47 Chapter 48: SI POV XIII

Mid-Late 157 AC

Healing from the wounds I had sustained was nowhere near as easy as Earth media made me believe. It takes much more than a week or two to get back into things, especially with a lack of any kind of modern medicine, and despite the best efforts of my maester and others, I was truly fucked up from facing Alfrid and his merry band of Dornish monster men. Rising from my bed to shit in a chamber pot was hard enough with my degraded coordination and lifting anything heavier than my thick blankets felt like my arms were going to pop off. That I could still move around, only occasionally assisted, was a miracle in and of itself. Castles were not wheelchair friendly.

As such, if I wasn't accepting petitions, lying in bed, or telling stories to my sisters, I was working in my solar. Many days I would spend nearly every waking moment there, being too weak to ride and with winter's grip on the lands, travelling in my weakened state was a surefire way to come down with some sickness that might finish me for good. Staying at Stormhall might have been a hindrance to others, but so far, I've seen nothing but benefits in doing so, as it is the central nexus of my administrative court and sending those I trust to accomplish what I cannot in person is finally bringing me relief rather than stress.

On this windy day, in which occasional snowflakes flew by but ultimately did not collect upon the ground, I sat not in my solar, but with a mug of warmed cider in the largest spare room we had. Tables, chairs, and a great many ledgers lay about on the large table, as a great number of those serving my house or loyal to me had gathered. For Stormhall it was rare to see so many at once, given how often their tasks took to accomplish or the number of things they needed to oversee. With my wife by my side, her belly now showing the swell it had so long lacked, we were to look not only to our lands for this winter, but to the tasks assigned to me by King Daeron.

But first, to my own issues at hand.

"Mother, how goes our finances?"

"We have recovered well from the funds needed to pay for the dam," she replied. "As of most recently, the coffers sit at nearly fifty thousand dragons, either in gold itself or the equivalent in silver stags and lesser currency. With winter upon us, a great number of expenditures, such as road construction, have slowed or halted entirely, freeing up a great deal of our revenue for renovations, imports, or unexpected costs."

"What are the estimates for rebuilding Flavor Hollow?"

"I hear most of the smallfolk call it Stormhollow now."

I sighed, both annoyed and grateful the name hadn't gotten worse. "Yes, Stormhollow then, what are our potential costs?"

"Between the supplies needed to rebuild the structures, livestock to support the smallfolk, and the replacement of whatever stores were lost to fire, estimates are between two thousand and three thousand gold dragons."

"A hefty sum," I replied. Towns and villages rarely grow quickly overnight in the Stormlands, or at least in an orderly manner. It's always easier to reshape what was always there rather than start from scratch, and while rebuilding this town will be an unexpected winter expense, it will be worth it in the end. "Final reports of the existing food stocks of the region?"

"With the destruction of the other villages before Stormhollow, a great deal of grain and other stores has been lost for those lands. Despite salvage combing through everything, my son, we've only recovered perhaps a tenth of the area's total harvest."

I had expected more to survive, but Alfrid and his goons had been more thorough than I'd anticipated. Steps would have to be taken to rectify this issue in the future. "Whatever can be salvaged must be brought to whatever storehouses remain intact. What of the supplies from the old villages?"

"They are being dismantled as we speak, be it for nails, surviving timbers, or whatever bricks and stones can still be used. Why not rebuild those as well?"

"We've the gold for it, but rebuilding a small town and its hinterlands will go much faster if we strip what we can from those destroyed villages. Whatever smallfolk fled will be given housing in Stormhollow and the surrounding countryside to ensure they don't die in the cold." A harsh thing, to just recycle what was someone's home, but my smallfolk would accept such a decision if it meant they wouldn't have to worry about isolation during winter. Some might call it copper pinching, but I didn't care, the safety of my smallfolk was more important than hurt feelings. "And of the smallfolk lost to the Dornish?"

Janyce winced. "Just over a thousand, my lord. Between the patrols lost to ambush, the decimated villages, and the men dead from the battles, the region has lost a great deal of its people. Several isolated villages are set to move come spring to the area, given the good fields and pastures that remain, but for winter it will be as a dead land."

"To be reclaimed by the wilds if we are not careful," I added. Terrible news all around, and something I should have foreseen, but in my pride in thinking my western flank secured, a thousand of my people, those I had sworn to protect in exchange for their service, had lost their lives. Many more had lost their homes and livelihoods in their evacuation towards Lowhill, taking with them only what they could carry or load into a cart.

Damn that Alfrid. I hope the hells of this world are too good for him and his ilk.

"What of the refugees?" Mylenda asked.

"It is hard to tally their total, as many arrived in Lowhill at different times these past moons, and many have already settled in other villages or towns. Food stores will not last as initially planned, but they will endure for the next four years so long as rot or pest don't destroy them."

"So long as winter does not grow worse," my wife added. "We can only hope the weather permits more wintry crops should we begin to run low."

I turned to the newest member of my administration, one of the senior septons from Lowhill, an older man by the name of Coren. Stormhall's septon had died from a fever a year before and we'd just gotten around to replacing him with someone we could trust. Coren was that man, both pious and practical, whose primary joys in life centered around growing flowers and beekeeping. He also had become my greatest connection to the Faith at large, given how my previous septon had mostly kept to Stormhall itself.

"My lord, in line with the refugees, we have had an influx of pilgrims to Wytch lands," the old man said. "Many cite Lowhill as their destination, and a few septas and septons have looked to join our ranks. However, a substantial number of these newcomers are looking to dwell in Stormhollow come spring."

"Really?"

"Indeed. Many cite the blessing of the Seven for your victory over the D… your enemies, and a wrathful whirlwind is surely a sign of their vengeance against such a wicked foe. Why, many are calling for a sept to be built there, to commemorate your victory and the blessings of the Seven."

A sept in Stormhollow would be expensive, given the distance needed to send the necessary materials, and some might not take kindly to me reusing old buildings there to build it. "Just how many are waiting out the winter in or around Lowhill to migrate come spring?"

"At least two hundred as of my most recent visit to the sept, my lord. Every so often, others arrive and express an interest in settling the area. Some cite the land as a future holy site, while others say the lands are blessed and therefor good to settle. Many already know Stormhollow has good lands from passing merchants, an excellent draw for any smallfolk looking to venture to greener pastures."

"Where are they coming from?" I asked. "Are my neighbors or further Stormlords losing smallfolk by the score?"

"Some, perhaps, but not in such drastic numbers, Lord Wytch," Coren said. "Some have ventured as far as Kings Landing and the Crownlands, whilst others from nearer the Reach. The rest from the Rainwood, the Kingswood, or lands inbetween. Most groups are small enough to likely be little more than a family or two."

"A sept in Stormhollow will assuredly give thanks to the gods for my husband's great victory," Mylenda said, gently stroking her stomach. "It is the least we can do for all that they have blessed us."

Septs in Timberstone and Highmarsh, and now one in Stormhollow. At this rate, I was going to be hired to build a genuine sept in every town in the Stormlands. Not the worst thing to be remembered for, I guess. Might earn a posthumous sainthood if I'm lucky. Speaking of the towns…

"Still, we best keep an eye on the pilgrims so they don't cause trouble, or worse, bring some sickness into Lowhill. Winter is an inopportune time to fall ill. As it, Ser Gerold, my thanks for you managing the journey here from your home. Even on good roads, a trip this far is not without its risks. How goes Ironvein?"

The Vale knight gave me a proper nod, as a bow while seated was a bit difficult. "All goes well, my lord. Cobalt production remains steady, as does iron smelting. With the new windmills in place for the bellows, the smiths are producing whatever steel they need far faster, and so they say, at a greater quality. I'm no blacksmith myself, but they mentioned the bellows were making the smelted ore hotter. As for the people, I would say they remain content. The outermost walls are near finished, and with the available space within unlikely to be filled with homes anytime soon, we've taken to readying small fields for liquorice come spring and have planted several chestnuts within the town walls for the bakers."

"So, the first chestnuts saplings grew well?"

"As well as could be expected before winter arrived. By next summer's end, barring ice storms in springtime, we should have our first crop. When we purchased the saplings, we asked around what to expect from our future yields."

"And?"

"Within three to five years they should begin to produce, with each tree dropping between ten and twenty pounds per harvest. After reaching five and ten years, they may begin to drop anywhere between fifty and a hundred pounds apiece. Which, according to Maester Gorman's estimates, should bring us to at least five and twenty pounds of chestnut flour per tree, up to fifty if we are lucky."

For lands not ideal for growing wheat, the fact that chestnuts were an ancient staple of not only highland Italian tribes, but also certain Reach houses, was surprising to me. Sure, five and twenty pounds of flour per tree doesn't sound like a lot, but assuming they only ate chestnuts in flour form, that's still a week's worth of flour for a person. Add in that many Reach plantations could have hundreds of trees, and nuts can last a long time, it's no wonder they would tend to such plantations.

"As the town's mayor, is there anything else that should be brought to my attention?"

"Other than some calling for a renovation of the old sept, just the usual smallfolk topics. Storing food for the winter, ensuring pastures remain in good health for the sheep and cattle, replanting the sparser forests so that lumber will always be available., that sort of thing"

"I'll file the request for Ironvein's sept later, Ser Gerold. We've already the septs in Timberstone and Highmarsh to begin construction come spring, and now Stormhollow will likely need one. Write to me if there are any other issues that arise in winter."

"That I will, my lord, you have my word."

"If I may interject, my lord," Maester Gorman said with a raised hand. "There is an issue that has been cropping up in the towns with greater access to our herds of dairy cattle."

"Yes?"

"An increase in the cases of several illnesses, I am afraid. While Lowhill and most other towns have yet to be affected, Ser Luthor has written that several outlying villages around Highmarsh have rebuffed the suggestion to soft boil their milk, claiming it renders it unfit to drink or make into cheese. I do not doubt other villages feel the same but have yet to report any diseases."

"Which illnesses are appearing?" This was the first I'd heard of this in such numbers. Usually, a case here or there would come about, but never enough for it to be in a report. Much of what I had done and created had drastically reduced the more common illnesses, but not all.

"Warmwater fever, dysentery, the enteric fever, and even cases of consumption. Most isolate themselves whenever it erupts, as per the guidelines proposed by your father years ago, but it is only a matter of time before a village is nearly entirely infected with one or the other."

Gods damn it, I was worried this would happen. I gave out the suggestion to pasteurize milk to reduce the chances of these diseases, and of course, there were people that weren't listening to it. Granted, it seems like a weird thing to do, to almost boil milk, but the results speak for themselves. Warmwater is brucellosis of some kind, dysentery is obvious, enteric is a likely typhoid fever relative, and tuberculosis is even more obvious. Thank the Seven and whoever else is out there that it's not the shivers or winter plague.

"Ensure compliance with soft boiling milk is carried out in every settlement. I'd rather my smallfolk have watery milk than disease spreading through their ranks." Just what I needed, a potential outbreak of diseases as we fully enter winter. At least the people of my lands are far healthier than they used to be, and with access to soap, greater food variety, and the medicinal knowledge of local septas and septons, hopefully these won't take root and flourish. The last thing I need is for passing lords and their forces to come down with something that could spread to other lands, or worse, into the armies they are set to join in Dorne. "As for those already afflicted, ensure the local healers can see to their needs. What of our training methods, Gorman?"

"As of summer's end, every woodswitch and hedge wizard yet practicing their arts has been educated in what we know of the healing arts known to our medics. Every village has its own means of supporting a 'proper' healer or healers, Lord Wytch, and every settlement should have enough supplies to see them through this winter. As per your instructions, they are to dispel with whatever practices that bear no medicinal benefit, such as consuming dried flakes of feet skin to ward off ill humors, and those that refused to cooperate have been thoroughly banished from Wytch lands, my lord."

"Save for rare woodswitches having the gift of prophecy, likely from their moss and mushroom ale they brew, their spells and charms are likely nothing more than the stuff of charlatans, or worse, ignorance wrapped in a veil of religious fervor," I grumbled. "If something only works once in a great while, it's not very effective, but if something works almost all the time, then the latter should be the standard treatment in comparison. The Seven bless us and protect us, not trinkets."

"Some smallfolk may protest the lack of charms," Mylenda said.

"Charms only assuage one's mind, I doubt they do anything more than that," I replied. "Besides, would you rather put your health in the hands of someone who doesn't even know how to cleanse a wound, let alone prevent a disease?"

"No, I would not," my wife gracefully conceded, gently placing my hand upon her belly. "Especially not now, my lord husband."

"As it is, those that have set themselves up in villages have the means of supporting themselves and providing the care needed," Maester Gorman continued. "The health of those smallfolk resisting change are in their hands now."

"The issues of other settlements notwithstanding, my lord, there are certain… decisions to be made regarding Lowhill that greatly require your input," my mother said. "Merchant interests remain strong for Lowhill as a destination, even in winter, and the marketplaces are becoming more and more crowded as the years pass."

"Expanding the market will not be feasible now that so many manses and homes have been solidly established," Maester Gorman said. "What of separate markets in different parts of the town, depending upon the goods? Food and drink in one area, textiles in another, and raw ores and the like elsewhere?"

"See to the feasibility of it, and how the merchants may or may not adapt," I replied. "If I give the order, they will follow it, but if we lose trade from a confusing or sudden change, better we take our time to determine the feasibility of a gradual route beforehand. My father left Lowhill to it's own devices for a great while, and though my hand has guided it to greater prosperity, I'll not become an overbearing lord more worried about orderliness than I will about practicality." The term laissez-faire did not exist in Westeros, with most lords remaining genuinely ignorant of economic guidance, but keeping an eye on things was a damn sight better than constantly interfering.

"The new 'schoolhouse' for the sept has finished construction, though the furniture within will take time to acquire," Janyce said. "Everything we need will be supplied by Timberstone, but even with a surplus of goods, it will still take weeks to arrive."

"Until then, the smallfolk attending will make use of woolen rugs, benches, and whatever tables the septas can scrounge up," I said. "The bells of the sept will ring for Lowhill's schoolchildren to attend during the week. If the morning weather is terrible or dangerously cold, then no classes are to be held, and the bells shall stay silent. They may aid their parents on those days instead."

"Far too many children are lost to winter chills and fevers if improperly dressed, or out in a cold wind for too long," Gorman agreed. "I saw in the Riverlands more than one family lose a child from working in such conditions."

"As for the other additions, the question of the grounds for the Academy…"

Ah yes, the Academy for Applied Knowledge. Gorman's little idea had taken on a life of its own, even if a bit subdued. There was no building yet, but construction would start come spring. The plans had been drawn, with both insight from Gorman and my own recollections of Earthly colleges, and while I was on board with this, the thoughts of maesterly ambitions had crossed my mind more times than I could count. There were plenty of theories behind those grey rats, but that's just the thing, theories. There was no concrete evidence of some grand maester conspiracy, nor that they were behind the eventual demise of House Targaryen, or the suppression of all knowledge of magic, but just because it wasn't there, doesn't mean it's not happening.

Gods, I can't dwell on that, it'll drive me grey before I'm thirty. Best to just invest in it now and reap the dividends without stepping on too many toes. Given that the maesters never followed up to Gorman's letters years ago, I think I'm not worth their notice yet. "The Academy will proceed as planned, with the subfloors serving as storage and the kitchens, and the upper floors as various rooms designated for study, experiments, and lectures. Living quarters will be built afterwards. Any attendants may sleep in an unused lecture hall."

"As for the society itself?"

"In order to join the society, primary requirements are the ability to read and write, as well as pay tuition to maintain the facilities. Exceptions are only possible if the person in question has genuine talent on a topic or has skills in certain fields we need." Much as I'd like to leave it open to everyone, literacy is nowhere near universal in Westeros, and hell, there's even nobles who can't read or write. Trying to get everyone to work together if only some of them are literate would be impossible, and frankly, there's plenty of people who would never want to join if they were of nobler stock and had to 'mingle with smallfolk' while learning. While the tuition would keep out most smallfolk, Gorman had an idea about separating classes into basic and advanced, with the former being for richer smallfolk such as merchants and the latter being for noblemen. Given the lack of positive class mingling in Westeros, being so feudal and all, I'd acquiesced, but only on the condition of creating classes for women who wished to learn suitable skills that society at large would not care if they knew. He agreed, but we had to compromise that those would be very small, given the likely small pool of applicants and even smaller number of women who could afford to attend.

At least my mother was willing to sponsor the costs for whatever woman's classes were taught. If she were from a great house, she'd make for a wonderful philanthropist.

"The petition from the Alchemists of Kings Landing?"

Finally, something I was wholly on board with. Those secretive men were not too dissimilar to the maesters, but instead of knowledge on basically everything, they looked to both arcane and the beginnings of genuine chemistry. Seeing as the first true Earth chemists were alchemists of a sort, starting some sort of knowledge on how the world worked would have to begin with these guys.

"They will have their guild hall, but not in Lowhill itself. There is a small hill not far from the Wytchmill they may use as their outpost. They shall see to the finer details of its construction, and I will cover the costs out of my own coffers, but the caveat is that there shall be no wildfire produced on my lands. Ensure your friend Jonos knows this, Gorman, and we will have no issues with them being a separate but equal part of the Academy."

"Now, as for Syrio's ideas for a bank…"

I rubbed my face. Yes, the idea of a bank run by my house was sound, especially if I maintained it only in my lands in the beginning. Should it become a solid source of income and softer power, I saw no reason not to expand its availability to at least my neighbors, if not into the rest of the Stormlands. Yet I would need to play it very safe, and so I would need to consult Lord Baratheon personally, as well as more than a few fellow lords. There was no way any sane or competent Lord Paramount would allow for a lesser vassal to acquire the means of controlling finances of other lords, let alone an entire kingdom, especially with the sort of soft power that would generate over my fellow lords. If I were a more prestigious and older house, I'd no doubt have an easier time of it, but this was a dangerous road to tread if things got out of hand. I've the power to administer fair interest and enforce payment in my domain, but in other lands?

As it stands, I have a snowball's chance in Naath to make sure whatever loans a Stormlord may take will be paid in full, if at all. Nobody crosses the Iron Bank thanks to their assassin connections, but me? Not so much. I may be making the Stormlords a better place, but the quickest way to erase that goodwill is to suddenly have power over houses far older than my own and try to enforce that newfound power through economic means.

"We will start with a bank only in Lowhill, with loans limited to landed knights, merchants, and those in positions of power granted through my house that we know should be able to pay them back," I finally said. "Smallfolk may put their money in the bank for safekeeping, but not take out loans. The bank itself will be as solidly constructed as possible, with guards and vaults able to keep out everything short of an invading army. Syrio and I will hammer out the details by spring, but for now, we accrue what we need for it, and nothing else."

"If it should prove a success, what of other towns?" Mylenda asked. "Will we expand to Timberstone and Highmarsh?"

"Aye, but only if the successes are as expected, or surpassed," I replied. "Slow and steady will not only win the race, but outlast those who do not plan ahead."

Before my mother could finish her report on housing lords and their men at arms, there was a knock at the door. A pair of guards corralled a messenger, his snow-dusted livery not of my house, but of one I'd come to expect all the same.

"My lord, I bear a message, on behalf of House Targaryen," the man said, with one of my guards producing a scroll with unbroken wax.

"You may all return to your duties," I said to my 'council', accepting the scroll. "I'll finish with you later, mother."

It did not take long for the room to empty, mother giving me a quick kiss on the head before departing to find my sisters. No doubt looking to ensure Arenna would learn from her the duties of running a house. The betrothal to Selmy's younger son was still in effect, and despite their marriage yet being years away, it was approaching all too fast for Janyce.

"I will be in my study, love," Mylenda whispered, departing with a kiss. I was so grateful they gave me privacy for my correspondences with Baelor.

"From the prince?" I asked, accepting it. I was so glad I'd let him keep that small meditation book. I'm no Seneca or Marcus Aurelias, and likely forgot a huge portion of stoic writings, but it would seem what I had written down had done a great deal of good for the young man. He usually drew a parallel with some text and something that had happened on the campaign, or previously in his life, or even in his daily routine. It wasn't all sunshine and rainbows, though. Baelor had been hurt by what he did in my southern lands. That he managed to destroy an entire force of enemies, just as his ancestor Jaehaerys had done, without a single loss of life of his own would have been something most Targaryens would brag about until the end of their days. Not my Baelor, and wasn't that a strange thought, to be a bit possessive of him. Despite his canon stubbornness occasionally shining through, he has become someone I would have been glad to have called a younger brother in this life.

Yet Baelor wrote to me of nightmares, of terrible scenes that he must have caused and how it troubled him so. Killing someone is never easy, I mean I vomited after my first fight with those Craggner men we thought were bandits. Brain matter being where it isn't supposed to be might do that to anyone, I guess, but Baelor had the fortune that his action didn't involve getting close and personal with sword, bow or axe. I dread to think how he might have reacted in a pitched fight, rather than the aftermath of such a destructive event.

Let's hope it doesn't come to that. He's only three and ten, and not ready for that kind of fight, no matter his progress in the training yard.

I do hope my messages take away some of the stresses of the campaign, his most recent message informed me of troubling activity within the army itself. Specifically, the events that led to Ser Thorne dueling a hedge knight over accusations of rape of a young Dornish woman. That the prince so avidly 'defended the righteous cause of their war' and decried 'retaliation' as a valid tactic against the Dornish among the Stormlords, let alone other Westerosi, was something I'd never thought would happen. Hells, news was already spreading from the traders allowed through the border of the prince defending the honor of the young girl, though depending on the retelling, he was her lover, inspired by the Seven to give justice to the defenseless, or had the hedge knight killed to cover up his own involvement in the matter.

Regarding that last part, I hated how easily rumors could spread and change. Almost as bad as in my own time, but at least then, statements could be issued to try and correct misinformation that reached as many people as possible. In Westeros, such rumors could change from good to bad before they left a city, and if it was particularly bad, people would hold it as fact unless undeniable or heavenly proof was offered against it.

So lost in my recollection I was, I nearly missed the end of the man's speech.

"-Kings Landing."

"I'm sorry, my mind was elsewhere," I said, trying to save face. "Could you repeat that?"

"I apologize that I do not bear word not from the prince, my lord. I was tasked with delivering you this message from Kings Landing, from Princess Naerys."

Oh.

Well… that was unexpected. "Guards, see that he and his horse are fed and rested." As soon as they left, I opened the scroll, and began to read. It was a touch difficult, given the flowery handwriting of what I could only assume was Naerys' own, but the further I progressed, the more a feeling of dread and curiosity settled in my guts.

The princess has discovered her father's plot to rid Kings Landing of one of Aegon's mistresses and the children that had resulted from that. Megette was her name, the wife of a blacksmith, and it seems Viserys had deemed it time to send her away from Aegon, even if he had not lain with her since the birth of Naery's daughter Vaella. Or at least, that is what the scroll claimed, but I knew Aegon the Hopefully-Never-Future king would never turn away from a pretty face. He made Robert Baratheon at his worst seem competent in comparison, and that's saying a lot. As it is, the Lord Hand wishes to send away his bastard granddaughters to a sept, and return Megette to her blacksmith husband. Naerys, however, seemed to disagree with this, and instead has written to me, imploring me to take the three daughters and Megette into my care. Even if they must be raised as septas, she writes, better they are far away from her foolish husband and with their mother.

I'm… honestly not sure what to do with this information. I knew Megette would die at the hands of her true husband a year from now, not long after birthing a fourth daughter, but Viserys seems a bit cruel about it. The daughters could not be legitimized, the realm bled enough for bastard children passed off as Targaryens two generations ago, but to so immediately send them to a sept? Asshole could have at least sent them off to be some landed knight's wife or something when the time came. It's not like someone would try and have them legitimized and use them as a means of trying to claim the throne. Their mother was just some blacksmith's wife, not a lady of a house.

What to do, what to do…

Fuck, I couldn't decide on this now. There was already too much going on, what with how vastly this timeline was diverging thanks to my interference. Putting the scroll away, I instead retrieved one of the reports from the front, and the notes of what supplies were to move through my lands to support the army and the garrisons left behind. So far, the war was progressing as it had originally, or what I can remember from the canon timeline anyway. The armies of the Targaryens were marching slowly but steadily, crushing every Dornish force sent their way. Daeron and his army were making better time, I assume, since Castle Wyl and all the lands before it had been taken so relatively quickly. Baelor's note made little mention of how they had taken Castle Wyl other than the number of defenders had been far fewer than expected. So, they just overran them, I guess? I've not yet been in a siege and don't quite know what to expect. Only time will tell if I am well enough to rejoin the war or sit out the rest of it here in my lands, ensuring my good roads delivered men and supplies to Dorne in a timely manner.

A task I did not specifically want, given how much of my time was spent on my own lands, but it was one the king himself had assigned, so I was to do it to the best of my ability. Succeeding would bring me prestige I'd never dreamed of with more distant lords, and already I was beginning to witness such a task bear fruit. From my earlier missive, my captains wrote that the men stationed along the Dornish border were having a much better time of it than I was. Between regaling our shared adventures to locals and whatever caravans and lords moved through the area, they spent a great deal of their time aiding the surrounding lands. The engineers were helping rebuild some of the destroyed villages with, the captains lent their advice to local garrisons on training methods, and my medics were training whatever local healers, maesters and suitable smallfolk the arts of treating wounds with far better care than they had before.

I was proud of them for not only were they helping while being far from home, but they had the perhaps unintended side effect of spreading the Wytch name and prestige farther than I had. Besides the tales, some of which were no doubt being exaggerated, seeing these men perform as they did, and impart what knowledge they had, more and more Stormlords that I'd had occasional contact with were writing to me of future trade proposals once winter ended. In exchange for my brandy, whiskey, plows and seed drills, I was receiving very fair offers for lumber, stone, coastal goods, and whatever else lords thought was a fair trade, if not outright gold for it. It was almost overwhelming just how many were now seeking me out after years of benign dismissal. Sure, the marcher lords and my neighbors had profited greatly from connecting with me so early on, but we were just a small, if vocal, portion of the entire kingdom. Now, it would seem, many more eyes had turned towards Stormhall with interest, and not all of them from the Stormlands.

Lord Tarth's nephew is coming to speak with me on investing in a coastal trading company. What for? Trade of our combined goods up and down the coast of Westeros, from White Harbor down to Tarth and even Weeping Town. I think it's called Whitewater, being a town of House Whitehead and all.

The Kingsguard Ser Thorne wrote to his lordly brother some time ago, and a distant bastard cousin is set to possibly join my engineers, lest he go instead to the Wall. I mean, great for him to not have to go freeze his balls off, but I'll have to make sure someone keeps an eye on him.

Other bordering Reach houses had written of hiring the S.E.C. to construct their roads. Most didn't seem to need to build them towards one place or another, instead just wishing to link with the Roseroad and other important roads. Some had even written of fostering, but nothing was confirmed for them, unlike… someone else.

Jonnel Stark is coming to foster with me, courtesy of Cregan himself. I know as a house I normally wouldn't be considered, but the Starks have a very good reason to find out what I am doing, and how to do it, and while he is a Stark, Jonnel is still a second son. The Starks became Kings of the North a long time ago for a great number of reasons, but a big part was likely they were able to farm more and have more people at their disposal when the time came for battle. Now? Hopefully they can stay ahead of the curve so none of their vassals, especially the Boltons, outstrip them in growth if my methods bear fruit up there. I've been having to do the same with my own landed knights, but thankfully none have given any indication of disloyalty or trying to grow more powerful than my house. Then again, neither Mylenda nor I really know what to look for, so we'll just have to let our 'Red Widow' keep an eye on them. Ser Luthor I trust, but the rest, especially the newer ones, will have to earn that distinction.

Now I had also Megette and Aegon's bastards possibly coming to Lowhill.

I should have expected this, and to an extent I did, but nobody tells you about the shit that life piles on you when you rise through the ranks of feudal nobility. Fuck, I needed a drink. Then a nice, long cuddle with Mylenda, and then a good night's rest.

Picking up my guitar, a gift from Luthor and one of the few things I could practice on during my recovery, I strummed it aimlessly, hoping for answers that didn't involve dreams of godly quests, whatever that monster beneath Dorne was, and the brewing shitstorm that Dorne's conquest would no doubt become.