will be reviewed quarterly."
As they departed, their shoulders slumped, Robar watched them go. Honorable men. Inefficient. Potential future liabilities if not carefully managed. He made a mental note: "Increase BCR surveillance in the North and the Vale. Identify potential alternative regional managers if current leadership fails to adapt."
Later that day, Queen Cersei sought an audience. Her pregnancy was now well advanced, her belly swollen with the heir to this new Dragon Dynasty. "My King," she said, her voice a mixture of deference and carefully concealed ambition, "the realm celebrates your victories in Essos. The power of our House… of our future children… will be absolute."
"Power, Cersei," Robar corrected her, his gaze distant as he looked out over the city, "is merely a tool for acquiring and managing assets. Our children will inherit not just a crown, but a controlling interest in the largest, most profitable enterprise this world has ever seen. They must be trained accordingly – in economics, logistics, asset management, and ruthless efficiency. Not in a Gilded cage with foolish songs and tourneys."
Cersei's smile faltered slightly, but she nodded. "Of course, my King. They will be worthy successors to your… vision."
As she left, Robar's thoughts turned back to Essos. Pentos was secured. Myr, Tyrosh, and Lys were sending supplicating envoys. Volantis was wavering. Braavos remained defiant, its Titan a silent challenge. The Slaver Cities… they were a cesspool of inefficiency and moral decay, but also possessed vast, untapped labor resources and established trade routes. A prime target for "hostile restructuring."
His empire was expanding at an exponential rate. The dragons were growing. The gold was flowing. Westeros Inc. was poised for global domination. The only question was, what would be the ultimate cost of such absolute, dragon-backed power? Robar, however, did not deal in unquantifiable sentimentality. He dealt in profit and loss. And for now, the ledger was overwhelmingly in his favor.
A raven arrived. Not from Essos, but from Winterfell. A private message from Eddard Stark, not through official channels. Robar's eyes narrowed as he read it. It spoke of ancient oaths, of honor, of a king's duty to his people, not just to his coffers. It was a carefully worded plea, a desperate appeal to the Robert he once knew.
Robar crumpled the parchment. "Sentiment," he murmured. "The most inefficient of all human failings." He would have to accelerate his "Northern Compliance" initiative. Some assets, it seemed, required more… direct management than others.
Word Count: Approx. 3200 words