Two years later — Moonspire.
The humid southern wind swept across Blackwater Bay, carrying the scent of sea salt and the breath of the forest.
The fortress was a vast barracks of angular stone and timber, fully functional.
Inside the walls, most of the space was taken up by a training yard, an armory, the barracks themselves, and a modest main hall.
The only decoration was a massive black banner on the stone wall of the main keep, embroidered with the three-headed Targaryen dragon in dark red thread.
Aemond stood before a low window of the castle.
As for Vhagar… since he had not been summoned and could not return to King's Landing, he had not seen the old dragon in two years.
Only Lothron, with King Viserys I's permission, had been allowed to follow him to this remote post.
Along the road and the creek bank stretched sawmills, tannery workshops, smithies, taverns, granaries, and even a small chapel.
For those struggling to survive, it was already a considerable gift.
"Here there are 517 guards, 200 heavy-armored men, and 327 light-armored."
Haul, who had once cared for homeless children in the slums of King's Landing, had been taken in by Aemond three years prior, trusted for his skill in organization and now charged with overseeing the training of these youths into true soldiers.
Now he was one of the leaders of the guard, responsible for molding these adolescents of humble origins into real warriors.
Carter, standing beside him, reported in a level voice:
"The patrol line west of the Imperial Forest has shifted toward the borders of Green Vale town. Three cases of poaching by villagers were intercepted last week, and all were fined and warned according to the regulations."
Carter was lean and shrewd, once a child on the black market in the flea nests of King's Landing.
He had a talent for tracking and stealth, and now oversaw the entire territorial reconnaissance network, allowed to lead rangers through the Imperial Forest.
Beside them, Will slid a parchment forward, densely covered in numbers.
"Trade volume increased by 30% last month."
"The expansion of our port will be completed next month, allowing larger cargo ships to dock."
Once the son of a merchant whose family had been slain by bandits in Hejian, he had fled alone to the streets of King's Landing.
Now Aemond had appointed him in charge of material planning and trade in Moonspire.
When all three had finished their reports, they lowered their heads.
Aemond listened in silence, eyes scanning the three young and loyal faces.
Raising this group from nothing was precisely to avoid situations that might be influenced by the nobility in the future.
Now the struggle between the Green faction and the faction of the nobles intensified, and a large number of lords from the Seven Kingdoms still watched.
He could not rely solely on the Hightower family; the more he asked of them, the heavier the future reward would be.
One must build one's own foundation and team; these men from the bottom, though harder to manage than nobles, offered better loyalty.
People grow over time, and these men would develop slowly, steadily.
Aemond looked at the three before him. They bowed their heads and spoke slowly:
"Well done.
But remember, our enemies are never mere poachers.
They are not small discontented lords around me.
What I command you to do, you will do. Do you understand?"
The prince had given them everything necessary to survive, offered hope of rising above their station, and asked only for loyalty.
Aemond knew who was coming and what they wanted, a faint lift curling the corners of his mouth: "Let him through. Stand aside."
The three saluted and departed.
With the discipline of barracks, they moved.
Moonspire differed greatly from the opulent halls of his castle, covered in velvet and carpets.
"Count Errol," Aemond said, remaining seated, only raising a hand to indicate the chair opposite him.
"Please, sit. Is this about your son?"
The count sat and studied the handsome prince, a smile appearing on his fifty-year-old face.
"Indeed, Your Highness. My second son, Eryn, is not the most skillful…"
"Young and spirited, he loves the hunt, and a few days ago he took his servants into the Imperial Forest."
"The second time," Aemond said calmly, "three months ago his men sought to hunt deer in the Western Woods. The ranger warned them and fined them."
"Your son this time poached one buck and two does, and you should know, the deer in the royal forest belong to the wealth of the crown."
"What does the stag symbolize? You must understand this."
Hearing this, Earl Mills drew a deep breath.
The sum would be enough to arm more than a dozen heavy knights.
Aemond fixed the troubled count with his violet eyes, tapping the table with a finger, and silence fell over the hall.
"Yes," the count answered with relief.
"But this is the last time it will be settled by the rules of nobility."
Aemond stared into the count's eyes. "Next time, whether it is your son, a knight from the hay hall, a soldier, or even a commoner—if he enters the Imperial Forest to hunt without permission, I will sever the hand that holds the bow and spear myself."
A chill ran down Earl Mills's spine. He remembered it all too well.
Three months ago, Roderick, a knight from the rough settlement near the Imperial Forest, had taken twenty men deep into the forest, hunted four deer and a bear, wounded the ranger, and fled.
Three days later, Aemond personally led the guard to the hall of Turdy Castle, in front of the count and his vassals.
Since then, the surrounding lords regarded the young prince with envy.
Now, when the prince spoke of law and property, they could not disobey—after all, the Imperial Forest belonged to the Targaryens, though they had not governed it for many years.
"I understand, Your Highness," Count Errol said.