Summerhall, The Mine Entrance.
Aemond dismounted and walked toward the seven men.
The squad leader and his team stood even straighter, holding their breath as he approached.
"What is your name?" Aemond asked the leader.
"Rep...Reporting, Your Grace!"
The man's voice trembled.
"I am Logan! I was once... once a slave! Now I am the leader of the Third Squad!"
"I saw your handling of the situation just now," Aemond said.
"Punishment followed by education. Good. Remember, reform is not torture; it is about turning them back into useful people."
"Yes, Your Grace!" the seven replied in unison, their eyes shining with fervor.
"Continue your work," Aemond signaled.
They saluted by thumping their chests once more before dispersing, two to escort the prisoners back to the pits, the others returning to their posts.
The process was crisp, devoid of any hesitation.
Will leaned in and whispered, "Your Grace, Carter should be addressing the men in the camp. Shall we head over?"
"Lead the way."
-----
The Legion Camp.
The camp adjacent to the mine was under strict military management.
Wooden huts were arranged in neat rows of ten, each numbered. The roads were hardened earth topped with gravel.
In the center was a clearing with a flagpole flying the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen.
Beside it hung a smaller banner: three black bars on a green field, the flag of the Legion.
The clearing was packed. Roughly two hundred Legion members stood in formation, clad in light armor and wielding iron batons.
They faced a temporary wooden stage where three men stood.
In the center was Carter, one of the "Three Fingers."
Once a head forest ranger, he now served as the Great Captain of the Penance Legion.
A lean young man, Carter was currently haranguing the men, his voice booming and provocative.
"...And so I say, you must remember! Who gave you your freedom? Who let you cast off the shackles of slavery and don this armor? Who turned you from rats in a hole into men who can stand tall?"
He paused, his gaze sweeping over every face.
"Prince Aemond!" someone shouted from the crowd.
"Correct!" Carter pumped his fist.
"The Prince! He is not just our benefactor; he is our 'Sun'! Without His Grace, you would be slaves for life! It was the Prince who gave you hope!"
He gestured behind him to a massive, crudely framed portrait.
It depicted Aemond Targaryen wearing a crown of thorns and magnificent armor, seated upon a golden throne with a sun illuminating his silhouette.
The technique was unrefined, but it captured a certain divine aura.
"Every morning and night, you swear fealty to the Prince's likeness!" Carter roared.
"Not as a performance, but with sincerity! Carve the word 'LOYALTY' into your very bones! He gave you new life; you owe him your deaths!"
His voice dropped, becoming more piercing.
"I know some whisper that you are just dogs who have traded masters. That is rot! The Prince says we are an Education Brigade, teachers helping prisoners reform! We are not like those overseers who only know the whip and oppression. We have rules, we have warmth... we have humanity!"
The speech had clearly been rehearsed, but the men listened with bloodshot eyes. Most importantly, they had an identity.
This identity allowed them to hold their heads high in the mines and across the lands.
"So," Carter summarized, "we repay the Prince with absolute loyalty! We prove he was right about us through our work! We tell the world, "
He stopped abruptly. He had spotted Aemond entering the camp.
Carter, usually cold and harsh, was overcome with a mix of excitement and awe. His mouth hung open. The men followed his gaze.
The camp went deathly still.
Two hundred pairs of eyes focused on the silver-haired Prince.
The sunlight behind Aemond gave him a golden outline, making him truly look like... a sun.
Without a prompt, one man thumped his chest.
Thud.
Then a second, a third... like falling dominoes, two hundred men performed the gesture. Two hundred muffled thuds combined into a single roll of heavy thunder.
"LOYALTY!!!"
The roar made the barracks tremble.
Aemond walked onto the stage. Carter and the sub-captains bowed deeply.
"You have spirit," Aemond said, patting Carter on the shoulder.
He then faced the crowd. He stood in silence for a moment, letting every man see him clearly.
When he spoke, his voice wasn't loud, but it reached every ear.
"I know many of you were born slaves. No savings, no land, no... wives."
A low intake of breath rippled through the square. It was the truth, and it was a sore point.
"I also hear you work with great diligence. Efficiency in the mines has improved greatly," Aemond continued.
"I have seen this." He paused, looking at the tearful, flushed faces in the front row.
"Loyalty should not be rewarded with words alone."
He glanced at Will.
Will and several attendants ran onto the stage, lugging heavy oak chests.
They opened them to reveal a sea of silver.
The men gasped. Many had never seen a Silver Stag in their lives, let alone thousands.
"Here," Aemond pointed at the chests, "is a reward for all of you. Each man receives 200 Silver Stags, worth nearly two Gold Dragons."
Silence.
Then a cheer erupted that nearly took the roof off the huts. Two Gold Dragons?
That was half a year's wages for a master smith, two years of savings for a peasant family. It was enough to buy land outside the city, or a wife... enough to start a real life.
"Did you hear that?!" Carter incited the crowd.
"A reward from the Prince! Two Gold Dragons each! This isn't charity; it is the Prince acknowledging your loyalty!"
"LOYALTY! LOYALTY! LOYALTY!" the crowd chanted rhythmically.
Aemond raised his hand for silence.
"The coin is yours to spend as you wish."
He paused, his purple eyes deepening.
"But remember, this is only the beginning. As long as you remain loyal and do your work, there will be more. Money, women, land, houses... even titles."
The last word was a whisper, but it struck like a thunderclap.
Titles? For them? Former slaves? Was it possible?
But looking at the Prince, at the absolute confidence in his eyes, they believed.
They chose to believe. Because what else could they believe in besides the Sun that gave them hope?
"I WOULD DIE FOR HIS GRACE!!!" someone shrieked.
"I WOULD DIE FOR HIM!!!" two hundred voices roared back.
Aemond nodded with satisfaction and left the stage.
This group had been trained perfectly. He looked at Will and Carter.
These two were true talents.
The Penance Legion wouldn't just manage mines; in the future, they would manage King's Landing.
He wanted the people to know that his law had "warmth," but his baton had "strength."
--------
The Legion Barracks, Evening.
That evening, as the shifts changed, a squad of Legion members returned to their hut, exhausted from eight hours of underground supervision.
The heat and stagnant air of the pits had drained them.
Gett, a man in his thirties who had been sold into slavery during the wars in the East, led his twelve men into their wooden hut.
They were too tired to speak, wanting only to collapse.
But they froze.
On every bunk sat a small, bulging grey cloth bag.
"What... what is this?" a sixteen-year-old asked raspily.
Gett picked up the bag from his bed. It was heavy. He untied the twine. Silver spilled out.
Clink.
In the dim light, the coins seemed to glow.
Twelve men huddled around, their breath stopping.
Gett poured the contents onto the rough wool blanket. Over 200 Silver Stags clattered out.
"This much money... for me?" someone whispered.
Carter appeared in the doorway. He didn't enter, just leaned against the frame with a rare, gentle expression.
"A gift from the Prince. Two Gold Dragons each. His Grace knows you have no family left; he gave you this so you can find wives and lead good lives."
The room was silent. Then the sixteen-year-old, a boy covered in slave scars, gripped a silver coin so tight his knuckles turned white.
He didn't feel the pain. He just stared at the silver.
Gett didn't stop him. No one laughed. Their eyes were all red.
"How you spend it is your choice," Carter said.
"But remember who gave it. The Prince remembers your hard work. He values your loyalty. He has also ordered that, from now on, everyone has one day of rest each week. Sleep well. You return to work the day after tomorrow."
The door closed.
In the hut, the sobbing eventually subsided. The young boy wiped his eyes, polished his coins, and put them back in the bag.
Then he stood up, looking at Gett.
"Captain," he said, his voice still thick with tears, but his eyes transformed.
"I... I want to work extra."
Gett frowned. "Are you mad? You just did eight hours."
"I'm not tired!" the boy interrupted, his eyes burning with intensity.
"The Prince gave... he gave far too much. I have to do more to be worthy of it. Isn't the night shift short on supervisors? I'll go!"
"I'll go too!" another said.
"And me!"
All twelve men raised their hands.
Gett stayed silent for a moment, then nodded.
"Fine. I'll go with you. If you get too tired, don't force it. We'll do four more hours, then come back to rest."
Throughout the camp, similar scenes were playing out in other huts, whispers of excitement, suppressed tears, and the desperate urge to do something, anything, to repay the Sun.
-----
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