Chapitre 436: 56
Chapter 56: Chapter 40: StepstonesChapter Text
"Trade is the lifeblood of nations."
-King Viserys II, the Lawmaker
110 AC, Dorne
The dress I wore was scandalously bold and revealing. Barely clinging onto my shoulders, it felt like a single pull was enough to have the whole thing tumbling down.
Essentially a sundress of thin, gauzy, translucent silk, the crimson silk felt floaty and sheer. The skirt was long, but see-through enough that the silhouette of my legs could be seen. And not only was it sleeveless, it was backless, and had a plunging neckline, revealing my growing breasts. A small B-cup for now, but I was still growing. Even at age thirteen, I was already bustier than my mother in my previous life, though that wasn't a hard bar to beat. East Asian women weren't exactly known for their voluptuousness.
That wasn't to say it was impossible of course. There was always an exception for every rule. My old primary school classmate Ting Ting was flat as a boy at age ten, but gained a C-cup by age twelve. I literally ran into her nearly a decade later when we were twenty, and boy oh boy was she stacked. Her bajongas were the size of her head and literally bounced when she ran, making her indisputably the single most buxom woman I'd ever met IRL.
I ran a hand along my body, straightening out the dress. A gift from House Martell. Dornish fashion at its finest. Thin, revealing and brightly coloured. I was supposed to wear this today to show that Dorne and the Iron Throne were now close allies, but there was an issue.
My father would probably have a fit of apoplexy if he ever saw me bare so much skin, and more importantly, Alicent would have a field day making me look lusty and wanton for wearing the dress, so I'd dug up an old trick from my past life as a cop-out.
Back when I was a guy, I crossdressed one Halloween as a dare from my old boarding school dormmate Luke, and got eternally hooked onto it. My old boarding school clique got really into it as well, and absolutely loved dolling me up. While Yuuki was the one whom supplied me the bulk of the clothes and Alice did the makeup. It was Pamela that solved the issue of how I was going to wear scanty clothing.
Here's the thing. Any dress that bared cleavage or hips was out of the question, as the way I faked breasts was by stuffing one of Yuuki's bras with my socks, and I always wore my boxers underneath, as I absolutely refused to wear female underwear. A man had to have a line in the sand. Somewhere. So Pamela came up with the idea for me to wear a thin, flesh-coloured skintight bodysuit over the bra and my boxer shorts. Making me look like I was baring skin when I actually wasn't.
The bodysuit of skintight cotton I wore today wasn't flesh-coloured —as something told me Alicent would still twist a flesh-coloured suit into a scandal— but pure black. Such that I was unmistakably wearing a layer beneath that bold Dornish style dress.
As I stepped out of my skycart and looked down at the assembled crowd, the disappointment was practically a physical thing. Nobody would get to see me nearly naked today, though from some of the looks I got, the skintight suit was still well received, for it suggested at my curves and one couldn't help but notice just how good my athletic body looked.
I stifled a laugh at the sight of Alicent. Like me, she'd been made to wear a revealing Dornish dress. A green silk one to my red. But unlike me, she'd paired that with a white overcoat. Worn tight and absolutely refusing to bare any skin. It made her look like some prudish matron while I was both younger and more exciting.
"Nyra!" My father excitedly cheered, jogging up to me and hugging me tight. "Oh, I've missed you, sweet daughter."
Oh god Dornish clothes looked horrid on him. I didn't need to know that he had silver chest hair. That plunging neckline was torture on the eyes with how fat he was.
"Yes, I've missed you too, Father." I lied, somehow managing to keep a straight face at the sight of him. God he had manboobs. I didn't need to see those manboobs. They jiggled when he ran to hug me. Jiggled! "How was Dorne so far?"
"Wonderful!" My father enthused. "Everyone has been so hospitable. Even my grandsire never got to tour Dorne as I did. It's a wonderful experience."
"Excellent." I replied, forcing myself to look at his face and not his body. God, his exposed chest was like Medusa's face. You knew you shouldn't look, but it was just so grotesque that you just had to. "Will you be touring the Stormlands next?"
"Indeed I will. I'm greatly enjoying the time away from the Red Keep." My father laughed. "I'm thinking of extending this little getaway into a tour of the entire realm.
"Uh, assuming you're fine with it." He trailed off, eyeing the Hand brooch on my dress warily.
"Oh no, feel free." I reassured him. "I am your most faithful and leal subject and will gladly rule in your stead for as long as you require."
He hugged me once more in thanks, and I desperately tried not to think of the way his manboobs squeezed mine. Thankfully, the kids ran up and hugged me as well, providing me with a welcome distraction from Viserys.
"Nyra!" Helaena happily greeted. She was nearly two now, and a lot bigger than I remembered. I laughed and twirled her around. God my baby sister was adorable.
"Sister!" Aegon enthused as well. I set Helaena down and ruffled his hair appreciatively. He was over three and a half now, and seemed to have that endless energy of children.
"Rhaenyra." Alicent greeted coldly, approached me like I was a dragon about to pounce. Eleven-month-old Aemond in her arms glared coldly at me. I idly wondered if he knew I was the one responsible for frequently poking him telekinetically in the stomach. That would explain the glare.
"Alicent." I replied in a similar tone. My eyes ran up and down her body. "Nice coat."
My stepmother's eye twitched at that, but my attention was already elsewhere.
"Lord Qoren." I greeted, stepping away from my family and extending a hand, allowing him to gallantly press his lips to my knuckles.
"Lady Hand." The Lord Paramount of Dorne replied. The boy was younger than I was. Eleven years old. He had ascended to the Princeship of Dorne at age eight, when his father fell in battle at the Kingsroad. He spent the next three years trying and failing to save Dorne, eventually being forced to bend the knee to me in the face of mass starvation.
This ordeal had aged him greatly. At my father's coronation, he had been a blushing boy of six. Shy around girls and innocently cheerful. Now, he held himself with a straight-back determination. He was serious and unsmiling, with a perpetual frown and bags under his eyes. And there was an aura around him. One of sadness and duty.
"Lady Martell." I greeted, turning to face the Regent of Dorne and receiving only a glare in return. Unsurprising. Lord Qoren's mother loathed me to the bone. Lady Andromeda Martell was once a Yronwood, and never forgave my burning of Yronwood in the last days of the War of Four Directions. Near her entire family had died that night, and Yronwood castle was destroyed by dragonfire. Most damming however, was the fact that Silverwing and I had personally led that attack.
A blunder of some scale, it would seem. But at that point of time, I was cultivating a reputation of being willing and able to fly into battle. Yronwood was the bigger target. The rallying point of the survivors of the Stormlands Front. Although Lord Tarly was blockading the Boneway and Lord Edric Dondarrion's raiders were on the hunt, thousands of surviving soldiers had managed to retreat into Dorne. The Dornish men in the ranks acting as guides to the Triarchy soldiers and utilising unseen goat paths and other trails to bypass the blockade. Meaning that Yronwood was the more strategically important even though Skyreach was more heavily fortified. Which was I'd chosen it, leaving the Razing of Skyreach to Laena and Vhagar.
Ah well, what was done was done. No point crying over spilt milk and razed castles. I'd always have haters.
"If you would all please step inside." I gestured, inviting my guests aboard the skycart. "We have much to see today."
———
110 AC, Skies above Stepstones
The skycart drifted leisurely through the skies above the Stepstones, allowing the assembled royals to peer down at the massive construction endeavours taking place in the archipelago.
Once upon a time, the Stepstones had been contested by Lys, Tyrosh, Dorne and the Stormlands. The archipelago was fought over like dogs tearing at a bone, all for whom had the right to rule over the remnants of the Arm of Dorne. There was plenty of skirmishes and violence between the claimants, but while Valyria reigned, never outright war.
And like whenever countries fought over land, the native inhabitants were not consulted on their opinion of whom they wanted as overlord. Sparsely populated fishing villages mostly, whom would rather have let the rest of the world pass them by. Alas, their strategic location meant that being sleepy fishing villages was a luxury they couldn't afford.
For centuries there was a low broiling conflict between the nations. Skirmishers from either side raiding the opposition's merchant vessels and bringing their cargo home. Until some skirmisher realised that they could multiply their profits tenfold if they turned pirate and kept the booty for themselves.
Within the year, near every soldier on every side of the conflict had deserted. Turning to piracy. The fishing villages then reinvented themselves as pirate towns and ports, catering to the sailors and providing them establishments to spend their illbegotten coin on. Such an endeavour proved most profitable, and before long, mainlanders were migrating in, smelling the scent of coin in the air. Brothels, gambling dens, winesinks, taverns and a hundred and one other businesses sprung up practically overnight. Dozens of shanty towns appearing like mushrooms on a corpse.
Now, the Free Cities would normally have gone to war against the pirates, with Tyrosh and Lys deploying their navies and warships against them, but then the Doom of Valyria happened, and the following Century of Blood ensured that the Free Cities had bigger concerns than mere pirates.
The pirates profited heavily during this time, but then the Triarchy was born and they managed to settle their borders enough to turn their attentions westwards.
Daemon and Rhaenys burnt as many pirate fleets at anchor as they could, and the Triarchy settled the rest. What happened next, of course, was history.
After a couple of naval battles and massacres, the Triarchy cut a deal with the remaining pirates and settlements.
The pirates became privateers in the Triarchy's service or sailors and guides in their navy. The shanty towns had a change in management but essentially remained untouched. Now instead of committing piracy against merchant vessels sailing through the Stepstones, they collected tolls and tribute from any whom passed through the islands.
Then the War of Four Directions happened, and the Stepstones changed management once more. As part of my deal with Volantis and Braavos, I drastically lowered the tolls to something far more reasonable. I wouldn't profit so much from the islands, but that was fine. I had other, better plans for the Stepstones. Ones more lucrative than mere tolls.
"Nyra, I realise this is belated, but are you really sure this can be done?" Viserys asked, leaning against the windows as he peered down at the islands in question. "There must be at least twenty-five miles between each island."
"The average is twenty-seven, actually. The longest is thirty-one miles, the shortest is twenty." I corrected. "And it can be done. The Long Bridge of Volantis spans thirty miles over waters of similar depth."
"Thirty miles?" Lord Qoren repeated in shock, moving to flank the King's other side. "The Orphans of the Greenblood tell me that the Mother Rhoyne was on average fifteen miles wide."
"It is." I agreed. "But the river doubles in width at the mouth. And the Long Bridge was built on the widest part of it."
"Well that hardly seems like a good idea." Viserys muttered. "Why not build a couple miles upriver at half the distance?"
"I am told it was a point of pride, husband." Alicent spoke up, moving to flank the King's other side. "While the Volantenes could have done so, the point was to prove Volantene and Valyrian engineering as superior to all others. And so the Long Bridge was raised to span the divide at the widest and deepest part of the river, while still being high enough for even the tallest trading carrack to sail beneath its arches and pilars."
"And if the Volantenes could do it, so can we." I firmly stated, gesturing to the archipelago beneath. "Besides, the conditions on the water are easier. The Rhoyne has a far stronger current, and more rain."
"Though the sea is deeper." Rhaegar hedged, joining our conversation. "But not by too much. And although there is less rain, there are more storms. Though the islands should break the worst of them."
"Well, it seems to be a well-thought out idea." My father mused, pawing at his moustache. "But it still boggles the mind. To raise five bridges of similar size to the Long Bridge."
"Four." I corrected. "There is a half-built causeway between Bloodstone and the Isle of Serpents. It is cheaper and faster to finish the construction than to build another bridge."
"Then why do we not make causeways though all the divides?" The King asked confusedly. "If it the cheaper and faster option, surely it is the better one."
"Because it will block the shipping." Rhaegar answered. "Causeways cut a body of water in two, preventing ships from sailing through them. And I do not think it needs elaboration, but the naval traffic that flows though the Stepstones is significant. Some maesters even suggest that it is the most busy sea route west of Qarth. Even with the canals, it still remains a most busy locale. If we raise causeways, it will block the shipping. Or slow it down considerably at the very least."
"That, and they would be impractical." I added. "The one causeway that was built was in the shallowest and narrowest of the five divides. And atop an underwater ridge no less. The rest are too deep for a causeway to be practical. Pillars sunken into the seabed will have to do instead."
The skycart flew over the island of Highwatch, which held a bustling Triarchy outpost. Already, one could see the construction efforts beginning. Quarries worked tirelessly to produce the stone necessary. Tyroshi foundries burned day and night to produce the steel bones of the structure. Myrish cranes and engineers bustled about and the shipyards was a fury of activity as ships were readied for deployment.
"Impressive." Lord Qoren said, looking down upon them. "They're further along then we are."
"Unsurprising." I shrugged. "Tyroshi blast furnaces can easily produce tenfold the amount of steel than the bloomeries we use on Westeros. Qohorik crucibles are allegedly even better."
"Tenfold?!" Viserys and Qoren demanded, shocked.
"Indeed." Rhaegar calmly answered. "But bloomeries are cheaper and easier to maintain. A single blacksmith can easily run one by his lonesome, in the backyard of his shop. Blast furnaces and crucibles, on the other hand, require work on an industrial level. There needs to be a dedicated foundry, dozens of workers and far more coal and iron ore for it to run."
"In cities, the demand for steel is high enough that running a foundry is a profitable venture, but in anything smaller, the operating costs would rival if not outstrip the profits." I continued. "For the last century, there were only three active foundries in Westeros. One in Oldtown, another in Lannisport and the last in King's Landing for this very reason."
Which was the only reason why I'd been able to raise the Great Sept of Aemma. Bloomery steel just wasn't produced in sufficient quantities fast enough. Still, the Great Sept had pushed the Street of Steel's foundry to the brink. Even working around the clock, they could barely meet my order.
I'd already ordered construction of a larger and more productive foundry to be raised right beside Legion Headquarters, in order to meet the upcoming steel demands for the planned expansions of the capital.
"Well, given the sheer scale of the construction here, I think that we ought to have a few more of these foundries raised in Westeros." The King exclaimed.
"Already done." I replied without missing a beat. "As of last month, Qohorik blacksmiths have arrived in the Stormlands and Lord Boremund Baratheon has made them welcome. I am told that construction of the foundries has been proceeding ahead of schedule."
"The Stormlands? Surely Dorne would have been better." My father asked, confused. "The construction is right there, after all."
"Eastern Dorne is rich in copper and tin, but poor in iron ore and coal." Lord Qoren replied. "While the Stormlands have productive mines of both, as well as sufficient lumber to fuel the furnaces."
"Ah, I see." Alicent mused. "So it is more practical to smelt the steel in the Stormlands before having it shipped down to the Stepstones."
"Exactly." I agreed. "But even so, we will never be able to match the Free Cities for steel production, though we surpass them in stone production."
It was hard to beat the Free Cities at steel. While there were only nine Free Cities, each had at least three subsidiary towns under them. And each of these towns rivalled Westerosi cities in size and population. The massive demand for steel meant that the Essosi retired bloomeries ages ago. There, foundries were the rule, and most cities had not just one, but several of them.
Case in point: When I raised the Legions, it was Tyrosh I turned to and not my own Street of Steel for producing their arms and armour. Similarly for the canals. Their steel requirements saw me place massive orders with Braavos and Pentos, as even working together, the foundries of King's Landing, Oldtown and Lannisport were unable to meet the massive demand. Quite frankly, the Free Cities could produce far more of the alloy than we ever could at a fraction of the time.
Unlike us, whom were more of an agrarian society, the Free Cities were about as close to an industrial society as possible given the technological level at the time. And it showed. Western Essos was more densely populated and populous than the Seven Kingdoms were. Their industrial and economic capacity surpassed our own and their technological level outstripped Westeros.
The only reason why the Iron Throne was head honcho in this part of the world was because the Daughters of Valyria hated each other too much to unify.
Even getting them to agree to the Stepstones had required so much cajoling, bribery and coercion on my part. God I swear it was like herding cats. Misbehaving cats whom despised their own sisters and whose mother was a corpse.
I did it anyway, as without most of them, the whole endeavour would fall apart. Volantis had the blueprints. Braavos, the coin. The Triarchy owned the land. Norvos and Qohor provided the construction materials.
I even went the extra step and got Pentos and Lorath onto the bandwagon for good measure. Because I needed those bridges. Westeros needed the bridges.
With them, the wealth of Essos would be able to flow into Westeros as an unprecedented rate. Trade would flourish and the overall prosperity of the land would increase. Too much of the Seven Kingdoms was barely scraping by. Smallfolk living hand to mouth. It was my utmost hope that the bridges would allow much of the lower income population to rise into that of the middle class.
And as any economist could tell you, a large middle class population was what truly made nations prosper.
I looked down one last time, at the beginnings of the Second Arm of Dorne. To some, they were mere buildings. To others, a point of pride, the triumph of human ingenuity and engineering. But to me, it was the closest possible thing to the avatar of prosperity itself in the mortal world.
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
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