The feast was set in the castle courtyard.
The guests were the ten servants King Viserys had assigned to Baelon and the fifty Gold Cloaks Daemon had personally selected.
Ignir’s dragonfire had seared the mutton too roughly, so two cooks were busy reworking it into something edible.
The rest of the servants and Gold Cloaks lent a hand, turning the courtyard into a lively, noisy space filled with the smell of roasting meat and spilled wine.
Baelon and Cole sat off to one side, watching the scene while they talked through Dragonstone’s next steps.
“Cole, how did the investigation go?”
Cole set down his cup and a half-eaten piece of mutton.
“Your Grace, I’ve got the castle sorted. The island itself is only a rough picture so far.”
“Dragonstone has roughly three thousand people. No smallfolk—just royal servants and guards.”
“Half of them are guards. Their commander is Ser Alfred Broom. There are thirty warships patrolling Blackwater Bay with about six hundred men in the fleet. Black Stone Castle has four hundred guards on paper, but most are idle and the ranks are probably short. The five hundred securing the dragonglass mine and the island haven’t been approached yet.”
“On top of that there are a thousand dragonglass miners, a hundred dragon guards, a hundred dragonglass craftsmen, a hundred craftsmen keeping the castle standing, a hundred fishermen working the port, fifty men hauling dragon dung off the island, and fifty permanent servants inside the castle.”
“There are also the dragon scholars, the star-witches, the maesters, and the rest—I still haven’t met any of them.”
“Ever since Prince Aemon died, no royal has lived here for years. Most of these people have grown lazy and the numbers are thin. Castle maintenance and patrols are half-assed. Only the mine crews and dragon guards still do their jobs properly.”
Baelon turned in his chair and looked back at Black Stone Castle.
From the windows above, shadowy figures watched the sixty-odd newcomers in the courtyard.
Inside the castle, people had gathered in small clusters, whispering about the “Wise Crippled Prince.”
“What do you think he’ll do now? Stay shut up in his rooms like before, or actually try to run Dragonstone?”
“Please. An eight-year-old kid who can’t even stand? How’s he supposed to govern anything? He’s not the Prince of Dragonstone anyway—he’s just been dumped here.”
“Still, I heard he did good work in King’s Landing. The whole city cleanup plan was his idea.”
“If he was that useful, why’d they ship him off to Dragonstone? He must’ve pissed the king off. Parents always have less patience for broken children.”
“True. Look at him since he arrived—moping around like some disappointed prince. Today was the first time he left the castle, and he only stayed in the courtyard.”
“So we just nod, smile, and keep doing what we’ve always done. Nothing they can pin on us.”
“Do something? With sixty men? Plenty of people are already waiting to trip him up. In the end it’ll all fizzle out and we’ll go back to business as usual.”
“He’s got a dragon, you idiot! That’s why they sent him here in the first place—because he told his dragon to burn people!”
“An unfavored son with one dragon? So what? He can’t burn the whole island. And we’re not the only ones slacking off around here.”
“Mad Targaryen. I’m not betting against him. If it comes down to my neck, I’ll fall in line fast enough.”
“Hey, I say he gives up before he even gets to us.”
In the courtyard, Baelon thought for a moment, then spoke.
“Cole, go gather the Gold Cloaks. Tell them to bring their wine cups. I have something to say.”
Cole stood at once, walked into the middle of the gathering, and clapped his hands sharply.
“Listen up! His Grace wants a word. Everyone over here—bring your cups.”
The Gold Cloaks rose, cups in hand, and formed up in front of Baelon’s chair.
Baelon lifted his own cup toward them.
“Relax. No need to look so stiff.”
“I know you’re the best fighters the Gold Cloaks have, my uncle’s most trusted men, and hungry to earn real glory. Coming all the way out here to Dragonstone with me wasn’t easy. So here’s to you.”
Fifty voices roared their approval loud enough to shake the walls.
The captain standing at the front spoke with real heat in his voice.
“Your Grace, we’re all common-born from King’s Landing. Everything you did for the smallfolk there—we saw it with our own eyes. When we heard there was a chance to follow you, we fought over the spots. This isn’t hardship.”
“If Prince Daemon hadn’t capped the ranks and titles, half of us wouldn’t even be here.”
“You’re a merciful prince. It’s an honor to serve you.”
The men behind him shouted their agreement, voices tumbling over one another.
Baelon lowered his hand and the noise died.
When the courtyard was quiet again, he smiled.
“Because even though I’m one of the greatest nobles in the Seven Kingdoms, I don’t much like nobles. Most of them are arrogant and two-faced. What I enjoy is making my own nobles with my own hands. And you lot are my first batch of test subjects. Starting today, your pay doubles.”
For one heartbeat there was stunned silence.
Then the courtyard exploded in cheers.
Baelon waited until every last voice had quieted and every man was staring at him with open awe before he spoke again.
“But this extra coin isn’t free. In return I expect absolute loyalty, iron discipline, and perfect execution.”
He pointed over his shoulder at Black Stone Castle without turning around.
“From today on, I’m going to govern this castle and the whole of Dragonstone. You are my eyes and my sword. Go look. Go ask. Go dig. Then I’ll tell you where to swing that sword. Cole will hand out your tasks shortly. Do the work well and there’ll be extra rewards for every man.”
He had raised his voice on purpose.
The news that the crippled prince intended to clean up Dragonstone spread across the island faster than dragonfire.
Reactions were mixed.
The miners and fishermen at the bottom didn’t mind—in fact, some looked almost hopeful.
They had spent their lives being squeezed; this could only help them.
The middle-tier craftsmen grew nervous and started quietly fixing every sloppy job and forgotten task from the past few years.
The high-level managers split down the middle.
Some scrambled to cover their tracks and make things look presentable.
Others put on the dead-pig-not-afraid-of-boiling-water face, ready to wait out whatever storm came.
Cole pushed Baelon back toward his rooms and asked quietly, “Your Grace, doesn’t this just give them time to prepare?”
Baelon sighed.
“Right now the only move is to beat the grass and startle the snake.”
“From everything you’ve told me, Dragonstone’s problems run deep and too many people are tangled up in them. If we tried to purge every last bit of rot, the island would be empty by the end. We don’t have enough pieces on the board. If we want Dragonstone looking like it should be run by a Targaryen in any reasonable amount of time, this is the only way.”
“Kindness and authority together. Handle the big problems now, let the small ones wait. We’ll settle accounts when the harvest comes.”