Aegon stood by the study window, looking out at the silent city silhouette.
The bloodshed in the backstreets and the miracle of the newborn dragons were temporarily shrouded by the night.
He needed to handle the aftermath and get everything back on track.
"Someone."
A Personal Guard silently appeared at the doorway.
"Go bring Lia."
"Yes, Your Highness."
Lia was brought in quickly. She wore a neat but plain grey cloth dress, her silver-gold hair simply tied back, revealing a slender neck and a face that bore distinct Velaryon features but was overly thin due to long-term malnutrition.
She kept her eyes down, her hands clasped in front of her, her knuckles slightly white from tension.
Since Aegon recognized her faint 'Brightflame' bloodline at the Golden Company camp, her life had undergone earth-shattering changes.
No longer did she have to live in fear among Mercenaries, no longer did she worry about her next meal; she had a clean room and sufficient food and clothing.
But she also knew that behind this 'care' lay strict surveillance and an unpredictable fate.
From Myr to Tyrosh, and then to Lys, she was always placed at the rear of the army, like a precious item needing careful safekeeping.
Summoned late at night like this, her heart was in her throat.
"Lia." Aegon turned around, his gaze calmly falling upon her.
"Your Highness." Lia immediately curtsied, her voice faint, with an undisguised timidity.
"Starting tomorrow, you will go to Princess Daenerys's side and be her Attendant." Aegon spoke directly, without superfluous pleasantries. "Your main duty is to assist the Princess in caring for the three newborn dragons."
Lia suddenly looked up, her pale purple eyes filled with incredible shock.
Attendant? The Princess's Attendant? Dragons?
During her time at the mansion, she had vaguely learned of Aegon and Daenerys's true identities.
The Targaryen Prince and Princess, the actual rulers of this Narrow Sea Realm.
A Princess's Attendant was not the concept of an ordinary servant; in Westeros, it was often held by noblewomen of sufficient status and close relationship with their liege, similar to a knight's squire, a form of honor and a way to cultivate trusted confidantes.
She knew that a drop of Targaryen blood, diluted countless times, flowed within her, but she knew even more clearly that in the face of legitimate lineage, that drop of blood was as humble as dust, as lowly as mud.
She was merely a descendant of a bastard who was fortunately recognized, an insignificant shadow. To make her the Princess's Attendant, to care for... dragons?!
"I... Your Highness, I can't, I..." Lia shook her head in a panic, her voice trembling. "How can I be worthy... I don't understand anything, dragons... I..."
"You have Targaryen blood in you." Aegon interrupted her helpless refusal, his tone calm but with an undeniable certainty.
"Even if it's thin, it's still a key. Dragons can sense it. Dany needs help, you don't need to know too much, just follow orders, observe carefully, and act cautiously."
He looked at the fear, inferiority, and a hint of excitement from being recognized intertwined in the girl's eyes, adding: "Do what you should do, and this is what you deserve."
Lia's breathing quickened. She looked at Aegon's calm, unruffled face, his deep purple eyes showing no disdain, no charity, only a business-like tranquility, as if arranging a most ordinary task.
But this task involved dragons! It involved the Princess! This immense trust was like a huge rock thrown into her stagnant life, stirring up monstrous waves.
She suddenly knelt, her forehead touching the ground, her voice choked with emotion: "Yes! Your Highness! Lia... Lia will do her utmost, and never fail Your Highness's trust! I will protect the Princess with my life and care for the young dragons!"
"Get up." Aegon's voice remained even. "Someone will take you there tomorrow morning. Remember, watch more, learn more, speak less. Do not reveal anything about the young dragons to outsiders."
"Yes! I understand!" Lia nodded vigorously, stood up, tears still on her face.
She finally had a clear position, a position where she was needed, even entrusted with a great responsibility, even if this position was full of unknowns and dangers.
After Lia was led away, Aegon summoned Luciana.
The Triarch arrived quickly, a hint of fatigue on her face, but her eyes were still clear and capable.
The cleanup of the backstreets and the subsequent arrests, interrogations, and sealing of properties required her overall coordination, a huge workload.
"Your Highness." She bowed slightly.
"The Perfume Garden," Aegon said without preamble, "designate it as a manor. The servants and prostitutes within, screen their backgrounds and keep them."
"Viserys will live there from now on. Provide all necessary living supplies, according to the standard for a Prince. But," he paused, his tone turning cold, "restrict his freedom. Without my writ, he is not allowed to step half a pace outside the manor. Send additional reliable personnel to guard him, ensuring his safety while also keeping him quiet. Do you understand?"
Luciana understood perfectly.
This was permanent house arrest, exchanging a living Targaryen bloodline, no longer a threat, for a luxurious cage.
Dignified, but absolute. She quickly noted the key points: "Yes, Your Highness. I will personally arrange it to ensure everything is foolproof."
"Additionally," Aegon walked to the table, his finger tapping the unfolded map, "the daily briefings on the accumulation of supplies for the Western Expedition and the progress of army reorganization must not stop."
"Tell Jon and Henry that time is running out. I want an army that can fight as soon as it reaches Westeros, not raw recruits who still need to be broken in."
"Understood."
Luciana took her leave, and the study returned to silence.
Aegon handled several urgent military reports, only resting briefly when the sky began to lighten.
In the afternoon, the sun dispersed the morning fog.
Aegon did not bring many Attendants, only a squad of Personal Guards, and rode to inspect the city of Lys.
Compared to when he first arrived half a year ago, Lys's appearance had changed dramatically.
Most of the neon signs that once flaunted desire and depravity had been removed. The Pleasure Gardens, gambling dens, and slave markets were either abolished or moved to more hidden underground locations.
The streets were much cleaner, and patrolling Garrison Soldiers were everywhere.
The air still mixed with the smell of the sea, goods, and crowds, but the frivolous, hedonistic atmosphere of debauchery was replaced by a busy, practical, and even slightly tense sense of order.
Different masters bring different rules.
If the original Lys was a 'City of Desire' built on slave trade, sex industry, and pirate fencing, then under Aegon's rule, it was rapidly transforming into an efficient 'Logistics and Trade Hub'.
At the docks, ships came and went continuously.
Galleys from Tyrosh unloaded boxes of newly forged armor and swords.
Cargo ships from Myr brought bundles of bows and crossbows, arrows, and parts for repairing equipment.
Ships from the Stepstones delivered usable materials from Luc's plundered pirate spoils.
Workers shouted slogans, sorting and registering goods, then either loading them onto Narrow Sea Fleet warships moored in the deep water, undergoing final inspections and resupply, or onto carriages to be transported to the expanding military camps outside the city...
There, the selection and training of the Bloodsworn's armored cavalry were in full swing, and the mixed unit training of the Three Cities Garrison was nearing completion.
Everything revolved around one goal: the Western Expedition.
Aegon held his horse, his gaze sweeping over the bustling docks, the orderly warehouse district, and the rising dust clouds above the distant military camps.
He was pleased with this change. Lys was no longer a swamp of pleasure and corrosive will, but one of the most crucial cogs in his war machine.
During his inspection, he once again came to the artisan quarter in the west of the city, to the textile workshop that had once made his military banners.
Its scale had expanded significantly since his last visit.
Several adjacent low sheds had been bought and knocked through, connecting into one large area.
The clatter of looms was denser and louder, and the unique smell from the dye vats was more intense.
More workers came and went; though their expressions were tired, their eyes held a spark of life.
Aegon dismounted and entered the workshop.
The skinny old textile factory owner was directing workers to move newly arrived dyes. He looked up, saw Aegon, first froze, then his face erupted in an uncontrollable flush of excitement, practically scrambling over and dropping to his knees with a thud.
"Your, Your Highness! You've come! This humble one... this humble one..." He was incoherent with excitement, looking up at Aegon with the most primal worship and reverence, as if before him was not a man, but a walking deity.
"Thanks to you! Thanks to you! Just those military banners you ordered brought this humble old workshop back from the dead! Now, now you see, the workshop has expanded threefold! The workers have increased fivefold!"
"But... but the speed of producing these military banners still can't keep up with the speed of your conquest of the city-states!" He finished with a hint of vexation, as if his low production efficiency was delaying Aegon's great endeavor of expanding territory.
Aegon looked at the old man, who seemed ready to tear out his heart to prove his loyalty, feeling a bit speechless but also understanding.
For such a small person, a casual order from him had changed the fate of him and many workers' families. He waved his hand: "Get up and speak. Good business is a good thing."
The old man quickly scrambled up, his back bent, following Aegon step by step, a broad smile on his face.
"I have new business for you." Aegon walked to a bolt of black fabric that had just been dyed and was now drying, his fingers brushing over the thick pile.
"Your Highness, just give the order! This humble old man will surely get it done! Even if I have to stay up all night, I'll finish it for you!" The old man patted his chest, guaranteeing.
"I want you to make cloaks and warm robes for my army. Full sets, they need to be thick, able to withstand severe cold."
"Cloaks? Warm robes?" The old man paused, instinctively looking at the warm afternoon sun outside in Lys, a puzzled expression on his face.
Lys was located on an island at the southernmost tip of the continent of Essos, with a warm climate. He had lived for so many years and had never even seen what snow looked like.
Why would His Highness want cold-weather clothing? And full sets, thick ones?
But he quickly suppressed his doubts.
Which of the things this Highness did could he possibly understand? Conquering the Three Cities, riding dragons, making Braavos bow... If His Highness wanted cold-weather clothes, he naturally had his reasons.
He quickly bowed and nodded: "Yes, yes, yes! Your Highness, tell me the style, what color do you want? This humble one will get it done immediately!"
Aegon pondered for a moment: "Cloaks and robes, made separately, but they must match."
"For the Golden Company, use their original representative color, gold. For the Bloodsworn, use red. As for the Ash Regiment..."
He paused, thinking of Luc's troops who had fought fiercely against pirates in the Stepstones, thinking of the dusty, smoke- and sea-wind stained base color of their battle robes, "use black."
"Gold, red, black..." The old man quickly wrote it down. "And the style? Does Your Highness have any specific requirements?"
"...Hmm, make them in the style of thick robes that can withstand the coldest winter. Use plenty of material; warmth is the priority."
Aegon gestured to indicate the general shape.
"For specific sizes, I will have the quartermaster send over the measurements for each legion. As for the quantity..."
He calculated: "Ten thousand sets in gold, ten thousand sets in black, and five thousand sets in red. Prepare materials and start work with these numbers first."
"Twenty-five thousand sets?!" The old man gasped, this was absolutely the largest order he had ever received!
But he was immediately overwhelmed by immense joy and a sense of mission, nodding vigorously: "Your Highness, rest assured! This humble old man will wring himself dry to get them done on time for you!"
"Hurry up." Aegon gave one last instruction, then turned and left the workshop, which was still reeling from the impact of the huge order.
Stepping out of the workshop, the afternoon sun was a little dazzling.
Aegon mounted his horse, taking a final look at the busy textile factory.
The old man was puzzled as Lys never needed cold-weather clothing, and Aegon naturally wouldn't explain.
But he knew that with the impending power shifts and chaos in Westeros, once the 'War of Five Kings' that swept the Seven Kingdoms erupted, what followed would not just be a war between men.
The cold winds of the North, the whispers of the Long Night, and the army of the dead, resurrected beyond The Wall and marching south across the ice... Winter and the Others were never far away.
Since he was going to conquer Westeros, he naturally had to prepare cold-resistant armor for his Soldiers in advance.
Swords and blades could be seized, but if Soldiers froze to death in the snow, no amount of ambition would be anything but empty talk.
As for those legendary Others, those who hastily exited the stage in the series... the Night King.
Aegon's lips curved into a barely perceptible, cold and strange arc.
He was rather curious, when the Night King, leading the army of Others and striking terror into the hearts of the living, faced Ghidorah's pale gold, colossal body carrying destruction and storms, faced the golden lightning capable of tearing the heavens and earth apart...
Would that stiff, frozen face of the Other be able to contort into any expression?
Presumably, it would be very interesting.
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