Only two days.
Rook's Rest had held out for only two days.
Aemond stood atop a hill outside the castle, looking down at the fortress that was still belching smoke.
The banner of House Staunton had already vanished from the battlements, replaced by the royal standard of the golden dragon on a black field, snapping sharply in the evening wind.
At this moment, Aemond stood atop the hill with the black dragon Lothorne behind him, wounds still visible across the beast's head.
Below the slope stood the commanders and soldiers who had fought in this battle.
The Royal Guard led by Gwayne Hightower, the royal army commanded by Ser Willem Darklyn, the levied forces summoned from across the Crownlands, and Aemond's personal guards.
They stood in the front ranks, clad in white armor with surcoats bearing the three-headed black dragon across their chests.
"Rook's Rest has fallen," Aemond said. His voice was not loud, yet it carried clearly across the entire field. "The rebel leader, Cassel Staunton, has been captured."
"Every man who took part in this battle shall receive the rewards he deserves."
A low cheer rose from the crowd.
Aemond raised a hand, and the cheers immediately died down.
He began calling out rewards one by one. A certain knight had fought bravely and was awarded gold dragons and promoted to castellan of a keep. Another knight had been the first to scale the walls and was granted a manor and elevated to knighthood. A certain soldier had slain three enemies and would receive—
One after another, those whose names were called stepped forward, knelt on one knee, and accepted their rewards.
Their faces were filled with excitement and pride.
Halfway through the ceremony, Hall walked over to Aemond and whispered a few words into his ear.
Aemond's gaze shifted toward a thin figure in the crowd.
It was a boy who looked no older than thirteen or fourteen, his silver hair especially striking amid the masses.
He wore a battered leather jerkin stained with blood and dirt. His face was grimy as well, but those eyes—those blue eyes—shone with astonishing brightness.
"Who's that boy?" Aemond asked curiously.
"A Velaryon bastard," Hall replied in a lowered voice.
"His name is Alyn of Hull. During this battle, he joined the surrendered Velaryon troops in the assault."
"When they were scaling the walls earlier, he stabbed a knight to death with a dagger."
Aemond arched a brow.
Alyn Oakenfist, huh?
Interesting.
"Bring him here."
Hall beckoned to the boy.
The boy froze for a moment before quickly stepping forward and dropping to one knee before Aemond. His movements were precise and disciplined, clearly the result of formal training. For a bastard to receive proper squire training was unusual in itself.
"My Prince Regent," the boy said, his voice tense but steady enough. "My name is Alyn of Hull. I am a bastard."
"I hope to serve you, to serve King Aegon, to serve the realm…"
Aemond said nothing. He merely studied the boy before him.
Silver hair, blue eyes, handsome features—the classic appearance of Valyrian blood.
But in those eyes, Aemond saw something else.
Ambition. Towering ambition. It was being deliberately restrained for now, but it could not be hidden.
"Is your father Corlys?"
The question was like a stone dropped into still water, instantly sending ripples through the crowd.
The surrounding commanders and nobles exchanged glances, shock appearing on several faces.
Corlys Velaryon?
That traitor?
How dared his bastard appear here?
Alyn's expression changed slightly, but he quickly steadied himself.
He knew this was a deadly question. One wrong answer could very well cost him his head.
"My Prince Regent, Corlys is not my father." Alyn raised his head and met Aemond's eyes directly.
"I swear before you and the Seven that my father was Laenor Velaryon."
"He died more than ten years ago. He was the youngest brother of Lord Corlys Velaryon of this generation."
Aemond fell silent for a moment.
"Who was your mother?"
"Marilda." Alyn lowered his head. "She was… she was the daughter of a shipwright on Driftmark."
Aemond silently studied the boy before him.
Alyn of Hull.
The future-famous Oakenfist.
A bastard who would one day rise to become the ruler of House Velaryon, marry Baela Targaryen, daughter of Daemon Targaryen, lead the declining Velaryon family back to prominence, and become one of the most renowned figures in the history of Westeros.
But after him, House Velaryon would never produce another truly exceptional figure. In the end, the house would continue to decline until it became an insignificant minor family.
The Sea Snake, Corlys Velaryon, had most likely chosen a bastard heir precisely because he valued Alyn's abilities.
"I heard from Hall that you don't want this reward?" Aemond asked.
Alyn raised his head, hesitated briefly, then gathered his courage and spoke.
"My Prince Regent, I do not need a reward. I ask only one thing of you."
"Speak."
"Please pardon my mother." Alyn's voice trembled slightly.
"She's imprisoned in Dragon's Roost, undergoing labor reform alongside the immigrants from Driftmark."
"She's just an ordinary woman. She never took part in any rebellion."
"I beg you to pardon her and grant her freedom."
Aemond glanced at Hall.
Hall nodded. "I'll send word to Dragon's Roost immediately."
Alyn's eyes lit up. He slammed his forehead against the ground in a deep bow.
"Thank you, my Prince Regent! Thank you, my Prince Regent!"
"I hear you were a squire?" Aemond asked.
"Yes," Alyn replied. "The knight I served died a few days ago…"
"Then from now on, you'll serve at my side."
Alyn froze for a moment.
The surrounding crowd was equally stunned.
A thirteen-year-old bastard had just ambushed and stabbed a knight to death with a dagger, and now the Prince Regent himself was personally selecting him as a squire?
What kind of luck was that?
Alyn quickly regained his senses and bowed heavily once more, his voice overflowing with barely restrained ecstasy.
"Thank you for your favor, my Prince Regent!"
"I swear upon my life and before the Seven that I will never betray you!"
Aemond looked at him.
"Get up. Go wash yourself and change into clean clothes."
"You're filthy. Don't embarrass me by looking like my squire."
Alyn rose to his feet and withdrew alongside the attendants nearby.
His steps felt unsteady, as though he still couldn't believe what had just happened.
Hall watched his retreating figure and quietly asked, "My prince, what's so special about this boy?"
Aemond did not answer directly.
"You'll understand soon enough."
The reward ceremony continued.
The final group to step forward was the surrendered Velaryon force.
More than five hundred men, every one of them filthy and downcast, not daring to meet anyone's eyes. They were the troops Aemond had incorporated after conquering Driftmark, led by the five Velaryon knights known as the "Silent Five."
During the assault on Rook's Rest, Aemond had ordered them to lead the attack, calling it an opportunity to redeem themselves through merit.
And they truly had paid for that redemption.
More than five hundred men had climbed the walls. Fewer than three hundred survived.
The five silent Velaryons stood at the front of the formation, covered head to toe in blood—some belonging to the enemy, some their own.
None of them spoke.
They merely stood there in silence, waiting for Aemond's judgment.
Aemond looked at them and slowly said, "You performed well."
The five knights lifted their heads, complicated emotions flashing across their eyes.
They themselves were conflicted, uncertain whether defecting to the Greens had been the right choice. But things had already reached this point. There was no turning back now…
"From this day onward, you are no longer surrendered troops," Aemond declared.
"From now on, you are part of the royal army, the same as everyone else. Your pay, provisions, and rewards will be no different from any other soldier's."
Aemond looked over the surrendered troops, paused for a moment, then raised his voice slightly.
"As for the past—it is wiped clean."
The surrendered soldiers behind them immediately dropped to their knees as well. More than three hundred voices shouted in unison:
"We would die for the Prince Regent!"
The silent Velaryons exchanged glances before all five knelt on one knee together.
The Velaryon army had once numbered a thousand men.
Now only three hundred remained.
If they continued being deliberately expended like this, the branch families of House Velaryon would eventually be wiped out completely.
Aemond nodded and dismissed the Velaryon troops.
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