As soon as the words fell.
Led by members of House Royce and Ser Lyonel Corbray, a large group of people knelt on one knee.
Among them were acquaintances, people they had met once, and people they had never met.
All placed one hand on their chest, showing their loyalty to the heir of Runestone before them.
Some people didn't kneel, silently sizing up this young heir.
Loyalty to Lady Rhea of Runestone and loyalty to her heir were two different things for the time being.
Aemon saw it all and gently raised his hand: "Get up, I see your loyalty."
Whoosh!
Those who knelt all stood up and took a step back in unison.
This action highlighted those who had not knelt.
There weren't many people.
The Tollett family of Grey Glen, the Koart family of Coldwater, and some Royce branches with distant bloodlines.
Aemon looked at them one by one, recognizing the representatives of each family.
The two sides looked at each other, falling into silence for a moment.
Aemon put on a coat, intending to exchange a few pleasantries.
Suddenly, a strong man in silver-gray armor couldn't help himself and went straight to the blacksmith shop.
The strong man had a rough face and short gray-black hair.
After entering the blacksmith shop, he plunged into the completed full plate armor, unable to take his eyes off it.
While staring, he muttered to himself: "What amazing craftsmanship, there isn't even a seam in the ribs."
Hearing his words, one could tell he was an expert.
There are many types of armor, among which plate armor has the strongest defense and a higher survival rate on the battlefield.
And the quality of a plate armor depends entirely on the number of flaws left by the blacksmith during the forging process.
After all, the materials used are about the same; no one can pierce a steel plate.
And the gaps where different parts of the armor are joined together are the fatal weaknesses for breaking through the defense.
The more skilled the blacksmith, the fewer gaps there are after the plate armor is pieced together.
The full plate armor forged by Aemon has seams that are almost impossible to detect without careful inspection.
"Your Highness, could you be the reincarnation of a 'Smith'?"
The strong man's eyes lit up, ignoring the scorching silver breastplate that touched the plate armor, and said loudly: "I am here to fight for you. If I perform meritorious service, can you bestow this armor upon me?"
His armor had the Tollett family crest printed on the chest.
And he himself was Eddison Tollett, the Lord of Grey Glen.
He had led his army here as early as nine days ago.
And during this time, he had come to the blacksmith shop almost every day to watch His Highness the Prince forging iron.
A blacksmith is not a lowly profession.
The First Men and the Andals both conquered Westeros with bronze and iron technologies of epoch-making significance.
Even in the Faith of the Seven, there is a "Smith."
Eddison had been waiting for nine days, witnessing the Prince's forging process with his own eyes.
He had forged a total of three full plate armors, seventeen hand-and-a-half swords, and two oak shields.
This forging speed was comparable to riding a dragon.
And with each finished product, the quality of the next one would be even better.
By the time of today's full plate armor, the quality had surpassed the work of the best blacksmith in the Vale.
It would be difficult to buy even if he spent all the savings of Grey Glen.
His words immediately attracted the attention of the others.
Some people had already noticed that His Highness the Prince's forging skills were superb.
Otherwise, who would gather here to watch blacksmithing?
The pressure was on the young Prince.
Aemon looked at Ser Eddison, who disregarded etiquette, and said with amusement: "You like this armor?"
"Of course!"
Eddison shouted.
He simply loved it to death.
Aemon grasped the freshly made pauldron and handed it over, pretending to be serious: "You don't need to perform meritorious service, it's yours now."
"Ah?"
Eddison was stunned.
Looking at the still hot pauldron, it was really like a hot potato.
He couldn't take it, but he couldn't bear to give it up.
Gritting his teeth, he was about to reach out to take it.
"Wait."
Aemon suddenly called out to stop, and replaced the pauldron with a helmet, stuffing it into the other party's arms, revealing a smile: "You are a warrior, worthy of it."
The purpose of forging these weapons and armors was to bestow them.
Eddison was stunned again, staring blankly at the mask helmet in his arms.
"What's wrong, don't you like it?"
Aemon brushed past him, facing the vassals outside the blacksmith shop.
His back was completely exposed.
He was not afraid that the people behind him would be dissatisfied and would do something rash.
The scene was very quiet, and no one spoke.
Some people were staring at His Highness the Prince, and some were staring at Eddison.
Among those staring at the latter, some were worried that he would get angry, and some were envious of getting a top-notch plate armor for nothing.
One second, two seconds…
"Hahaha!"
A burst of wild laughter came from the blacksmith shop.
Aemon didn't turn his head, the corners of his mouth slightly raised.
Eddison put on the helmet and strode out of the blacksmith shop, arrogantly saying: "Look, this is the new armor His Highness the Prince bestowed upon me."
In a moment of excitement, he even said rude words.
"Hahaha…"
"Damn it, why did you get an armor…"
"Your Highness, I want it too…"
It was this series of rough words that completely ignited the enthusiasm of the vassals under his command, and they began to laugh and curse along with him.
Aemon looked around, his smile becoming more and more intense.
Thump!
Eddison knelt on one knee, his voice loud: "Your Highness, the Tollett family has been loyal to House Royce for generations, and I will also abide by the honor of my ancestors."
"I swear here today that the day I pledge allegiance to you, I will fight for you every day."
His words exited, and the scene became quiet again.
Many people knew that Eddison of Grey Glen was not as reckless as he appeared on the surface, but a bold and careful gray fox.
Except for the direct troops of Runestone, he had observed His Highness the Prince for the longest time.
In fact, he was the only vassal who stayed in the blacksmith shop every day.
Aemon looked down at him, and said seriously: "Pledging allegiance to me may lead to death."
"I only fear not dying on the battlefield, but dying miserably in bed."
Eddison took off his helmet, his face firm.
"Good."
Aemon beckoned.
Jansyff trotted forward and handed over the family sword "Lamentation" hanging on the wall.
With "Lamentation" in hand, Aemon placed it on Eddison's right shoulder and solemnly said, "I guarantee you will die honorably in battle, not from a wound in the back, not from filth, not from betrayal."
Then, he recited the response to the oath of fealty.
With each sentence, "Lamentation" moved from the right shoulder to the left, and finally hovered above his head.
Eddison lowered his head, accepting each vow.
"Rise, Lord Eddison."
Aemon sheathed "Lamentation" at his waist and personally hauled him up.
His strength was so great that even a six-foot-tall strongman was lifted like a chick.
Eddison was stunned again, staring at the young but robust muscles of His Royal Highness, and laughed loudly, "Yes, Your Highness!"
The laughter was even louder than before.
No error version is reading! 6 = 9 + Book _ Bar first published this novel.
"Hahaha."
Aemon glanced at him and laughed along.
He liked this guy; he was a trustworthy general.
"Hahaha…"
Lord and vassal laughed together, while the other vassals looked at each other and burst into laughter.
The Vale was closed and conservative, but also adhered to tradition.
Only the North and Dorne could compare in this regard.
It didn't matter that the liege lord was a young whippersnapper, but he couldn't be a spineless fellow.
His Royal Highness's robust physique, the control and strength he displayed while forging iron.
All of this indicated that he was a highly skilled and ruthless character.
"Your Royal Highness."
Walder Koart of Coldwater emerged from the crowd, bringing his uncle and bastard brother, kneeling on one knee and publicly swearing allegiance.
Their presence in Runestone represented proven loyalty.
If the person before them was worthy of allegiance, they would bend the knee.
One was followed by a second, and the remaining branches of House Royce knelt one after another.
Outsiders could kneel, so they had no reason to ignore it.
"All of you, rise."
Aemon grabbed Eddison and Walder's arms, and shouted as he walked, "Tonight, Runestone will host a banquet to entertain everyone; let's drink until we drop."
Human nature is fickle.
He originally disliked socializing, but at this moment, he was very willing to get drunk with this group of Vale lords.
That's right, he was also half a Vale lord.
"Hahaha!"
The group marched on, each calling out to the knights and squires of their respective families.
They happened to reach the gates of Runestone.
Rumble!
A Vale knight contingent arrived in a cloud of dust, carrying a banner of "a red castle on a white background with a red border."
In the blink of an eye, the team arrived in front of the gate.
The two leaders removed their helmets; they were Hothor Redfort, the eldest son and heir of House Redfort, and his younger brother, Adrian Redfort.
Aemon was surprised, but remained outwardly calm.
He had not invited House Redfort of Redfort.
Hothor dismounted, placed a hand on his chest, and said solemnly,
"By order of my father, House Redfort sends five hundred Vale knights, five hundred longbowmen, and fifteen hundred infantry to support you, hoping His Royal Highness will be without worry."
"Thank you for your arrival, and thank you for House Redfort's strong support."
Aemon said politely, glancing at the red-haired girl behind him.
Jeyne was cheerful as a sparrow, rushing to her two brothers, and said joyfully, "You're finally here! Was the journey difficult?"
Needless to say, she had secretly sent a letter to Redfort.
Aemon narrowed his eyes, suspecting that his mother had also added fuel to the fire.
Jeyne hugged her two brothers, one on each side, and spoke flattering words.
Especially to her elder brother Hothor, like a clingy little sister.
The vassals of House Royce revealed aunt-like smiles when they saw this scene.
What else could House Redfort be here for?
Jeyne raised her eyes and blushed.
Hothor's face was tense, and he whispered, "If you become king, I will bring the rest of our troops, and Father won't say a word."
House Redfort was one of the oldest and most powerful houses in the Vale, and naturally had more troops than they brought.
But his little sister had made no progress, and sending too many troops would seem obsequious.
Even so, a full two thousand troops was not a small number.
"Welcome, it just so happens that we are holding a banquet."
Aemon quickly recovered and greeted them with a bright smile.
He was the Prince calling up troops, the more the better.
Including the two thousand from Redfort, Runestone now had nearly fifteen thousand troops.
Coupled with Vermithor and Silverwing outside the city, it was more than enough to pacify the Vale.
Great!
...
Six days later.
Night.
Runestone was brightly lit, and the noise was endless.
Servants replenished the wine batch after batch, and the wine barrels piled up on more than a dozen carriages.
Aemon sat in the main seat, looking around at the vassals drinking happily.
The banquet had been held for seven consecutive days, and tonight was the seventh night.
Tomorrow morning, the army would set off.
This army of fifteen thousand would head south to Gulltown, bound for an unknown battlefield on the Narrow Sea.
Aemon stared blankly, his eyes as deep as the night.
"Prince, everything is ready."
Jeyne walked gracefully, her beautiful lips curved upwards.
With Lady Rhea keeping a low profile, she had become the mistress of Runestone.
Coordinating the army's supplies and arranging the departure banquet.
Everything was handled in an orderly manner.
"Keep an eye on who has grudges against whom, and don't let them get together and start fighting."
Aemon instructed.
Jeyne nodded her little head and watched His Royal Highness leave the seat.
There was a conference room on the second floor, and representatives from all parties had arrived.
Clap clap clap!
After Aemon left, a group of musicians walked into both sides of the hall.
Led by a cellist, they played a novel piece.
The melody was beautiful, but too suppressed.
It was like the feeling of suffocation before a storm.
Then it erupted in suppression, swallowing all the ships in the endless deep sea.
As a piece before the war, it inadvertently pulled people into a state of solemnity.