Capítulo 76: 7
Chapter Seven
Eastwood
Late 49 AC
Being the Maester of Eastwood had been a dull affair. Condemned to life in a small keep without a lord had been a harsh sentence. He had always dreamed of a life in a greater castle, perhaps even a Great House of the realm. Joining the Maester's had been his attempt to explore and see more of the world and yet almost a dozen years after his assignment, he had seen nothing.
For many years, he had served the previous Castellan. A miserly and miserable old man, who cared nought for the plight of the smallfolk. One who spent most of his days in Storm's End hoping to curry enough favour with the Baratheons, so that he may be appointed as Lord of Eastwood. In his absence, he would see to the administration of the lands, but due to the miserly nature of the Castellan, there was nought that he could do to see the lives of the smallfolk improved.
As an Acolyte in Old Town, he had never been the most stellar of students. He had never been interested as others were in the higher mysteries or in the arts of healing, having barely forged himself his silver link. His interests had always laid in numbers, herblore and the material sciences. In hindsight, that had been the reason why he had been effectively exiled to this remote keep in the Stormlands. Most Lords wished for the Maesters to be skilled in healing, history, warcraft and even the higher mysteries, more so since the Dragons conquered Westeros.
And it was thus that he had found himself consigned to the lordless keep of Eastwood, serving the miserable old Castellan.
That had all changed when Aelon was made lord. At first, he thought that the young lordling was touched in the head. Oh, his mind was not dull, twas as sharp as any knight's blade, but he was a visionary, prone to flights of fancy and visionaries never fulfilled their dreams. Most ended up dead. With his nonsensical words and sayings and ideas so outlandish they seemed more akin to children's tales, young Aelon was most definitely not a normal child.
Initially, the Maester had struggled greatly in attempting to guide the young Lord. He had hoped that in his young age, the Lord would seek him for guidance more often than not and he had hoped that he would be able to mould young Aelon into a good Lord and patron. One that did not exploit his household and smallfolk and cared for and tended to his lands. His efforts were all for nought. Not because Aelon was a terrible Lord, nor because it seemed Aelon already had in spades what Armon was attempting to teach him. Instead, it was because the boy was determined to break the mould with his lofty ambitions and nigh on impossible projects. There was an order to the world, a way things had been and would always be. Until there was not.
Aelon, in his short tenure as lord, had both frustrated and astounded him. Defying all that he had known his whole life, he rose from being the bastard grandson of a rapist reviled across the realm, to a merchant lord with growing wealth and prestige. Armon often wondered where his ideas came from, whether he experienced the dreams told of other Valyrian descendants or not. Regardless he was a remarkable young man, and despite not always seeing eye to eye with him, he had grown to like and respect him.
He had proved himself more than capable of ruling, and certainly capable of running a business. Even one growing as fast as Eastwood Whisky and Soap.
Armon thanked the Seven that even with his ideas, Aelon still allowed him to advise him and did not march furiously towards his own failures. He had argued against his implementation of what he called 'four-field crop rotation', and managed to get Aelon to allow him to manage it on test lands rather than across the entire scope of his farms.
He had expected complete failure and instead had been rather surprised that, after some experimentation, it was a resounding success. He soon realised that it was merely a step in Aelon's plans though, as with productivity per acre increased, fewer people were required on his farms and they made their way into Eastwood or the other towns looking for work.
Such was often the case with Aelon. Individually his ideas seemed folly, but taking a step back you could observe patterns and understand fully the scope of his plans. Everything was connected, he just did not know for what purpose. As time had passed though he had begun to see that Aelon rarely initiated any action without thinking it through and more often than not his judgement turned out to be sound.
As a Maester, it was his task to advise and guide his Lord. And he had done so. And he would continue serving him as his vows dictated. It was rare to see a Lord actually care for his smallfolk. But Aelon genuinely did. All of his actions were directed towards improving his lands and the lives of its people. Perhaps it was because just a few years ago, Aelon had himself been one of the said people. The young Lord rarely spoke of his life prior to his arrival at Eastwood. But it could not have been easy.
Armon himself had fought tooth and nail to secure his acceptance in the Citadel. He had hoped that as a Maester he would be able to gain power and prestige and perhaps even affect some change. With Aelon he would be able to do that.
Southwood
Late 49AC
Monfryd grunted as he stood. As he aged he found the longer he spent sitting, the slower he was to rise, though he supposed it might have something to do with his weight too.
The stained oak table in his solar held a pack of documents. There had been many changes since the new Lord's visit the previous year, one of which was a requirement for all records to be kept in an orderly fashion and sent to Eastwood for review. Initially, he had been sceptical of the young Lord, but upon meeting him had found him to possess unusual intelligence and maturity for his age. The impact of young Aelon's reforms and projects were being felt keenly even here in Southwood. The demand for lumber had never been higher, with Lord Aelon himself purchasing hundreds of oak barrels every turn of the moon.
The papers the Mayor currently had his eyes on were documenting the progression of what Lord Aelon had called a 'kiln', specifically the oven used for cooking river rock and wood for the production of charcoal.
The order for him to bake rocks collected from the banks of the stream near Eastwood had been confusing at first. Seemingly a nonsensical request that had Monfryd questioning the young lord's sanity, until it made all the sense in the world.
The first batch of cooked lime had been sent back to Eastwood and soon after more lime was turning up with orders to be cooked. He had done as asked even without knowing why and soon was told that a new road was beginning construction to join the two settlements together. Monfryd was merely told that the substance he had been making was an ingredient in something called concrete which served well as a road building material.
The production of this concrete took place almost exclusively in Southwood and new kilns had been constructed to facilitate that production. While the original kilns used to produce charcoal also served well enough in baking the limestone, one of the workers had discovered that a few modifications made to the original structure, made the process of baking the river rock far more efficient. Since then, new kilns had been made solely for the process of baking the 'limestone' as the young Lord called it, while the older ones were reserved for charcoal. Overseeing quotas took up most of his time as Mayor now, the age old lumber trade requiring relatively little work to maintain.
Soon after the message about road building arrived, workers had begun turning up mapping out the route and digging and whilst construction was still underway Monfryd had to admit it would be a fast and impressive road once built. He had even heard that there was the possibility of expanding the network to reach Daegon's Valley to the West and the coastal settlement to the East, truly wondrous, yet risky at the same time.
Roads were not an uncommon idea in the Stormlands. Vast and wide dirt tracks covered the entirety of the Stormlands. However, no Lord had ever successfully built a paved road network the likes of which Aelon was envisioning as such endeavours took years and were inevitably washed away or damaged beyond repair before completion when the Autumn storms struck with their unholy fury. Many times even fully constructed paved roads were battered beyond repair during severe storms. Either Aelon was a young fool with flights of fancy or he truly believed that with this new 'concrete' he would be able to build roads faster and sturdier than before. Either way, the truth would be known soon enough. He just hoped that if this endeavour failed, Aelon would not bankrupt his fief and in turn the people of Southwood in his attempt to finance the road network.
The 'concrete' was now being mixed in Southwood itself and Monfryd had to agree that doing so made sense. With the limestone already being baked in Southwood, it was logical to also have it mixed in Southwood itself as opposed to needlessly transporting it to Eastwood. The labourers had initially struggled with the new material but were now progressing at a steady pace. Thus far, the new material showed promise, but only time would tell if it would survive the fury of the storms that gave these lands their name.
Monfryd couldn't help but wonder where the money for such an operation was coming from, though far be it from his place to question his Lord's finances. Roads were a notoriously expensive endeavour, no doubt made more so by the workers' inexperience with such projects.
Groaning, he stretched with his arms above his head and sat down, the chair creaking its protest as he did so. He pulled out the report he'd compiled on the charcoal production, checking once again that all was as it should be before submitting it for review. Charcoal was a valuable export and one Aelon had been very keen to see expanded in Southwood.
When the young Lord had provided the idea for building the kilns during his Progress a little over a year ago, he had almost immediately seen the potential in the idea. He had given the order for such a structure to be built and tested. The first test had been a disaster as the kiln had exploded and nearly killed one of the labourers. For a brief moment, he had considered that Aelon Eastwood may actually be touched in the head as opposed to being the Smith reincarnated as a few smallfolk whispered.
But one of the men pointed out that the kiln may have exploded because they had not allowed for the smoke to escape in the designs. On their second attempt, they had poked small holes in the structure that would allow the smoke to escape while at the same time containing the heat. It was a resounding success.
Soon, with new kilns being built, Southwood was producing more charcoal in a single moon than it previously did in six. Lord Aelon would have the charcoal transported to Eastwood from where it would be sent onwards to Haystack Hall and Evenfall Hall. The charcoal production had proved to be very lucrative and Southwood had never been more prosperous.
Humming to himself, he gathered the documents and put them into the folder. Turning to the side, he held it out and the rider who had been waiting patiently for the folder of documents smiled and took them before bowing his head and walking out, eagerly mounting his horse and riding off parallel to the as of yet unfinished road.
Monfryd sighed, so much hard work left him with ravenous hunger, he would have to go to the kitchens.
Free City of Braavos
The Iron Bank
Early 50 AC
As he sat in the hallowed halls of the Iron Bank of Braavos, staring at the sheer wealth and power at display in the architecture and interiors, Warren could not help but feel in awe of the position he was currently in. A little over a year ago, he had been a humble tax collector for Lord Swann and now he stood in the hallowed halls of the Iron Bank as steward to Lord Eastwood.
The walls were decorated with rich paintings and tapestries and adorned with furniture made of the finest oak and clearly carved by master craftsmen. The entrance to the Bank had been barred by a gargantuan gate which rivalled the ones he had seen at Stonehelm in size. The entrance lobby where he was currently seated, waiting on one of the bank officials to receive him was several times larger than the courtyard of Lord Aelon's Keep with floorings made of marble so fine that he could actually see his reflection in it.
Two moons ago he had been summoned by Lord Aelon to his solar. The young Lord had in his usual solemn manner, unusual for a lad his age, but something he had gotten used to in the two years past that he had served the young Lord, bade him travel to Braavos in his stead, to seek a loan from the Iron Bank to finance the Lord's road-building enterprise.
When he had first arrived to serve as Steward to Lord Aelon, his old friend Armon had warned him that the young Lord was prone to flights of fancy and dreamt up the most outrageous ideas and plans far above a Lordling of his station. He had initially been cautious, as the Lord had put him to work on the census, even though he had privately felt that the idea held great merit, but as he continued to serve the young Lord, he found himself gradually developing a deep respect for the young lad. The lad had been thrown in an unenviable position, the bastard of a bastard, grandson of the most infamous rapist the realm had ever seen. Where any other lad would have succumbed to the pressure, the young Lord had instead thrived.
Lord Aelon had vision. More importantly, he had the intelligence and drive to see his vision through. He had partaken in the whisky that the Lord had gifted him as a reward for his excellent work on the census, and he could see why it was in such great demand amongst the highborn of the Realm. He had mandated the use of the Eastwood Soap to be used for cleaning all across the Keep having seen its effectiveness.
Lord Aelon had truly created products that were near-divine in their utility. Some smallfolk whispered that he was touched by the Seven. Warren was a man of the Faith just as any other, and while he did not believe in the whispers of Lord Aelon being the Smith reborn, he did believe that the young Lord would go on to do great things. And Warren would serve him as his truest and most leal man throughout.
As his Steward, he owed Lord Aelon his service and fealty, but Lord Aelon won his respect and loyalty after he had elevated his family. His wife Marya, served as the Head of the Kitchen and could not be happier in her new home. His son Fred was apprenticed to an actual Maester and Lord Aelon had recently stated that he would not be opposed to sponsoring Fred's entrance to the Citadel if he acquitted himself well over the next year. His lad George was squired to an actual Knight. One of great skill who had well acquitted himself in the wars past. His children's futures were secured, his work was engaging and he commanded respect throughout the lands.
So when his Lord had commanded him to journey to the Secret City and arrange for coin for his roads, he had done so without pause. He had travelled to Tarth aboard one of the larger trade ships that plied their trade from the fishing town and from Tarth he had boarded a ship to Braavos. His Lord had granted him ten of his Men at Arms to escort him and protect the gold that he would return with along with a Letter of Authority with his Seal granting him leave to conduct negotiations on his behalf.
As he passed under the shadow cast by the monstrous Titan of Braavos, he had been rendered speechless, as he gazed upon the size and splendour of the Bastard Daughter of Valyria. Never before in his life had he seen so many people, of so many different faiths, cultures and garb gathered in one place. He had made arrangements to stay at an inn near the dock and made his way to the Iron Bank to seek an audience with one of its representatives the next day. As instructed by Lord Aelon, Armon had sent a letter to the Iron Bank prior to his departure, informing them that Warren would be visiting.
He had been bid to wait in the Hall by one of the scribes at the entrance assuring him that a representative would attend to him soon. As he waited, a severe-looking man, dressed richly in the garb of the wealthier Braavosi that he had seen thus far, approached him and spoke in impeccable Westerosi Common, "Steward Warren of Eastwood, I am Representative Benito Mussolis, of the Iron Bank. We received a missive from your Lord Aelon Eastwood a few days ago and have been expecting you. I must say, you have arrived earlier than expected."
"The winds were kind, Representative Mussolis. I must compliment you and your Bank, it is most impressive. There are High Lords in Westeros whose Keeps aren't as large and opulent as your Bank," replied Warren as he rose from his seat. The Bank official proceeded to escort him towards one of the Bank's meeting rooms while they exchanged pleasantries on the way.
"Well Steward Warren, it is my understanding that your Lord, Aelon Eastwood of House Eastwood, seeks a loan from the Iron Bank to build a series of roads in his lands," said Mussolis as he leaned back in his chair getting directly to business.
"Yes Representative Mussolis, I have the proposal right here," said Warren as he pulled out a handbound folder of high-quality paper which had been painstakingly prepared by Lord Aelon and himself.
"As you will see, our books are healthy and we are projecting to make a substantial surplus in the coming year. This surplus is projected to grow even further in the coming years as the Eastwood Whisky and Soap is in great demand in Westeros and the margins in this business are more than stellar. Our agricultural produce is substantial in addition to our stellar trade-in metalworks, leather, charcoal and wool," he continued as he presented more papers before the Banker.
They went over the finer points of the proposal for the next couple of hours, with the banker asking various questions regarding the state of Eastwood's finances without letting any emotion show on his blank face. Warren carefully presented his proposal as to how much gold would be needed and how it would be spent. The Banker would in turn ask several questions regarding the basis and justifications for their growth projections which formed the basis of their ability to repay the bank.
As their game continued over the hours, Warren could see that the banker was increasingly convinced regarding the ability of House Eastwood to repay the loan. The fact that in case of default, Aelon had offered a share in the proceeds from the new iron mine for a certain time period practically had the man in question salivating.
"Well Steward Warren, this is well prepared, We generally do not see such care and precision from Westerosi Nobility here at the Iron Bank. Nonetheless, we shall go through your proposal in depth to see whether we shall be able to sanction credit facilities to House Eastwood. However, this does not still address our primary concern in this case," said the stern Representative as he carefully handed the papers over to an aide who stood behind him.
"And what concern would that be, Representative Mussolis?" Said Warren.
"Well, Steward Warren you must understand that while Lord Aelon Eastwood appears to be an able Lord and administrator of his lands, he is still young, untested and newly ennobled. The Iron Bank does not make a habit of investing in young Houses, especially considering that such Houses tend to get extinguished very quickly more often than not in the ever-changing landscape of the Sunset Lands. In the past century alone, dozens of Houses akin to Eastwood have risen and fallen across the realm," replied the banker as he continued, "If the Iron Bank is to take on such a risk in its books, it would need to be adequately compensated for the said risk."
"And what would this compensation entail Representative Mussolis?" replied Warren with a wary expression. Lord Aelon had warned him the Iron Bank would try to get him to make concessions and agree to a rather one-sided deal to, in his words, 'squeeze us of every copper we possess.'
"Well we would generally require some form of collateral, ideally in the form of land, but as that is not possible in Westeros, as your Lords Paramount do not allow such dealings, we would have to settle for higher interest rates, perhaps around eighteen per cent compounding every year to be repaid over ten years, to compensate for the lack of adequate security," said Mussolis with an odd look, perhaps greed, in his eyes.
"That is outrageous Representative Mussolis." Said Warren, in a manner that sounded almost enraged, "I have travelled here in good faith in my Lord's stead who expected that we would be treated fairly by the Iron Bank. And yet here we are faced by that which is tantamount to daylight robbery? This shall not abide. Why I could sail south to Lys from here and approach the Rogare Bank and they would offer us the same loan at twelve per cent interest with a tenure of no more than five years."
"You would deal with slaver scum like the Rogares as opposed to the Iron Bank of Braavos?" responded Mussolis with a sneer on his face.
"Lord Baratheon, Hand of the King and the man who ennobled Lord Aelon after his father saved the Lord's life, would not begrudge Lord Aelon for seeking a loan from the Rogare Bank when several other Lords in Westeros also do so," responded Warren blithely. It was clear that his words had hit a soft spot.
He pressed onwards, "And as far as security is concerned, we have offered the proceeds from the iron mine west of Daegon's Valley as well in case of default on our end. That should mitigate the Bank's risk substantially."
The banker adopted a pensive look. It was clear that he had not expected such detailed and well-constructed rebuttals and arguments from an 'uncultured Westerosi savage.'
"Give us a few days Steward Warren as we consider your proposal. I invite you to see the sights and partake in the pleasures that Braavos can offer a man in the meantime. I shall send an aide to call upon you once we have reached a decision." Said the Representative backtracking from his previous aggressive stance and looking like he had been forced to swallow a lemon.
A sennight later Warren boarded a ship headed for Tarth with a locked chest in hand bearing five thousand gold dragons. After much negotiation, the Iron Bank had offered the loan to be disbursed in four instalments which would, in turn, be disbursed over the course of the next four years at an interest rate of fourteen per cent per annum to be repaid over the next six years. While these were not as good terms as Warren had hoped for, they were within the margins prescribed by Lord Aelon.
As they departed Braavos, Warren looked back over his shoulders as the silhouette of the Titan of Braavos faded into the horizon. He could not wait to return home.
Storm's End
Early 50 AC
Ser Bruce Buckler was old. Long past were the days of his youth. He had been alive to see the last Storm King die in the flames, or hear about it from behind his mother's skirts he supposed. Many interesting things had happened in his long life. The years of uncertainty after Aegon the Dragon's conquest. The years of uncertainty when Maegor seized the throne. And now the dawn of the reign of young Jaehaerys. Aegon may have conquered the realm, but the Game of Thrones continued nonetheless.
He was but the humble Castellan of Storm's End. Appointed by Lord Rogar Baratheon, to rule in his stead, while he served as Hand of the King to the young King Jaehaerys. He had been appointed over the Lord Paramount's brothers Borys and Ronnal, much to the displeasure of the former and relief of the latter. An appointment he was extremely grateful for. As the son of a cadet branch of House Buckler, he had not many prospects in life, with little to inherit and even less to offer in marriage.
He had sworn himself to House Baratheon several years ago and had served Lord Rogar loyally and diligently for many years. Enough so, that Lord Rogar had elevated him to the position he held today. And yet the past few years had seen him age seemingly two decades as he was overwhelmed with the task of managing the Stormlands and its belligerent nobility.
Ser Ronnal Baratheon, the rather unambitious youngest brother of Lord Rogar, had been eager to foist the responsibility onto him. He was a rather rambunctious young man, full of youthful vigour and grit. But not one well suited to the tedious affairs of managing a Kingdom. He would frequently ride out from Storm's End to deal with bandits, Dornish raiders in the Marches and the occasional prodding from the Reacher Lords on the borders. He was a man well suited to the rigours of battle and not the tedious affairs of Lordship.
On the other hand, Ser Borys Baratheon, Lord Rogar's other brother, was a blight on Storm's End. As heir to Lord Rogar, at least until he sired children of his own, Borys believed that he should have served as Lord Paramount in Rogar's absence. However, even Lord Rogar was aware that his younger brother was a brutish unintelligent man, with far more ambition than wit and no restraint whatsoever. Even though the man had been assigned several responsibilities and duties by Lord Rogar, he would frequently abscond from them and spend his time drinking and whoring away his family's wealth and dignity.
Wrangling Ser Borys while at the same time managing the affairs of the Stormlands kept Bruce on his toes. Over the past couple of years, the affairs of the realm had been fairly calm, with even the blasted Dornish also being fairly quiet. With the young King Jaehaerys soon to achieve his majority and the Regency of Lady Alyssa soon to end, Lord Rogar had ensured that his time as Hand had been put to good use with several concessions and royal favours being granted to the Stormlands. However, in his little corner of the world, not much had changed in the last two years.
The most interesting in recent years was the sudden rise of one Lord Aelon Eastwood. The bastard son of a bastard son of house Qoherys. Bruce supposed it would make a good song one day at the very least.
Before Aelon had visited Storm's End to accept his lordship, earned by the death of his father, he had not expected much of the boy. Lord Rogar had instructed Bruce to welcome him to the Stormlands and to send a trustworthy man with Aelon when he departed to ensure no foolish action on behalf of the boy. The lands he was given were nothing special, a meagre fishing village on the bay, an unproductive mine and some timber yards were the extent of the lands. A good gift, but not much else for Storm's End.
After meeting the boy, however, Bruce had found him strange. At the age of thirteen, he spoke as if he had lived a lifetime. He was a curious lad. Intelligent as well. Yet Ser Buckler had wished him well on his journey and expected never to hear anything of note about him again.
Aelon had proceeded to entirely defy expectations.
Where once was subsistence farming, minor industry and a lone tower, the same had been transformed under the leadership of Aelon Eastwood into something else entirely. The young Lord had focused a great deal on infrastructure and industrial development in the past two years and the fruits of his labour were already being seen.
The Eastwood Whisky was in great demand in the Stormlands, with Lord Baratheon and himself having both placed large orders with the young Lord of Eastwood. He had even heard tell of some miracle cleaning tool developed in Eastwood named 'Soap' that was now being exported by Lord Aelon. Recent taxes collected from the region had jumped by almost forty per cent last year, with massive exports of stone being reported from Haystack Hall to Eastwood.
Yet the most impressive feat was not in his mysterious 'whisky' but in his infrastructural development. He had been informed by Ser Morden in a report that Aelon had invested heavily in the development of his lands and was spending enormous amounts of gold to build and renovate Eastwood and the other little towns in his region. Very few Lords saw the benefits of investing gold in infrastructure that was not their own keep and seeing such foresight from one so young had astounded the Castellan of Storm's End.
He had briefly even considered that Aelon may be a puppet for the Maester or some other unknown player in the region, as no boy of four and ten should have been capable of what Aelon was doing. Ser Morden had however thoroughly disabused him of the said notion and assured him that Aelon Eastwood was the driving force behind the region's development.
Ser Bruce had dutifully reported such in his writings to Lord Rogar, without too much scepticism and disbelief. The growth of Eastwood Whisky for one was surpassing all expectations with hundreds of barrels being sold in the Stormlands and Crownlands every moon, the extra tax earned from this export was not an amount to be dismissed. Lords all across the Stormlands loved the stuff. Reportedly, Lord Rogar and the King's Court loved it as well.
He would have to keep a close eye on young Aelon. If he continued his growth, his rise would come at the expense of some other Lord's loss. And that would create enemies. Sooner rather than later, young Aelon would find himself in above his head and would require intervention from Storm's End.
Already he had heard from his cousins in Bronzegate that the rise of the young Lord was creating issues for Bryce. The Lord of Bronzegate was not a forgiving man. A thick-skulled brute who cared for nought but skill of arms and looked down on the keener aspects of lordship dismissing them as copper counting. Bruce rather disliked him in fact. Undoubtedly he would not take well to what he perceived to be an upjumped bastard stepping on his toes.
Soon enough, Aelon would need help. And at that time Bruce would be ready to step in and lend a hand. At a price of course. He took a sip from his cup, relishing the burning warmth that erupted in his chest. Bruce admitted a fondness for the drink himself. Was not every Stormlander an avid drinker?
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