In the Red Keep's study, candlelight fell across an unfurled map of King's Landing, covered with meticulous annotations on the countless details of rebuilding the city.
The Great Sept of Baelor and the Street of Silk, leveled by the gales from dragon wings; the boundaries of the Dragonpit reconstruction on Rhaenys's Hill-the map was densely packed with minor yet vital tasks that sustained the dynasty's foundations.
Aegon stood before the desk, his long silver-white hair falling over his shoulders, his plain black clothes accentuating a figure as straight as a pine.
Jon Connington stood beside him, reporting each aspect of the reconstruction of King's Landing in measured detail.
This veteran pillar of the realm, who oversaw both military and civil affairs, carried the city's tangled burdens on his shoulders. Day and night of toil had already left his back slightly stooped.
Yet at the recent Great Council, Aegon had personally named him a marquess and expanded his lands to nearly twice their former size. That honor and trust had breathed new life into the aging knight.
His hair was gray, but his eyes shone with an almost searing brightness. He delivered every report clearly and briskly, brimming with inexhaustible energy.
After reporting the final matter of reconstruction, Jon Connington gathered his documents and pondered for a long while. At last, unable to suppress his doubts, he bowed and spoke, his voice full of bewilderment:
"Your Highness, there is something I still cannot understand. Why did you deliberately release Tommen Baratheon after the battle of Stokeworth?"
"Our three armies had encircled them. We could have captured every last enemy soldier. Why did you specifically order us to leave them an escape route?"
At those words, Aegon slowly raised his fingers and tapped the map, neither lightly nor heavily. The sound of