The Thirteen Magnates of Quells

Essos, Golden Fields.

A clear blue sky, a lush green lake.

Thousands of people built temporary homes and reclaimed farmland around Dagger Lake, rich in fish.

The lake lay calm, with only the occasional ripple.

The framework of a vast building with a broad foundation slowly took shape.

More people carried lumber and stone, speeding up construction.

Everything proceeded in orderly fashion, without a single complaint.

Grass rustled beneath trampling feet.

On the far side of Dagger Lake, a colossal dragon as black as coal lay sprawled on the ground, its sickly green pupils half open. An invisible pressure weighed on the soul.

Whenever someone sneaked a glance at it,

its broad nostrils blasted out hot air, turning the grass for dozens of meters around it into scorched earth.

The people worked even harder.

"Old friend, we should head out again."

Rhaegar walked out of the fields, a grave expression settling over his brow.

There still weren't enough recruits.

Even though Braavos and Pentos had declared a truce, the fallout had still tarnished the Dragonlord family's reputation.

The people of Golden Fields would rather see their homes destroyed beneath the Dothraki's hooves than submit to the Dragonlord family and build a new home.

"I'll go too."

Daeron followed with short, quick steps, blisters covering the hand he'd used to chop wood.

There weren't enough hands, so even the prince had to work.

"You stay. Otherwise, they'll all run off."

Rhaegar climbed onto Dragonback with practiced ease, his expression stern. "I'm going to Slaver's Bay to discuss some matters. Try to gather more displaced people."

The Dothraki had pillaged half of Essos's Western Continent, and Golden Fields had suffered the most.

Daemon had once rescued people who'd been plundered, earning considerable renown in this land.

After giving his instructions, Rhaegar lightly