Rook's Rest, The Crownlands.
Aemond watched his retreating figure.
He needed men like this. Vigorous, hungry curs. Ambition was a good thing. Such quality was rare among the nobility, and even rarer among the commoners.
But whenever he found it, he would pick them out one by one, feed them well, grow them strong, and set them loose to bite.
Furthermore, he required a second intelligence system. Tyra was excellent, loyal, and capable, holding the secret passages of the Red Keep and the "Little Birds" network.
But Tyra would soon be engaged to Will Simmons.
Will was the Master of Coin, a confidant who managed Aemond's purse. A spymaster and a treasurer becoming one family...
Aemond did not doubt Tyra's loyalty, nor did he doubt Will's. But he had to make preparations.
Power was a thing that could not be kept entirely in one basket, no matter how reliable that basket seemed. Kermit was his second basket.
Men of common birth like these could only rely on him; to defend Aemond's power was to defend their own interests.
What he gave to these commoners, he could, of course, strip away at any moment.
Aemond withdrew his gaze and looked toward another person approaching from a distance: Carter, the Acting Castellan of Rook's Rest.
Carter had been waiting there for a while.
He had watched Kermit leave Aemond's side and saw the former youth walk away, guessing most of what had occurred. Another one of their own promoted.
He was pleased; nobles of common birth like them were privately despised by the Lords of King's Landing and the Crownlands.
They had to stick together. Only when their kind grew in number and formed a powerful interest group would the nobles of thousand-year dynasties never dare look down on them again.
He pulled his gaze back, adjusted his collar, and strode toward Morghul.
Upon seeing him, Morghul let out a low growl from his throat. But that growl was different from the one directed at Kermit.
'My minion.'
Carter smiled. Every time he came to meet the Prince, the first thing he did was bring food for Morghul: fresh mutton or beef, whole carcasses.
Morghul recognized him now, knowing this boy always brought something delicious.
Carter clapped his hands. Behind him, several soldiers from Rook's Rest carried over two struggling mountain goats.
Morghul's eyes lit up. He stared at the goats, his throat beginning to glow, but this time out of pure greed.
Carter signaled the soldiers to drop the goats.
"Lord Morghul, how would you like to eat today?" he asked, smiling.
"Roasted, or swallowed in one gulp?"
Morghul ignored him. He lowered his head and snatched up one goat in his jaws.
The goat let out half a bleat before being tossed into the air; a gout of fire erupted, and the animal vanished into the dragon's maw.
Morghul chewed a bit; it was quite flavorful. Then he snatched up the other one.
This time, he didn't chew; he swallowed it whole.
Morghul let out a satisfied burp, exhaling a puff of hot air that smelled of charred wool. Carter waved at him.
"Take your time digesting, My Lord. I'm off to see the Prince."
Morghul paid him no mind. He was already starting to doze.
Carter turned and walked quickly toward the castle. Aemond was heading inside.
Carter caught up, staying half a step behind him. After a short walk, Aemond asked without turning his head:
"Some say I am 'ruling by feeding beasts with men.' What do you think?"
Without missing a beat, Carter replied, "That is the ignorance of the world. Some scum are a waste of grain as long as they live."
Aemond said nothing. Carter continued:
"There are still some who run away. They try to return to High Tide or go elsewhere to start a new life."
He paused. "When we catch them, we must punish them severely to set an example for the other tens of thousands."
Aemond stopped in his tracks and turned.
"Many are running?"
Carter nodded. "Yes, Your Grace. These people from High Tide are difficult to discipline. They flee in groups; hundreds have already run... The pressure on the territory is immense. Sixty thousand people to feed, house, and manage every day. We are short-handed."
Aemond was silent for a moment, looking at the immigrants working in the distance.
Their movements were slow; some were slacking off, clearly unwilling to work.
Aemond's gaze turned cold as he spoke:
"From now on, organize them into groups of twenty. If one person flees and the group members do not report it, the entire group shall be executed afterward."
Carter's heart skipped a beat. Collective punishment.
"As for those who have fled," Aemond continued, "if they have family members remaining, execute them all as well."
Carter took a deep breath. "Yes."
Aemond looked at him.
"Notify the Lords of the Stormlands and the Eastern Reach near my borders. Tell them that if they are found harboring these traitors, the Iron Throne will punish them severely. For every escapee they return, they shall be rewarded one silver stag. And all those who are brought back... hang them all."
Carter nodded repeatedly. "Understood."
A smile returned to Aemond's face.
"As kin of those who committed treason, I am merely letting them receive 'reform through labor' for a few years. Once the war is over, I would have given them their freedom. Why are they so ungrateful?"
His smile deepened. "Then they must not blame me."
Carter bowed his head. "Your Grace is merciful."
As they entered the castle, a wall of noise hit them: the hammers of stonemasons, the saws of carpenters, the rattling of wagon wheels hauling stone over the flags, the shouts of overseers, and the responses of workers. It echoed through the unfinished hall.
Aemond stood at the entrance, watching the bustle.
The keep of Rook's Rest was more than half-finished.
Grey stone walls rose from the foundations; the highest tower had been capped, and battlements and crenellations were being installed. In another half-year, the castle would be fully operational.
"Your Grace," Carter's voice came from behind.
"The garrison at Rook's Rest needs to be expanded. As more people arrive, we are spread too thin."
Aemond didn't look back.
"Five hundred for the education corps, five hundred for the Rook's Rest guard. Carter, how many people are on the land now?"
"With the people from High Tide, we are nearing sixty thousand," Carter said.
"Sixty thousand," Aemond repeated.
"We can barely manage them," Carter said, "but it is exhausting."
Aemond was silent for a moment. "Then conscript another thousand."
Carter's eyes lit up. "Thank you, Your Grace."
Aemond continued walking inward, Carter following.
"Your Grace," he said, "one more thing."
"Speak."
"Since the sea routes to King's Landing were cut off, refugees from the capital have begun coming to us for a living. Hundreds have already arrived."
Aemond stopped and turned. "The task I assigned you? My granaries?"
Carter nodded. "Long since completed. The grain was purchased a year in advance. We also have the grain agreement with Braavos. The grain stored here is enough to feed King's Landing for over a year."
Aemond watched him. Carter asked with a touch of caution, "Your Grace, we could wait until the food supply in King's Landing tightens, then raise the prices slightly. We could ensure the supply to the city while making a bit of profit to supplement the royal treasury."
Aemond laughed, looking at Carter with a hint of appreciation in his eyes.
"You learn quickly."
Carter breathed a sigh of relief. Aemond turned and continued walking.
"That way, I won't have to tax them openly," his voice drifted back.
"Let them pay their taxes to me through what they eat."
Carter followed. "Your Grace is brilliant.
-----
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