King's Landing — Rhaenys' Hill, the Dragonpit
The footsteps were heavy and chaotic—near and far at once—mixed with the clatter of chains scraping across the stone floor and muffled sobbing.
The leader was Ion, a city jailer from the dungeons of King's Landing, a thick-headed man in uniform. The moment he saw the prince, he hurried forward, his face breaking into an ingratiating smile.
Behind him, ten jailers escorted seven or eight prisoners.
"Your Highness!" Ion bowed deeply. "By order, this group of condemned criminals has been delivered to the dragon as… additional rations."
His face was full of forced cheer, yet his eyes never dared look directly at the massive creature lying nearby, whose mere breathing stirred waves of hot wind.
Aemond knew this custom well.
It was an ancient Valyrian tradition—one never abolished, even under the reigns of wise kings. It existed deliberately.
The moment the prisoners saw the dragon, panic exploded. A bald, muscular man suddenly twisted around and slammed his head into a nearby jailer. Another thin young man collapsed to his knees, legs giving out, and was dragged roughly forward. The air filled with the stench of urine and filth—someone had lost control.
"Quiet! Behave yourselves!" Ion shouted sharply. He yanked the hilt of his dagger from his belt and smashed it into a struggling prisoner's shoulder with a dull thud.
"This is your blessing—to be eaten by a dragon! No hanging, no burial! Be grateful!"
The gagged prisoner shook his head desperately, a muffled sound escaping his throat, eyes pleading like a slaughter-bound animal.
Ion sneered and kicked him aside. "Now you want mercy? Too late. Tie them tighter!"
Aemond's expression never changed. His violet eyes swept calmly over the prisoners destined for the dragon's belly.
He accepted the list Ion handed him. Each name was followed by charges: robbery and murder, rape, arson, assault on guards…
All capital crimes—tragically common in King's Landing.
His gaze moved steadily until it paused at the final entry.
Terra — female, approximately twenty years old, from the Stormlands.
Charges: illegal hunting in the Kingswood; resisting arrest; killing three nobles (including Aegino, second son of Lord Hayhall); assaulting officers.
She stood upright.
Her shackled wrists were thin, yet seemed to restrain coiled strength. Even when forced to kneel, her body was taut, like a drawn bow, her eyes fixed on the ground.
Sensing the prince's gaze, she lifted her head. Her eyes swept past the guards, past Aemond—and finally stopped on Vhagar. Her pupils contracted sharply before she forced herself to look away.
Her body was covered in wounds, dark blood crusted into her torn clothes.
Vhagar let out an impatient rumble, clearly displeased by the delay.
Aemond pointed at the woman. "Her case. Explain."
Ion stepped forward at once, lowering his voice. "Your Highness, this woman is hard as iron."
"She caused a major incident and fled all the way here. She intended to escape by ship, but the Royal Fleet identified her as a wanted criminal."
The prisoner understood. Her bound body trembled violently as she raised her head again, dark eyes staring directly at Aemond through tangled hair.
Ion rubbed his hands, preparing to give the order to feed them to the dragon.
"Wait," Aemond said calmly.
His gaze returned to Terra. "Let her speak."
Ion froze. "Your Highness, this—this lowborn woman speaks filth. I fear she'll offend—"
He dared not continue and gestured hurriedly to a jailer.
The jailer stepped forward and ripped the cloth from Terra's mouth.
She coughed violently, spitting blood-tinged saliva and dragging sulfur-tainted air into her lungs.
Her voice was hoarse, but clear, carrying the sharp accent of the Stormlands.
"I am a deer hunter," she said urgently, staring at Ion before turning to Aemond.
"The Kingswood belongs to the Crown. I accept punishment for hunting there!"
Her cheeks flushed red with rage.
"They pinned me down. Tore my clothes!"
"That Aegino—he forced himself on me! Said he'd teach a wild girl what noble mercy was—with his sword!"
Her body trembled, humiliation and fury mixing in her voice.
"I bit him to escape! I took the sword to survive!"
"All three were armed! I had no choice!"
"I did not murder them—I defended myself!"
Aemond watched her silently for several seconds.
Then he said, "You seem a capable hunter."
"You are free."
Ion went stiff.
He had taken gold from Lord Hayhall. The lord had demanded that the woman who killed his son die screaming in a dragon's jaws—without even bones left behind.
Terra froze.
She glanced at the other bound prisoners, their eyes full of terror, then back at Aemond's unreadable face.
They could not resist effectively, but their numbers and desperation still made the fight brutal.
She was no knight. Her fighting belonged to forests and wild places—efficient, savage, lethal.
Using stones torn from the ground…
When the last prisoner finally stopped convulsing beneath her grip, Terra herself nearly collapsed, gasping for breath. Her dark eyes lifted to Aemond.
He watched in silence until the final body fell still.
Then he gestured to Ion. "Release her."
Ion hesitated—but obeyed.
Terra staggered to her feet.
To everyone's astonishment, the woman who had just reclaimed her life dropped to her knees and pressed her forehead against the cold, bloodstained stone.
Her voice shook. "I… I have nowhere to go. Lord Hayhall will not spare me."
She lifted her head, blood and dust streaking her face.
"You gave me a chance to live—not just today. My life is yours."
She knew she had been spared on a whim. Outside this place waited either pursuit—or another cruel death.
After a moment, Aemond spoke. "Stand."
He turned to his aide, Gwayne.
"Take her to be treated. Clean clothes. Then bring her to the Riverside estate."
The property his father had granted him.
Aemond turned away, walking toward Vhagar. The old dragon had already grown impatient for the meal that now lay dead.