Aegon returned to the manor with doubt heavy upon his mind.
For days he shut himself away among the shelves, searching through what few ancient volumes the household possessed. Most were incomplete copies or genealogies copied a dozen times over. By the time the sun set on the seventh day, his eyes ached, his patience was gone, and he had found nothing that explained Dreamfyre's strange condition.
Nothing at all.
Seven days later, the problem had only grown worse.
"Your Grace," Lord Kraken said, bowing his head slightly, worry etched plainly across his face. "Dreamfyre has nearly finished all the livestock on the island. That is with Sunfyre and Sheepstealer hunting every day without rest."
Aegon pressed his fingers to his temples and closed his eyes for a heartbeat.
Dreamfyre had been eating almost without pause. Worse still was Sheepstealer.
He struggled to find words for it.
Since Sunfyre and Dreamfyre had mated, the five dragons on the island seemed to have settled into some strange order. The females remained near the nesting grounds, restless and hungry, while the males ranged farther and farther afield to hunt. Sheepstealer, once solitary and feral, now followed Sunfyre into the skies like an unruly companion.
"If she still wants to eat," Aegon said at last, lowering his hand and straightening, "and if she still can eat, then we will continue to feed her."
His voice was steady, though his brow was drawn tight.
"There is no better choice."
Kraken hesitated only a moment, then nodded. "Very well. I will adjust our procurement. Livestock will take priority."
"We cannot rely on purchases alone," Aegon said, turning his head toward Hugh. "How fares the Drakoncrest First Fleet?"
Hugh straightened at once. "The reorganization is complete. Two thousand new recruits are already training."
Several veteran sailors and soldiers had been promoted, granted minor titles. They were the first common men to be raised into Aegon's newly established noble ranks.
He had set twenty-one grades in total. Nine ranks of knighthood, six baronies, three counties, then duke, grand duke, and finally state duke, the highest purely honorary title.
From this day forward, not every noble would be an official, but no official could exist without noble rank. Merit and contribution alone determined advancement.
"Training can be shortened," Aegon said. "They will begin with real combat."
Hugh blinked. "Real combat? Your Grace, are we moving against Myr already?"
Aegon smiled faintly and shook his head.
"No. Not yet. They will sail to the Tyroshi landing sites and deal with the manor lords there."
He paused, then added calmly, "We will also make a brief stop at Tyrosh itself. The slave masters are no different from beasts. Like livestock, really. You understand me."
Hugh's eyes widened for a fraction of a second, then he broke into a grin and nodded vigorously.
"I understand. Completely."
He even raised his thumb without thinking, then hastily lowered it when he noticed Kraken watching.
It was an elegant solution. Dreamfyre would be fed, and the treasury spared a great expense.
"One more thing," Aegon said, lifting a finger. "Capture them alive if possible. Dead flesh spoils quickly and breeds sickness."
"No trouble at all," Hugh replied, already turning. "I will make the arrangements at once."
Aegon then looked to Kraken. "Write to Hidolf for me. Have him prepare a place to imprison the slave masters. We will deal with them together."
Kraken inclined his head. "As you command."
The Drakoncrest First Fleet soon set sail, banners snapping in the wind as it cut toward the Stepstones.
Ent, commanding for the first time, stood stiffly on the deck, his hands clenched behind his back. His nerves were plain, though the task itself was simple. He was deeply grateful for the trust Aegon and Hugh had placed in him.
Even so, if given the choice, he would have preferred a quiet life with little responsibility.
When the fleet passed Tyrosh, a small boat broke away and slipped into the abandoned harbor. The messenger made his way through ruined streets until he found Hidolf, who was overseeing the hanging of captured slave masters.
Hidolf wiped his hands on a cloth before taking the letter. He read it slowly, his expression unreadable.
"You have worked hard," he said at last. "Eat something and rest for the night. You can leave in the morning."
The messenger shook his head and waved a hand. "I must return quickly. I cannot stay."
He rose and departed at once.
Hidolf stood in silence for a long while, staring at the letter. Then his eyes narrowed.
Orders were given immediately. A straw shed was erected near the abandoned dock, and all remaining slave masters who had not yet been executed were rounded up and imprisoned there.
By now, the rebel army numbered ten thousand. Hidolf had once hoped to raise it to thirty thousand, but Andres and Tanshman had argued fiercely for an elite force instead.
"Thousands of slave masters still remain in the city," Andres said, disbelief clear in his voice. "Do we truly imprison them all at the dock?"
"Do as I say," Hidolf replied, folding the letter and tucking it away. "I suspect Aegon Targaryen intends to feed them to his dragons."
Andres stared. "That is impossible. Nearly ten thousand living people?"
Hidolf let out a short breath. "Are slave masters truly people?"
He looked at Andres sharply. "What difference does it make to us? Aegon Targaryen will not invite them to Drakoncrest and seat them at his table."
Andres hesitated, then nodded. "When do we march for the Disputed Lands?"
"In the tenth moon. Eleventh moon at the latest. It depends on when Aegon sends men to take over Tyrosh."
"It is a pity," Andres said with a sigh. "If only we could hold Tyrosh forever."
Hidolf snorted. "Without Aegon, we would not have taken the Lango Highlands, let alone Tyrosh. Do not mistake him for a kind man."
He leaned closer, lowering his voice. "If we linger against his will, he will crush us like stray dogs beneath his heel."
After a moment, he added quietly, "If he were less shrewd, I might have sworn my men to him outright."
Andres frowned. "If he is so clever, why refuse us?"
"You think only of fighting," Hidolf said, shaking his head. "Not of power."
In the middle of tenth moon, 120 AC.
The sun blazed overhead as the first harvest ripened.
Aegon walked between neat rows of grain, the smell of earth and straw in the air. Lords, stewards, and guards followed at a respectful distance.
"Your Grace," Arryk said, unable to hide his smile, "the farmers followed your methods exactly. Careful cultivation, fertilizer as instructed."
Aegon bent slightly, running grain through his fingers. "And the yield?"
"Three hundred jin per mu on average," Arryk said, awe in his voice. "It is beyond belief."
Aegon laughed softly. "Good. Very good."
The results confirmed everything. The methods he had brought from another world worked here as well.
Kraken stroked his beard thoughtfully. "With results like these, perhaps wheat could be planted more widely."
Aegon straightened and shook his head. "Not yet. Barley and rye first."
At the start, each family had received only a small land, not from stinginess, but to let the freed slaves learn proper cultivation.
Now they were ready.
"Proclaim this," Aegon said, his voice firm. "One year exemption from land tax and head tax. Grant each household some more of the wasteland. They will reclaim and cultivate it together."
He paused, then continued.
"From now until the fifteenth day of the tenth moon next year, newly married couples will receive three thousand copper stags. Any child born in that time will earn the family three gold dragons each year, for five years."
Kraken stopped walking. "Your Grace, are you certain?"
Aegon turned and looked him squarely in the eye. "Do I sound uncertain?"
Kraken hesitated. "With food secure, births will rise naturally."
"They will," Aegon agreed. "But subsidies raise survival. We will also build another hospital and recruit trained midwives."
He looked out across the fields, his expression serious.
"Too many women die in childbirth. Too many children never draw breath. That will change."
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A/N:
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