The territory for the Moonspire Fortress had been granted by the king for a few months.
Even today, it remained a site of initial construction. Near the trench outlining the castle's planned foundation, a shallow contour had been dug.
The teenagers assembled there had varied faces: some had light chestnut hair and gray or blue eyes, typical of the local Wangling people, while others had black or brown hair, their eyes clouded from the hardships of wandering and survival.
Aemond himself was dressed simply: a black sleeveless top with no adornments, his long silver-gold hair tied at the nape of his neck, catching the slanting rays of the sun.
Yet the most striking presence was not the prince himself, but the creature perched on his left shoulder.
Lothron.
This small dragon, only a few months old, had grown from the size of a hunting dog to slightly larger than a wolfhound.
His eyes were dark red, vertical slits with a ring of golden patterns along the edges. At this moment, they scanned with curiosity the hundreds of faces below.
His powerful hind limbs gripped Aemond's shoulders firmly, and his slender, muscular tail hung down his back.
Aemond remained calm, occasionally raising a hand to gently scratch the space between the little dragon's jaw or the fine scales along his neck. Lotern narrowed his dark red eyes in satisfaction, purring softly in his throat.
Aemond reached into a leather pouch at his waist and offered a small piece of dried meat to his shoulder.
He knew he occasionally needed to feed Lotern blood so the young dragon could grow faster.
This intimate bond astonished the teenagers in line, a mixture of admiration, wonder, and an indescribable ache in their eyes.
Aemond did not speak; he simply observed.
His gaze swept over the phalanx calmly, weighing the bones and minds hidden beneath each body.
The young people, feeling the weight of his gaze, straightened their chests and lifted their chins.
At that moment, the instructors — knights of the Hightower family — took a sharp breath and roared:
"Swear it!"
Over five hundred voices erupted, initially uneven, but soon merged into a single flow, unrefined yet remarkably firm, echoing across the slightly cold early spring air of the unfinished construction site.
The teenagers' faces flushed with the force of their oaths, but their eyes remained fixed on the silver-haired prince on the earthen slope, staring intently at the legendary black dragon perched on his shoulder.
"Be kind to me, for I am devoted!"
"Give me what I deserve!"
"I will act and speak according to his will!"
"Every movement will follow his command!"
"Never use force!!"
Aemond nodded in satisfaction.
At the signal, the instructors shouted again:
"Disperse! Food!"
The tense atmosphere instantly relaxed. The teenagers formed lines, turned neatly, and headed toward the temporary dining hall nearby, where smoke and the scent of food hung in the air.
A few bowls of barley porridge simmered on stone hearths, and baskets of white bread and stewed meat were ready.
Their pace was quick, young bodies brimming with energy, yet order remained intact — only slightly brisk steps and restrained whispers.
Some still occasionally glanced toward the prince on the slope.
Galvin Hightower, his eyebrows and eyes partly reminiscent of his sister, Queen Alison, though with a more restrained temperament, approached slowly.
His gaze first fell on Lotern, perched on Aemond's shoulder, full of obvious curiosity and awe.
"Is this a black dragon? Lothron?" he asked, cautiously reaching to touch the smooth head of the little dragon.
"Hsssh, gah!"
Lothron reacted like lightning. His small head snapped toward Galvin, his dark red vertical pupils narrowing instantly, sharp as needles.
The previously relaxed scales bristled slightly; his thin, sharp teeth flashed; a threatening roar burst from his throat, and a faintly warm, sulfur-scented breeze hissed outward.
Galvin recoiled, withdrawing his hand, his face a mixture of embarrassment and fear.
"This temperament… truly ferocious!"
Aemond raised a hand and gently pressed it against Lotern's neck.
"Calm down," he whispered in Valyrian.
"Seriously, Aemond, I've been watching your training methods these past few days… it's extraordinary.
It really opens the eyes," Galvin admitted.
He indicated the teenagers, dressed uniformly yet diverse in height and build.
"You've gathered them from across the royal lands… even from flea-infested dens? Orphans? Homeless?
Is it just daily oaths, lessons, literacy?
And so-called… lines and discipline?
They haven't even begun learning spears or swords properly."
"They are learning something far more important," Aemond said, looking at the teenagers who held wooden bowls and squatted on the clearing.
"Loyalty, order, belonging.
These orphans… it will take at least two or three years for them to be of real use."
Aemond tilted his head slightly, casting a measured gaze at his uncle.
"Too many thoughts, too many desires."
His eyes returned to the teenagers, focused on their meals yet occasionally sneaking glances at him.
"They have no fathers or mothers, no burdens.
Their past is either empty or full of suffering.
I feed them, clothe them, keep them from wandering, give them hope for the future."
Aemond paused.
Galvin's relaxed smile gradually vanished as he studied the prince's calm face.
"The way you think… always beyond what I expected, Aemond."
He dropped the topic and asked instead:
"And what of Moonspire Fortress? How will you build it? Over 200,000 gold dragons… that's no small sum."
Galvin paused, astonished.
"That's all? Not rushing to erect high walls? This is your territory, your castle."
Aemond did not respond immediately.
Galvin did not understand what Aemond meant and felt a twinge of confusion.
Aemond knew that by cultivating a core force entirely loyal to him, one that could be recalled at any moment, he maintained control.
Regarding this territory, the king would likely reclaim it in anger after recent events.
"As for stone and timber, craftsmen and laborers," Aemond continued, "just let it be done as it is."
Galvin nodded, then said,
"The woman you asked me to arrange, Terra, and her people have already followed the rat-catchers, nearly touching the winding secret passages beneath the Red Keep."
Aemond's eyes darkened at the news.
"You've confirmed them?"
"Almost. The most important passages leading to the Maeg Tower and near the King's chambers have been verified. Even those secret exits leading outside have been deciphered."
"The reason secrets remain secrets," he said slowly, "is that the fewer who know, the better."
The rat-catchers know paths they should not — a hidden danger in itself.
He wanted these details only in his hands.
"…Understood," Galvin nodded slowly, returning his face to its usual, slightly distant calm.
"These people are untouchable; their hands and feet are not particularly clean, and they vanish without drawing attention. I will see everything arranged properly."