Seeing the man's overly cautious and fearful demeanor, Aemon sighed softly, his frustration fading into pity.
The craftsmen who had been brought back were mostly like this—too long subjected to the abuse and exploitation of their former masters. They saw themselves as inferior and found it difficult to integrate into Runestone.
The only consolation was that they were easy to care for.
There were 120 of them in total, divided into groups of five per household. Based on King's Landing's standard, where one gold dragon per family could provide a comfortable life for a month, maintaining them required only sixty gold dragons a month.
That came to 720 gold dragons a year.
And Prince Aemon, with a fortune of 10,000 gold dragons in hand, could sustain them for well over a decade.
"Go now. Live well. If you need anything, come to me," Aemon said, dismissing the old blacksmith with a wave.
"Thank you, my lord, the Dragon King," the blacksmith said, bowing low before retreating cautiously.
Aemon stayed calm, focusing instead on his newly crafted sword.
Shing!
The two-foot blade slid free from its sheath, its deep amber color gleaming in the sunlight. The spine of the sword was thick and sturdy.
There was no doubt—it was a bronze sword.
Aemon inspected it carefully.
The hilt fit snugly in his hand, designed to be both comfortable and slip-resistant.
The guard was crafted into a round shape, hammered with squares that encircled it, and engraved with runes across its surface.
"It seems... a little useless?" Aemon frowned, running his fingers along the orderly runes etched on both sides of the blade's spine.
Bronze and its associated beliefs, along with rune-carving traditions, were the defining symbols of House Royce.
Their ancestral bronze armor was engraved with similar runes, said to protect its wearer.
While such claims were false, the armor did contain traces of magic—most likely due to the runes.
Ser Steve, observing alongside Aemon, tried to reassure him: "Your Highness, many magical legends are a mix of truth and fiction. We can't recreate all of them."
"You're right, Ser Steve," Aemon replied, sliding the sword back into its sheath. "Human efforts have their limits—I understand."
The remnants of ancient runes could no longer fully explain the beliefs tied to them. Aemon knew his own mind wouldn't be enough to solve the mystery.
Instead, he placed his hopes in the essence system, wondering if he might someday unlock a card containing relevant knowledge.
"Let's go," Aemon said, strapping the bronze short sword to his belt and casually mounting the white stag.
Now properly armed, he looked every inch the part of a prince.
Although bronze was a softer material, the blacksmith's skill compensated for this. For an eight-year-old, the weapon was perfectly suitable.
Ser Steve smiled knowingly as he watched the prince ride off.
Life in King's Landing had been a constant dance of caution, but here in Runestone, while attitudes were divided, his young charge remained refreshingly candid.
Riding the white stag, Aemon made his way leisurely around the castle grounds, exchanging greetings with those he passed.
Many of the castle's inhabitants responded warmly, but there were still some, particularly knights from House Royce's cadet branches, who treated him with cold indifference.
Even more, hedge knights and sworn swords chose to remain neutral.
Eventually, Aemon returned to the castle proper, heading toward the tower where his lessons took place.
Creak!
Aemon pushed open the door to find Maester Hughes waiting patiently inside.
Despite being a prince, he was still required to attend his morning lessons.
"Good morning, Maester," Aemon greeted as he walked toward the lectern.
At the back of the room, Ser William sat with a book in hand, ready for class.
Gonsor Royce lounged on the windowsill, peeling an orange, while Ser Steve stood guard at the door.
This small group represented Aemon's closest companions in Runestone—a modest but loyal retinue.
One notable absence was Ser Lyon Shett, the "Sea Gull Knight." After they landed at Gulltown, he had returned to his family's keep.
As Aemon settled in, Maester Hughes produced a letter from his sleeve and said, "A reply from the princess."
"Oh, let me see," Aemon said, taking the letter eagerly.
Though he was back in Runestone, his thoughts often lingered on King's Landing, where two people in particular cared deeply for him.
Queen Alicent frequently sent letters, sharing updates on her life in the Red Keep. She wrote about how much lighter things felt after Otto Hightower was dismissed as Hand of the King and how she hoped Aemon was eating well and staying warm at night.
Her letters felt more like those of a doting sister or mother than a queen.
Aemon always replied quickly, sending small gifts of Vale specialties via the merchants of Gulltown.
Princess Rhaenyra also wrote occasionally.
Her letters described how Lord Lyonel Strong had been appointed as the new Hand of the King and how the small council was deliberating over who would fill the now-vacant position of Master of Laws.
She also shared her frustrations with her father, King Viserys, who refused to delegate power, and her annoyance at the many peacocking young noblemen parading themselves before her.
Rhaenyra wanted to prove herself but seemed at a loss for how to do so.
Aemon had offered her a suggestion.
King's Landing, as the capital of the Seven Kingdoms, housed over 500,000 people. Its streets were chaotic, and its sanitation abysmal.
While law enforcement was the Gold Cloaks' responsibility, the city's cleanliness could be improved.
During his brief stay in King's Landing, Aemon had been struck by the filth—streets filled with waste and reeking of decay.
His advice to Rhaenyra had been to recruit orphans from the city's poorhouses, equip them with tools, and organize them to clean the streets.
Instead of attempting to clean every corner, they could focus on removing waste, transporting it out of the city each day, and composting it on farmland outside the walls.
Though composting was not yet a common practice, the basic idea of using waste as fertilizer was understood.
Once the compost was ready, Aemon suggested assigning orphan laborers to cultivate unused land, offering them modest support to get started.
The cycle of cleaning and cultivation could continue indefinitely, gradually improving the city's environment while generating tax revenue from new farmland.
If Rhaenyra spearheaded the initiative, she could earn the people's respect and loyalty.
Now, as Aemon read her reply, he was both surprised and pleased.
Rhaenyra had already begun implementing the idea on a trial basis.
She had recruited over a hundred orphans and assigned them to clean a single street near the Red Keep.
While only a small effort, it was already yielding visible results.
To address resistance from residents—who viewed the removal of waste as a kind of theft—she had involved the Gold Cloaks, fining anyone who refused to cooperate.
By enforcing designated dumping zones, the work became more efficient, and the once-filthy street had been transformed.
Though some accused her of tyranny, others praised her efforts to improve their living conditions.
Aemon chuckled as he read the letter, marveling at how quickly she had acted.
"This is promising," he murmured. "A prototype sanitation system, complete with waste collection points. Impressive."
It seemed the people of this era weren't as ignorant as they appeared—they simply needed guidance.
With a wistful sigh, he leaned back in his chair. "If only I had my own fiefdom."
Though he was the heir to Runestone, his mother was in excellent health and likely to live many more years.
For now, he could only dream of building a domain to call his own.