The Hightowers had emptied their coffers and armories for him. Five thousand sets of armor, two hundred thousand golden dragons, a thousand seasoned sailors, and wagon after wagon of provisions had crossed the Narrow Sea under their banners. With them came farmers and craftsmen, men and women plucked from Oldtown's lands and sworn to follow Prince Aegon to whatever future he intended to carve upon the Stepstones.
By the time the last ship moored at the rough harbor of Bloodstone Isle, the population had swelled to more than thirteen thousand souls. Tents spread across the shoreline like white barnacles, and the reek of smoke, salt, and damp canvas filled the air.
Morning broke pale and cold. In the largest tent, Aegon bent over a broad table laden with charts. A single oil lamp hissed beside him. He studied the rough outline of Bloodstone Isle, tracing the ridges and coves with slow fingers. At last he dipped a quill into red ink and drew a circle nearly a hundred miles east of the port.
He sat back, rubbing the soot from his fingertips. There was no true highland here, nothing akin to the Lango Highlands upon which a fortress might be carved into the stone itself. The Stepstones were treacherous but low, more coral and broken shale than mountain.
So he chose what the land offered, a flat stretch near a clear spring, a place where wells would not sour and the wind from the sea would not cut straight to the bone.
An inland city for production. A port city for trade. Two lungs for the same body. Together they would be enough to sustain the growth of Bloodstone Isle, enough to make the rock worth defending.
Aegon reached for a slim parchment booklet lying beside the map. Its cover bore a stark title in his own firm hand: Three-Year Plan, Five-Year Expansion. He turned the pages with care. These were the bones of the realm he meant to build.
Development required time, and time was the one thing he intended to seize for himself. Eight years lay between now and the turmoil that he knew would come, eight short years in which to gather wealth, men, and dragonfire.
Viserys would never give his blessing to any of this. The king's affection for Rhaenyra had become a shackle that pinched Aegon's every breath. If discord turned to open conflict, Aegon needed to be ready. He needed resources, troops, and walls strong enough to defy the crown itself if the crown turned against him.
He straightened. "Someone," Aegon called, voice crisp in the stillness.
A guardsman ducked inside.
"Send for Ser Arryk, Ser Kraken, and Ser Ent. I want them at once."
The three entered before long, brushing dew from their cloaks. Kraken, taller than the tent's central pole, carried the smell of the sea with him.
"Your Highness," Kraken said, bowing. "What do you require of us?"
Aegon tapped the red circle upon the map. "Ser Arryk, you will take all the smallfolk households to this location. The soil is soft and the ground even. I mean to raise a city here, a city worthy of the blood of the dragon. Its name will be Drakoncrest, the city where the True Dragons reside."
He reached beneath the table and produced a rolled blueprint. The vellum was marked with faint lines, measurements, and the layout of streets. He placed it firmly in Aric's hands.
"I do not ask you to build it. I ask only for the foundation. Mark the borders, clear the brush, test the water, and prepare the ground. That is all."
Arryk unrolled a corner of the parchment, his brow furrowing. Behind him, Kraken glanced at the circles and columns of numbers and gave a low whistle.
Aegon ignored their surprise. Kraken had brought six hundred smallfolk families across the sea. Counting the old and the very young, barely two thousand able bodies existed among them. It would have been folly to expect such numbers to raise a mighty city of marble overnight.
"I will speak to the people," Aegon said. "Tell them that land shall be granted by the number of mouths they bring. Each household will receive a smallholding measured by its number, no less than an acre and a half per person.. They may keep this land for themselves, though they may neither sell nor lease it. In three months we shall provide grain, tools, and seed. If the fields lie barren after that time, they will have only themselves to blame for hunger."
He spoke steadily, but Arryk stared at him as though the prince had sprouted a second head. His gaze drifted back to the blueprint.
"Your Highness," Aric said slowly. "Are you certain that is the name you wish to use? Drakoncrest?"
Aegon lifted an eyebrow. "Do you think I ought to call it something else?"
Arryk opened his mouth, but Kraken clapped his hands and barked a delighted laugh.
"Drakoncrest," Kraken said. "A bold name, Your Highness. And renaming Bloodstone Isle as well? A finer stroke of quill has never graced the Narrow Sea."
Aegon chuckled, letting a hint of mockery curl in his smile. In truth, the names had been chosen for their sting. Rhaenyra had been proclaimed Princess of Dragonstone. Let her see another Dragonstone rise elsewhere, greater and brighter than her own.
"I will have white marble for its streets," Aegon said. "And violets planted along every road, so that all who walk them will know the colors of House Targaryen: silver hair, violet eyes."
Kraken laughed again, louder this time. "I will spread word of it myself. People will dream of this city before they ever see a single stone laid."
"You will spread word," Aegon replied, "and you will tell them of the marble and the violets and the meaning behind them. Make the future so vivid they can taste it."
"As you command, Your Highness," Kraken said, giving a small bow. "The world shall know you have come."
Aegon turned back to Arryk. "Well? You are silent. If you have better counsel, speak it."
Arryk swallowed. "I have no objections, my prince. Only a worry for His Majesty's thoughts on the matter."
Aegon waved the concern aside. "There are four dragons upon this island. What danger lies in naming my own holding? I am the Lord of the Stepstones. I won this land by fire and steel, not by a signature on a charter. If the king disapproves, he may send his displeasure with a raven. I will not lose sleep over it."
Seeing the determination in Aegon's eyes, Arryk bowed again and prepared to leave. He had taken only one step when Aegon called out.
"Wait. Two more things."
Aegon rummaged through a leather pouch and produced two slim booklets, which he tossed to Arryk. The knight caught them clumsily.
One booklet read The Difference and Transformation Between Civilians and Soldiers. The other read How to Grow Crops and Manage Infrastructure Simultaneously.
"I spent three days compiling these," Aegon said. "They are simple enough to follow, though every line has been proven true. You will obey what is written. If you fail, I will hold you accountable."
Arryk's eyes widened as he flipped briefly through one of the booklets. The diagrams and lists within were unlike anything he had ever seen.
Aegon continued. "I have spent years in King's Landing reading whatever I could find. Martial forms, histories, treatises, and accounts from Essos. I have studied how cities rise and how they collapse. Now the time has come to act. There are fortunes to be built from salt, from sea cucumbers, from simple soap. I lacked the freedom to pursue such things when I lived beneath my father's gaze, but here the sky is wide."
He paused, fingers drumming the table. A faint smile touched his lips.
The balance of power has shifted. Aemond has claimed Vhagar, and the Blacks have lost the greatest dragon living. The Greens stand stronger than any other faction in the Seven Kingdoms. And I am far from the Red Keep. Far from my father's rules. And some methods far exceeding this era could also take the stage!
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A/N: Aegon's ambition has begun to stir.As his power grows, so do his foes, traitors, and enemies rising with blades already drawn.
Will he truly succeed… or be crushed before he can claim it all?
If you want to find out, read ahead on Patreon.19 advance chapters available, the first 2 are free.
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