Dragonstone, The Aftermath of the Siege.
"Your Grace," William Darklyn whispered, "but this... is it not too...?"
"Too what? Too cruel?"
Aemond smiled. He stood and walked to the edge of the plateau, looking down toward the Dragonmont.
Black smoke rose from several points of the fortress; the sounds of slaughter had finally faded into a dull hum.
"These Velaryon men are like rabid dogs," Aemond said, his back still turned.
"Hundreds of years of naval history have carved pride into their very marrow. They surrendered because they feared my fire, not because they were loyal. To make them truly obedient, fear is not enough. You must stain their hands with the blood of their own kind. And those deserters' families are the perfect whetstones."
William remained silent. He understood the chilling logic.
"Do you fear me, William?" Aemond asked suddenly.
William stiffened.
"Speak the truth," Aemond turned, his violet eyes deep and unsettling against his pale skin.
"...I do," William admitted honestly.
"Not just me. Every man in the Crownlands' host fears you. But..."
He paused, gathering courage.
"But we also respect you, Your Grace. Your methods may be... severe, but you always share the spoils fairly. You never withhold the pensions of the fallen, and you reward merit immediately. We fear you, but we follow you, because with you, we win. And winning has its benefits."
Aemond nodded, seemingly satisfied. Just then, footsteps sounded from below.
A squad of soldiers led a man forward. His armor was shattered and his face caked in soot, but his back was ramrod straight.
It was Robert Quince, the acting Castellan of Dragonstone.
Behind him stood five men in Velaryon armor, their faces hidden by closed helms.
These were the "Overseers" Aemond had appointed to drive the captured Velaryon soldiers into the breach.
The Silent Five, the tongueless Velaryons. They forced Robert to his knees before Aemond.
The old knight, now in his fifties, had served the Targaryens for thirty years, first Viserys I, then Rhaenyra. He looked up at Aemond with a calm, resigned gaze.
No anger. No defiance. Just the peace of a man who knew his time was up.
"I have nothing to say," Robert rasped.
"We serve different masters. I ask only for a clean end."
He tilted his head, baring his neck.
Aemond stepped behind him. A soldier offered a sword, not Blackfyre, but a standard knight's longsword. Aemond took it.
"To die with honor is to die well, Ser," he said.
He swung. The blade was swift, cutting cleanly through the vertebrae.
Robert's head rolled across the ash, and his body slumped forward.
Aemond returned the sword and looked at the five Silent Overseers.
"Box the head and send it to King's Landing. Tell the Red Keep that Dragonstone has fallen."
Then, he addressed the five men. They knelt in unison.
"You performed well. Three days of siege, and your oversight was effective. From among the five of you, I will select one to be the new head of House Velaryon, after my formal investiture, of course."
The five men pressed their foreheads to the dirt.
"Furthermore," Aemond continued, "the remaining eight hundred Velaryon prisoners are now yours to command. But first, they have one last task. I have the list of the families of the deserters, four hundred souls. Take your men back to Driftmark and execute them. Every soldier must strike a blow. Every hand must be stained. Do you understand?"
The Overseers raised their heads. Aemond could sense their hesitation, but they eventually nodded.
"Humans are simple, William," Aemond said as they departed.
"Betrayal happens once, or it happens a thousand times. Once they cross that line and kill their own kin, they can never go back. They will be more loyal than anyone else, because outside of my service, the whole world is their enemy."
Later, several Dragonkeepers approached from the fortress, each cradling a massive dragon egg.
The shells glinted with a silver luster, their surfaces marked with fine spiral patterns like frozen moonlight.
"Your Grace!" the lead Keeper knelt.
"Found in the depths of the Dragonmont. Four eggs... they appear to be Silverwing's."
Aemond's eyes brightened. He ordered everyone to withdraw, including William.
Soon, only he, the three dragons, and the four eggs remained on the hill.
He unwrapped the bandages on his left hand. His face paled further; the constant bloodletting was taking its toll, and his wounds were healing slower.
But he did not hesitate. He allowed three drops of blood to fall onto each of the four silver eggs.
As the last drop fell, the eggs vibrated, a faint, rhythmic pulse like a heartbeat.
The silver luster grew brighter, the spirals shimmering in the sun. It was done.
Aemond leaned against a rock, fighting a wave of dizziness.
Beside him, the dragons reacted. Grey Ghost barely watched, focused on his own recovery.
Sunfyre watched with curious clicks. But Morghul was livid.
The black dragon lunged to his feet, wings flared, letting out a jealous shriek.
He nudged Aemond's hand aggressively, his golden-ringed pupils burning with indignation.
'My blood! That is my blood you are giving away!'
"Morghul, quiet," Aemond said firmly, pushing the dragon's snout away.
"They need blood to wake. Once they hatch, they will be part of our brood."
Morghul snorted a jet of hot sulfurous air, blowing Aemond's silver hair back, but finally settled, though he kept a predatory eye on the eggs as if they were rivals.
Aemond sat back, calculating. If all four hatched, he would have a personal flight of dragons loyal to him alone.
The thought brought a faint flush of color to his cheeks.
But the dizziness returned. He needed to stop the bloodletting, or he would collapse before they even cracked.
Hoooooo! Hoooooo!
A horn sounded from the harbor. It was a ceremonial blast, three short, one long. A person of high status had arrived.
Aemond looked toward the ruined port. A massive three-decked merchant vessel was docking, its sails bearing the Titan of Braavos.
On the prow stood a line of figures in opulent silks, looking entirely out of place amidst the scorched ruins of Dragonstone.
Finally.
"William!" Aemond called out.
"Clean this area. Secure the eggs and send them to the Dragonpit in King's Landing under heavy guard. Keep the four dragons fed and watched. And pitch a decent tent in the harbor, I have guests to receive."
Aemond straightened his black leathers and walked down the slope toward the sea, his personal guard falling in line behind him.
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