Their posture looked like a marriage proposal.
Old Red narrowed his eyes and said with exaggerated enthusiasm, "Prince Aemon, conqueror of the mountain clans, your name is well known in the Vale. Even these old bones of mine have heard of you."
As he spoke, he reached under the table and pinched the young girl beside him.
The girl cried out and covered her rear, her face full of shame and fury.
"Hahaha!"
Old Red laughed and pointed at her. "This is my seventeenth wife. A naive little country girl."
"Madam."
Aemon gave her a strange look and nodded politely.
What a rare way to show off.
"Your Highness," the girl whispered, glancing at the strong, handsome prince.
"Get out, you slut."
Old Red's face turned stern as he slapped the same spot again.
The girl trembled and walked out of the hall in disgrace.
Aemon's face remained unchanged, though he couldn't help but scoff inwardly.
Seventeen wives in a row. No wonder the women in the Vale looked embarrassed just hearing his name.
"My wife needs discipline. You're the noble Dragon Prince; don't let her bother you."
Old Red's expression changed quickly, and he smiled again. "I just got married, you see. The young ones are quite...fresh."
The memory alone made him feel twenty years younger.
"Lord Red, I'm not interested in your sex life,"
Aemon said coolly.
Comparing him to a country girl was blatantly disrespectful.
If it weren't for guest etiquette, a slap would have landed square on that wrinkled face.
"Oh, my apologies."
Old Red slapped his own forehead, feigning regret. "I'm too old to control my mouth."
He was playing the old man card to the fullest.
"My lord, the prince came here on business."
The old butler could no longer stand it and spoke up.
Old Red finally got the hint and nodded. "Honorable Prince, what brings you to my humble castle?"
"I need ships and a dock."
Aemon repeated calmly, not expecting much.
He wanted to borrow the Waywood family's ships to transport materials from the Narrow Sea to Long Lake and to use their laborers to build a dock on the lake.
A handsome reward would be given upon completion.
Old Red put on a show of deep thought—quite the performance.
Once Aemon had finished explaining the terms, the old man smiled and gestured to the row of girls nearby. "I almost forgot to introduce them. These are my daughters."
He paused before introducing them one by one: "Martha, Ellie, Bella... Magna."
There were four in total, and he had to think hard to remember the last name.
"Ladies."
Aemon nodded to them.
Old Red frowned and roared, "Are you deaf? Introduce yourselves to the prince!"
The girls lowered their heads and spoke in turn. "My name is Martha. Ellie... Bella."
Finally, the last girl in the gray dress spoke up. "Serena."
"Did I call you by the wrong name?"
Old Red blinked and took a sip of wine but didn't seem to care.
Then his eyes glinted. "Your Highness, I'll lend you the ships and help build the dock. What will you give me in return?"
Aemon looked up and said plainly, "Money."
"Haha, not enough."
Old Red laughed and shook his head. "The money is one thing. But I'm helping out of friendship, so I expect a return in kind."
"What kind of return?"
Aemon glanced at the silent girls.
"Marry one of them. Or you can take all of them. As long as you're willing to wed."
Old Red said it without shame.
Aemon rejected him without hesitation. "I already have someone I love."
This old fool was too greedy.
Money wasn't enough for him—he wanted to sell his daughters, too.
He didn't even consider his own standing.
"Of course. A noble prince like you wouldn't give a Waywood daughter a second glance."
Old Red snorted. "In that case, I'm afraid I cannot fulfill your request."
Aemon couldn't help but laugh.
He didn't immediately walk away, though. Nor did he breach etiquette.
Instead, he looked directly at the old man and asked curiously, "Have I offended you? Yet you didn't even offer me a chair when I entered."
The Graveson family in Seagull Town had at least a reason—they had closed their port and sealed their gates.
But what was the justification for Iron Oak?
Old Red was no fool. He quickly deflected. "A chair! His Highness Aemon the Dragon Slayer wants a chair! You fools!"
After cursing the servants, he muttered, "The Targaryens use titles like 'Dragon Slayer' as if someone once claimed the sheep in the Vale were better than its women."
The whole hall suddenly went silent and tense.
The Waywood daughters stared at the floor, barely breathing.
Aemon took in the words carefully.
This was an old grudge from his father, Daemon.
In a closed and conservative region like the Vale, earning hatred wasn't easy.
Old Red was unsettled by the fact that he didn't respond immediately.
The old man raised his voice indignantly. "Look at my daughters—young and beautiful. They should be marrying into great houses in the Riverlands or the Reach."
"But now?"
"Because of a few stupid rumors, none of them have wed."
Thinking himself justified, Old Red slammed the table, nearly spilling his wine.
"Pfft!"
Aemon couldn't help but laugh out loud.
Marrying into Riverlands or Reach nobility? That was blackmail dressed as a grievance.
"Do you find this funny? Me? Or the Waywood name?"
Old Red was clearly offended. He snapped, "Your father insulted a lady of the Vale and slandered her. The entire Vale will never forgive him."
"I don't believe that."
Aemon shook his head.
Daemon had plenty of enemies.
But a few words could not have turned the entire Vale against him.
That was pure exaggeration.
Old Red's face darkened, and doubt flickered in his eyes.
"I figured it out the moment I arrived in Iron Oak."
Aemon kept smiling as he slowly walked forward. "The Waywood family was once one of the Vale's few maritime houses. You rose through ports like Driftmark and Crab Island, dominating trade in the Narrow Sea."
But Iron Oak was far too remote.
Driftmark sat at the throat of the straits. Crab Island faced the sea. Both were bustling ports that rivaled Seagull Town.
As they flourished, Iron Oak declined.
When the Three Daughters began raiding the strait, all of those ports suffered.
Iron Oak couldn't profit, but it was content watching its competitors lose money.
To a selfish man, a thriving neighbor is worse than losing one's own land.
Not interfering in River Valley Town's development was generous enough—why would they offer help?
"Am I wrong, Lord Red?"
Aemon stopped just in front of the old man.
A gray-haired elder and a young, broad-shouldered boy faced each other across the table.
They stared at each other across the table, one looming over the other.
Old Red's face contorted, and shock flashed in his eyes.
He leaned back in shame.
"The chair is here."
At that moment, a servant brought in a chair.
"No need."
Aemon looked kindly at the shaken man. "Lord Red, I'll visit again sometime."
He turned and left the hall.
There was no violent outburst. Not even a cold parting glance.
It was so calm.
Old Red's heart was full of unease.
The Waywood family was one of the oldest in the Vale.
But under his rule, it had fallen into decline.
The old castle showed their lack of wealth.
Still, he was arrogant and terrified of dragons.
Perhaps he had overthought it.
Aemon smiled, mounted Vermithor, and flew off.
That smile lingered, like the shadow of a hunting dragon.
"Hiss—"
Vermithor circled Iron Oak and flew toward the end of the great freshwater lake.
That was the entrance to the inland sea.
Aemon looked down and saw docks bearing the Waywood sigil along both shores.
The waters were choppy and unfit for docking, yet the Waywood family had claimed and fortified the estuary.
Generations of effort had secured that enclave.
"So that's the source of their arrogance."
Aemon nodded to himself and turned Vermithor back toward River Valley Town.
He wasn't as angry as he'd expected to be.
In fact, he felt nothing.
When Old Red opened his mouth, two thoughts crossed Aemon's mind:
One: cut him down and burn Iron Oak with dragonfire.
Two—poison him quietly and send the entire family to meet the Stranger.
Both were tempting.
But the moment he left Iron Oak's gate, he discarded them.
His target was not just Waywood.
No matter how he chose to retaliate, the result would be the same.
The nobles of the Vale, led by Jeyne Arryn, would despise him.
Uncle Viserys would scold him.
Gulltown would reject him.
He would become another Daemon, shut out of power.
Instead, he gained clarity of mind.
If steady progress was impossible, he would rely on his sword and dragon to make history.
Those who mocked him would face retribution in due time.
The return flight was faster than the outbound flight.
Vermithor landed at the foot of Lonely Mountain by Dale Town.
Aemon headed straight to the Hall of Plenty, where Johanna was working.
"Prince, you're back already?"
Johanna stood in surprise.
"I'm going to Runestone City. Send word to Gunthor to lead the troops over."
Aemon got straight to the point.
Johanna's face tightened. "Did Lord Waywood offend you?"
Clearly, she knew his reputation.
"How could a true dragon be angry at a mountain sparrow?"
Aemon said coolly. Then, with resolve: "I will summon my vassals and station them in Seagull Town to fight the Three Daughters pirates."
All his troubles stemmed from their rebellion, so he would start at the root of the problem.
A war of blood and fire would make "Dragon Slayer Aemon" a household name throughout the Seven Kingdoms.
Johanna widened her almond eyes.
"Has the order to build the dock at Long Lake been issued?"
"It has."
Johanna added quietly, "But at Iron Oak..."
The Waywood docks remained closed. Long Lake boats were confined to the river valley.
"Don't worry. Just build it."
Aemon remained composed as he unstrapped his sword.
"Have Gunthor take 800 longbowmen. The other 150 Vale knights and 500 new archers will stay in Valley Town with the blacksmiths' guild to prevent a rebellion by the mountain clans."
"Yes, Prince."
Johanna held the bronze sword tightly in her arms—it was the signal for troop movement.
As chief steward, she managed civil affairs but had no military authority.
"Be careful."
With that final warning, Aemon turned and left the Hall of Plenty.
"Hiss—"
Before sunset, Vermithor was flying once more.
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