章 257: 10
282AC
I returned home victorious, more successful even than every other Ryther as far as I can recall of my ancestors. I brought home gold, resources, people, ships and more earned battle honors than I could shake a stick at. Every battle I had ever been a part in I had won – yet I had lost the most important one.
"Oh Jasana", I sigh sadly as I stand in the crypt, her statue rising in front of my kneeling form. I gently touch the cold stone, the urn with her ashes hidden within the socket. My ancestors had always been buried within the Rytherstone crypt in stone coffins but that was before the return of the dead had gotten to be a real possibility. I had felt little enthusiastic about being murdered by my own undead family so I had ordered the new burial practise, never knowing that my wife would be the first one it would be used on. I might even have unearthed the others had it not been a social taboo right up there with kinslaying. I hoped that most would be bones by now, hopefully making them unable to be reanimated if it came to that. If I remember the show right then I never saw a 'pure' skeleton running around, there was always at least some flesh attached.
"The boys are beautiful", I tell her quietly, a tiny but heartfelt smile appearing on my face, "quite a handful too, if I understand the wetnurse right. I just….I just wished you would be here to experience it yourself. But naming them Eddard and Theo, really Jasana? Buttering up the Lord Paramount and your father? It has been done a thousand times before, the names are just so...common."
Taking a deep breath I gather myself. I had been down in the crypts for nearly three hours by now, making my goodbyes. Starting out telling her yet again about my journey since setting out for Dorne, I told her about all the good and bad things I experienced, bringing her up to speed so to speak. Just talking to her statue eased some of the deep sadness – very close to a depression I have to admit – I felt upon returning to Rytherstone, the keep feeling very much empty despite being full of people. The feast thrown upon my return had been the worst, I had never felt so alone in the middle of a crowd.
For three weeks I had spent at least an hour each day in front of her statue, grieving. But I knew that this state of things could not continue as the world waited for no one and I still had a living family that I had been neglecting. Oh, sure, my people didn't point any fingers knowing about my grief as they did, but I still did not want others to suffer due to my personal depression. Because of this I had decided to make a cut… and a goodbye.
"I promise you that I will do right by the boys, my love. They will want for nothing and grow up honoring your memory… I will tell them about you from the moment they are able to understand. You might not be here, but you will not be forgotten. I will visit every now and then as well but for now my focus must return to the living. Goodbye, my love. May you rest in peace...you have more than earned your place in the afterlife...we will meet again, the gods willing."
Standing up I gently press a kiss to the smooth stone before walking out of the crypt, silent tears streaking down my face. Stepping into the sunlight a few minutes later I take a deep breath, feeling much lighter than I had over the last weeks. The grief was sure to stay with me for a while yet but at some point I might recall the fond memories of Jasana easier than the pain at her passing. Not for a while, though – I expected myself not to reach that point for many more months, but that was okay as long as my remaining family did not suffer due to it. Something which I would now actively try to avoid, knowing that the boys did deserve a father that was actually all there, not struck in pleasant memories as well as painful ones. The wetness on my face dries on the way to my solar, where I sit down before a truly gigantic pile of letters and other papers I had been ignoring for too long by far.
Dragging a report compiled by Wyndal to me I start to study it, nodding along all the while. In my absence much of what I had spoken about with my late wife and the maester – even if he wasn't really one – had either been completed or at least been started. The town's fortifications continued as planned even though the scorpions intended for the towers had yet to arrive. The docks were continuously expanded as more and more merchant ships continued to arrive from the south, actually making me some small coin in docking fees and a lot more by taxing trade itself. My salt production had been scaled back again after my experiences in Dorne, only leaving enough to cover my own needs. I would find something else to trade with in time.
For now the money I made selling what I was already offering put me in the black by volume more than anything else, my treasury growing again slowly – oh so very slowly – for the first time in nearly a year. Of course this state would not persist as I already had some more projects in mind, to be started as soon as my finances grew to be less critical – which would be a lot sooner than I initially anticipated. Even so there were some things I did not put off, such as accommodations for all the new immigrants that had either followed my call or straight out been brought back as I returned home on nearly twice the number of ships I set out with. Nearly three thousand souls from the north and south had joined my lands over the month I had been away, if taken together with the ones I all but shanghaied myself, it was causing housing to be dreadfully scarce. This turned out to be a very pressing concern as the citadel had sent out the white ravens, announcing winter to be imminent.
Thankfully space turned out to be my only problem concerning winter, my larders and those of my smallfolk being full enough to weather a few years of winter as Jasana had bought food from sources far and wide, the evidence of her foresight sending another flash of mournful pain through my body and I have to stop and take a deep breath for a moment before I can continue my current task. My people would not starve now and would not do so in the future, the last 'gift' of my late wife taking care of this eventually for years to come. The surveyors supplied by her clan had finally returned with great news. Next to iron and tin they found silver. Silver! I did not yet know how deep the vein would turn out to be but even what could be ascertained from the surface promised enough volume to keep me supplied for a decade at least.
I can only shake my head as I think about the financial pressure my family had been under for generations, now knowing that we had been sitting on a fortune in precious metals for all this time. While not being gold, silver was still worth a lot, having caused Wyndal to order three dozen men at arms and archers there with Harren in overall command. I had since then shuffled around the immigrants and old residents some, founding a small village of a hundred souls in walking distance to the site of the mine, knowing that the labor required would need a lot of people. I had ordered yet another fifty men at arms to be recruited, intending to post a permanent guard of at least that number to protect the silver and the transports that would eventually move back and forth between the mine and Rytherstone. The surveyors of House Wull had also taken my offer to stay on and take over the mine to be in my name at a generous salary.
It seemed the gods of Westeros threw good and bad things in equal amounts at us mortals I muse as I shelved the information regarding my good fortune. Sure, it would be months yet before I would see the first silver actually entering my vaults but I was still looking at a truly ridiculous amount of income in the near future, offering a lot of options I did not have previously. Once it became known that precious ore had been found in my lands I expected another boom in immigration, those hoping for a better future heading for my fief. Bandits and other criminals would also follow along of course, leaving me to ponder the fact that my planned expansion of my military and policing forces – which were more or less the same, really – might not be enough to face what is to come.
Taking another look at my ledger I slowly nod to myself and write a note to Wyndal to double the intended recruitment. It would put yet another strain on the treasury and all but empty what was left but it hopefully would protect my newest golden (silver) goose and enable the mine to really get off the ground before anything could happen to it. I was putting a lot of eggs in one basket here but it was a gamble I felt reasonably sure about. The recruitment drive would also have the added benefit of keeping my populace in check, the wave of new arrivals having put yet another strain on public peace. There of course would be another archery competition this year and the training yard had turned into an all-year-fair, which alleviated a lot of pressure but even so it paid for itself to have a very big stick half hidden in the shadows but well known. On a completely unrelated note this would put my military strength roughly at the level of house Forrester, House Glovers biggest vassal.
By now my initial population was a minority in my lands and this would only grow more pronounced once news of my good fortune spread. Even so I would of course not neglect my harbor and the trade network that came with it, investing what I could when I could. After all the silver vein – while being a great boon – was one with a set end date. At some point even if it was some decades in the future the silver would be exhausted while trade would endure. As such I saw the mine as means to an end, not as the end itself… as I was sure generations of Lannisters had done with their gold mines. While they had millions of golden dragons stored away even this great wealth would wither and die if nothing 'growing' was added to the portfolio. I could not quite recall if it had been fandom or fact that the Lannister mines were running on fumes by the time the war of the five kings rolled around but I also did not really care. The argument remained valid either way.
Taking up the next letter I smile wryly, the written words of Lord Brynden Boyle washing over my mind. He offers his condolences and invites me to visit as I am able, his leg making it painful for him to make the journey himself. He also tells me that he was thinking about taking Brigitte for his wife, the two having grown close over the month. While marrying a wildling would be a scandal indeed he had little to fear, his succession being secure. The woman was also less likely to care about something like succession or other 'noble' matters, making her less likely to influence the children already present in a negative way or to outright attack them in some form.
I wish him all the best and caution him to think deeply on the topic before actually committing, knowing that more than a few lords – the ones close to the wall mostly – would be very much offended by such a move. Nonetheless I would of course attend the wedding, should he actually go through with it. Shale, who I tell about the letter with a smile, only shrugs at the news and states that his sister would win in the end anyway with some confidence. Experience was speaking, it seemed to me. Bryle should simply accept his fate and let himself be stolen.
I also had letters in the pile from what remained of houses Branch and Wood, thanking me for the message of their lords death some month earlier. It seems I had really neglected my correspondence. Other letters include a far more recent message from house Mallister, thanking me again for the reinforcements I brought to the table during the ironborn raid and offering to foster one of my children as they were grateful indeed. Reading that I actually pause, leaning back in my chair as I quietly mull over the offer. It was a great one all things considered as house Mallister was much more powerful than my own, a prospect I would be hard pressed to garner otherwise regarding fostering. While it wasn't the north, which I would have preferred as not to feed the rumors of my 'southron leanings' it still was one offer hard not to accept as the Mallisters brought a lot to the table beyond connections alone, a small fleet – though it might currently be in the process of being rebuild – and a well frequented harbor seeing a lot of trade, both which I could use very well indeed.
Making a snap decision I grab a piece of paper and accept the fostering for Theo, my third son. I had spoken about the strain my southern contacts had put upon my reputation in the north as we had been guests of house Mallister, "only" getting a third son would not be taken as an insult because of it. The fostering would start as the little one reached the age of seven, more than enough time for me to get around the idea of letting a piece of Jasana go out of my sight. As I was writing the letter I nearly could not bring myself to write the words even though I rationally knew it to be the right path to take. Waiting for Theo to be of an appropriate age also had me avoiding sending my son into the Ironborn rebellion, should it happen roughly at the same time as in the books, hopefully making the fostering as secure as such a thing could be.
My other sons would also be fostered if I could manage it but where… well, there would be opportunities as the years passed by. And even if not I would be just as happy to keep them at home, knowing that I would find a good place for my second son even without him eligible to inherit my lands. Rytherstone and the adjourning fief were growing at a ridiculous rate – which I intended to keep up – and with growth came opportunity. Placing the letter on top of the polite messages to be sent to my neighboring houses I grab the second to last letter, Lord Glover's sigil prominent on the tightly rolled scroll.
"Well, I'll be damned.", I mutter as my eyes fly over the lines, not quite knowing what to think of it.
Darren,
I am very sorry to hear about the passing of your wife. She had spunk rarely seen outside the clans and brought a laugh to every face. Mourn her but do not forget to live, my friend!
As stated a few months ago we will need to speak about what transpired since I have left south and we need to do it soon. While I managed to shield you from a lot and your deeds have yet done more there are still things that need to be addressed.
Eddard told me that you will be present in Winterfell before the year is out, so I will take out two birds with one stone as I am currently a guest of Winterfell anyway. In four month – hopefully before winter starts in earnest – there will be a harvest feast in Winterfell. All northern lords of any importance will be there, I expect you to get an invitation as well.
Be there.
Lord Galbart Glover
The tone of the letter was friendly enough but I also distinctly got the impression that refusing would not be an option. Glancing at the last message remaining on my desk, a letter from house Stark, I already knew what it would contain. Opening it carefully I am not surprised to see a short and to the point invitation to the harvest festival for myself and my family. I wince at the second part but also easily see that the wording is a standard phrase and not meant to force me to actually move through the north with my infant sons in tow. They would remain behind as I traveled north, which would take me a few weeks considering the distances involved.
Calling Wyndal into my solar I hand him the letters to send and tell him about what I intend to do about the mine.
"Very well, Milord. Everything else should continue as it was?"
I frown at the question. "Is there a problem somewhere, keeping it from doing so?"
He shakes his head. "No, Milord. The expansion of the harbor goes well, as do the defenses and the expansion of housing and farming. The merchants continue to bring immigrants and to call in the bounty offered for it… if costs with this continues to grow as they are we might get into problems next year at this time, though."
"By then the mine will keep us running, balancing every overdue cost we might have incurred. It will also attract enough attention that we might be able to do with the bounty as well."
"Wealth attracting people?", he asks knowingly for me to nod with a tired smile.
"Aye. Please make it clear to arriving merchants that the bounty will only be offered for the duration of this winter and not be paid once summer comes around again. By that time I expect the movement to have enough force on its own to keep drawing people, even without the silver mine becoming known – which it will, of course."
Wyndal nods thoughtfully, before glancing at the pile of letters to be sent he had taken into his care. "It is good to see you back to your old self, Milord. We were worried."
Before I can formulate a fitting answer the man bows slightly and dismisses himself, heaving for the ravens. Shaking my head I summon Harren and tell him about my expansion plans for the guard, something he takes in with a smile.
"Milord, are you sure we will be able to afford this even with the mine?", he cautions nonetheless, having only ever known the management of scarce finances under my father's management. Even having seen the rapid expansion under my leadership he still had problems coming to grips with what it actually means sometimes. I did not hold it against the man even if it annoyed me a little every now and then.
"We can and we will.", I state and point to the ocean which I can hear more than see from my current position. "Once it becomes known what we have here the vultures will start to circle, only strength real or imagined will ward them off. I intend it to be real."
"As you command, Milord. I will see it done.", he agrees and is dismissed a moment later.
I spent a further three hours in my solar, working through all the paperwork that had piled itself onto my desk. Taking all my plans current and future into account it would be a tight fit, leaving me with barely a hundred dragons to my name by the time I estimated the mine to start turning out profit. I expected something to happen in the meanwhile that would force me to spend a lot of these reserves as well but it should hopefully be enough anyway. Slowing down any of my current projects would just impact me negatively further down the line, which I couldn't have. So I would continue riding the train full speed ahead and hope that I didn't get derailed at some point.
As the weeks continued to pass without any disasters happening I actually managed to relax some, the children causing much of my good mood. While I still felt painful pangs of memory often as I looked at them, the good feelings outweighed them by far, leaving me to smile and chuckle more often than I had in years. Small children especially were just precious as they discovered the world.
The time I had to leave for Winterfell arrived a lot quicker than I felt comfortable with but I left my fief in the capable hands of Wyndal and Harren, both of them together being more than competent enough to keep everything running as I was away. They would of course not be able to emulate the success of my late wife but they would still keep everything on track, if be less elegant about it. Wyndal had also taken over Jasana's infant spy network, meeting with every captain coming to port or trader reaching us over the road network. While far less efficient and successful he still turned up useful bits and pieces of knowledge every now and then. As it was I would either need a person really dedicated to this kind of work soon or shuffle around duties enough to leave him the time that actually needed to be invested to become any good at it. I was not yet sure which I would prefer.
Taking a larger than usual guard of twenty riders with me I moved out as light snow slowly started to turn everything a peaceful white color. I did not trust the atmosphere for one second, hence the somewhat large group of warriors I brought along. The north had been weakened greatly in the rebellion and I knew that nature abhorred a vacuum. Bandits had been showing up more and more in most of Westeros, the harder hit during the war the more of them there were to fill in the power gaps left by dead nobles and their men at arms. The lands north of the neck were sparsely settled and had little promising targets because of it, causing most bandits to try to enrich themselves in the south but there were still some plaguing the north as well. Knowing that everything I had built would come crashing down with my death I preferred being prepared even if the size of my guard might be frowned upon once arriving in the capital of the north.
We reached and passed Deepwood Motte without trouble, only to run into it a few days later after I had just started to relax a little. Damn you, Murphy! Cresting a small hill we see two dozen men and women desperately trying to defend a few wagons full of crates and...children? Makeshift weapons sought to fend off equally bad quality swords, axes and arrows – failing just as much as succeeding.
The attackers, all thirty of them, could be nothing else but brigands. Their unwashed appearance and ramshackle armor proved it just as much as the insults and jeers they were throwing at the besieged caravan. A particularly vile insult hurled at one of the less starved looking women and what the man in question intended to do after slaughtering the menfolk actually made me pause for a split second before ordering the attack.
"Never cut twice!", I roar and draw my sword, my guards doing the same as we speed up our horses. Cries of dismay and elation rose from the wild melee in front of us as we smashed into it, simply trampling a dozen of the bandits before our swords started the butcher work. While I would have preferred shooting the bandits from a distance they were too intermingled with their victims to make it a valid tactic, forcing me to fight in close quarters for which I disliked them even more than I did anyway. The superior equipment and training became apparent at once, the brigands falling under our blades like wheat before the scythe. It was over in less than a minute, the survivors throwing away their weapons and surrendering after one of my men beheaded their leader with a particularly motivated swing of his sword. My men suffered a few bruises but that was just about the extent of our losses, high quality armor having caught any blow that had slipped through the results of training and experience.
"Thank you, Milord!", an older man approached me with a bow, a jagged head wound leaking blood onto his face. "Thank you, Milord!", he repeats shaking in relief and bows again, "a few minutes more and we would have been with the gods."
"No need to thank us, good man.", I reply while cleaning my sword with a rag, my men herding the dozen survivors of the bandits off to the side. "Bandits are a blight upon all upstanding folk and putting them down is just the right thing to do."
"Of course, Milord. Can we offer you anything to thank you?", he quietly asks as one of the women timidly approaches to bind his head wound. Waving the woman to continue I shake my head. "No, good man. You being safe is more than enough to thank me...well, one thing there might be."
"Name it, Milord.", he answers at once if a little more nervously than before.
"Information, good man. Tell me, what news are there in the lands you traveled through? I have been on the road for a while with little news to be had."
Relaxing he bows again and starts to speak at once. "Little which might be of any interest to you, Milord. Bandits are on the rise all through the north, despite the different Lords hunting them with a vengeance. Many a field remains untended as the men needed to farm them have died down south, leaving a lot of people on the move to avoid starving this winter."
"Where are they moving?", I ask at once.
"There is a place a few weeks travel from here to the east called Rytherstone, Milord. Rumored to take in everyone regardless of ability and to be free of starvation. Many will be heading there if feasible, others will head to White Harbour or Wintertown to avoid the pangs of hunger. Many a lord is not amused by losing smallfolk, I have heard."
I on the other hand was mightily amused by the man obviously not knowing who I actually was or where I hailed from but I chose not to enlighten him. Hearing an unbiased account of the effects my efforts had yielded turned out to be interesting indeed, even though I would have to send a raven home in a hurry once I reached Winterfell. While a growing population would be worth a lot, having half the north heading for my lands might put me – and my larders – under some pressure. At least I knew from the books that the winter would not last that long, leaving me with the option of going faster and deeper into my stores than other lords might be willing to risk. Foreknowledge again would turn out to be very useful indeed but in this instance I would be unable to share the reason beyond my 'risky' measures with other lords without coming across as a complete lunatic. Predicting the length of winter had been tried before but other than a rough estimate of 'long summer will be followed by long winter and vice versa' nothing had ever been successful.
"Good to know.", I nod after a thoughtful silence. "Anything else that comes to mind?"
The old man frowns in thought for a long moment before the woman still carefully bandaging his head mutters something only he can hear, his eyes widening for a moment. "Aye, Milord. Word from White Harbor is that the Dragons have made overtures regarding trade, the three headed dragon being seen more often flown by merchants instead of warships. No one quite knows what it means, only that it heralds change."
Interesting, I muse and continue some small talk with the man before turning my attention to the bandits that survived the small skirmish. House Targaryen having direct trade relations with the north could mean everything and nothing, so I filed it in the back of my mind for later. If I was in luck I would meet Lord Manderly soon and be able to sate my curiosity by going directly to the source.
The twelve survivors of the brigand group were a sorry lot, half starved and looking very much down on their luck bound and watched over by my men as they were. Their ages ranged from greybeard to a youth barely having any beard at all, all being of northern descent. Having ridden in front of them I simply stare at the men until they all focus on me.
"You all know the punishment for banditry.", I state without preamble and the prisoners sink into themselves some more, hopeless expressions on their faces. What they had been doing carries the death sentence and they knew it all too well.
"If you – anyone of you, I need not more than one – answers my questions I will offer you all the opportunity to take the black. Stay silent and die before the sun sets today."
The youngest of them, a lanky boy with a shock of nearly midnight black hair stands up nearly at once, some of the others glaring sullenly at him. "Ask your questions, living in the black will at least see me not going hungry with some honor."
I nod to him with some approval. "The reason beyond your brigandry was hunger?"
He hesitates for a moment. "At the start, yes. Returning home from the war we found our village sacked by wildlings, leaving us with nothing and nowhere to turn to. After we...gained...enough food to last us over we were approached by a man offering us a reward to prey upon this road in particular. Every ear we gather would get us a silver."
"Who was that man?", I ask with a frown, my mind whirling. There was some political bullshit afoot, I could all but smell the stink of it. Preying on this road might be intended to weaken House Glover… or an outright assassination attempt on my person, knowing that I would have to take this road if I wanted to go to Winterfell. This of course would mean that whoever was behind all this would have knowledge of lord Stark summoning me… or just have the admittedly close at hand guess that I would be invited for the harvest festival.
"We know not.", he shrugs. "He said that he would find us again within the year and paid a dragon in advance to… properly motivate us as he stated."
"Nothing that could point at his identity?", I inquired again only for him to shake his head.
"Nothing, Milord. He was just a man...average height, average face. Wouldn't recognize him if I wandered across him again."
"How many… ears... have you gathered?" I was almost afraid to ask but also knew that the information might be needed at some point.
The youth grimaces, closing his eyes as he knew that he would damn himself and his cohorts even further in my eyes
"Thirty and one"
Now it was my turn to close my eyes and grimace, my face working as I open them again and glare at the group in front of me. I wanted to put them to the sword at once but my earlier words stayed my hand, as did my guilty conscience. He had stated that their settlement being put to the torch by wildlings had driven them to banditry in the first place, likely making their home one of the villages I failed to save early last year. "Be very glad that I already offered the Black. Had I known this beforehand I would not have been so generous… but I stand by my word."
"Where is your camp and do you have prisoners?", I continued my questions after a short pause to gather myself.
"Half an hour's march to the west, Milord. And we do not have prisoners, only a few cows and sheep we gained a few weeks ago."
"At least something", I mutter and nod to the boy, "Well then… you will go to the wall, yes? Any other takers?"
Little surprisingly they all chose to take the Black, not being keen of dying by my blade. Half a day later I am on the road again, having left five of my men behind. We had gathered the bandits' ill gotten gains and gifted them to the elated smallfolk for their troubles, my men being tasked to escort them to Deepwood Motte. They would also take care of the prisoners and place them in the Glover dungeons until transport for the Wall could be arranged. I had first thought of taking them along to Winterfell but two things stopped me.
Firstly, they were not mounted and would slow us down to an unreasonable degree. Actually giving them horses would be just as a bad idea, enabling them to make a break for it at the earliest opportunity. Not that I had enough horses at hand anyway. Secondly there was little use in the men anyway. The information that they had been paid to prey on the road while being interesting was nothing more than a curiosity as I had nothing to prove it with other than the word of a bandit nobody would trust to speak the truth. I would of course still inform Lords Glover and Stark but that would be that.
My somewhat reduced group made good time and did not meet other problems or attacks on our way north, which this time did not cause me to relax but only made me more paranoid by the day. I would of course reject the notion with the – in my mind – valid argument that it wasn't paranoia if they were really out to get you. Not that I knew that I had actually been the target, of course. But, again, I thought it better to assume the worst and just be happy about it, should I turn out to be wrong. Sadly Westeros had proven me right often enough that I didn't hold much hope for it.
Winterfell was a truly magnificent sight, the great citadel of the old kings of Winter being hilariously oversized as it throned over a small town that almost disappeared beneath the great fortifications shadow. Riding into Wintertown we find it bustling and filled with people going about their daily work, the continuously slowly falling snow not seeming to bother anyone but a few obviously southern merchants, who quickly disappear into a tavern as we pass by. We garner little interest as we make for the castle, the smallfolk having seen many a noble arrive over the last weeks in anticipation of the coming festival.
My arrival had obviously been noted as I spotted Galbart Glover waiting for me the moment I rode into the gigantic courtyard of Winterfell, my guards hard on my heels. They peeled off in the direction of the stables and barracks while I continued on to meet my lord.
"Darren!", his voice booms over the area, turning a few heads in our direction as he walks up to me and embraces me, hands hammering hard enough on my back that I feel bruises forming at once. "Good to see you, welcome to Winterfell!"
"Good to see you as well, Lord Glover.", I reply after regaining my breath, a small bow accompanying my words.
"None of that!", he chuckles and draws me with him in the direction of the great hall or at least where I suspect it to be. "A lot has happened since we met last and I want to hear it all!"
He continues to all but drag me deeper into the castle, avoiding some other nobles that I spot making a beeline for us from the other end of the courtyard. This greatly peaks my curiosity as I spot the Dustin and Whitehill colors among others, two families that had often been at odds with my direct overlord. We do not stop even though I would have greatly preferred cleaning myself first after the journey and before I knew it I found myself in Lord Stark's solar, the Paramount looking up from mountains of paper at our entrance.
"Ah, finally.", he breathes and leans back with a groan.
"Well met, Milord. Should I have set out as soon as I got the invitation? This feels very… rushed.", I greet and finally ask with some confusion leaking into my words. Glabart snorts at my side, shaking his head but remains silent as Eddard Stark stands up and stretches a little, bones creaking despite his youth.
"No Lord Ryther. You are early enough still. That was more my own frustration speaking."
"Frustration, Milord?"
He sits down again, having offered a tankard of ale which I take gratefully, being parched after a long day of traveling.
"Aye, frustration.", he grunts. "Your success at home while everyone else was fighting in the south made you quite a few enemies, which I now have to sort out before someone does something rash. You have a lot of friends – most of which you do not know about – as well but those take care of themselves."
"That might be a little late.", I state blandly and continue to quickly inform them of the bandits and what they told me about, causing frowns to appear on both of their faces. Lord Glover in particular goes red in anger, the attack having happened on his land and inflicted on my person by his wayward subjects.
"All the more reason to get this done with.", Eddard Stark grunts, leaning back.
"Lord Ryther, you have done the north a great service with your deeds during the rebellion. Because of you the western coast remains secure to this day, not to speak of your journey south to gather myself and my family and the battle of Seaguard. The north owes you and so do I."
He takes a deep breath, glancing between myself and Galbart as I keep my silence, knowing that he was yet to finish. "But you also grew powerful doing those tasks, rising quickly enough to make my head spin and earn yourself envy aplenty. If I am informed right then you are easily Lord Glovers strongest vassal at this point, at least until House Forrester recovers from the losses suffered during the southern war. That you gained a lot of this by inviting southerners has earned you little good will."
I nod along his words, nothing about them being new. "Where does this leave us?", I ask quietly.
"This leaves us with a problem but one that can be solved if addressed soon enough.", he grumbles before taking out a sealed scroll, he hands me.
"There are a few things that I will gift you in recognition of your deeds and a few things that I will have to demand in return."
Taking a deep breath I mentally steel myself. "Yes, Miliord?"
"First, your reward. You have been a minor noble house for a few centuries now, that will change to reflect your rise in power. The scroll, signed by the king, gives you the status equal to house Forrester, a fully acknowledged noble house. You may now give out land and raise vassals on your own if you so wish. You will still be beholden to Lord Glover but stand above houses like Branch, Woods and Boyle. Well done."
I didn't quite know what to say and instead simply nodded in stupor, not having expected something like this. Well, that was not quite true. My thoughts had gone this way at some point but I simply hadn't given it much of a chance of actually happening.
"You will also be granted some more lands on Sea Dragon Point, they are currently without administration. This will all but double your lands, which will be reflected by your new responsibilities. The nobility will see you being recognized by house Stark, hopefully squashing these pesky rumors about southron influence… but they will also see you taking a lot more responsibility as well."
"I am grateful, Lord Stark.", I whisper, still very much stunned at the direction the meeting had taken. "Which responsibilities are we talking about?"
"You have been protecting the western coast from raiders on my word for a while now… you will continue to do so, shouldering in the west what house Manderly does in the east. It will focus much of your efforts onto the sea, calming those landbound lords – which are all of them, really – that feel threatened by your quick rise. They have nothing to fear from ships, being inland, after all. House Manderly will supply you with enough qualified sailors and shipbuilders to see your infrastructure to the right level… you will shoulder the cost, though."
I gulped, this time feeling little surprise as I had been doing so anyway. With the new additions to my fleet I would actually be able to fulfill my obligations at least in some small form. But I would also have to build up numbers and expertise much faster than I wanted to in that area. He also did not restrict the growth of my `dry` forces, which was something. I would simply have to shoulder double the strain as I would stop expanding my military only over my dead body, knowing what was coming down the line. Still, I would manage… in time actually quite easily, considering the wealth of precious metals I had just discovered in my lands. I nod silently, accepting the task with the little grace I had left.
"You will also need to remarry.", Lord Stark continues to state with some sympathy, my hackles rising at once and bile rising in my throat. He wanted me to do what?
"I have three sons, my house and the succession is more than secure.", I avoid answering the demand ouright only for the Stark to grimace, some of my anger leaking into my words despite my best efforts.
"That might be true but you will need a wife born north of the Moat sooner rather than later. I am willing to intercede on your behalf, should you be unable to find one yourself… you are needed to show your dedication to the north and marriage will be the fastest way to see it done while also securing your position."
"My wife is not yet dead half a year and I will have to take another one?", I force out between gritted teeth, the sympathetic expressions of the two lords only making my rage grow.
"Yes", Galbart interjects quietly, "I will not allow you to become a target – more than you already are – because you did not do your duty in this case."
"Duty...", I growl before violently forcing myself to calm down. To actually think. Anger does make for bad decisions after all. A minute of deep breaths goes by before I open my eyes again, the other lords waiting patiently.
"I have conditions.", I begin, knowing that there would be no avoiding this.
"Name them", Lord Stark replies at once, a brief flash of relief appearing on his face. He obviously had not looked forward to this conversation and was at least somewhat glad that I appeared to be rational enough to speak about the topic without blowing up.
"My children will have to be fostered by the time I take another wife. I will not have any bad blood in my household… and I do not want to poison a new wife against my children as the reminder that hers will not inherit are prancing in front of her eyes all the time. My eldest goes to you, Lord Stark. My second son to Lord Manderly. My third is already set for Seaguard once he reaches the right age...no less than the age of six at the earliest."
The Stark lord considers my word for a long moment before nodding slowly. "I am sure that Lord Manderly will prove amiable. Your eldest will also be welcome in Winterfell."
I breathe a sigh of relief, knowing that his tacit approval had just granted me some years of peace before I had to actually marry again, the boys being very young and unable to foster at this point in time. The frown on Lord Glovers face showed him to know this as well but he seemed to be unwilling to contradict his lord at this point in time. I expected that there would be some pressure to marry earlier but now at least I had a chance to avoid it for some time. My hopes are dashed a moment later as he continues.
"Still, close to six years is a long time. While your son being fostered by my household and the honors that go along with it will shut up some of your more lackluster enemies it might only drive the more fervent ones to take action faster. I agree to the fostering with the condition that you will have to take a wife within three years, more would be too much of a risk. You have lands to distribute now. Any new wife will have to be content with her children getting some of those, should you decide it so."
Again I stay silent as I mull over the counter offer. Three years felt far too soon for my recently shattered heart, more so as would not avoid the problems I could see popping up between any new wife and my children. Even so it was likely the best deal I was going to get.
"Just to be clear. My wife will have to be of the north, yes? Not of the south, not outside Westeros?"
"Yes", Lord Stark confirms, "as long as the woman has been born north of the Moat it will be sufficient."
"Three years...", I mutter before shaking my head almost helplessly, "You are asking a lot of me."
"We know", admits Lord Glover, "but the situation is as it is. Others will be forced to take unloved actions as well. These are your conditions?"
While not happy about the wording I nodded nonetheless, refraining from asking what others and what actions he was talking about. He would have already used them as examples, had both lords been willing to disclose them.
"Two more and that will be it.", I sigh, feeling old suddenly despite me counting less than twenty years in this world. "A lot of northern smallfolk are moving in the direction of my lands. I will not complain about this as it helps me greatly… but it will also anger less fortunate nobles that are losing what I am gaining. I want a public acknowledgement of the opportunities I am offering and the reasons the smallfolk are drawn to me, hopefully cutting off any complaints at the knee."
"Done.", states Lord Stark at once, "The last one?"
"The fleet will put a great strain on my treasury but I have recently come into some good fortune, a vein of silver having been discovered on my lands. I will need a tax exemption for the mine for the next ten years, helping me finance the tasks you have given me."
Both Lords eyes widen at my words, Lord Stark leaning back as he looks at me thoughtfully. "You do not do things by half, do you?"
I just shrug tiredly, keeping my silence.
"Five years.", he finally counters and I agree at once, knowing that any additional money would be useful, even if only available for a few years.
"We are in agreement then.", the Lord Paramount sighs and relaxes a little for the first time since I entered the solar. "I will acknowledge your deeds during the harvest feast the day after tomorrow, as you present your gift to the family."
He pauses for a moment before staring at the mountain of paper on his desk forlornly. "That is one problem taken care of, only hundreds of others remaining."
We take our leave a few minutes later, Lord Glover stopping me before I can wander off to finally wash the stink of travel off my body. "I am sorry about Jasana, Darren. I truly am. Had there been another way out of this mess I would have fought for it."
"I know, Galbart.", I sigh and lean against the strangely warm wall behind me, feeling very very tired. "It does not make it less a punch below the belt, though."
The Glover lord grimaces, seeing my point but not being able to do anything about it. "Be it as it may… you handled that well. I have always known that you would rise high… you do not disappoint."
He smiles and claps me on the shoulder before taking his leave and finally leaving me to my bath and rest, both something I desperately needed. Over the next few days I actually avoided other lords like a plague, not wanting to become a target before Lord Stark had done his part during the festival and layered at least some protection on my shoulders.
Walking into the great hall clad in my best clothes and with a small wooden box under my arm a few days later I am greeted by a raucous atmosphere. The northern lords had not been at it for more than half an hour but I could already see some that had drunk a little too much in a very short time, the younger Dustin before all – much to the displeasure of the woman next to him who I take to be Barbary Dustin. Another change from the world I knew, making what I remembered ever more useless. Not that I cared by this time as I would just wing it as events came along. The broad strokes would likely stay the same, which was really all that I needed. I also notice that the present lords are either very young or old, many of those that had been aged in between having been killed during the rebellion. There are also quite a few houses missing that have only very young heirs or injuries that keep them from participating, or so the rumor mill states. At least in the case of Lord Glover's other vassals bar the Forresters I knew this to be true.
Moving to the head table my eyes roam over the Starks in attendance, seeing some familiar and some unfamiliar faces. Eddard was of course there, as was the heavily pregnant Catelyn Stark ne Tully. Robb wasn't present but I had not expected him to be either, being the infant that he still was. A youth with the Stark features would be Benjen Stark, not yet having chosen to take the Black. Who I very much did not see was Ashara Dayne and the little Stunstark, making me curious as to where they had disappeared to – not that I would be able to ask that question without getting some stares myself. Also at the high table were the Lords Bolton, Manderly, Karstark, Glover and Reed, all having taken seats of honor. Most other houses were present as well but scattered through the hall, having been seated at different tables without much of an order to them even if neighboring nobles tended to sit together. There were exceptions of course, houses Whitehill and Forrester for example would never sit close to each other despite sharing a border.
Presenting myself to Lord Stark I bow before offering the small chest I had been carrying all along, drawing every eye on the head table and a few from the greater crowd. "Lord Stark, House Ryther would like to present you this gift in accordance with the old ways, honoring a good harvest and hoping for a short winter."
"House Stark accepts the gift in the intent it was given, may the Winter be short and future harvest be plenty.", the Lord Paramount ritually replies in a grave voice and accepts the box, eyebrows raising as he opens the chest and gleans the items within. Two obsidian daggers, polished to mirror shine, placed on a fine piece of gray fabric are revealed for all those watching closely enough.
"Dragonglass Daggers, my Lord.", I answer the unspoken question with another slight bow. "Legends speak of these weapons used by the first men to fight the Others and their undead wights. It is said that weapons made of Obsidian or Valyrian steel were the only ones able to harm these beings of ice, all other weapons shattering upon meeting their frozen flesh."
"Grumpkins and snarks", whispers lord Bolton, causing my mouth to twitch into a minuscule frown before I regain control of my expression. My first time meeting the guy and I already knew that we would get along like oil and water after three words. Great, just...great.
"Maybe", I ground out with a nod to the greater northern lord, "but also a part of our history, half forgotten legend as it might be. It has survived thousands of winters and will also witness this one as well as the next summer."
The northern lords hearing my words look a little impressed at the thought behind the gift, most just having gifted weapons or luxury items of some sort without a deeper meaning behind it. I also hoped that many had heard my words regarding the weakness of the Others and would remember it once the time came to make use of it.
"Lord Ryther", the Stark patriarch continues, his voice washing over the gathering and silencing most of the noise suffusing it. "You honor us with this gift and we will honor it in return… but that is not all there is to say today."
Rising from his seat he opens his arms wide. "Lord Ryther, you have done the north a great service while most of us were fighting in the south. You kept home and hearth safe, forsaking any honors found in southern battles. You allowed us to give our all in the war, knowing that we would have homes to return to. You fought off wildlings and reavers, even braved the sea to bring me and my family back north. Even now tales of your deeds spread, drawing those wishing for a better future to you. The north thanks you for what you have done!"
Taking a deep breath he raises his cup, roaring to the crowd. "A toast to house Ryther, Sealords of the Western Coast!"
The answering roar is nearly too much for my ears, my face burning slightly at the praise heaped upon my shoulders even though I had known that it was coming. And really… Sealords of the western coast? Laying on a bit thick there, Eddard?
I raise my own cup that I had been handed a moment earlier, accepting the praise, before withdrawing to a lower placed table a little to the side where I take a seat next to a few men wearing Manderly colors.
"Well met, Lord Ryther", the first man greets me jovially. "I am Wendel Manderly and I think we will be seeing some more of each other in the days to come."
"Well met, Lord Manderly.", I reply half amused at his boisterous attitude. "We will?"
"Oh, aye.", he grins before leaning forwards, "We Sealords should stick together, no?"
I snort amusedly and soon fall into an easy conversation with the man as I sip my ale. Having no intention of actually getting drunk I only partook moderately and instead mostly focussed on the food, which was simple but very filling. It seems that House Manderly had already spoken with Eddard Stark, the agreed upon fostering as well as the supply of qualified personnel I required having been discussed and agreed to. Between lines I gleaned that the Manderlys had gotten something more out of it as well and been happy as a clam ever since. I had not been able to find out what made them this elated, though. Not that I cared overly much as they seemed to be inclined to think very well of me, potentially making them a very powerful ally in the years to come. He also carefully avoids the topic of Targaryen ships in White Harbor, much to my frustration. I did not press the topic overly much, though, not wanting him to take offense. In little time we had become very cordial with each other, making me hope that I made at least not a bad first impression.
Over the night I speak with half a dozen other northern lords but mostly stay with introductions and small talk. This was my first major appearance and I was mostly focussed on not fucking up, causing me to enjoy the feast far less than other nobles. One of the more interesting conversations had been with the old head of house Ironsmith, the topic being...magic. Well not really, Runes more like it. It had started over the legends associated with dragonglass as I had started at the gift giving and escalated from there. Before long we were discussing the first men and their runes including the meanings and effects they were said to have had at some point. The man, Jegrod, and I had agreed to continue our discussion by letter as our interest would not be shared by most of the other lords of Westeros. As Lord Bolton had stated, most would just decry it as Grumpkins and Snarks. I on the other hand knew magic and those touched by it to exist, causing me to take the topic much more seriously than most others would have. Jegrod on the other hand only half believed in magic but he had a great interest in runes and their history, his house said to have used runes in their smithing many centuries ago. For him it was part of his house's history and as such worth pursuing. As I went to bed some time later I felt pretty good about the impression I had left and somewhat sure that I at least had not been left in a worse position than before.
A week later I am on my way back home, having joined Lord Glover's group as he made for Deepwood Motte. Travel was slow due snow piling up by now as well as us having gained a lot of hanger ones. The words of the peasant I and my men had rescued some weeks earlier proved to be true as nearly a hundred smallfolk had tagged along, hoping for a better life in my lands. I had of course accepted them and sent another raven to Rytherstone, announcing our arrival in a few weeks time. The smallfolk had been happy to be accepted and to be escorted by a few dozen men at arms that made up the guard detail of Lord Glover and myself, considering that the roads were dangerous in these times even on days when the weather wasn't out to kill the average traveler.
It took us nearly seven weeks to reach Deepwood and another three to arrive at Rytherstone, thankfully no trouble but the occasional wolf attack impeding our progress. At home I first greeted my children before sleeping in a warm bed for the first time in months. After a good night's rest I again found myself in my solar as work waited for no one and I already had the experience that taking a break would only lead me to scramble to catch up at some point in the future, causing stress that nobody needed and could be easily avoided by doing the work at once.
Wyndal and Harren soon join me in the room, a glass of spiced and heated red wine in their hands. I had invented the drink at the start of winter, taking some of the spices I acquired in Dorne to make it. Not nearly getting the mix right to completely copy the winter drink I remembered from my old life I still created something very tasty and warming, that took off like a rocket. I had actually managed to get some northern lords to try it during my stay in Winterfell, half a dozen orders of Rytherstone Glóg already waiting on my desk. My internal Dagobert – I had been native german so I wasn´t calling him Scrooge – was already crackling in glee at the prices I would be able to demand for it, considering the ridiculously long supply line to get the spices and wine needed. Ah, well. Another source of income was always nice even though I would remain dependent on others to get the ingredients, considering that neither the needed spices nor the grapes for the wine would grow in my lands.
"Anything urgent?", I ask them as I enjoy the warm glow as the drink goes down my throat.
"We have been seeing a steady trickle of smallfolk arriving all across our borders and increased our efforts to build housing. Currently we can still manage but this will put us into a difficult position if it continues for too long or even increases in numbers. While your late wife greatly expanded our winter supplies, the larders will only last so long.", states at once after glancing in his ever present book.
I nod, suppressing a pang of pain at the mention of Jasana. "I do not expect the winter to last longer than a year, two at most. Even if I am wrong the mine will be running by then, allowing us to buy what we cannot make ourselves. Just to be sure please contact House Flint about those fisher boats again. The sea is unlikely to freeze and should keep us going if it gets too tight at some point."
Turning to the other man I raise my eyebrow in question and he shrugs. "Nothing of note. The expansion of the guard comes along nicely and no bandits or other miscreants have been spotted for months. Rytherstone having the biggest 'unbroken' force close by will have to be the reason, I suspect. Better and most of all easier targets elsewhere."
"Anything urgent but not important or not urgent but important?", I inquired after nodding thoughtfully. I had always been a fan of sorting topics in three, no, four categories. Urgent and important, urgent but not important, important but not urgent...and the rest, in that order. Worked well for me till now.
"Yes", Wyndal speaks with a little annoyance seeping into his words, "The citadel has sent a raven, informing us that a 'proper' maester will be sent to serve you and has already boarded a ship at Oldtown. It seems we are important enough now for some… attention."
"Ah...", I mutter, stepping my fingers together. This was very interesting indeed. I did not actually know if I even wanted a maester to be assigned to my house. Sure, it more or less was an acknowledgement of my relative importance. More so, considering that maesters usually served for life at whatever place they ended up in. Still… I had read too much fandom in my last life to trust them from the get go as other nobles might. Routing all my mail through intermediates I had no control over and even less trust in just rubbed me the wrong way. Each time I thought about it I had a Comstar moment, the paranoid little voice in the back of my mind telling me that what I sent or received might not be what it had been at the start of the process once the intended recipient got it. Taken together with near absolute control about information and knowledge… there was just too many ways to abuse this to hell and back for me to trust the maesters further than I could throw them.
Still, I would have to wait and see. I might yet be positively surprised and actually get a man I could lean on...who knew? Waving at Wyndal I smirk, "It seems you will no longer have an excuse to take over Jasanas Network."
The man looks pained but nods, "Aye, Milord."
"Rest assured", I continue and look back and forth between both men, "this group will stay as it currently is for the foreseeable future. The maester will have to prove himself first before I take him into this council."
Both men relaxed slightly at my word, obviously having feared a loss of position upon the arrival of the `better´ educated man. "Anything else?
Headshakes meet my question and I dismiss them shortly after, having made a little time for smalltalk before sending them on their way. Leaning back I sip my Glóg and grimace, the heat having long since fled the drink, making it much less tasty than it should be in my mind.
Four weeks later the maester, Luthor, arrived with a small chest full of books. He appeared to be roughly thirty years in age and to be very sure of himself, based mostly on his background, having been born a Fossoway. I took an instant dislike to the man because of it even if I could say nothing against his credentials. His rings showed a proficiency in healing as much as mathematics, history, ravenry, politics and warcraft, enabling him to teach my sons all that would be required of them. I just disliked the way he held himself and already knew that he would have to go a long way to enter my council, should his manners persist. He didn't seem to understand why I was as standoffish to him as I was but I was reasonably sure that he would get the hint one of these days. Not outright telling him was a little petty of me but I just couldn't help myself.
The rest of the year sped by quickly and before I knew it I looked back upon peaceful – for Westeros – months full of minor happenings. The archery tournament had again been well received, a pure southern team coming first with the all female one being the runner ups. Again I had recruited some of the most able archers into my forces, which would allow those that lost this time around a better chance next year, keeping the competition interesting and new talent from being kept down by the old and experienced archers.
My fleet continued to guard the coast but not once had an ironborn ship had been spotted, which led me to believe that something was amiss. Quellon Greyjoy had died earlier this year, leaving his heir Balon as the Lord Reaper of Pyke, which made me all the more distrustful. Officially he had disappeared in a storm, swept off deck by a high wave and being washed onto shore a few days later as a bloated corpse. Rumors among the merchants had him being `encouraged` to take a swim in bad weather by less progressive members of his family. I could all but smell the trouble coming after the current silence and dearly hoped that my preparations would hold through the storm that was sure to arrive in the not too far future. The men sent by Lord Manderly had also arrived despite the high snow drifts often making the already bad roads even worse. Before long I would own a small shipyard and be able to build my own ships, which had cost me a third of my reserve to get off the ground.
Thankfully the silver mined on my lands was easily accessible and would turn in a profit far sooner than I anticipated. Only once bandits had tried to rob the mine but they had all gotten ripped to pieces by wolves. Yes, wolves. Wallace and Lyrra had been visiting relatives in the quickly growing village close to the mine and the girls 'pets' had spotted the brigands miles away. Star and her pack had not left much to be buried after Lyrra had sent them after the bad men. Her words, not mine. Some seem to have survived though as tales of beasts protecting the Ryther silver cropped up a few days later, which still caused me to chuckle months after the event.
More and more smallfolk had also trickled in, my main settlement growing to fifteen thousand souls and hundreds of more peasants being scattered through my lands old and new. As soon as I had the money I would invest yet more money into the guard to keep ahead of things and guarantee public order. Sometimes I felt like a despot building a police state but considering the general shape of things in Westeros I was actually a raging liberal, all things considered. Perspective is everything it seems.
As the year changes from 282 AC into 283 AC I am feeling apprehensive in the extreme, all but waiting for the other shoe to drop.
週次パワーステータス
-- 推薦
ランキング 
-- 推薦
チケット