Chapter 25: The Birth of the Dragon Church – Flames of the Common Heart
King's Landing, 225 AC – 240 AC (Fast-Forward Montage)
The realm under Aenys II Targaryen had become a tapestry of steel and fire, knowledge and justice. Schools dotted every village, academies churned out engineers and healers, smallfolk read broadsheets by oil lamps, and the uprisings against cruel lords had forged a new order: royal assizes enforcing fair tithes, wages set by crown decree, Bloody Dragons as the people's shield. Lords knelt deeper, their cruelties curbed, but resentment simmered in gilded halls. The smallfolk, fed, educated, and empowered, looked to the dragon with fanatic eyes. Yet even in this enlightened age, the soul hungered for something divine—beyond the reformed septs with their dragon icons beside faded seven-pointed stars.
The spark ignited in the Riverlands, in a small village called Stoneford, in the autumn of 226 AC.
Harlan Reed was a common farmer—broad-shouldered, callused hands from steam plow handles, literate from the village school where he had learned to read royal edicts and calculate harvests. He tilled black soil enriched by Sothoryos imports, paid fair taxes to the crown, and raised a family of five: a wife with warm smiles, three sons who dreamed of rail engineering, a daughter who recited Academy hymns. Life was good under the god-king—bread on the table, medicine for fevers, justice from the Bloody Dragons.
But old habits died hard among the lords.
Lord Blackwood, a holdover from pre-annexation days, chafed at the crown's caps on tithes. In a fit of rage over a disputed boundary, he sent men-at-arms to "collect arrears" from Stoneford—torching barns, seizing livestock, and, when Harlan protested with edict in hand, slaughtering his family as "rebels." Harlan returned from the fields to ash and blood: his wife's body broken in the yard, sons hanged from the weirwood, daughter's screams silenced forever. He knelt in the ruins, hope shattered, screaming at the gods who had failed him—the Seven who had once oppressed, the old trees that whispered nothing.
Word reached King's Landing by rail courier. Aenys II—now ninety, leaning on a cane but mind unbowed—read the report with cold fury. "The lords forget," he murmured to Queen Daera. "We remind them." Bloody Dragons arrived within days—steam train clattering into Harrenhal, then marching to Blackwood's keep. Lord Blackwood was dragged in chains to Stoneford's square, tried before villagers, and beheaded by a fanatic's blade. His lands annexed fully to the crown, distributed as homesteads to the survivors. Harlan Reed stood witness, eyes hollow but flickering with something new: fanatic gratitude.
The king himself came south by royal locomotive—a gleaming oil-burner with dragon-scale plating. He met Harlan in the rebuilt village, under a new cement schoolhouse. "Your loss is the realm's loss," Aenys said, placing a hand on the farmer's shoulder. "The dragon avenges its children."
Harlan knelt, tears streaming. "You are the only god who answered, Your Grace. The Seven turned away; the lords slew; but the dragon… the dragon saved."
In that moment, Harlan Reed became a fanatic. He saw not a king, but divinity incarnate—the dragon made flesh, evolving against cruelty as the beasts evolved against steel. He gathered the villagers that night, reciting edicts by oil lamp: "The god-king feeds us, teaches us, protects us. He is the flame eternal."
Word spread—by rail, by broadsheet, by whisper in academies. Harlan traveled north, then south to Sothoryos outposts, preaching in schoolyards and factory breaks. "The lords oppressed; the old faiths hoarded. But the dragon gives freely—bread, knowledge, justice. Worship the flame that burns for the common heart."
By 228 AC, the movement coalesced. Harlan, no longer a farmer but a prophet in simple crimson robes, penned the first sacred text in a Sothoryos rubberfall outpost: The Dragon's Codex—a bible-like tome, bound in dragonhide (from a natural molt), printed on royal presses. It was the first faith in the world organized for the good of the people, not lords or septons. No tithes demanded; no hierarchies of gold-robed priests. Instead, chapters on charity ("Feed as the dragon feeds"), education ("Learn as the dragon teaches"), justice ("Avenge as the dragon avenges"). At its core: contact with dragons first—rituals of approaching the beasts in the pits (under royal supervision), seeking their roar as divine approval. "The dragon speaks to the humble," Harlan wrote. "Not through stone idols, but living flame."
The Codex spread rapidly—printed in millions, distributed free by rail and ironclad. Smallfolk devoured it: verses recited in fields, hymns sung in factories. It exalted the Targaryens as gods incarnate—Aenys II the Eternal Flame, his heirs the Sparks Divine. No conflict with reformed septs; it absorbed them, reframing the Seven as lesser spirits serving the dragon.
The faith formalized in 230 AC. Harlan gathered followers in King's Landing's grand square—tens of thousands, from Flea Bottom laborers to Sothoryos settlers. They formed the Dragon Church: organized chapters in every village, led by elected elders (common-born only), focused on mutual aid—food banks stocked with royal grain, schools teaching Codex alongside mechanics, clinics with steam-sterilized tools. "For the good of the people," their creed rang. No armies, but fanatic devotion: members swore to defend the dragon's justice, volunteering for Bloody Dragon auxiliaries.
They offered Aenys the high priesthood in a ceremony unmatched. In the Dragonpit, under circling beasts, Harlan knelt before the Iron Throne (moved for the occasion). "You are the Flame Incarnate," he proclaimed. "Lead us as high priest—the dragon's voice on earth."
Aenys accepted—crown heavy on his brow, cane in hand. "I am your shepherd in flame. The church serves the people; the people serve the dragon eternal."
The faith rose among common people rapidly—wildfire across the realm.
By 232 AC, half the smallfolk professed it—schools integrated Codex lessons, factories paused for dragon hymns. In the North, Brandon Stark's heirs blended it with old gods: weirwoods carved with dragon scales. In Dorne, sand priests chanted verses while drilling oil wells. In Sothoryos, ape-handlers baptized beasts in river rituals, seeking dragon approval.
Lords watched in horror. The church empowered the commons further—elders mediating disputes, bypassing lordly courts; members refusing unfair labor, citing Codex justice. Uprisings flared anew—not violent, but organized: strikes in Lannister mines, boycotts of Tyrell tithes, petitions flooding royal assizes. The church channeled them—peaceful, but unyielding. "The dragon hears," they chanted.
Aenys, as high priest, balanced the scales. He decreed church protections: no lord could disband chapters, no septon preach against it. When a Vale lord burned a church school, Bloody Dragons executed him publicly—head on the Traitor's Walk. The faith spread unchecked.
By 235 AC, it reached Essos—ironclads carrying missionaries to Braavos, where former Iron Bank clerks formed chapters in canal-side halls. Yi Ti warlords converted outposts; Qartheen merchants blended it with warlock rites. The Codex translated into a dozen tongues—printed presses in Sothoryos churning copies.
Harlan Reed, now the First Elder, toured by royal rail—preaching to crowds of millions. "We lost families to lords' cruelty," he thundered in Winterfell's cement square. "But the dragon avenged. Worship the flame that burns for us!"
The church did good: orphanages teaching trades, clinics curing fevers, cooperatives farming black soil. It organized the world's first true people's faith—no gods demanding sacrifice, only the dragon demanding justice.
Aenys, older now—cane a constant companion—watched from the High Tower. Daera at his side, heirs commanding the expansions. The system pinged: [Faith Metric: 82% Adoption (Commons). Loyalty Boost: +45%. Social Cohesion: Eternal.]
The Dragon Church rose—not from septs or lords, but a farmer's grief and a king's justice.
The people worshipped.
The dragon endured—flame of the commons, eternal and just.
(Word count: 1998)