Aemond dismounted and walked to stand before the seven men. The squad leader and his men straightened further, holding even their breath.
"What is your name?" Aemond asked the squad leader.
"Y-Your Highness!"
The squad leader's voice trembled. "My name is Logan! I was… was once a slave!"
"Now I am captain of the Third Squad of the King's Correction Company!"
"I have seen how you handled it just now," Aemond said.
"There was punishment, and there was instruction. Good."
"Remember this: reform is not torment. It is to make them useful men again."
"Yes! Your Highness!" The seven answered as one, their eyes seeming to shine.
"Return to your duties." Aemond waved his hand.
The seven struck their chests in salute once more, then dispersed at once—two escorting the prisoner back to the mines, the rest returning to their posts.
The entire process was crisp and swift, without the slightest delay.
Will stepped close and said in a low voice, "Your Highness, Carter should be addressing the men in the camp. Shall we go and see?"
"Lead on."
The camp beside the mines was run wholly under military order.
The wooden huts were arranged in neat rows—ten to each row—and before each door hung a numbered plaque.
The road was packed earth, strewn with crushed stone.
In the center stood an open ground with a flagpole, upon which flew the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen.
Beside it hung a smaller banner: upon a green field were three black rods—the standard of the King's Correction Company.
At this moment, the open ground was dark with men.
Some two hundred members of the King's Correction Company stood in square formation, all clad in light armor and bearing iron rods.
Before them rose a temporary wooden platform, upon which stood three men.
The one in the middle was Carter, one of the "Three Fingers." Once commander of the foresters, he now also served as overall captain of the King's Correction Company.
He was a lean young man. At this moment he was addressing the men below, his voice loud and stirring: "…So I tell you—remember this!"
"Who gave you your freedom?"
"Who stripped the shackles of slavery from your wrists and put this armor upon your backs?"
"Who raised you from rats in burrows into men who may now stand upright?"
He paused, his gaze sweeping across every face below.
"Prince Aemond!" someone shouted from the ranks.
"Just so!" Carter clenched his fist and raised it.
"It was His Highness the Prince!"
"He is not only our benefactor—he is our 'sun'!"
"Without His Highness, you would be slaves all your lives!"
"It was His Highness who granted you hope!"
"And now—you are slaves no more!"
He pointed behind the platform, where a great portrait hung in a crude wooden frame.
In the painting, Aemond Targaryen wore a crown of thorns and splendid armor, seated upon a golden throne. In the image, the sun behind him cast its light upon his figure.
The craft was not masterful, yet faintly there was a certain spirit within it.
"Each morning and each evening, swear your oath before His Highness's portrait!" Carter continued to shout.
"Not for show—do it with true sincerity!"
"Carve the word 'loyalty' into your bones! His Highness gave you new life—so you ought to sell your lives to him!"
He drew a deep breath. His voice lowered, yet grew more piercing. "I know that some say in private that you are nothing more than dogs who have changed masters."
"That is nonsense!"
"His Highness has said it himself—we are the King's Correction Company. We are teachers who help criminals reform!"
"We are not the same as those overseers who do nothing but swing whips and oppress others!"
"We have rules. We have warmth. We have… humanity!"
The speech had plainly been rehearsed many times, yet the men below listened with reddened eyes.
What mattered was that they now had an identity.
That identity allowed them to hold their heads high in the mines and throughout the lands.
"So," Carter concluded, "we shall repay His Highness with absolute loyalty! We shall prove, through the finest work, that His Highness did not misjudge us! We shall tell all—"
His words stopped short.
For Carter had seen Aemond entering through the camp's gate.
This captain—usually calm and ruthless—felt a surge of emotion mixed with excitement and reverence…
He opened his mouth, as though to cry something out.
The men below followed his gaze and turned.
Then the entire camp fell silent.
Two hundred pairs of eyes fixed upon the silver-haired prince.
Sunlight shone from behind Aemond, casting a rim of gold upon him and making him seem truly like… the sun.
None knew who moved first.
One man clenched his fist and struck his chest.
Then a second. A third… Like falling dominos, all two hundred made the same gesture at once.
Two hundred dull thuds rang out together, merging into a heavy peal like thunder.
"Loyalty!!!"
The roar shook the barracks.
Aemond stood there, sweeping his gaze across the stirred men.
He could see the fire in their eyes.
He stepped onto the wooden platform. Carter and the other two squad leaders at once bowed their heads slightly.
"Good spirit," Aemond said, clapping Carter on the shoulder.
The three finished their salute and withdrew behind him.
Aemond faced the men below. He did not speak at once. He merely stood there, allowing all to see him clearly.
After a moment of silence—
He spoke. His voice was not loud, yet each man heard it plainly: "I know that many of you were born slaves."
"You have no savings, no land, no… wives."
A low intake of breath came from below.
It was the truth—and it struck at the sorest place.
"I have also heard that you work diligently. The mines' efficiency has greatly improved," Aemond continued.
"All this, I have seen with my own eyes."
He paused, his gaze passing over several men in the front rank.
Their faces were flushed with excitement at praise from the man they revered, their eyes damp.
"Loyalty," Aemond said, "should not be repaid with words alone."
He turned his head and looked toward Will below the platform.
Will at once led the attendants in a quick trot onto the platform. The attendants bore several heavy oak chests in their arms.
They set the chests before the platform and lifted the lids.
A gleam of silver spilled out.
Inside, the chests were neatly stacked with silver stags.
A restrained gasp rose from below. Many of the men had never in their lives seen so many silver stags.
When they had been slaves, they had scarcely touched even a copper coin.
"Here," Aemond said, pointing to the chests, "is your reward."
"For each man—two hundred silver stags, worth two gold dragons."
Dead silence.
Then cheers erupted, nearly overturning the wooden platform.
Two gold dragons—what did that mean?
Half a year's wages for a blacksmith.
Two years of savings for a farming household.
Enough to buy a small plot beyond King's Landing, or to take a wife and begin… one's true life.
Carter stepped forward and cried out, "Did you hear it?!"
"His Highness rewards you! Two gold dragons for every man!"
"This is not charity—it is His Highness seeing your loyalty and your toil!"
"Loyalty! Loyalty! Loyalty!" The men below began chanting in rhythm.
Aemond raised his hand, and the noise fell.
"The coin is yours to spend as you will."
He paused. His violet eyes grew deeper. "But remember—this is only a beginning."
"So long as you remain loyal, and continue to do your work well, in time… there will be more."
"Coin. Women. Land. Houses. Even… titles."
The last word he spoke softly, yet to every ear it fell like thunder.
Titles? Them? Former slaves?
Was such a thing possible?
But when they looked upon the prince upon the platform—
At that confidence which said: what I promise, I shall do—
They believed.
Or rather, they chose to believe.
For besides believing in this sun who had given them hope, what else had they to cling to?
"I swear to serve His Highness unto death!!!" someone cried hoarsely.
"To serve unto death!!!" Two hundred voices answered as one, the roar surging skyward.
Aemond nodded in satisfaction and stepped down from the platform.
Carter and Will followed at once.
This batch of men had been drilled to a degree that pleased him greatly.
Aemond cast a glance at Will and Carter, who followed with care. These two were talents indeed…
The King's Correction Company, in time, should not only oversee the mines and labor reform, but the whole of King's Landing.
The people of King's Landing must be made to understand that the law could have warmth—and that the rod could have force.
...
Toward evening, at the hour of the shift change in the mines—
A squad of the King's Correction Company dragged their weary bodies back to the camp.
They had just finished eight hours of supervision underground—the harshest and most exhausting post. Below, it was stifling and damp, the air foul.
They had also to keep constant watch lest the prisoners attempt mischief or accidents occur.
Their captain was a man in his early thirties, named Gert.
Because of war upon the eastern continent, his whole family had been sold into slavery. After much passing from hand to hand, he had been bought by Dragon's Roost and had labored in the mines for years.
Until one month past, when a chance came that changed his fate—His Highness the Prince declared that they, these slaves, would be formed into a King's Correction Company.
They would no longer dig themselves half to death in the mines.
Now, they oversaw the labor of the prisoners instead.
When he led his twelve men into the wooden hut assigned to their squad, all of them were so weary they did not wish to speak—only to fall upon their beds and sleep.
But Gert froze.
For upon every bed lay a small grey cloth pouch.
Each pouch was bulging, its mouth tied shut with coarse hemp cord.
"W-what… what is this?" a young man asked hoarsely.
Matt stepped forward and picked up the pouch from his own bed. It was heavy.
He untied the cord and looked inside.
A gleam of silver spilled forth.
In the dim light, the coins truly seemed to shine.
All twelve crowded around, holding their breath.
Matt's hand trembled as he poured the contents onto the bed.
With a clatter, more than two hundred silver stags tumbled out, rolling across the coarse woolen blanket.
"So much coin…?" one man murmured.
"For me? Me?"
The door of the hut was pushed open. Carter stood in the doorway.
He did not step inside. He merely leaned against the frame, a rare gentleness upon his face.
"This is His Highness's reward," Carter said. "Two gold dragons for each man—two hundred silver stags in all."
"His Highness knows you were slaves and have no kin left. He grants you this coin in the hope that you may take wives and, in time, live good lives of your own."
The hut fell utterly silent.
Then the youngest among them—only sixteen, a slave but months past, his body still marked with scars—suddenly seized one of the coins and clenched it tight in his fist.
He did not feel the pain. He only stared at the silver stag.
Gert did not stop him.
Nor did the others laugh.
For their own eyes were red as well.
Carter stood there a while longer, watching them.
"How you spend the coin is your own choice," he said.
"But remember—this coin was given by His Highness."
"His Highness remembers your hardship. His Highness values your loyalty."
He turned and left, adding one last sentence: "His Highness has ordered that henceforth you shall have one full day of rest each week. Take your rest well."
"The day after tomorrow… you return to work."
The door closed.
Within the hut, the sound of weeping slowly faded.
The young man wiped his tears, carefully polished the silver stag, and placed it back into his pouch.
Then he rose and looked at his captain, Gert.
"Captain," he said, his voice still thick with tears, yet his gaze already changed, "I… I wish to take an extra shift."
Gert frowned. "Have you lost your wits? You have just come up from eight hours below…"
"I am not tired!" the young man cut him off, his eyes shining fiercely.
"His Highness has given us far too much…"
"I must do more, else I cannot face him."
"Is the night shift not short of supervisors? I will go!"
"I will go as well!" another said.
"And I!"
"Count me in!"
Of the twelve men, every one raised his hand.
Gert was silent for a moment. Then he nodded.
"Very well."
"I will go with you."
"If your bodies fail you, do not be stubborn. We shall work four more hours and then return to rest."
Elsewhere in the camp, from other wooden huts came similar sounds—excited murmurs, stifled weeping, and that same urgent need to do something in return.
---
I will post some extra Chapters in Patreon, you can check it out. >> patreon.com/TitoVillar
---