Kapitel 86: 17
Chapter Seventeen
Eastwood
Mid 59 AC
"Sometimes I feel as though Aelon can see the future," said Maester Armon as he despondently looked over the recent report he had received from the Citadel.
"Aye, I know the feeling," replied Warren. The two of them were seated in the Maester's Solar as was their habit. The two would generally end the day like this, sitting across from each other, tabulating, summarising and writing reports and notes as they wind down after a hard day's work. On good days, they'd even share a drink or two.
Today was not a good day. In fact, thought Armon, there had been few good days in the past few turns of the moon.
"How did he know that the summer would be that short Warren? How is that humanly possible? Even the most learned Archmaesters at the Citadel were caught off guard. The shortest summer in living memory they are calling it!" cried the Maester, with an incredulous expression on his face.
"Don't be daft, Armon. Of course, he did not know. Aelon is cautious and prudent. And he may have the luck of the gods themselves, but that same cautiousness is the only reason that we will all have food to put in our bellies a year from now," responded the Steward.
"But it's not luck Warren. Just think of it. When all the other Lords were thanking the Gods and emptying their granaries when the last winter ended, Aelon instead gave the order for even more grain to be stockpiled! In the middle of fucking summer Warren. Even you had questioned his sanity at that point," countered the incensed Maester as he waved his arms around as though to emphasise the gravity of his statement.
"And we are lucky for that," responded Warren as he held up a missive in his hands, "do you know what this is? This my friend is a missive from Lord Connington requesting additional shipments of grain. He is the seventh lord to make such a request in the past turn of the moon."
"I don't dispute that my friend. And I don't honestly believe that Aelon can see the future. But even so his actions are highly suspicious. You have to think about it," Armon took a deep breath as he continued speaking, his pitch rising with every word, "The stockpiling of grain, the hoarding of lumber and charcoal when he could and should have been selling both for enormous profits and most importantly, the health and hygiene reforms! It's as if he knew that winter was going to strike early and bring with it the mother of all plagues!"
Even as he finished his tirade he could see that Warren looked extremely uncomfortable with each word he said.
"I'd be careful Armon, making such accusations against your Lord could be considered treason. If the wrong person heard what you're saying, Aelon could be labelled a practitioner of dark magics or some other horse shit along those lines! Do you really want that?" replied the generally placid Steward, anger seeping into his tone in a manner that Armon knew preceded him losing his temper.
"No no, of course not. It's just….frustrating my old friend. I've known Aelon since he was but a boy of ten and three. And from the day I met him, I knew he was special. He's already done more for his lands and people than most Houses accomplish in several generations and I can't help but be proud of having played a small role in it. I just feel….vexed that is all."
Warren stretched and placed his hand on his shoulder, "I can imagine that my friend. If I had to face what you face every day, I imagine I would not do much better. How is the situation in Eastwood?"
"Still not good I'm afraid. Two more people died today. I remember reading about the Shivers in the Citadel. Nothing could have prepared me for actually dealing with it myself."
"Just two though? Isn't that an improvement over yesterday?" responded Warren with a glimmer of hope on his face.
"Aye, I've been administering the treatments prescribed by the Citadel as best as I can. But the disease is far more infectious than anything I have seen before. Aelon's 'quarantine' protocols," he said as he shrugged again at the latest word the Lord of Eastwood had coined before continuing, "have proved to be effective enough. However, the situation is still extremely tenuous."
"At least the smallfolk aren't starving," pointed out the Maester as he leaned back in his seat. It was evident that the man was exhausted, physically, mentally and emotionally. They all were.
The past few turns of the moon had been a nightmare come to life. When Autumn had fallen over Westeros last year, Armon had been one of the many who had congregated at the Sept in Eastwood to pray that it was a false Autumn. That had not been the case. A few turns of the moon later, an extremely harsh and cruel winter, far worse than any other Armon had seen ever before, had blanketed the lands and it became evident that their prayers had fallen on deaf ears.
The combination of a short summer and a harsh winter had been enough to herald the beginning of famine, not immediately though, as the food stores were substantial enough to last a few more turns of the moon, but come next year, the smallfolk would be starving in the streets.
The advent of the Shivers in Westeros had taken a bad situation and turned it into a portrait straight out of the Seven Hells.
"Aye, they are not starving here. And they probably won't for some time yet. With our stores, we could probably feed everyone comfortably until the end of next year. Even more, if we ration. But everywhere else? The Shivers will kill hundreds of thousands, but the famine will kill even more," said Armon gravely as he shuffled around the papers on the desk searching for his pipe.
"I received word from Fred in Oldtown. He says the situation there is worsening by the day,"
"Oldtown maybe hit the worst of all. The plague has spread to basically every corner of Westeros. Even Dorne seems to be suffering. The North may not be affected deeply by the plague, but the famine will affect them worse than any of the other Kingdoms," said Armon as he pulled from his pipe.
"How's Aelon doing?" asked the Steward.
Armon took another puff from his pipe as he considered the question. With the rigorous quarantine protocols placed by Aelon, interaction even between members of the household was restricted to a minimum. Aelon kept his family and ward, the young Jon Errol who had arrived scarcely a year ago, safe in their quarters, fearful for their safety. And even though he was the Lord, he still ventured out of the castle to perform his duties as Lord and bolster the morale of the smallfolk.
"Well enough, especially considering he hasn't seen his children in nearly a moon now."
Warren could only nod at that. The past turn of the moon had been especially hectic. There had been much food to be distributed and more work seemed to turn up every day even though most of Aelon's business endeavours were suspended. Due to Aelon's machinations, Haystack Hall and Eastwood were the only Houses in the Stormlands that currently possessed excess stockpiles of grain.
Much work needed to be done to secure the granaries and ensure that the grain was properly quantified, tabulated and stored so that proper estimates could be created for the grain to be distributed once the people's stores began to run low.
Aelon, Serwyn, Warren and himself had their hands full and were constantly travelling not just to the town, but also to Stormtower, Daegon's Valley and Southwood to take account of the situation and keep the administration running. Mayor Owen in Stormtower had been one of the first to succumb to the Shivers and with the lack of a better alternative, Serwyn had temporarily been appointed the Mayor of Stormtower in the interim.
"I'm surprised that the Errols have not requested for Jon to return to Haystack Hall yet," observed Warren as he reached out to take a puff from Armon's pipe.
"Ser Edwell and Lord Adam are well aware that the situation in Eastwood is much better than that in Haystack Hall. It's safer for the lad here. Frankly speaking, if Aelon wasn't accepting refugees from Bronzegate and planning to export food to the remaining Stormlords when the famine worsens next year, we'd be sailing smoothly through this gods damned winter," replied Armon with a hint of bitterness in his tone.
"Accepting refugees when we don't know how the disease is spreading does appear to be risky….." said Warren as he nodded in agreement with Armon's concerns.
"I understand accepting refugees, all reports indicate that the Bucklers are not faring well and we have food enough to feed the refugees. When we rebuilt Miners Town after the Buckler incident, Aelon added enough additional housing to comfortably accommodate any and all future immigration from the west. Although we'd expected it to take over a decade for that to become necessary. At the current rate of immigration, there could be more than a thousand smallfolk calling the town home by the end of this year. But I'm digressing…." sighed Armon as he drifted off into thought again.
Warren took another puff from the pipe as he waited for his friend to continue.
"The biggest issue with the immigration is going to be the Bucklers. They hate us already. They might not be able to do much now during winter, but this will come back to bite Aelon in the ass in the future," warned Armon as he shook his head in exasperation.
"Aye," responded Warren as he stood up and walked to the window and gazed out at the town of Eastwood, "Aelon's judgement has brought us this far. Wealth, prosperity, power and respect. House Eastwood has gained much under Aelon's leadership. I trust his judgement, Armon. When he built the bathhouses and instituted his health reforms, we all named him a fool. And yet today, of all the fiefs in the Stormlands, Eastwood is the least affected."
"Aye," concurred Armon. In his opinion, the reforms would probably be the greatest part of Aelon's legacy. He'd heard that even the Errols, Tarths and Connington's were replicating them at this point. The Citadel had always known that throwing your shit out into the streets and not bathing regularly had negative effects, but Aelon's reforms had been driven towards creating cheap and effective solutions and protocols to address the issue.
By investing in bathhouses, soap and proper waste disposal systems, Aelon had actually managed to create a system that addressed the issue of health and welfare for smallfolk, that had gone unaddressed in Westeros for millennia, in a manner that cost House Eastwood little in terms of expenditure. His systems not only generated employment by creating jobs in construction and waste disposal but were also fairly easy to finance from the tax revenues from the towns.
"Have you heard anything from the Citadel about the nature or source of the plague?" asked Warren.
"Well, we are lucky that Aelon ordered the ports shut when word was received of the plague. The Citadel believes that the Shivers arrived from Essos as the port cities and towns have been affected the worst," continued Armon.
And that was true. Not only had Aelon ordered the port in Stormtower to be shut, but he had also written to Lord Brynden Tarth, advising him to do the same. Advice the man had taken. Perhaps that action alone had spared the Northern Stormlands from the brunt of the disease. The situation in Cape Wrath was said to be dismal and the Marches were rumoured to be no better. There were even reports that Storm's End was heavily affected and rumours were trickling in that some of the Baratheons themselves had succumbed to the devastating disease.
The Crownlands and the Reach appeared to be the worst affected. King's Landing and Oldtown were two of the largest cities and ports in Westeros and had consequently suffered greatly. News was scarce in these trying times.
To make matters worse, the current winter was shaping up to be extremely harsh and cold. Whereas last winter, the temperatures had been mild enough to allow growth of some hardier winter crops in Eastwood's coastal holdings, the current climate made that nigh on impossible.
With food scarce, travel difficult and coin in short supply, many of Eastwood's revenue streams had dried up. It was a blessing that they had managed to complete the road to Haystack Hall a few weeks after Autumn arrived, but even then, with the onset of winter, any returns on Aelon's investment in roads would not be seen for quite some time.
However, Aelon was a businessman, with agriculture halted, trade at a standstill and his business operations suspended, Aelon had put his business infrastructure to use in a different way.
The Eastwood Municipal Authority was working overtime to oversee relief efforts and coordinate medical support. Many of the men in Eastwood Whisky had been looped in to help. In fact, Aelon's friend Owen had begun serving as an assistant of sorts to Warren and had proven himself to be rather competent.
The fleet of small ships that facilitated trade between Eastwood and Tarth had been repurposed into a fishing fleet. Serwyn had done wonders in Stormtower ever since he took over as Mayor. Hundreds of men were put to work and dozens of ships, barges and boats now regularly plied the waters of the Straits of Tarth, fishing to make a living.
The same logistics and transport network that was used for selling whiskey and soap, was now being used extensively to transport grain, fish, lumber and charcoal as well, products that were now more in demand than Eastwood Whiskey had ever been.
But more than anything else, what had been in demand above all, was…
"Soap," snorted Armon.
"What was that old friend?" said Warren looking up from the report he had been perusing.
"Soap, Warren. Soap. Who would have thought that something so insignificant will become the most sought after product in the Stormlands?"
"Well, the numbers don't lie, people who regularly bathe with soap have not been falling sick as often as those that do not. And House Eastwood is the biggest manufacturer of soap on the continent," replied Warren in a matter of fact tone.
"Aye, but would you have thought eight years ago that such a simple thing would make so much money?" asked Armon.
Warren had no response to that.
Soap wasn't something new. Lye soap had been around for centuries, but only as a novelty, something used by a few scattered nobles here and there on occasion. Richer nobles and some Septons also used it to clean their Keeps and Septs. But such production was very localised. Aelon was the first to actually take such a simple idea, use cheaper raw materials and mass produce it to drive down the cost of production.
Armon had thought the whole endeavour to be Aelon's version of charity. Soap had health and hygiene benefits aplenty. He could have sold the soap for a higher price and actually made the business rather profitable, but he'd kept the price affordable for smallfolk and made little to no profits. In fact, in some quarters, Eastwood Soap had actually turned losses. Losses that Aelon had borne without complaint.
But after eight years of creating a market, making sales and building a brand, as Aelon would say, Eastwood Soap was now very much in demand during the plague. And not just the soap used for bathing, but the detergent used for cleaning as well. Thousands of bars of soap were being sold at every turn of the moon. Soap was now in demand, and Eastwood Soap was the only seller capable of that kind of supply.
Even during the goddamned plague, he somehow makes money. Blessed by the Gods indeed.
Haystack Hall
Late 59 AC
Ser Edwell Errol was a simple man. He was a knight in the service of House Errol. He served his father dutifully and would in the future serve his brother as well when he ascended to the Lordship of Haystack Hall. As the second son of House Errol, his life had been very simple up until he had met Aelon Eastwood. He performed his duty as a Knight and kept the Errol lands safe and served as an occasional envoy to neighbouring Lords.
And yet after one such meeting, his life had taken an abrupt turn.
Aelon Eastwood. Son of Daegon Rivers.
In the span of just a little over ten years, House Eastwood had changed the political landscape of the northern Stormlands and somehow Edwell had found himself at the centre of that change.
Aelon was a visionary. And unlike most visionaries, he had intellect, drive and innovation to back his ambitions. Soon enough, through his friendship with Aelon, House Errol had found itself deepening its ties with House Eastwood and soon after House Tarth as well. The Eastwood Crop Rotation, the Eastwood Plough and even some of the health reforms that Aelon had implemented in his lands were slowly being implemented by Haystack Hall as well.
In a span of twelve years, Eastwood had become the most valuable trade partner for Haystack Hall and with Beric Tarth's marriage to his sister, they had more or less formalised an alliance to counter the power of the Buckler-Fell-Trant alliance that had dominated the politics of the region for decades.
With his brother Walton constantly in King's Landing, Edwell had found himself in the unenviable position of being one of the linchpins of the fledgeling alliance between Houses Tarth, Errol and Eastwood. His friendship with Aelon and his sister being married to Beric Tarth ensured that. When Aelon had named his firstborn after Edwell, not only had it deeply touched him, but it had also shown how serious Aelon was about their alliance. They had obviously reciprocated by asking Aelon to foster his nephew Jon. And somehow Edwell had found himself in the centre of it all.
Over the past few years, his idyllic life had been constantly dogged with political intrigue, trade alliances and economic partnerships.
One such partnership that took much of his time was the agriculture cartel that Aelon had formed with his father at Ceryse's wedding. It was an ingenious idea to be fair. Eastwood and Haystack Hall coordinated their agricultural produce in order to ensure greater efficiency and output in terms of export.
If only it had been as simple as it sounded. The actual implementation had been nightmarish. Aelon's census had given him accurate enough information regarding Eastwood lands but the same could not be said for Haystack Hall. The first year had been spent basically collecting information regarding existing crop volumes and planting schedules and then coercing the various farmer collectives in Errol and Eastwood lands to implement the new plans that had been developed.
Developing the plans alone had been exhausting. Several moons of consultations with various farming experts, elders, village leaders and traders had been needed to develop the plans and the entire responsibility had fallen on Edwell's shoulders. He had seen little of his wife and children in those months and Tanda had been most annoyed over him neglecting his familial duties.
But the results were worth it. By integrating the Eastwood Farming Reforms and implementing the plans for cooperation between the two Houses, not only had their overall yield increased substantially, but they had actually exported less grain than usual during winter and actually received even greater profits.
His father had actually been stupefied when he read the reports pertaining to their profits. And to top it all off, winter had ended very quickly. It seemed that everything was going as per plan. Summer was upon them. The road between Haystack Hall and Eastwood was almost completed. The Bucklers had been humbled and their influence trimmed. And the new Tarth-Errol-Eastwood alliance was on the rise. And then Winter arrived. And with it came the plague.
The first few turns of the moon had been nail-biting as rumours flooded in about the Shivers spreading across Westeros. Nobles and smallfolk alike were dying in droves in every region. Soon enough the Stormlands were affected as well with the disease spreading like wildfire through the Marches, Cape Wrath, Bronzegate, Storm's End and then eventually even within Eastwood and Haystack Hall.
The disease was brutal and unforgiving. Thousands were dead in the Stormlands alone and productivity was at an all-time low. The winter was colder and harsher than any even his father remembered, and the danger of famine was looming on the horizon. Already several lords in the Marches and other parts of the Stormlands had written to Eastwood and Haystack Hall requesting additional shipments of food.
Due to Aelon's uncanny business sense, the two Houses were the only ones in the region who possessed excess stockpiles of grain. In fact, it was due to this very reason that he was currently walking up the stairs to his father's solar.
He reached his father's door and knocked.
"Come in," called out the voice of Lord Adam Errol.
He opened the door and entered to see his father seated in his usual fashion, reclining comfortably in a cushioned oaken chair. On the wall behind him sat the Errol coat of arms, hay pile proudly displayed. He had always thought it a rather silly coat, but wouldn't be caught saying that anywhere in his father's vicinity.
"How was your visit to Eastwood son?" asked his father as he turned away from the letter he was writing and looked up at him.
"As well as it could be in these trying times," he responded as he reached one of the chairs across from his father and took a seat.
"And how is Jon doing?"
"He is well. Aelon has taken every possible measure to ensure his family's safety. That extends to Jon as well. He spends most of his time safe in the Keep, only exiting his rooms for his lessons with the Maester and for training in the yard. A tad bit excessive perhaps, but I can't argue with the results. Few in Eastwood are sick. At least in comparison to the rest of the region," replied Edwell.
"So the rumours are true then. Aelon Eastwood has somehow worked a miracle again and his people are safer because of it?" said his father in a tone that belied his scepticism.
"A miracle. No. Competence and prudence. Yes. Aelon was more than happy to share the methods he is using to combat the plague," countered the Errol Knight.
"Enlighten me then. It seems that young Aelon is again a step ahead of the rest. First with his decision to stockpile grains in summer of all things, and now in dealing with the plague. The lad has either the luck of the devil himself or the blessings of the Seven,"
"He said that his approach is threefold. First, there is an emphasis on general hygiene and sanitation ..."
"The bathhouses and soap. Of course," interrupted the elder Lord.
"Not just that though. He's also placed great emphasis on waste disposal and general cleanliness. The second factor is immediate isolation or 'quarantine' as he calls it of all those sick as well as those with who they have come in contact. That seems to have yielded excellent results," said Edwell as he recalled Aelon's words.
"And finally treatment of those who are actually sick in 'Plague Wards' as he calls them which are essentially massive tents outside the town limits where the healers treat those who are extremely sick and carefully dispose of the bodies of those who die. He's set up these Wards outside each of his towns and even some of the larger villages," continued the Knight.
"Interesting. Would you recommend that we should adopt this procedure in our lands as well?" asked his father as he stroked his beard. A sign of him being in deep thought.
"Generally I'd recommend that we test it in one of our smaller towns, but I don't think we have that much time."
"Are you sure about the results in Eastwood?"
"Aye," said Edwell, "Even with a smaller population, Aelon reports that the number of deaths to the plague in his lands is lesser in comparison to even our own. Our spies in Eastwood can corroborate that this is correct. I think we should implement Aelon's procedure in our lands as well. As soon as possible. Otherwise, thousands more may die."
The Lord of Haystack Hall leaned back in his chair at that. It was evident that his father was deep in thought. Unlike other Storm Lords, Adam Errol was not an impulsive man. Oh, he had a temper. A fierce one at that. But it was a cold one. From a young age, he had noted that while his father was boisterous and jolly in public, in private he was actually a deeply contemplative individual. Prone to long bouts of introspection and thought before he made an important decision. It was a trait that Edwell deeply admired.
"Has Aelon sent any form of documentation to explain his process?" asked his father eventually.
"Aye. I've passed it onto the Maester. He said he would have a look at it and submit his findings to you as soon as possible."
His father let out a deep sigh, "Aelon has proven to be a canny player of the game and a gifted administrator. I am leaning towards following in his footsteps this time as well. We followed his advice when he requested us to stockpile grain during the summer and that has proven immensely beneficial. Let us hope he is right again. But I shall not make a decision until I have consulted the Maester as well."
Edwell nodded at that. What went unsaid was that they had only followed Aelon's advice regarding the stockpiling of grain during the summer only because he had promised to compensate them if his advice had turned out to be incorrect. Aelon had provided no such guarantee this time.
"I heard from the Maester that Lord Buckler wrote to you again," he enquired as he changed the topic.
"Aye. Another request for grain,"
"And what have you said?"
"I held off on replying until you returned. Did Aelon agree not to export grain to anybody until we are able to reach an accord?"
"Aye, he did. He was not happy about it. Apparently, the Connington's and Fells have basically burrowed their way up Aelon's ass and settled there until he agrees to export grain to them. He can't hold them off for much longer," replied Edwell.
One of the primary reasons for his visit to Eastwood has been to deliver to Aelon his father's request for him not to export any grain whatsoever to anyone except Tarth until they had reached an accord regarding export schedules and volumes.
"Good. Because Lord Rogar just wrote to me yesterday. He has summoned both myself and Aelon to Storm's End to 'discuss' how Eastwood and Haystack Hall can help prevent a famine in the Stormlands," said the Lord in a grave tone.
"Oh," was all Edwell could muster.
"Aye. Needless to say, there will be some amount of import of grain from the Reach. And considering the times are dire, the Reacher Lords will undoubtedly rip our eyes out in taxes and charges when we reach the negotiating table. But this is an opportunity for our House Ed. We have more grain stockpiled than ever before and if we are able to present a good case, we may be able to meet much of the Stormlands' food requirement," said his father with a hint of excitement in his tone.
"We could ideally cut the reliance on Reach imports by nearly a third with our current stores as long as the Winter doesn't last for longer than a year and a half."
"Aye and that is the gamble. Aelon should have reached such a letter as well. We shall have to discuss our strategy with him before we reach Storm's End."
Edwell adopted a look of contemplation as he spoke, "When have we been summoned to Storm's End?"
"I plan to write to Rogar today and inform him that we shall attend him within a turn of the moon. That should give us enough time to get a proper accounting of our stores and also spend a couple of days in Eastwood planning with Aelon before we all leave for Storm's End," replied his father. He obviously had a plan.
"Very well then, what would you have me do father?"
And so the game begins.
Storm's End
Late 59 AC
"They're here brother," said Garon as he entered his solar.
Rogar looked up at his brother as he took a seat across from him. Garon had always been the fairest of the Baratheon brothers. Whereas Rogar had always favoured the harsher features of his father and Borys looked like someone had beaten his face in as a child, Garon and Ronnal had been the ones to inherit the more elegant features of their mother.
Looking at him now though, it seemed that he had aged nearly a decade in just a few turns of the moon. The damned Shivers had struck Storm's End hard. Nearly three score members of the household, servants and men at arms had perished within a turn of the moon. But the greatest losses had been Ronnal, his wife and sons and Garon's own wife. Where once House Baratheon had stood proud and strong, the plague had now taken away more than half of his family.
Even with famine looming and the Shivers plaguing his lands, Rogar had stood helpless as the plague ravaged his Keep. He, the Lord Paramount of the Stormlands, Former Hand of the King, could do nothing but watch impotently as his household and family was decimated. His own children had fallen sick and for nearly a turn of the moon, he had been able to do nought but pray as his son and daughter were laid low by a disease that killed those infected more often than it did not.
But by the grace of the Seven, the blood of the Storm Kings flowed thick in their veins, as both Boremund and Jocelyn recovered soon enough. That had not been the case for Ronnal, his wife and sons, nor Garon's wife. A pallor of grief had fallen over Storm's End since.
As the moons passed, however, the situation in the Stormlands worsened. Having seen the devastation wrought by the plague in his own Keep, he had sought to mitigate it within the Stormlands. Cape Wrath and the Marches were the worst affected. He had dispatched healers, food, medicine and all other necessities to the lands that were the worst affected. He performed his duty and wrote to the King as well, seeking aid from the Crown. He made the best possible efforts to combat the Shivers, while at the same time praying that winter would end soon.
His prayers had been in vain. The cold only worsened and Maesters projected that the Winter would last for another year. Food was scarce. Most of the granaries had been emptied trying to feed the sick and poor smallfolk who had been unable to stockpile grain in the previous summer. With few options in hand, even though it galled him to do so, he had written to Lord Tyrell enquiring about importing food. The response he had received had made his blood boil. The Reach always extorted the Stormlands during the Winter, but this time they had crossed a line. Citing the plague and potentially long winter, the Tyrells had quoted a price that was double of what they generally sought.
His fury at that point had been a fearsome sight he was told. Eventually, he calmed down and then turned his attention to the northern regions of his kingdom. Or more specifically to the rising alliance of Errol-Eastwood-Tarth that had gained prominence in the past few years. And more importantly, towards Eastwood and Errol, the only Lords not to request aid from Storm's End in these trying times, Lords who were in possession of excess stockpiles of grain, if the reports they had sent in and his own spies in the lands were to be believed.
"Do you think they'll agree?" Garon interrupted his musings.
"They will. Their Lord Paramount commands it," responded Rogar, although he was not very confident himself.
"Historically, no Lord Paramount or King has been able to force their vassals to part with grain during winter aside from that which is due as tax. Forcing Lords Errol and Eastwood to do so would set a bad precedent," countered Garon. Of all the Baratheon brothers he was always the most cautious.
"The other Lords will not protest. After all, the grain will be distributed amongst them. And we will of course pay Lord Errol and young Aelon a fair price for the grain."
"Coin that they will not see for several years at least. Unless they have enough grain to feed the entirety of the Stormlands, we will still have to purchase from the Reach. Purchases that will nearly empty our treasury," pointed out Garon.
"We would not have to if that damned King and his peasant Hand had actually done their duty for once and stopped the Reach from extorting us in such times," raged Rogar as he banged his fist against the table.
"Aye, there is little doubt about that brother, the King has not been well disposed towards us since Alyssa's death," commiserated Garon.
"It matters not now. We need to focus on the future. Eastwood and Errol need to be brought on board. Their cooperation is critical. And I would prefer it if it were given freely. What can we grant them to sweeten the pot?" asked Rogar.
"Well, we are asking them to give up their excess food reserves at a price that is much lower than the current rate if we were to import from Essos or the Reach. And considering the amount of grain that we are demanding, if Winter lasts for longer than a year, then even they will be forced to import food along with the rest of us."
"I'm inclined to offer them a tax cut. Adam Errol is a shrewd operator and young Aelon is no fool either. Undoubtedly it will be the first demand they make," mused Rogar as he stroked his beard.
"It will cost us in the long run. Eastwood and Haystack Hall account for a substantial portion of the tax revenues from our northern holdings. And I still doubt it will be enough to convince them," added the younger Baratheon.
Before Rogar could respond, a knock sounded on the door and Bruce walked in.
"My apologies for the disturbance my lords, but Lords Errol and Eastwood are waiting to speak with you," said the Buckler Knight.
"Show them in Bruce," ordered Rogar.
The Castellan nodded and a few minutes later the five of them were gathered around his solar as they exchanged the standard pleasantries and formalities that were necessitated in these situations.
"My deepest condolences on your loss Ser Garon. I never had the pleasure of meeting Lady Sera but I am informed that she was as graceful as she was kind," said the Lord of Eastwood.
"Thank you Aelon. She is deeply missed. The plague has taken much from us. And if we do not take steps today, we stand to lose much more," replied his brother. Rogar remained silent at that. While there had been little love lost between him and Alyssa, Garon had loved his wife deeply.
"Aye, we must take all measures necessary. The plague does not discriminate between men, women and children. What happened to Lady Sera and Ser Ronnal was a tragedy. But to lose the children as well. No pain can compare to that," added Adam Errol.
"Let us get down to it then my lords. Winter and the plague are upon us, and famine is soon to begin. Eastwood and Haystack Hall account for much of the agricultural output of the Stormlands, even more so in recent times. As I'm sure you may have guessed, the reason I have called upon your Houses is to help House Baratheon and the Stormlands in avoiding a famine," he said as he leaned forward and narrowed his gaze at the two Storm Lords before him.
The two of them could not have been more different. One, the aged and experienced Lord of an ancient and storied House. The other, the young but capable Lord of a new House recently raised to the nobility. And yet somehow, everyone in the room knew that it was only due to the actions of the latter that this conversation was taking place. Young Aelon Eastwood had in a span of just a little over ten years, nearly doubled the agricultural output of his lands and similar trends were now being seen in Haystack Hall as well. Undoubtedly due to Aelon's aid and influence.
Adam Errol spoke first, "We are honoured that you have called upon our aid, and we would gladly render any assistance that we can, my lord. But we must also consider the needs of our own people and lands. While we have some amount of surplus that can be exported, we must still ensure to retain enough to feed our own people."
"And even so Lord Baratheon, if Eastwood and Haystack Hall were to completely empty our granaries, that too will not be enough to feed the entirety of the Stormlands for more than a couple of turns of the moon," continued the silver-haired Lord from where Errol had left off.
"We understand your concerns, my Lords. And in normal times we would never ask you to leave your smallfolk unfed. But these are not normal times. The plague has already killed thousands in the Stormlands. Hundreds of thousands more will die of starvation if winter continues for more than three turns of the moon. This is an immutable fact," responded Garon.
"I assume that the bastard Reach Lords are quoting a price that we cannot afford," said Adam Errol. He had always been a shrewd man.
"Double the rate at which they had sold to us last winter," replied Rogar.
"Those filthy curs. The fucking Reach Lords would try such underhanded tactics even in such times? Surely the King will intervene!"
"For centuries the Reach has pillaged the wealth of the Stormlands in this way. But even for them, this is a new low. Even so, the King has refused to intervene in the situation," spat Rogar as his anger boiled over thinking of the King who he had placed on the Iron Throne.
"Based on the requests for grain shipments that I have received from other Stormlord's, if winter lasts for longer than a year, buying that much grain from the Reach would decimate the Stormlands' coffers," surmised the young Lord of Eastwood.
Rogar raised his brow at that. It seemed that the lad was well informed. His conclusion was in line with what Ser Bruce had reported to him as well.
"Which is where you both must step in my Lords. If Eastwood and Haystack Hall were to export its excess crop at a fair rate, then we shall be able to purchase substantially lesser grain from the Reach. I've put together a plan for this based on the numbers you reported a turn of the moon ago," said Garon as he handed each of them a sheaf of paper which contained the proposal that Garon and Bruce had spent much of the past few days drafting. While he rarely bothered himself with such clerical work, considering the importance herein, even he had briefly perused the documents being passed around.
The next few minutes passed in tense silence as the Lords of Haystack Hall and Eastwood carefully read the proposal in their hands. Both were intelligent enough to understand that the word 'proposal' was being used here only as a courtesy. Rogar was their Lord Paramount. And if he were to command it, the two would have to obey.
Both Lords kept their faces impassive as they read. While it was expected of a Lord as experienced as Adam Errol, to see such self-control from Aelon Eastwood was impressive. Rogar had learned how to read a man while he was young and further honed the skill in the snake pit that was King's Landing. And even then he could not discern Eastwood's thoughts.
'Impressive,' thought Rogar as the two lords leafed through the proposal. For some time now he had found himself curious about the Lord of Eastwood. In a span of just over a decade, Aelon had gained wealth, respect and power the likes of which few Lords in the Stormlands possessed. Considering his humble beginnings, Rogar had found himself grudgingly impressed.
During that little incident with the Bucklers as well, Eastwood had conducted himself in a manner befitting a Lord of much greater age and experience, and with skill and grace to match. He had resolved then to keep a closer watch on Eastwood and had given the order for a couple of spies to be seeded in the young man's household.
A good decision in hindsight, he mused as the information that flowed from Eastwood had pleasantly surprised him. It seemed that the young Eastwood was a benevolent Lord. One who actually cared for his smallfolk. Undoubtedly a remnant of his own days of toiling in the fields. Rogar had nearly scoffed at that.
You can take the man out of the farm, but you cannot take the farm out of the man, he'd thought derisively. Smallfolk were like sheep. You tended to them and herded them. But you did not care for them. For when the sheep could no longer give you wool or milk, you slaughter it for meat. Aelon would have to learn that. Or it would cost him greatly in the long run.
Nevertheless, regardless of his glaring flaws, Rogar found himself respecting the young Lord. He was intelligent, an able administrator and good enough with a sword to put down a knight several years his senior during the Buckler incident. He'd taken a backwater fief and turned it into a hub of industry. Eastwood now paid more tax to Storm's End than most Lords of the Stormlands and was slowly but steadily approaching the level of wealth accumulated by Houses such as Buckler and Errol.
Oh, he would never be able to match them. His lands were just too small. But even then, it was a laudable achievement. And Rogar was a man who appreciated competence. Aelon Eastwood had that in spades.
Again his thoughts were interrupted as the man in question spoke up, "So essentially, you wish for us to sell you our excess grain stockpiles at a rate which is nowhere near the current market price and that too in such quantities that if winter lasts for more than a year, both of us will not have enough crop left to feed our own people."
It seemed the Lords were done reading the proposal. Aelon's expression remained inscrutable but hints of anger were now visible in Adam's countenance.
"With all due respect, this is horse shit Rogar and you know it," Adam said angrily as he continued, "I could go north to the Crownlands and sell my crop at double the rate you are asking me to sell at. And worse, you're not even going to pay me until Winter ends. You must think me a fool to accept such an offer."
"I understand that I am asking for much from the two of you, but these are trying times. Sacrifices must be made for the greater good. I could order you both to comply, but I am a generous man and do not wish to be unreasonable. So I shall offer both House Eastwood and Errol a tax cut for the next five years as a reward for rendering aid today," retorted Rogar as he offered both carrot and stick.
"Five years!" scoffed Adam, "That's a pittance and you know it. Ten years Rogar. At the very least. Agreeing to your proposal will bring great risk to our Houses. We shall see ourselves compensated for it."
"Don't test my patience, Adam. You speak to your Lord Paramount. See that you remember that. Ten years is too much. You must think me a gullible fool," countered Rogar as he tried to keep a hold on his infamous temper.
"My Lords! Let us remain calm. Raised voices shall do us no good in such a situation," said Aelon as he placed a hand on Adam's shoulder.
The two Lords in question shuffled quietly in their seats as they regained their composure.
"My Lord," said Aelon as he turned to face Rogar, "you must understand that we wish to help greatly, and the tax cut for five years, while generous, is not enough. You ask us to supply grain to most of the Northern Stormlands, while grain from the Reach shall be purchased for Cape Wrath and the Marches. That is logical and makes sense."
The silver-haired Lord continued, "But you must consider our perspective as well Lord Rogar. The Houses you ask us to aid, are amongst others, Houses Buckler, Fell and Trant."
The impact of those words on the room was palpable. Garon and he had hoped that this would not be a major issue. But then again. Neither he nor Garon was blind to the rather overt way in which the three Houses in question had reestablished relations with Borys, nor how Borys had overnight suddenly seemed to gain a newfound distaste for Houses Eastwood, Errol and Tarth, constantly pushing for unnecessarily harsh taxes to be placed on the new alliance that had formed in the Stormlands.
If he were honest with himself, he would have exiled Borys some time back, if it weren't for the fact that doing so would offend the Bucklers, Fells and Trants and skew the balance of power in his northern holdings. His brother was depraved. And since Boremund's birth, his depravities had become even more difficult to ignore.
"The enmity between our Houses is no secret, my Lord. Bryce Buckler sought to see me brought low, and my retaliation saw House Buckler humbled. Since then, he and his lot have sought to see me and my friends harmed for my actions. I don't mind that they come after me, but the fact that they have made aggressive moves even against my wife's house and Lord Errol, who has been a mentor and friend to me, is unconscionable," said Aelon and Rogar had to hand it to the boy. He had a gift for spinning yarn. He had somehow made what was a clearly political war look like a salty Lord throwing a childish tantrum.
"Bryce has crossed a line, Rogar. Why just last year he placed additional taxes on goods exported from Errol lands as well. It's as if he's trying to provoke a war. And you want me to sell grain to him and his lot below market rate?!" said the Lord of Haystack Hall in a tone that clearly indicated how asinine he thought the proposal was.
"You must also consider my Lord that unlike us, they are actually related to House Baratheon by marriage as well with Ser Borys being married to Lord Trant's sister. Our grain is our security against any overt action from these Lords. And you are asking us to give that up. You must understand our reticence," added Eastwood as he finally got to the point.
Because that's what the two wanted. Marriage.
It all suddenly dawned on Rogar and he saw the same realisation flash across Garon's face as well. The same way the Bucklers, Fells and Trants had a voice in Storm's End through Borys, Errol, Eastwood and Tarth wanted one as well.
Garon spoke first, "And if we were to extend such security to you as well? Would that suffice?"
Adam, that sly son of a bitch, pretended to ponder the idea for a bit before replying, "Well if House Baratheon were to offer a tax cut for say, seven years, and along with that agree to closer ties between our Houses, I may be able to accept the risk."
"I think we can make seven years of tax cuts work. And as for your other issue Lord Errol, I have a daughter, Mya, she is young and the Septa says that she will grow into a great beauty. If I am not wrong, your heir's eldest son is just a few years older. A marriage between our Houses should allay your concerns then Lord Errol," said Garon as he offered up his own daughter.
It was not a bad idea in Rogar's opinion. Adam Errol got a Baratheon bride and through her Garon's ear. In turn, Garon secured his daughter's future as the Lady of Haystack Hall. The deal was all in all a good one for Errol Lord. But it left out the Lord of Eastwood. Something, young Aelon must have realised as well as he immediately spoke up.
"My Lord, I understand that my House is too young to merit such a prestigious match, but at the same time, the risk I undertake is much greater than that of House Errol. I request that you extend a similar courtesy towards my House as well. My heir, Edwell, is just a year younger than your own. I request that you allow him to foster along with Lord Boremund here in Storm's End, and mentor him as he grows," stated the young Lord as he looked Rogar in the eye.
Rogar leaned back in his seat as he considered the offer. It was a fair request, considering that House Eastwood would incur thousands of dragons of losses to comply with Rogar's proposal. Moreover, Boremund had been despondent ever since Ronnal's sons had passed a few turns of the moon ago due to the plague. Having a companion, who would one day be one of his more powerful bannermen, had several benefits.
"Very well Lord Eastwood. I shall accept your heir as my ward and shall treat him as if he were my own son."
Carrot and Stick.
Wöchentlicher Energiestatus
-- Power-
Rangliste 
-- Power-
Stein