Dragonzel gently ruffled lingor's hair. He didn't know how to explain to his son the private additions Bishop Kaelun had inserted into The Seven-Pointed Star. After all, while these additions were beneficial for maintaining their rule, they were indeed somewhat far-fetched—or even shameless. During his missionary work, Bishop Kaelun had deliberately linked Dragons and the Dragonlord Families to the Seven Gods. In reality, neither Dragons nor the Dragonlord Families had much to do with the Seven Gods, a relatively young Andal religion. When the Andal leader Cole the Great was annihilated by the Dragonlords, no one saw the Seven Gods perform a miracle to save them, nor did anyone witness the Dragonlords being stopped.
Today, the holy sites of the Seven Gods in Andalos have all been reduced to dust, and still no one has seen the Seven Gods descend to save the lands of their so-called "true believers."
However, connecting the Dragonlord Family with the Seven Gods was an excellent method of governance for the people of Westeros, who firmly believed in the already well-established Faith of the Seven. As the only known religion with clear doctrines but no confirmed miracles or magic, the Faith of the Seven, which worshipped the Seven-Who-Are-One, would find religious integration much easier. After all, they desperately wanted something tangible to prove the divinity of their faith—and nothing was more suitable than Dragons.
Furthermore, the Faith of the Seven had already had its backbone completely broken by King Maegor's sword and Dragonfire, King Jaehaerys's diplomacy, and finally Dragonzel's overwhelming Dragon might. At the same time, as the only major religion that—for the time being—had nothing to do with genuine magic, neither House Targaryen nor House Varezes needed to worry about real sorcerers suddenly emerging from this faith to threaten their rule.
So why not make use of it?
William, the elderly hunter from the North, cautiously stepped forward behind the septon. There was no sign that he had only just led a group of young men into the forest to hunt a stag and a wild boar. The old hunter slowly said,
"Your Highness, my name is William. I am the hunter of this manor. I once followed Lord Bolton south and eventually settled here. You gave us old men and children—people who should have died on the southern battlefields or in the frozen snows of the North—a chance to live. I am deeply grateful."
Dragonzel smiled.
"Don't say that. Your arrival has helped me greatly. You are experienced farmers, hunters, and warriors. Without you, my manors would never have been built so quickly or managed so well."
He gently patted Lingor's shoulder, signaling that the next sentence should come from him.
Lingor nervously swallowed, straightened his face, and tried his best to imitate an adult.
"Hunter... please tell us your petition."
The moment he finished speaking, the little prince couldn't help fidgeting again.
The old hunter smiled warmly.
He had once served as the hunter for Lord Domeric Bolton's father and had seen many Northern lords and their heirs. His years of experience told him that although the boy before him was shy, he genuinely wished to inherit his father's understanding of what it meant to rule.
It seemed their future would not be bad.
"Your Highness, I actually have no petition. We have already finished marking the forest boundary with the neighboring Silver Blood Army Manor and with Lord Adams the Lawkeeper. Now we no longer have to worry about accidentally hunting inside another noble lord's forest and losing our heads."
The old hunter chuckled and scratched his head.
The natural environment of the Reach was far better than that of the North. The ancient forests of the North were filled with shadowcats, wolves, bears, and even Wildlings who occasionally crossed south of the Wall.
Hunting in the North had never been easy.
Even though he had once served House Bolton, neighboring lords would often deliberately make trouble simply because his prey happened to be better than theirs. Simply stealing the game was considered merciful.
The old hunter still remembered that one of his companions had been falsely accused of poaching simply because he had hunted better game than one of House Hornwood's vassals. He had ultimately been sent to serve at the Wall, and no noble lord would ever offend another noble merely for the sake of a hunter.
Lingor listened quietly.
Maester Visari had already taught him much about Westeros, and Dragonzel himself had carefully explained the customs and laws of the realm.
A lord possessed supreme authority within his own domain.
The fish in the rivers, the animals in the forests, and even the trees all legally belonged to the lord.
Commoners who dared hunt, fish, or cut timber without permission were considered poachers.
The lords of the North and the Vale only opened portions of their forests during winter, and only to prevent their own smallfolk—who were, in a sense, also part of the lord's property—from starving to death.
Normally, only hunters employed by the lord or those who had received explicit permission could hunt designated game.
Even then, those hunters were required to surrender at least half of their catch to the lord.
That was why so many desperate people chose to risk becoming poachers.
However, the hunters employed by the Silver Blood Army Manor were different.
They answered directly to House Varezes, and Dragonzel himself had granted them legal hunting rights.
Naturally, there was no issue of poaching.
Of course, they could only hunt within the forests belonging to their own manor and still had to pay taxes in the form of furs or game.
The old hunter continued speaking at length.
He described how the Northerners gradually adapted to life in the South, spoke about hunting, daily life, and countless small matters.
Lingor found every word fascinating.
In truth, the differences between life in the North and southern Westeros were not nearly as great as most imagined.
The Northerners were rough.
The Borderlanders valued martial strength.
The Valyrians had long since learned to absorb foreign cultures after losing their homeland.
The Reachmen were refined and courteous.
The Stony Dornish were essentially Andal in culture.
Because of this, ethnic integration within House Varezes' domains progressed remarkably smoothly.
Furthermore, every Silver Blood Army Manor maintained a small school, either in the center of the settlement or attached to the sept.
Assistant scholars preparing for their examinations served as teachers there.
They taught basic literacy and practical knowledge to the children of prosperous families while selecting particularly gifted common-born children to continue their education at the new Citadel in Silver Crown City.
With enough time...
Perhaps by Harry and Ron's generation, an entirely new people would emerge within the Borderlands Principality.
Dragonzel had already quietly chosen a name for them.
The Silverbloods.
After the old hunter finished speaking, an elderly villager cautiously asked how ordinary villagers could join—or even establish—a Silver Blood Army Manor, since the benefits they enjoyed were truly enviable.
Dragonzel patiently answered.
The method was simple.
Join the army.
Not as temporary peasant levies, but by permanently leaving farming behind and becoming professional soldiers of the Silver Blood Army.
That answer immediately discouraged many villagers.
After all, what people sought through war was wealth—not a lifetime of uncertainty.
Many believed it simply wasn't worth abandoning their own land to enter military service with no clear retirement.
Finally, it was Harry's turn.
The young man first glanced reverently at the Dragon towering overhead.
Vermithor was simply enormous.
Even lying quietly at rest, Harry could feel the heat radiating from its body and the overwhelming majesty that surrounded it.
Yet even greater than the pressure of the Dragon itself was the man seated upon Vermithor's coiled tail.
Dressed in a purple high-collared riding coat with a silver shoulder cape, neatly trimmed silver hair, and a carefully groomed short beard, Dragonzel still possessed remarkable handsomeness.
But what Harry felt most strongly was the dignity of a true Dragonlord.
The young man nearly forgot why he had come.
Finally, Dragonzel smiled.
"My child, what brings you here?"
Harry gathered his courage.
"Your Highness, next year I will begin serving you and your House in place of my father."
The young man first stumbled through High Valyrian before, noticing Dragonzel's encouraging smile, switched back to the Common Tongue.
His words immediately became much smoother.
"According to Your Highness's regulations, cavalrymen of the Silver Blood Army must provide their own warhorse before entering service. After joining the barracks and passing the examination, the army will issue us new warhorses, but..."
Harry hesitated.
"Speak freely."
Dragonzel already knew what troubled the young man.
This Silver Blood Army Manor lay close to one of Ago's khalasar's ranches.
Although Ago's main khalasar remained near Summerhall, this region had long served as one of House Varezes' finest horse-breeding grounds, with a khal permanently stationed here to raise warhorses.
"It's... about the horses."
Harry nodded.
"Yes, Your Highness. Khal Koko's pastures are right beside our manor, but the warhorses sold through the tax collectors are simply too expensive.
"Our manor is the largest Silver Blood Army Manor in the surrounding region.
"The cavalry from our manor should ride the finest horses.
"That is our pride!"
Harry's voice grew louder with every sentence until he finally lifted his head confidently before the Prince.
Dragonzel smiled reassuringly.
"My child, there is no need to envy those horses being sold."
"When you join the barracks, if you truly pass the examinations..."
He smiled.
"...your class of recruits will arrive just as the newest batch of warhorses is being issued."
"There is no need for you to spend that money."
The horses Harry referred to were hybrid warhorses specially bred by Ago's khalasar for House Varezes.
They descended from Volantene tiger-striped horses, Dornish sand steeds, Reach river horses, and Dothraki riding horses.
The breeding program had begun during Dragonzel's father's lifetime.
Large, powerful tiger-striped horses had first been crossed with the smaller but incredibly hardy Dothraki horses.
Those offspring were then further crossed with swift Dornish horses and the tall, muscular horses of the Reach.
After decades of selective breeding, the first stable bloodline had finally been achieved three years earlier.
These warhorses possessed tremendous endurance, great speed, fierce temperaments, and magnificent appearances.
Most importantly...
Every horse in that first successful generation had a solid-colored coat, without even the faintest trace of the tiger stripes of their Volantene ancestors.
Thus was born the world-famous Varezes Silverblood Horse.
Harry quickly concluded his petition.
By then, dusk had already fallen.
At the villagers' enthusiastic insistence, Dragonzel and Lingor shared an evening meal with everyone.
Night deepened.
Rather than forcing the people of the manor to surrender their homes, Dragonzel and his son simply rested beside their Dragons.
Lingor remained awake for a long time.
Eventually, he rose quietly and approached Dragonzel.
"Father..."
The boy hesitated.
"Today I listened to everyone's petitions and saw how our Silver Blood Army Manor operates."
Looking directly into Dragonzel's deep violet eyes, he said firmly,
"Father... have you ever considered that one day these Silver Blood Army Manors might become 'independent kingdoms' inside our own lands, just like the castles of landed knights?"
"That is inevitable."
Dragonzel was delighted that his son had already begun thinking so deeply and gently pinched his nose.
"Father!"
Lingor puffed out his cheeks.
"I'm discussing something very serious with you."
Hands planted firmly on his hips, he tried to appear like a little adult.
If his whole body hadn't practically been leaning against Dragonzel, the resemblance to his father at the same age might actually have been convincing.
"It truly is inevitable."
Dragonzel smiled gently.
"While I am alive, they may not dare overstep their bounds."
"But after I die..."
"...they may slowly become independent."
He continued calmly,
"People always desire fewer people above them...
...and more land beneath their feet.
"The same is true for wealth."
"The commanding officers of the Silver Blood Army Manors will gradually absorb the lands of their subordinates until those former comrades become tenant farmers."
"And the ordinary people within the manor will eventually do exactly the same to one another."
Dragonzel looked directly at his son.
"So..."
"What will you do, my son?"
Lingor fell into deep thought.
Only after a long silence did Dragonzel gently tap his forehead.
"Is your Dragon merely for decoration, my son?"
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