Summerhall (Dragon's Perch), The Kingswood.
At this moment, the Lord in the room did not stand up.
"Is there anything else?"
"Yes, Your Highness." Lord Mills took a letter from his sleeve, the wax seal stamped with the Crowned Stag of House Baratheon.
"I have also come this time on the command of Lord Boremund Baratheon."
"In ten days, the Lord Paramount will hold his seventieth nameday feast at Storm's End, and he sincerely invites you to attend."
Aemond took the letter but did not open it immediately, merely gazing thoughtfully at the wax seal's crest.
Boremund Baratheon, Lord of the Stormlands.
The Baratheons are a collateral branch of the Targaryen family, and he is one of the most powerful Lords in the Seven Kingdoms.
More importantly, he is the uncle of Rhaenys Targaryen, the Queen Who Never Was.
Even after the Vaemond incident, he continues to support Rhaenyra's position as Heir Apparent firmly.
This was an invitation from a core supporter of the Blacks.
"The Lord still remembers a Prince like me? I am deeply honored," Aemond smiled, sharp and political.
"Please inform Lord Boremund that I will attend the feast on time."
Lord Mills sighed in relief, bowed, and withdrew.
The Lord's carriage drove past the main street of Dragon's Perch, heading to the detention area to retrieve his son.
The scene outside the window secretly alarmed him.
Although the houses on both sides of the street were rudimentary, they were neatly arranged, clearly the result of unified planning.
What alarmed him even more was the sight of soldiers drilling on the open ground at the edge of the town: approximately two hundred youths, half of them wearing standardized half-plate armor that gleamed coldly in the sunlight.
They drilled in squads of ten: the front rank held shields and raised spears, while the back rank carried swords and axes, advancing and retreating methodically.
The other half of the lightly armored soldiers practiced archery; the targets were set at 50 paces, and the hit rate was quite high.
Lord Mills himself was a landed Lord and knew well the cost of maintaining troops.
A full set of heavy infantry armor cost at least thirty Gold Dragons, and monthly wages, food, and maintenance were continuous expenses.
He estimated that Aemond's guard contingent must cost a huge amount annually.
At his own Hay Hall, maintaining more than two hundred standing troops, who weren't even fully armored, was already strenuous.
One must know that this Prince had a five-hundred-man guard... and that didn't even count the four hundred-plus lightly armored Foresters.
"Militaristic extravagance," the Lord whispered to the Knight Captain beside him.
"How can a Prince afford nearly a thousand standing troops relying only on fief taxes, royal allocations, and fur and timber trade? The King doesn't intervene?"
The Knight Captain lowered his voice.
"My Lord, there are rumors that... Summerhall has other sources of income."
"Other income?"
"Rumor has it... a mine vein may have been discovered in the Kingswood."
"Look at that area east of the town; soldiers always guard it, and unauthorized personnel are kept away. Some say the sound of hammering iron can be heard there day and night."
The Lord narrowed his eyes.
If the rumors were true, if Aemond was privately mining, smelting, and even forging weapons without King's Landing's permission... the problem would be severe.
But that was none of his business. The other person was a Prince, and as a Lord, he did not need to offend a Prince with absolute power.
Especially Prince Aemond, who owned Vhagar. If he truly offended him, that would be courting death.
At this moment, the carriage passed the town's only tavern, the "Three Barrels of Ale." Conversations drifted from the doorway into the carriage.
"...Following His Highness the Prince means we get meat!" a rough voice shouted.
"I, Old Scarface, hid in the woods for over ten years, living hand-to-mouth. Now? Forester! Three Silver Stags a month, room and board provided, and I get thirty percent of the furs I hunt!"
Another young voice chimed in.
"Exactly! My dad farmed for the Lord of Rosby, and after paying rent, the whole family starved. Last year, I fled here and was allocated two acres of good riverside land, tax-free for two years!"
"The rules are just a bit strict," a third person grumbled.
"Fighting and stealing are heavily penalized. Light offenses mean a severed finger; serious ones mean a severed hand or hanging..."
"Strict is good!" the rough voice retorted.
"Before, in the woods, people would kill each other over a rabbit. Now that there are rules, life is stable!"
--------
Summerhall, Eastern District.
At the exact moment, the Eastern District of Summerhall buzzed with activity.
This area was deliberately walled off and guarded by the Youth Corps, with four watchtowers erected around it for constant observation.
Aemond ventured into the area, accompanied by the Treasurer, Will.
After walking about a hundred paces, the air grew warmer, and the clang of hammering iron became clearer.
Deep within the Kingswood, there was originally a natural cave, the location of which was revealed two years ago by a defecting refugee.
Aemond led people to investigate and discovered a rich vein of iron inside the cave, with astonishing reserves.
He did not report this to King's Landing. By law, mineral deposits within the Seven Kingdoms are shared between the Crown and the local nobility, with mining income split proportionally, but extraction requires the King's permission.
Aemond chose to mine in secret.
Without this clandestine income, the enormous expense of maintaining the army alone would be unsustainable.
Now, the entire Eastern District had been converted into a workshop.
Thirty furnaces burned day and night, and blacksmiths swung their hammers bare-chested, sweat glistening in the firelight.
The sound of hammering rose and fell, and the air was thick with soot and the smell of metal.
"Current monthly production of pig iron is six thousand pounds," Will reported.
"After adopting the methods brought by the Tyroshi blacksmiths, production is thirty percent higher than the old method. We refine about forty-five hundred pounds of wrought iron. Fifty percent of that is forged into farm tools and implements, sold through the port, with the profits maintaining the workshop's operation and paying wages."
"And the other fifty percent?"
Will pointed to a more concealed corner deep within the Eastern District.
"That is the Special Workshop, managed by thirty-odd of the most reliable blacksmiths and their apprentices. They specialize in military equipment: armor plates, sword blanks, spearheads, and arrowheads. Current inventory can already equip four hundred men."
Aemond walked closer to that area. It was even hotter here.
The blacksmiths were forging standardized armor components: breastplates, vambraces, and greaves.
Bundles of spearheads, all made to uniform specifications, were piled in the corner.
"What about the quality?"
"It meets the standard for knight's armor," Will picked up a breastplate, tapped it lightly with a hammer, and the sound was crisp.
"But it's lighter and tougher. We use the carburization process you mentioned."
Aemond nodded. "What is the situation with the miners?"
"Three hundred fifty men, divided into three shifts. They are all slaves purchased from Slavers' Bay. As per your instructions, they will be granted freedom after five years of mining, making them loyal and reliable."
"A large number of patrol teams have been added to the perimeter, and entry and exit are strictly controlled."
Will was somewhat worried.
Slavery is a great crime in Westeros, and if this matter were exposed, the Prince would be charged with a serious offense.
Aemond also felt a headache coming on.
The things he planned to do next might very well cause his furious father to reclaim this fiefdom.
He suddenly thought of his ten-year-old younger brother, Daeron, fostered by the Hightowers in Oldtown... Was there a way to persuade Viserys to transfer this fief to Daeron?
A year ago, Terra, who was planted as a handmaiden beside Helaena, reported that Queen Alicent, who had not shared a bed with the King for many years, had become pregnant again after a whim of Viserys.
The King was overjoyed and granted a general amnesty to the prisoners of King's Landing for this reason.
Calculating the time, his mother was about to give birth to this child.
Meanwhile, on Dragonstone, Rhaenyra gave birth to another son, her second child with Daemon, named Viserys.
If Rhaenyra were a normal person, she would only need to continually bear legitimate children of her marriage, and no one could shake her position as Heir Apparent.
Just like her prolific she-dragon, Syrax.
Rhaenyra still insists that Jacaerys's three children are legitimate.
No matter how Viserys I and her husband Daemon hinted or persuaded her, she remained unmoved.
Now, history had been twisted by him. Queen Alicent is pregnant again.
Historically, the Greens had only four Targaryen children; now they will have one more, a younger brother or sister.
When the Dance of the Dragons will erupt in the future is unknown, but war is inevitable.
-----
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