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Game of Thrones: Azeroth? This Is Westeros!
Game of Thrones: Starborn Conqueror
Game of Thrones: My Pets Evolve Into Dragons
Game of Thrones: Joffrey the Ruthless Emperor
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Aemon's expression did not change in the slightest as he listened to Ser Eligar Scars speak. It was as if the news of the island's progress meant nothing to him at all.
Truth be told, the current Prince Aemon had long since outgrown such modest ambitions. Back when he still lived on Dragonstone, he had considered developing the island to some degree—not a full-scale transformation, but enough to clear more farmland and produce additional grain. Even a modest increase in local food production would help reduce the enormous cost of feeding the dragons. Every extra bushel grown on the island was one less the Targaryen family had to purchase.
But now, with the discovery of Dragonsteel and the staggering wealth and strategic power it promised, the idea of growing crops on Dragonstone felt almost laughably small.
That was why, despite Ser Eligar's obvious pride in presenting the results of years of work, Aemon felt only mild indifference.
Still, Aemon understood the importance of leadership. He quickly realized his flat reaction might discourage the man. Subordinates who presented their achievements were like children showing off good grades—they wanted recognition for their hard work.
Recovering smoothly, Aemon kept his voice calm and even as he spoke.
"Ser Eligar, continue overseeing the vineyards and farmland as before. However, there is another, far more important task I need you to handle now. This matter is of the utmost importance—His Grace the King will be watching it personally."
The moment Aemon mentioned that King Jaehaerys would be paying close attention, Ser Eligar's entire demeanor shifted. Tension flashed across his face.
On paper, the title of Master-at-Arms of Dragonstone sounded prestigious. In reality, Ser Eligar knew he was little more than the castle's steward. The only reason his position carried any weight was because this particular castle belonged to the heir to the Iron Throne and housed living dragons. Otherwise, he would have been just another master-at-arms among hundreds scattered across Westeros.
Dragonstone might be the ancestral seat of House Targaryen, but the truth was far less glamorous. The island was poor and dull. Its population was small, consisting of only a handful of tiny fishing villages. Almost everything consumed here had to be shipped in by the royal family or produced locally on a meager scale. There was almost no room for corruption or extra profit.
Even if Ser Eligar had wanted to squeeze the smallfolk with extra taxes or creative fees, he couldn't. The Targaryens had long ago exempted most of the island's taxes, considering the place more trouble than it was worth.
Ser Eligar had grown to hate life on Dragonstone. It felt like living in a monastery. There were no taverns, no brothels, and scarcely any women. He sometimes feared that if he stayed here much longer, he would end up becoming a damn septon.
The only truly valuable things on the island were the dragons and their eggs—but those were completely off-limits. A dedicated order of Dragonkeepers handled all matters involving the beasts and their young. Ser Eligar made it a point to stay as far away from the dragons as possible. The last thing he wanted was to become dragon dung one unlucky day.
He had earned his position through genuine skill and connections, but fifteen long years on this rock had worn him down. He did not want to spend the rest of his life trapped on Dragonstone. Yet resigning would mean throwing away everything he had sacrificed for. His family had exhausted nearly all their influence to secure this post for him, and they no longer had the resources to help him advance further.
When he had first been appointed by the then-young Prince Aemon, his entire family had been overjoyed. For a minor knightly house with only a few villages to their name, having one of their own serve as master-at-arms to the Prince of Dragonstone was an enormous honor.
Those early years had actually been exciting. Every time he saw a dragon soaring overhead, Ser Eligar had felt a thrill run through him.
But novelty fades. After more than a decade of the same monotonous routine, the island had begun to feel like a prison. Slowly but surely, he had lost touch with the outside world—including his own family.