So when Prince Aemon had first announced plans to clear new farmland on the island, Ser Elio Scars had been genuinely thrilled.
It meant Dragonstone was finally changing. If he could prove his worth here, perhaps the prince would notice him and transfer him somewhere better—anywhere but this isolated rock.
With the desperate hope of escaping his long exile, Ser Elio had thrown himself into the task. Even after Aemon returned to King's Landing, he never slackened. He worked tirelessly, always preparing for the day the prince would come back so he could present his achievements like a prized trophy.
That was why, when word arrived that Prince Aemon had returned to Dragonstone, Ser Elio had been almost shaking with excitement. After settling the prince in the hot-spring bathhouse, he could barely wait to show off the one thing he was most proud of—the island's own wine.
Dragonstone's soil was rich thanks to the volcano, but for centuries the island's tiny population and near-total isolation had left most of the land untouched. Now, with a chance to shine, Ser Elio had poured everything into those new vineyards.
Yet when he proudly presented the first vintage, Prince Aemon's reaction was… lukewarm at best. The prince barely seemed impressed. In that moment, all of Ser Elio's hopes had crumbled. He felt certain his life would end here on this forsaken island, with no chance of ever leaving.
Then Aemon spoke again, and Ser Elio's dying spirit burst back into flame.
The moment the prince said the next task came directly from the King himself, Ser Elio felt a jolt run through him—like a man dying of thirst suddenly seeing an oasis in the desert. Hope flooded back into his heart.
"Your Grace," he asked, voice trembling with barely contained excitement, "may I ask what this task is? What could be so important that His Grace the King is watching it personally?"
Aemon studied the castellan for a moment, slightly puzzled by the man's sudden intensity, but he did not press. He had trusted Ser Elio for fifteen years of loyal, quiet service. Everyone had their private reasons.
Still, Aemon kept his tone measured and serious. "A new family secret will soon be produced here on Dragonstone. The product is of vital importance—it will bring enormous benefits to House Targaryen. Absolute secrecy is required. The forging process must never leave the island. That means the island's security becomes critical. I know Dragonstone has always attracted spies from every corner. Though the waters are patrolled, threats still slip through. I need you to sweep the island clean in the coming days. Remove every danger. Prepare everything for the new production."
As Aemon spoke, his violet eyes locked onto Ser Elio's without blinking. The weight of that gaze felt like an invisible hand closing around the castellan's throat.
Only when Aemon finally looked away did Ser Elio manage a deep, shaky breath. The air felt like it was moving again.
He steadied himself, then answered with fierce determination. "Your Grace may rest assured. Your command is my life's mission. I will have the island spotless in the shortest possible time."
"I will allow no one to come near our future treasure. If anyone seeks the secret of its making, they will have to kill me first."
Aemon gave a single, satisfied nod. "Your loyalty pleases me, Ser Elio. Complete this task well, and I will report every detail of your service to the King. I will not diminish your merits by even a fraction. When the time comes, ask for any reward within my power, and it shall be yours."
Ser Elio's entire body seemed to swell with renewed purpose. The prince's promise meant this was no ordinary assignment—it was one of House Targaryen's greatest secrets.
"Your Grace's word is harder than Valyrian steel. I will not fail you. The secret's safety is my life. While I live, it lives."
His voice rang with solemn conviction, like a septon swearing an oath before the altar of the Seven.
Aemon said nothing more. He simply nodded again, then told Ser Elio to make the necessary preparations and left him to begin at once.
Ser Elio watched the prince turn away, then stood quietly beside the bath as Aemon sank deeper into the steaming water. He knew the prince wanted a moment alone.
Aemon did not keep him waiting long. After another ten minutes of soaking, he rose from the pool. Ser Elio immediately signaled the waiting maids, who hurried forward to attend the prince—drying him, dressing him in fresh clothes, and seeing to every comfort.
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