Four months had slipped past in a blur of mud, sweat, and the constant ringing of axes against wood. It had been over half a year since I woke up in this body, and in that time, my world had shrunk to the size of this territory. The 'Prince' who once played with wooden swords in the Red Keep was gone; in his place was something colder, something that understood the machinery of power and the cost of order.
I sat in a makeshift wooden chair one of the first real pieces of furniture we'd crafted handling a judgment. The air in the makeshift courthouse was thick with tension. I listened, my face carefully blank, to the tearful story of a girl no older than fourteen. Her voice trembled as she described the attack. The man who had done it, one of the original criminals we'd brought in, was held firmly by two members of our new militia.
I looked at the guards holding him. They were lean, scarred men who had once been desperate bandits, but now they stood with straight backs and sharp eyes. Their dedication and loyalty had been the biggest surprise of all. The moment a man earned his place in the militia, he shed his status as a criminal and became a soldier of Dragonstone.
Well, considering I implemented the training drills from my past life and have that bastard Ser Olyvar in charge, it's no real wonder, I thought.
Olyvar was a brute who took far too much pleasure in bullying the newcomers during their drills screaming until his face turned purple and making them run until they vomited but his methods worked. He didn't just teach them how to fight; he broke their old identities and forged them into something useful. He was a cruel leader, but he was a good one.
The prisoner spat at my feet, his eyes defiant despite the chains. "She's nothing but a peasant girl! In the woods, we took what we wanted!"
I didn't even flinch. The defiance didn't anger me; it bored me. It was the same old story of the strong preying on the weak, and in this new kingdom, I was the strongest.
"In the woods, you were animals," I said quietly, my voice carrying through the silent room. "But here, you are my subjects. And in my land, we do not rape."
I looked at Ser Olyvar. "Take him outside. I've already seen enough rape and pillage in my short life."
I turned my attention away from the man as Olyvar dragged him out of the room, his curses echoing down the hallway until the heavy door slammed shut. The silence that followed was fragile and heavy.
I looked at the girl. Up close, she looked even smaller than fourteen, her shoulders hunched and her eyes red rimmed from crying. The coldness that had defined my judgment vanished from my expression, replaced by something softer, though still distant. I couldn't fix everything in her heart, but I could change her circumstances.
"I am afraid Dragonstone cannot offer you monetary compensation yet," I said quietly, my voice gentle enough to not startle her. "We have no gold to give. But I won't leave you to fend for yourself in the fields."
I gestured toward the settlement beyond the walls. "I think you would be better off in the makeshift kitchens of the Green Hills. You'll be working with the other women, and more importantly, you'll be under the constant scrutiny of the guards. No one will touch you there."
Green Hills. That was what we had named this new territory. It sounded peaceful, almost pastoral, but it was a place forged from blood and sweat. It was no longer just a patch of fertile land; it was the first true domain of the Prince of Dragonstone. You are reading on novelping dot com, the official source.
The girl looked up at me, her eyes searching mine. She didn't know about the Red Keep, or the cupboard, or the dead man's blood on my hands from months ago. All she saw was a boy who looked like a prince but spoke like someone who knew what it meant to be helpless.
"Thank you... Your Highness," she whispered, wiping her nose with her sleeve.
"Go on," I said with a small nod. "The head cook is a woman named Marga. She's fierce enough to scare off any man who forgets his place. She'll take care of you."
As she left the room, I leaned back in my chair and closed my eyes. The weight of leadership was a different kind of exhaustion than hunger. Every day I had to decide who lived, who worked, and who died. I was seven years old, and I was already tired of the crown I hadn't even worn yet.
I retreated to what was now my makeshift council room. It wasn't a tent anymore; the months of sweat and timber hauling had earned us something better a sturdy wooden house with a proper floor and a roof that didn't weep when it rained. Through the window, I could see the transformation of our camp. What had once been a cluster of desperate hovels had grown into a proper village hugging the coastline, the thatched roofs and timber frames standing as defiant proof of our existence.
Even from here, I could see the children. They weren't just surviving anymore; they were playing in the dirt between the work rows, their laughter carrying on the salt breeze.
Kellan entered without knocking, his boots thudding on the wooden planks. He didn't look like the bitter warden who had met me at the gates anymore. His shoulders were broader, his face tanned by the sun, and though his eyes remained tired, there was a steadiness in them that hadn't been there before. He came to stand beside me at the window, both of us looking out over the settlement.
"They are living," I said quietly, watching a group of workers pause to share a loaf of bread while children ran between them. "Laughing, working, eating together. It's not the Red Keep, Kellan. There's no gold leaf or perfumed courtiers, but there's something real here."
Kellan stayed silent for a long moment, his gaze fixed on the smoke rising from the communal kitchens. "I never thought I'd see the day, Prince Vaegon," he admitted, his voice rough but sincere. "I thought we were just building a better graveyard. But this... this feels like something else entirely."
"It's a beginning," I replied, turning away from the window. "But we can't get complacent. The Green Hills are growing, and that means we need more than just farmers now. We need proper defenses, better roads, and we need to start thinking about what comes after the harvest."
The council reunited in the wooden hall. Larys Velaryon, Lord Bar Emmon, Lord Celtigar, Kellan, Lord Sunglass. We were the Small Council of Dragonstone the only council in Westeros that had been built from the ground up, not inherited from some dead ancestor.
I leaned back in my chair, listening as Lord Bar Emmon and Lord Seaworth presented their progress.
"We have started farming, my Prince," Bar Emmon said, his voice carrying a note of pride I hadn't heard when we first arrived. "The water streams network has been finalized. We've put two thirds of our workers in the fields. The last third is still continuing the expansion, albeit in a much slower path." He paused, then added with a slight smile, "Ah. We didn't forget to replant the trees we cut down, like you ordered, Your Highness."
"Excellent work," I said, and I meant it. The idea of sustainable forestry had been a hard sell at first, but seeing the saplings take root gave me a sense of permanence.
Larys Velaryon stood up, and to my surprise, he was smiling. The transformation of the Lord of Driftmark had been the most interesting part of the last few months. Beneath that cold Valyrian exterior and his constant worry for his dwindling house, there was a man who was genuinely curious. He had become something of an innovator, constantly tinkering with boat designs and fishing nets, treating the Green Hills like a giant laboratory. Read the latest chapters at novelping.com.
"My Prince," Larys said, his pale eyes bright. "The population of the Green Hills has grown tremendously. Word of our success has spread like wildfire among the desperate. We have now almost four thousand souls here."
Four thousand. We had gone from a handful of desperate lords and a few hundred refugees to a legitimate town.
"And the security situation has kept pace," Larys continued. "The Dragonstone militia is now composed of nearly one thousand men under the command of Ser Olyvar."
I whistled low. A thousand man army. Not a royal host, certainly not enough to take King's Landing, but more than enough to defend these hills against any bandit or minor lord who thought we were easy prey. We weren't just a farming colony anymore. We were becoming a power.
Kellan stood up next, rolling his shoulders with a satisfaction that came from seeing order take root where there had once been chaos. "My Prince, the criminality rate inside the Green Hills is at an all time low. There are still stragglers, the occasional thief in the night, but the militia is extremely efficient. They know that in this settlement, the price of disorder is swift and final."
I nodded approvingly. Order was the bedrock. Without it, we would have just been another gang of raiders in a different kind of castle.
But then Lord Sunglass stood, and the atmosphere in the room shifted instantly. You would have expected him to be the most cautious among us he was the one who had gambled his family's remaining coin to fund our entire operation. But as he spoke, I could see the glint in his eyes. The success of the Green Hills had awakened something in him: the merchant's hunger. He wasn't just seeing soil and trees anymore; he was seeing gold, trade routes, and endless profit margins.
"My Prince," Sunglass said, leaning forward, his voice carrying an edge of excitement. "I bring news from the Capital."
Every man at the table froze. The word 'Capital' always carried a chill. We had spent months building this sanctuary precisely because we wanted to be invisible to the Iron Throne.
"No need to worry," Sunglass said, noticing our tension, and he offered a knowing smile. "The Crown truly doesn't care about what we are doing. They have no interest in our turnips or our fish. However..." He paused for dramatic effect. "The King's agents have been here. They came to confirm whether Prince Vaegon has truly taken the title of Prince of Dragonstone. They wanted to see if the ghost had become flesh."
He grinned, a shark like expression that made me realize why he was so good at business. "I wagered my remaining coin on it, and I believe I've won. The Seven Kingdoms now knows that Dragonstone is your fief, Vaegon. The whispers have reached King's Landing. You are no longer a dead prince; you are a ruling one."
I leaned back, my mind racing. We had wanted recognition, but recognition brought eyes. And eyes brought demands.
"So, the secret is out," I said quietly, looking around at my council. "We wanted to be left alone, but we've inadvertently announced ourselves to the world. Now we have to decide: do we continue to build in silence, or do we start preparing for the day the Crown decides they want their 'lost' prince to come home?"