Hugh dropped to one knee with a thud.
"Your Highness," Hugh said, his voice hoarse but steady. He did not lift his head. One gauntleted fist struck his breastplate once, hard enough to ring. "I swore before the Seven that my body, my soul, my sword, and all that I am belong to you."
Aegon did not answer at once.
Hugh swallowed and continued, words spilling out with raw urgency.
"I feared losing the right to ride a dragon," he admitted. His shoulders tensed, as if bracing for a blow. "That fear clouded my judgment. I failed you. I failed my oath."
His fingers tightened against the stone floor. The scrape of leather against rock was loud in the silence.
"But believe me, Your Highness," Hugh said, lifting his head at last. His eyes were bloodshot, rimmed red with exhaustion and dread, yet fierce all the same. "Never once did betrayal cross my mind. Not in thought. Not in dream."
He drew his sword halfway from its scabbard, then halted, steel whispering softly before he let it slide back.
"Even if you strip me of dragon and saddle alike, my blade will still answer your call. Until my last breath, it will be yours."
For a long heartbeat, Aegon said nothing.
The killing intent that had coiled in his chest moments before slowly unraveled. It faded like mist burned away by morning sun. He exhaled through his nose, then turned from the window.
When he faced Hugh, there was a smile on his lips. It was not mocking. It was warm, almost amused.
"I believe you," Aegon said lightly.
Hugh's breath caught.
"You are my most loyal vassal," Aegon went on, stepping closer. He reached out and placed a hand beneath Hugh's chin, lifting his head fully. "If I cannot trust you, then who in this world remains worthy of belief?"
Hugh stared at him, stunned. For a moment he seemed incapable of speech. Then a rough laugh burst from his throat, half disbelief, half relief.
Aegon chuckled in response.
Their eyes met, and in that shared glance there was understanding. No more words were needed. Hugh bowed his head once more, deeply this time, but when he rose again his back was straight, his gaze clear.
After a moment, Hugh cleared his throat.
"Your Highness," he said carefully, his tone returning to duty. "What are your orders now? Should I continue with the task you previously entrusted to me?"
Aegon blinked.
"Continue with what?" he asked, then rolled his eyes and let out a short laugh. "You truly have a talent for startling me."
Hugh smiled but did not speak. He waited, hands folded behind his back, posture attentive.
Aegon had sent Hugh out to temper him, to sharpen his edges. And, if fortune allowed, to assemble a discreet force, a mercenary band that could handle the sort of work no king wished openly tied to his name. Dirty work. Hard work. And Black work.
Instead, fate had played its own game.
Through a tangle of coincidence and bloodshed, Hugh had claimed Sheepstealer, the wild dragon of Dragonstone, and done so after nearly losing his life to the Cannibal itself.
Aegon stopped walking.
A loyal dragonrider was worth more than ten thousand sellswords. More than any gold he might have spent raising a mercenary host.
He turned back to Hugh.
"You will remain on Drakoncrest," Aegon said decisively. "I will personally instruct you in the proper handling of a dragon. You will learn patience, command, and restraint."
His lips curved slightly.
"Sheepstealer has good instincts. He is fierce, but his intelligence should not be underestimated. Learn well, and you will do him justice."
Hugh's eyes shone. He went to one knee again, this time with reverence rather than desperation.
"Thank you, Your Highness," he said fervently.
He hesitated, shifting his weight.
"There is something else," Hugh added, scratching the back of his neck. "If I may speak freely."
"Speak," Aegon said, brow creasing. "You are absolved of all fault."
Hugh nodded.
"I have… brothers," he said slowly. "Men who have followed me for years. If it pleases you, they would gladly take service under your banner. It would be an honor to them."
Aegon waved a hand dismissively.
"Such minor matters you may decide for yourself in the future," he said. "You need not seek my leave for every trifle."
Hugh bowed deeply, relief plain on his face.
Aegon thought little of it. How many men could Hugh truly command? Even if they were little more than rough steel and empty stomachs, it mattered not. For Hugh's sake alone, he would have granted the request.
The days passed swiftly.
The sun rose and set, tides came and went, and before Aegon quite realized it, half a month had slipped by.
On the morning the fleet returned, Drakoncrest buzzed with anticipation.
The Lannister fleet, led by Loren Lannister himself, finally sailed into the harbor. Their banners fluttered proudly despite the wear of the voyage, red lions stark against the salt-stained cloth.
Loren disembarked at once. He knelt before Aegon the moment he was granted audience, his golden hair damp with sea spray, his expression heavy with remorse.
"Your Highness," Loren said, bowing his head. "I beg your forgiveness. Our return was delayed far longer than intended."
Aegon laughed loudly and clapped his hands together.
"Why apologize?" he said. "I am well aware of the circumstances. You have nothing to atone for. On the contrary, your efforts deserve praise."
Loren looked up, startled.
The fleet had returned laden beyond expectation. Every ship sat low in the water. Even the war galleys were crowded with people, which had slowed their passage considerably.
Tyrosh had not surrendered quietly. Their ships harried the fleet all the way back, striking whenever they thought weakness showed.
Yet with Prince Aemond and Hugh taking turns escorting the fleet on Vhagar and Sheepstealer, not a single Lannister ship had been lost.
Sheepstealer himself had been a challenge.
The wild dragon had nearly torn the saddle from his back when Hugh first attempted to mount him. In the end, it had taken three sheep, offered without restraint, to calm the ancient beast. At nearly seventy years of age, Sheepstealer was set in his ways.
"Your Highness," Loren reported, standing straighter now. "We brought back ten thousand slaves in total. Many supplies had to be abandoned, but we captured twelve cargo vessels converted into warships."
"Not slaves," Aegon corrected calmly. "Refugees."
Loren inclined his head.
"Yes. Refugees. You will grant them sanctuary. The gods will surely look kindly upon such mercy."
Aegon smiled faintly.
"Then I am honored. You and your men will be rewarded. Tonight we shall feast. None will leave disappointed."
Loren grinned broadly.
As the fleet docked, the people poured out like a living tide. The harbor was soon packed wall to wall.
Fear ruled most faces. Some clutched children close, others whispered prayers. A few, however, looked upon Drakoncrest with cautious hope.
They had been told the Dragon King would protect them. That under his rule, they might find peace.
Yet fear of the unknown gnawed at them. They feared chains disguised as kindness.
The noise grew unbearable.
Then Sunfyre roared.
The golden dragon descended in a blaze of light and sound, wings beating the air until dust and spray filled the harbor.
Silence fell instantly.
Aegon raised his hand.
Under the soldiers' guidance, the refugees were formed into lines. Names were taken. Ages. Skills. Families recorded.
Knights from across the Seven Kingdoms assisted, men who could read and count, easing the burden.
By nightfall, registration ended.
That was when the real work began.
Food. Water. Shelter.
Aegon worked until his hands ached, approving allocations, issuing orders. When Ser Arryk entered with a sealed letter, Aegon barely looked up.
"A letter from His Majesty," Ser Arryk said.
Aegon sighed and took it. He read quickly.
A slow smile appeared.
"Is it good news?" Ser Arryk asked.
"In a way," Aegon replied softly. "Next month, my sister weds. To Prince Daemon."
Ser Arryk said nothing.
Aegon's smile widened, wild and cold, violet eyes gleaming like frozen amethysts.
"My dear sister enters marriage once more," he said. "How could her brother fail to attend?"
He turned back to the window, watching Sunfyre settle into the dark.
"Make haste," Aegon ordered quietly. "Seventy thousand more are coming. Settle them swiftly. Nothing must interfere with my blessings."