An Independent Heart

A Heart of Independence

Seeing how terrified he looked,

Aemon sighed softly, unable to muster any anger.

Most of the artisan slaves brought back were like this, having endured too much persecution and torment at the hands of their masters.

They saw themselves as inferior and found it difficult to fit into Runestone.

Fortunately, they were easy enough to support.

There were over one hundred and twenty of them in total, organized into households of five.

By the standard that one Gold Dragon could support a household in King's Landing for a month, it would take only sixty Gold Dragons a month to provide for them.

That came to just seven hundred and twenty Gold Dragons a year.

And their Prince had a full ten thousand Gold Dragons in hand, enough to spend for more than a decade.

"You may go now. Live well, and come find me if you need anything."

Aemon waved a hand, brimming with a sense of responsibility.

"Thank you, Dragon King."

The old blacksmith retreated trembling.

Keeping his usual composure, Aemon familiarized himself with his new sword.

Shing!

He drew the two-foot sword. Its blade was a deep orange, with a somewhat thick spine.

There was no doubt about it. It was a Bronze Sword.

Aemon inspected it from top to bottom.

The hilt fit snugly in his hand, ensuring it would not hurt his palm while also preventing it from slipping free with sweat.

The guard had been hammered into a circle wrapped in square blocks, its surface engraved with runes.

"Doesn't seem all that useful?"

Aemon frowned seriously, running his fingers over the orderly runes engraved on either side of the sword spine.

The bronze faith and rune culture.

Their union was the symbol of House Royce.

Those suits of Bronze Armor were all engraved with runes, said to protect those who wore them.

That part was false, but the Bronze Armor did indeed contain a trace of magic.

And it was very likely the effect of the runes.

Ser Steffon was looking at it as well and advised, "Prince, many tales of magic are half truth and half fiction. We have no way to replicate them."

"You're right, Ser."

Aemon sheathed his sword and agreed. "Human strength has its limits. I understand."

The broken runes could not reveal the complete rune faith.

His own brain certainly would not be enough.

He could only place his hopes on the Essence Panel and see whether it could exchange for cards containing relevant knowledge.

"Let's go."

Aemon strapped the Bronze Short Sword to his waist and mounted the White Hart without restraint.

He was someone of standing now.

Naturally, he needed a fine sword to match.

Bronze might be soft, but the blacksmith's skill was high.

For an eight-year-old like him, it suited him perfectly.

Seeing the smiling Prince, Ser Steve smiled knowingly, and his mood brightened as well.

King's Landing was a rat hole, where the White Knight had to tread carefully.

Runestone's attitude was sharply divided, but at least the one he was protecting was open-minded.

He would treat it as an extended vacation.

The White Hart wandered along at a leisurely pace, completing a circuit before eight in the morning.

Aemon wore a smile, occasionally greeting people he knew.

Yet more people treated him coldly.

Most notably the branch knights of House Royce, who had little interest in this young Prince.

Many more Hedge Knights and knightly attendants followed their lead, choosing to support neither side.

After circling around, they returned to the castle.

The classroom attic.

Creak!

Aemon pushed open the door. The Old Maester had been waiting for quite some time.

The Prince was still young and had to attend his eight o'clock lessons every day.

"Good morning, Maester."

Aemon greeted him and walked straight to the lectern.

William sat below, holding a book as he waited for class to begin.

Gonsal was there too, his large backside perched on the windowsill as he devoured an orange.

Ser Steve glanced at him before standing by the door as a guard.

The people in the room, excluding the aged and frail Maester Hugh, made up the Prince's small inner circle.

The Seagull Knight, Ryan Shett, was absent. He had returned home after landing in Gulltown.

The guard squad was down one member.

The Old Maester drew a letter from his sleeve and said unhurriedly, "A reply from the princess."

"Oh, let me see."

Aemon opened the envelope.

Though he had returned to Runestone, two hearts still remained in King's Landing, thinking of him.

Alicent wrote often, telling him Otto had already stepped down and that life in the Red Keep had become much easier for her.

She also asked in her letters whether he was doing well, reminding him to eat properly and not kick off his blanket at night.

Like a nagging older sister or mother.

Aemon always replied as quickly as he could, taking the opportunity to have merchant ships from Gulltown deliver some local specialties from the Vale.

Rhaenyra wrote only occasionally.

She said that Lord Lyonel had become the new Hand and that the Small Council was selecting a Master of Laws to fill the vacancy.

She also complained that her uncle Viserys refused to delegate power, while inviting all sorts of young noblemen to strut like peacocks before her.

She wanted to prove herself, yet lacked a broader vision.

On that point, Aemon had given her some advice.

King's Landing was the Capital of the Seven Kingdoms.

Its population remained above five hundred thousand year-round. Public order was relatively chaotic, and sanitation was a complete mess.

There was nothing to be done about public order. That was the Gold Cloaks' responsibility.

But sanitation could be improved.

During his days in King's Landing, Aemon had visited streets and districts that were all filthy and disorderly, with excrement and urine covering the ground in many places.

Even from several kilometers away, the stench assaulted the nose.

Beneath its prosperous facade, it was truly a disgrace.

Aemon's suggestion to Rhaenyra had been to find diligent, hardworking orphans from the orphanages, provide them with tools and carts, and have them clean the streets.

They did not need to clean everything spotless. They only needed to remove the waste.

They could clean it on schedule every day, cart it outside the city, and compost it near farmland.

No one composted in this era, but they still understood that waste could fertilize the soil.

Once the compost was ready,

Aemon's suggestion was to designate some wasteland and give it to homeless orphans, allowing them to clear and cultivate it with suitable assistance.

Thus it could be recycled in a continuous cycle.

Within a few years, King's Landing's sanitation would improve, while the royal family would gain tax revenue from more farmland.

If Rhaenyra personally brought this about, she would surely win the people's support.

It would accomplish several things at once.

"Let's see what happened."

Aemon skimmed through the letter and could not help but be surprised.

Rhaenyra wrote that she had already begun putting the plan into action and had made some improvements.

First, she had recruited orphans, though there were only a little over a hundred for the moment.

There were too few of them to do much work, so they had been assigned to a single street near the Red Keep. Every morning, they cleared away waste, then carted it out of the city at dusk.

Composting was simple enough. The royal family owned plenty of farmland.

During the process, they encountered two difficulties: opposition from residents and the difficulty of cleaning.

The common people were ignorant and strongly resisted anyone collecting their waste.

After all, even if it was unwanted filth, having someone else take it away still felt like a loss.

And the difficulty of cleaning was real as well.

People dumped excrement and urine directly into the streets, making cleanup extremely time-consuming and laborious.

Fortunately, during the reign of his great-grandfather Jaehaerys, King's Landing's drainage system had been overhauled, so rain would not leave the whole city floating in shit.

Rhaenyra was brainless when facing life choices, but she was clever when handling affairs of state.

She went directly to the Gold Cloaks, had every troublemaker beaten, and notified each household to dump their waste at several designated collection points.

Those who refused were fined.

After that series of measures, the people on that street behaved themselves, and the orphans no longer had to run all over the streets to collect waste.

In just a few days, the street's sanitation had been transformed.

Even if some accused her of oppressing commoners, the praise rising from the lower classes could not be faked.

Unless they had no other choice, who would not want a better environment and freedom from the stench of heaps of waste?

Aemon read with great interest and muttered, "A temporary pilot program, city management and sanitation workers, centralized waste pits. Not bad at all!"

Sure enough, people in the Middle Ages were not stupid. They merely lacked perspective.

"Ah, when will I have a fief of my own?"

Aemon propped his cheek on one hand, his little face full of melancholy.

His mother was healthy and would have no problem living for decades.

Since he could not inherit Runestone, he had to find somewhere to develop on his own.

Only by being his own master could he fully realize his ambitions.