Aemond dismounted and walked toward the seven men.
The squad commander and his subordinates straightened at once, holding their breath.
"What is your name?" Aemond asked the commander.
"R-returning to Your Highness!"
The man's voice trembled. "My name is Logan! I was… I was a slave."
"Now I am the captain of the Third Squad of the Reformation Corps!"
"I saw what happened just now," Aemond said calmly.
"There must be punishment, and there must be guidance. That is good."
"Remember—reformation is not torture. It is the act of making people useful again."
"Yes, Your Highness!"
The seven answered in unison, their eyes shining as if light itself were about to spill from them.
"Carry on."
Aemond waved his hand.
They struck their fists to their chests in salute and dispersed at once—two escorting the prisoners back to the mine, the others returning to their posts.
The entire process was clean and efficient, without the slightest hesitation.
Will stepped closer and whispered, "Your Highness, Carter should be in the camp. Would you like to see him?"
"Lead the way."
The camp beside the mine was fully militarized.
Rows of wooden barracks stood in neat order, ten rooms to each row, with numbered plaques hanging beside every door.
The road was hard-packed earth strewn with gravel—rough, but orderly.
At the center lay an open square with a flagpole.
The three-headed red dragon of House Targaryen flew at its peak.
Beneath it hung a smaller banner: three black batons on a green field—the standard of the Reformation Corps.
The square was crowded.
Nearly two hundred members of the corps stood in phalanx formation, all clad in light armor, iron batons held at their sides.
Before them rose a crude wooden platform, upon which three men stood.
The man in the center was Carter—one of the "Three Fingers," formerly a ranger captain, now also a captain of the Reformation Corps.
Lean and sharp-featured, he was delivering a speech, his voice loud and explosive.
"…So remember this!"
"Who gave you your freedom?"
"Who told you to cast off the slave's shackles and don this armor?"
"Who lifted you from rats crawling in the dark and allowed you to stand upright as men?"
He paused, his gaze sweeping over every face.
"It was Prince Aemond!" someone shouted from the ranks.
"Yes!" Carter clenched his fists. "It was His Highness the Prince!"
"He is not only our benefactor—he is our sun!"
"Without His Highness, you would still be crawling through the mines, gnawing on moldy bread!"
He pointed behind him.
A large portrait hung there in a simple wooden frame.
It depicted Aemond Targaryen wearing a crown of thorns and magnificent armor, seated upon a golden throne, sunlight blazing behind him.
The technique was crude, yet there was a strange, compelling reverence to it.
"Each morning and each evening, swear before the portrait of His Highness!" Carter roared.
"This is no pretense—it is sincerity!"
"We must carve the word loyalty into our very bones! Since His Highness has given you new life, your lives belong to him!"
He drew a deep breath, his voice dropping, sharper now.
"I know some prisoners whisper that we are merely dogs who changed masters."
"But His Highness said we are the Reformation Corps—teachers, not overseers!"
"We are not whip-cracking jailers!"
"We have rules. We have order. We have—humanity!"
The words had clearly been rehearsed many times, yet the men listening had reddened eyes.
What mattered was that they now had an identity.
One that allowed them to hold their heads high in the mines—and force the prisoners to bow theirs.
"So," Carter concluded, "we repay His Highness with absolute loyalty! We prove with results that His Highness chose the right men—"
He stopped mid-sentence.
At the entrance to the camp stood Aemond.
For the first time, the usually cold and merciless Carter looked stunned—his face a mixture of awe and fervor.
His mouth opened as if to shout.
The men followed his gaze.
The entire camp fell silent.
Two hundred pairs of eyes fixed upon the silver-haired prince.
The sun stood behind Aemond, gilding him in gold, making him seem—truly—a sun.
No one knew who moved first.
One man clenched his fist and struck his chest.
Then another. Then another.
Like falling dominos, two hundred men performed the salute at once.
Two hundred dull thuds merged into a single rolling thunder.
"LOYALTY!"
The roar shook the barracks.
Aemond stood still, calmly surveying them.
He saw the fire in their eyes.
He stepped onto the platform. Carter and the other two captains bowed at once.
"Very spirited," Aemond said.
After saluting, the three stepped back.
Aemond faced the ranks. He did not speak at first—he simply stood where all could see him.
Silence reigned.
Then he spoke, not loudly, yet clearly heard by all.
"I know many of you were slaves."
"No savings. No land. No… wives."
A low breath passed through the ranks.
Truth—and pain.
"I have also heard that you work diligently," Aemond continued.
"The mine's output has increased greatly. I see it."
He paused, his gaze lingering on the men in the front rows—faces flushed with excitement, eyes wet with tears at his praise.
"Loyalty," Aemond said, "should not be rewarded with words alone."
He turned to Will.
Will stepped forward at once, attendants following with several heavy oak chests.
They set them before the platform and opened the lids.
Silver light spilled out.
The chests were filled with neatly stacked silver stags.
A restrained gasp swept the square. Many of these men had never seen so much silver in their lives.
"When you were slaves," Aemond said, "you could scarcely touch copper."
He gestured to the chests.
"This is your reward."
"Each man—two hundred silver stags."
"The value of two gold dragons."
Dead silence.
Then an explosion of cheers nearly overturned the platform.
Two gold dragons—half a year's wages for a skilled smith.
Two years of savings for a peasant family.
Enough to buy land outside King's Landing.
Enough to marry. Enough to begin a real life.
Carter stepped forward, trembling with excitement.
"Did you hear that?!"
"His Highness rewards you—two gold dragons each!"
"This is not charity—it is His Highness recognizing your loyalty!"
"LOYALTY! LOYALTY! LOYALTY!"
Aemond raised a hand, and the cries subsided.
"Spend the money as you wish," he said.
Then his violet eyes deepened.
"But remember—this is only the beginning."
"So long as you remain loyal and do your duty, there will be more."
"Women. Land. Houses."
"And even… titles."
The last word was spoken lightly—yet it struck like thunder.
Titles?
For them? Former slaves?
But they saw the prince's eyes.
The certainty with which he spoke.
They believed.
Or rather—they chose to believe.
For what else could they believe in, if not the sun that had given them new life?
"Swear loyalty to His Highness!" someone cried.
"LOYALTY!"
Two hundred voices answered as one, the sound surging skyward.
Aemond nodded in satisfaction and turned away.
Carter and Will followed at once.
They had been trained—very well.
Aemond glanced at them thoughtfully.
In time, the Reformation Corps would not only control the mines, but oversee labor reform—and enforce order throughout King's Landing itself.
Let the people know: law carried warmth in one hand—and the baton in the other.