Aemon Targaryen

-Chapter 129-

-1st day of the 1st moon of the year 117 AC-

-POV 3rd-

From atop the wooden ramparts of the small fort on the island, two guards sat on the walls, playing with dice crafted from bones.

"Four," said one of the guards, eagerly waiting for the other to lift the cup and reveal if the guess was correct.

"Wrong again," said the second guard, lifting the cup and revealing that the sum of the dice was 6.

"Raahh," groaned the first guard, sighing in frustration as he pulled a copper coin from his clothes and tossed it to his companion.

"How many times has it been, Erik?" asked another guard who suddenly appeared behind the first one.

"It's been 19 times since we took our watch shift that this bastard has fleeced me," said Erik, shaking his head in annoyance at the loss of 19 copper stars.

The newcomer shook his head, then said to Erik in a slightly mocking tone:

"You know Ivarn cheats, right?"

Erik raised his eyebrows slightly before replying:

"I know he cheats, Rodar, but I want to know how he's been pulling it off right under my nose all this time without me catching him, even though I'm focused only on that."

"Hey, stop talking like I'm not here. I'm not a cheater; you're just too stupid to understand my art," said Ivarn.

"Alright, give it a rest," said Rodar, feeling pity for Erik as he gestured at him, then added with a sly smile:

"You've suffered enough for one night. Go get some rest. I'll cover for you earlier than usual today."

Erik nodded gratefully at Rodar and didn't hesitate to leave quickly, seeking some comfort after his rough night.

"And me?" asked Ivarn, watching Erik flee without looking back.

"You stay here until Boris arrives. That lazy bastard is still asleep, and there's no way I'm doing guard duty alone," Rodar told Ivarn.

"Damn slacker," grumbled Ivarn as he packed up his dice in a pouch on his belt alongside his winnings.

"You're not happy to have some quality time with me?" asked Rodar, looking at Ivarn, a man who, unlike Erik, had only recently been recruited as a guard.

"How could I say no to a moment alone with the great Captain Rodar?" replied Ivarn in a slightly mocking tone.

"Cut the sarcasm. I really was a captain," said Rodar.

"Yeah, sure. And how did the great Captain Rodar end up on this cursed island with grunts like us?" asked Ivarn. Rodar lowered his eyes and finally replied:

"I'm here because I forgot my place."

"And what is your place?" asked Ivarn, clearly skeptical of Rodar's story.

"My place? This is my place," said Rodar, watching a small worm squirming on the wooden 'table,' which was nothing more than a log.

Ivarn said nothing and frowned.

After a few moments, Rodar added:

"I hid some coins and got caught. I was punished accordingly."

"Punished to the point of being sent here as a mere soldier for the rest of your life?" said Ivarn, raising an eyebrow skeptically.

"Betraying the expectations of a Targaryen rarely leads to such a fortunate outcome," said Rodar, his gaze slightly lost in thought.

"You call it fortunate to be stuck here every single day, watching a dreadfully calm stretch of water where no enemy will ever emerge, earning a pittance we'll never even get to spend?" said Ivarn, spitting on the ground at the end.

Rodar didn't respond immediately. Finally, in a chilling tone, he asked:

"Have you ever said that to anyone else?"

"No, alright," added Rodar, drawing his sword and pointing it at Ivarn.

"What are you doing? I was just joking, I…" stammered Ivarn, confused, before Rodar silenced him by bringing the blade closer to his face.

"Shut up and move," ordered Rodar.

Ivarn couldn't finish his sentence. Rodar, now behind him, pressed the blade against his back.

"If you speak again, I'll skewer you. Do we understand each other?" said Rodar coldly, leaning close to Ivarn's ear to emphasize his words.

"Yes," replied Ivarn quickly, nodding frantically.

"Good. Now keep moving and do as I say, quietly," ordered Rodar.

"Yes," repeated Ivarn, nodding again.

The two men advanced under the cover of night until they reached the gates. Then Rodar told Ivarn:

"Open the gate."

"What are you…" Ivarn stopped abruptly as he felt Rodar's blade against his back.

"Fine, I'll do it," said Ivarn, raising his hands and moving toward the gate.

He took a deep breath before lifting the gate's crossbar. He pushed with all his strength and finally managed to remove it.

Before he could understand what was happening, the gates swung open, and a horde of pirates poured into the fort.

"How?" whispered Ivarn as he watched the pirates flood in without sparing him a glance.

"You distract Erik; that's your secret," said Rodar to Ivarn.

Ivarn turned to look at the former captain, but before he could say anything, a heavy blow to the head knocked him unconscious.

"You're ruthless, my friend," said a deep voice behind Rodar.

Turning around, Rodar saw a man accompanied by a giant striding confidently among the pirates taking control of the fort.

"Who are you?" asked Rodar, frowning at the stranger.

"Saabhos Saan," replied the man with a smug smile. He gave a slight bow before asking authoritatively:

"How many fighters in this fort?"

"There are only 70," answered Rodar without hesitation, knowing he had no reason to lie to Saabhos Saan, whose pirates outnumbered them ten to one.

"Perfect. We won't need to shed much blood," declared Saabhos, satisfied. He entered the fort, followed by his men, stopping briefly to look around.

A grin spread across his face. He sniffed the air dramatically, then exclaimed:

"Do you smell that, Ferdinio?"

His second-in-command, clearly puzzled, replied:

"What smell, Commander?"

"The smell of riches, hahahaha!" laughed Saabhos Saan, clearly relieved and delighted by how easily he had seized one of the five islands mentioned in the contract.