At Aemond's sharp command, two armored guards lunged forward, seizing Hidolf by the arms to drag him toward the waiting maw of Vhagar.
"Put him down."
Aegon's voice was quiet, but it cut through Aemond's bravado like a razor. He glared at his younger brother until the boy bristled and looked away. The guards recoiled, and Hidolf broke free, smoothing his tunic while casting a glance of lingering terror at Aemond. He wasn't afraid to die for his cause, but he refused to die as a snack for a bored prince before he had finished his work.
"My brother is... immature," Aegon said with a dry chuckle. "Pay him no mind. Someone, bring a chair for Chief Hidolf. And wine."
The tension in the tent shifted as a seat was kicked forward. Aegon leaned back, swirling the dark red liquid in his goblet.
"I believe in fairness, Hidolf. And I intend to support your Rebel Army against Tyrosh. But let's be honest: I'm not the only one who profits if you bleed the Archon. You profit, too. Helping you break out of the city was merely a way to annoy my neighbors. Don't mistake my pragmatism for' kindness."
Aegon leaned in, his violet eyes turning cold. "In truth, whether your rebellion lives or dies matters very little to me. If you want my steel and my grain, you have to offer me something that tempts me."
Hidolf found his voice, his indignation sparking. "If Your Highness believed in fairness, you wouldn't have burned the granaries on the Lango Highlands. You've starved the very people you claim to 'help.'"
"Oh?" Aegon scoffed, a cruel smirk playing on his lips. "And whose business is it if I burn my own backyard? I have a dragon; I burn what I please. You act as though I've robbed you. Were those granaries yours? Did you plow those fields?"
He stood up, pacing like a predator. "Without me, would your 'army' have even reached the highlands? Without me, would you be anything more than a pile of heads at the Tyrosh city gates? I haven't wronged you, Hidolf. I've given you a chance you didn't earn."
Hidolf opened his mouth to retort, but the words died in his throat. Aegon was right. In the grand tapestry of the Narrow Sea, the Rebel Army was a thread Aegon could pull or cut at his whim.
Adjusting his mindset, Hidolf lowered his gaze. "Then let us call it a loan, Your Highness. The enemy of my enemy is a friend. Support us now, and once we have a foothold, we will repay you tenfold."
"Repayment is a bored man's game," Aegon dismissed with a wave. "Let me ask you something instead. Why do you rebel? For freedom?"
"What else?" Hidolf frowned. "To break the chains. To live without masters."
"Freedom," Aegon mused. "A beautiful word. But what is freedom without a stomach? How will you survive without your collars? By stealing?"
"We will grow our own food!"
"With what? How many of your 'soldiers' know a plow from a pike? How many oxen do you have? How many seeds?" Aegon's questions hit like hammer blows. Hidolf remained silent; he had assumed farming was as simple as scattering seeds in the dirt.
"Let's use a metaphor," Aegon continued. "A flock of sheep decides the fence is an insult to their liberty. They tear it down. They are 'free.' Is that a good thing?"
"Of course," Hidolf said. "They can eat where they wish."
"And what if there is a pack of hungry wolves waiting just outside that fallen fence?" Aegon downed his wine in one gulp. "The sheep are having a blast, Hidolf. But the wolves? The wolves are having a feast."
The silence in the tent stretched long and heavy. Hidolf stared at the Prince, finally seeing the bars of the new cage being built around him. "We are the sheep," Hidolf whispered. "But the slave owners are not wolves. They are just men."
Aegon nodded. "Then where are the wolves?"
They locked eyes for a silent heartbeat before Aegon smiled—a flash of white teeth that held no warmth. "Where the wolves are doesn't matter. What matters is that I am offering the sheep a different fence. One that offers stability, peace, and a chance to actually live."
The following morning, Hidolf Heidel left Dragonstone. He walked with the heavy tread of a man who hadn't slept, but his hand was clamped tightly around a parchment book Aegon had given him.
On the first page, five words were inked in a bold, authoritative hand: "THE LEADER'S STRUGGLE."
It wasn't just a manual; it was a blueprint for a new kind of society. As Hidolf boarded his boat to return to the Lango Highlands, his fear had been replaced by a manic, desperate hope. He finally understood the Prince's game, and he was ready to play his part.
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