6

Chapter Six

Eastwood

Late 49 AC

My arse hit the floor of the yard once more. I could hear Olyvar and George snickering behind me.

As my wealth had increased, I'd invested much into the keep. A wealthy lord should have a wealthy home. The yard which was once little more than a field next to the keep now looked more like a proper training yard. The guard I had expanded drilled here every day which made me feel better.

The reign of King Jaehaerys was supposed to be the longest unbroken peacetime in the history of the Seven Kingdoms. Yet the world of GRRM was brutal even during such periods and it would be a bad move to be ill-prepared.

I had given the order that an outer wall be built a hundred feet from the keep. Furthermore, the Keep itself was to be completely renovated to be more than just a single tower. It would likely take a year or more to complete, but once properly erected, Eastwood would be a proper castle.

For seven years I had resided in Westeros and the idea of castles still made me feel like a child in a sweet shop. That the castle in question would belong to me only made it better. With the Errols having delivered their first shipment of stone a few moons ago, work had begun at a brisk pace across all my infrastructure projects. Ser Edwell, had personally accompanied the first shipment and the payment for the same had nearly bankrupted me.

However, with taxes having been collected last moon and the returns from my whisky and soap production finally turning a profit, I was now a fairly wealthy man and well capable of paying for the next delivery of stone that was due to arrive within a few moons.

Ser Morden reached a hand down and I used it to pull myself up, "Come on lad, you are done for the day."

I had improved considerably under the harsh tutelage of my Master at Arms. As I got better and older, his scathing remarks had receded and sparring had become far more pleasant. I turned, rolling out my shoulders and pulling my long silver hair back. Olyvar walked over to me, smirking.

"He never lets up, does he, my Lord?" Oly used the title with a bit of sarcasm now. He had relaxed around me after we had started getting to know one another. I did not mind him being less formal as long as he did not overstep his bounds. I genuinely liked Olyvar and he had grown to become a loyal friend and retainer.

"No, that he most assuredly does not. A good man though." I replied with a smile. I continued, "I am going to head down to the distilleries now. Would you like to come with me?"

Oly nodded and we began the short walk down to the industrial area which had been created in Eastwood. The Eastwood Whisky Complex had finally been built. There was a large building dedicated to turning barley into grist and then leaving it out to malt. Adjacent to it was a similar building filled with copper distilleries. I had made the first one myself over a year ago and had my work replicated by others in my employ. The smallfolk I employed had learnt quite quickly and were now most proficient.

A third building, larger than the other two, sat adjacent to them and was more akin to a warehouse than anything else. This building was used for storing whisky and allowing it to age. The longer it is left the better the product after all. Currently, there were nearly a thousand barrels in storage with the next batch of two-hundred barrels due to mature very soon. I had plans to stamp the ages onto the barrels when I sold them and increase the prices accordingly. I only wondered how long my monopoly would remain in place. Despite my surety in the folk who manned my business, any man becomes talkative when deep in his cups and the process was sure to get out eventually.

It was as we approached the gated complex that Oly spoke. "So, uh, I have been meaning to ask you a question milord." I turned my head to him and raised a brow. The "milord" in question was stated with deference absent his characteristic sarcasm.

He continued nervously, "I would, if it is alright with you, of course, don't worry if it isn't I-"

"Oly, spit it out," I said, growing frustrated with his lack of coherence.

"I would like to become an apprentice within your whisky business." He looked nervous. I raised an eyebrow and responded, "Why the sudden interest, I had pegged you for a future knight."

The young lad shuffled looking uncharacteristically nervous, "I love fighting, but whisky making seems so interesting. The big bronze tanks that somehow make such a strong liquid."

I butted in, "Copper."

"What?" Oly looked confused.

I explained, "The tanks, they are made of copper, not bronze. Bronze doesn't bend as well because it is harder. It would not be well suited to the shape and the piping necessary for distillation."

"Oh, right. Well, that proves my point exactly, it just seems so interesting and I want to learn about it." He looked excited at the prospect.

I thought about it. It would be a good idea to have trusted individuals working in such an important part of my business. Oly was young now but in five years? In ten? He was an intelligent lad and putting him in a good position seemed prudent.

"I don't have a problem with it. Tell Bryan I have recommended you. He will be happy to accommodate." I smiled at him then. Much of Olyvar's nerves slipped off his face and he beamed at me.

"Thank you!" He ran off towards Bryan's office with my direction.

Bryan was the head of the first batch of immigrants who had entered my domain. He had shown to be an intelligent man and had done good work in resettling his people and other batches of immigrants as they had arrived. He had proven to be particularly talented in organising people and knew his numbers and letters well enough that I had made him one of my supervisors at the Eastwood Whisky Complex. Smallfolk who knew their letters and numbers were exceedingly rare. Something that I had been hoping to address soon.

It is something else for me to look into.

A guard bowed as he entered the dining hall where Ser Morden, James and myself were eating after a particularly intense sparring session in the yard. "Milord, myself and another guard caught a raper in the act. We captured him and brought the girl with us. Ser Jarett is preparing the gallows, he told me to make you aware."

The guard finished with another bow and awaited my reply.

Punishment for crime in this world is harsh. Cutting the hands off thieves, execution for various crimes written in law, or merely at a lord's pleasure. I had spent nearly seven years in this world of Westeros now and my modern sensibilities had certainly dulled.

Harsh crime required harsh punishment. Regardless of whether I liked it or not. If I attempted to soften punishment or attempt rehabilitative measures, I would be perceived as weak or soft by my people and fellow nobility. As a new House and a young Lord, I could not afford such a perception. Some would point out that there was always the option of sending criminals to the Wall, and I had thought so initially, but the reality of Westeros was much more complicated.

Sending criminals to the Wall was not as easy in the South as it was in the North. The first major issue was the travel time. To send any criminal to the Wall would require that he be escorted by a retinue of at least two guards who would have to travel thousands of miles. Not only would the journey and return take several moons, but with the Kingsroad yet to be built, it would be exceedingly long and fraught with danger. Executing the criminals was a lot more expedient for Lords than to waste manpower and coin on a long journey that was fraught with danger.

Alternatively one could wait for a recruiter of the Night's Watch to arrive and take the criminals off their hands. Unfortunately, such recruiters could arrive years apart and even then completely bypass a small keep like mine. In the meantime, one would have to feed and house the prisoner in their dungeons, at their own expense until such time that a recruiter arrived. Sending prisoners to the Wall was untenable for a minor Lordling like myself.

I turned to the guard, "Return to Ser Jarett, I will be there shortly to oversee the hanging." Ser Jarett had proven himself a capable and dependable Knight, especially after his stellar work investigating the corrupt tax collectors and had soon found himself promoted to the position of the Head of the Eastwood Town Guard.

I rose from my chair and Ser Morden grabbed another chicken leg before following. The man was insatiable. He gestured to James to follow us. I thought of intervening, but as James was his squire, it would be considered to be in bad fashion to interfere in such a decision. Furthermore, I was not even surprised. James was now ten years old and had frequently joined his father, Ser Harys, on his patrols before beginning his fostering with me. This world was a harsh one. Even Ned Stark, who was about as good a parent as you could get in Westeros, had decided to take Bran to watch an execution when he was just eight years old.

We walked into the yard, the same yard I practised my swordplay in. A hastily erected gallows stood in the centre. A crying man I didn't recognise and a girl with fire in her eyes stood on opposite sides of it.

Ser Jarett nodded to me as I walked towards them. "No doubt on the verdict with this one, my lord. Caught in the act." He grimaced.

"To the gallows with him then. The law is clear." I announced.

The man sobs, "Please milord, I'll do anything! Anything!" Two guards lifted him up and pulled a noose taut around his neck. I stared stone-faced as he dropped, legs kicking and eyes bulging. Spit flicked from his lips as his face purpled, eventually he fell still, his nearly lifeless body still twitching uncontrollably. A truly harrowing sight, and one certain to revisit me that night. A man pulled on his legs and the twitching stopped a second later.

Brutal world, but there was simply no place for criminal rehabilitation in Westeros, the law was the law.

Sitting in my solar contemplating life was becoming a common occurrence.

The last year had been kind to me. I had grown an inch or two now standing at a respectable five foot nine, with the promise of continuing well past six feet. My projects were progressing at a good pace and that brought with itself new troubles. My produce was now in great demand.

Keeping up with demand was difficult. In the six months following Lord Rogar's request for more whisky, I had been forced to expand my operation to double its original size. Orders were coming in from all over the Stormlands and beyond. Lords from as far as the Crownlands and the Westerlands, such as Stokeworth, Celtigar and Marbrand.

In the coming moon alone I had orders totalling four hundred barrels. This had also set demand for workers high. Workers that I was struggling to find in great amounts.

Exports were turning a good profit as the processing of whisky became more fluid and streamlined, which drove down production costs and in turn allowed me to up my workers' pay.

My thoughts had turned towards infrastructure. It became clear to me that my operation was turning into a huge success. As such, issues I had not first considered were becoming prominent. Namely, the amount of barley I was consuming. Across my lands, there were fifty-eight thousand people, children among that number. Fifty-eight thousand people that would need feeding once winter came and using all the food from each harvest just to produce a luxury item would be the height of madness. Being wealthy wouldn't protect me from a starving peasant revolt once winter came.

The issue was not a lack of food per se, I grew plenty of crops, but with my population growing at a rapid pace, and substantial amounts of barley being used for whisky production, my food exports were forecast to drop by a not insignificant number in the coming year. While export of food and grain did not net as great a profit as that of whisky or even soap, it served another purpose.

The Fells, Storm's End and Tarth, received a good portion of their wheat and barley from Eastwood. Selling grain to my neighbours was vital as it built goodwill and their reliance on my exports ensured that they would support my growth as it would be beneficial for them as well. While they may certainly enjoy my whisky, it was not essential to them. No one would come to the defence of some booze lordling if I were threatened. But if their supply of food were threatened by some other Lord in the region for one reason or another, they would march to war.

Hence regardless of my whisky or my soap or my future charcoal production, I would have to remain, first and foremost, an agrarian economy.

And even if I were to prioritise growth of food crops, another huge issue would still remain. With news of the growing prosperity and opportunities for employment in Eastwood and the discovery of the iron vein in Daegon's Valley, more and more farmers were leaving their lands in hopes of prosperity in the towns.

While I would not feel the pinch for a few years, in around five to six years, I'd have a real problem on my hands. Each industry that I created, be it whisky, soap or even my endeavours with charcoal, would directly and indirectly create thousands of jobs. In a way, my focus on industry and infrastructure development would actually hurt me in the long run.

I needed a better solution.

Since entering Westeros, especially when living as a commoner, I had seen a lot of things that could be done better with Earthly standards. Fortunately, better farming and sanitation would reduce infant mortality rates that would, in turn, allow for an increased population in fifteen to twenty years. An extra population that could then be put to work. Gods willing, in twenty years I would still only be in my early thirties. Leaving plenty of time to reap the rewards. But I cannot wait that long.

In order to offset the migration from rural to urban areas, farming land productivity needed to be increased. If fewer people were required to farm, then it would not hurt if some migrated to the cities to work in industry. There were a few factors to this I could remember from my past world.

There were only two I believed were currently feasible. Those being crop rotation and a slightly upgraded plough. The exact details of the Dutch plough evaded me though, it would need to be experimented on, something about a mouldboard? The crop rotation, however, was simple and rather easy to implement when the lands of Eastwood are owned directly by me. Westerosi Lords had far more direct ownership and control of land than their counterparts in medieval Europe did.

The only real issue I foresaw was dealing with an angry outburst from the Maester over my intent to tear up thousands of years of historical farming principles on what he would see as a whim. My success with whisky and soap had quieted many of his complaints, but something as large scale as this would most definitely get him riled up.

I frowned and turned my gaze away from the map. I often found myself staring into space.

"Ser Morden." The knight looked up from the book he was reading. I had, with much effort, convinced the knight to learn to read. He had been having lessons with the Maester and had made great progress. Where once he stood next to me, ever alert. Now he often sat and read whilst I read letters and made notes. An educated retainer is of more use than one who can only swing a sword. On the flip side, an educated spy was also more dangerous than an uneducated one. However, I'd judged that the benefits outweighed the dangers and had encouraged him in his pursuits.

"My Lord?" The burly man intoned.

"Would you fetch Maester Armon?" He nodded and left the room. Minutes later Morden returned, Armon in tow. "You called for me, my lord?" Armon's face held a frown.

"Indeed, please sit." The maester occupied the chair opposite mine and looked at me expectantly. I coughed, "I have some more ideas I wish to implement and wanted to consult with a man of learning before giving any orders."

His smile was a rictus, "Of course, my lord. What are your ideas?"

"Well, my lands hold some fifty-eight thousand people, with the success of my ventures I seem to be attracting a lot of smallfolk migrating to towns in search of prosperity -"

"Smallfolk that should be busy farming." Armon interrupted, lips pursed.

Smiling, I replied, "But what if they didn't need to be?"

I launched into my explanation of four-field crop rotation. Armon's face turned into curiosity. "To my knowledge, such has never been attempted."

"And to my knowledge, smallfolk all across the kingdoms starve every winter. Would it not be worth at least trying something new?" I pleaded. Armon looked pensive. "I am unsure if it is feasible. The cost of such would be rather great-"

I interrupted, "My ventures have turned rather profitable, surely we can test at least small scale conversion." The maester looked contemplative, "I believe the treasury could accommodate a small scale test."

"To ensure the idea will be properly implemented, I would appreciate your aid in organising the test, maester." I smiled at him and his face gave way to a small smile. We then discussed the specifics and he left me on amicable terms, for the moment at least.

I really hoped my idea worked or I would look like a fool. The freedom I currently had despite not yet being of the age of majority would disappear in an instant if I was deemed incapable.

Another thought had been playing on my mind. That of acquiring learned men to aid in my innovations and to educate workers in my businesses. Another long term plan that would really help in forming a semblance of bureaucracy that would take the load off my shoulders.

Only a single maester was permitted per castle. Yet I needed more than a single maester. If I intended to overhaul farming properly and thus increase my own wealth I would need people capable of doing the hard work for me.

Honestly, being a petty lord in Westeros is more frustrating than you would imagine. Especially being an underage petty lord. For the first time, I could understand Petyr Baelish's 'burn the world' attitude. Frustration builds into action after all. Whilst a quiet life served me best I still aspired to hold some political sway, at least in the Stormlands. Political sway that I would need if I were to survive this brutal and unforgiving new world. Jaehaerys's reign might have been relatively peaceful, but with the Vulture King on the horizon it was likely that I would be dragged into that conflict.

I sighed and rubbed a hand over my face. Success only bred more problems, I wondered if it would always be like this.

I looked out of the window. The sun was beginning to set, an orange flame tinged the horizon. A truly beautiful sight. Looking down, the village of Eastwood could be seen. It had grown a fair amount since I had assumed lordship. The smallfolk had obeyed my decree that houses be kept in orderly areas, it wouldn't do for my lands to end up King's Landing 2.0. I wasn't sure I could stand the stench.

As my town expanded I would take great care to ensure it expanded properly. Widened streets in the area closest to the keep and residential areas were properly planned out before the arrival of more immigrants. If I got the farming overhaul right, second and third sons should start coming to Eastwood in search of work within a few years. Ensuring there was plenty of work available wouldn't be a problem, business was beginning to boom. It would not do for the smallfolk to turn to crime en masse. Idle hands find devil's work after all.

Problem after problem. Time for bed.

Late 49 AC

I trotted my horse around the castle. The partially constructed walls cast a shadow in the evening light. The original tower still stood in the centre, though additional wings had been set out and construction was underway to form a proper keep. The gatehouse was not completely finished, wooden scaffolding in place and pulleys carrying heavy stone blocks up the walls.

Once construction was completed, I could say I was the lord of a castle, not merely a tower. My newly refurbished Keep would include high walls, barracks capable of housing upto a hundred and fifty men, an expanded Hall capable of hosting near a hundred guests, stables as well as several additional rooms fit for hosting highborn guests. I'd gone ahead and approved plans for expanding the dungeons and a massive granary was being built which would be capable of holding enough grain to suffice feeding my entire household for several moons, in case we were ever under siege. Once fully constructed my Keep would still be far smaller than even the seats of lesser lords in Westeros but as per my instructions, the architect was also designing it in a manner to allow for easy expansion. Construction using real stone was not something I knew how to speed up, and further additions would certainly need to be made throughout my reign.

I reached the incomplete gatehouse after my ride around the walls. Beginning to enter, I pulled on the reins and turned the horse around before riding down the main street in my castle town.

Much progress had been made in redesigning the town. Where once the roads were mud and gravel, they were now made of stones, akin to cobblestone roads. Much effort had gone into city planning. I had created a municipal authority that was responsible for sanitation, road maintenance, city planning and managing immigration. They worked together smoothly with Ser Jarett and the Town Guard to keep my little town in order.

Maester Armon had recommended that a new name be decided for my Keep. Calling both the town as well as my adjacent Keep, Eastwood created confusion even at the best of times. There was merit to the idea. Yet I was struggling to think of a name that was befitting my Keep. Perhaps once it was fully refurbished, I would have a better idea.

The houses closest to the new castle walls all followed a similar design. Though all were still made of wood for now, I had been thinking about creating concrete for foundations.

These dwellings were home to the better off smallfolk, who paid rent to me as tenants. They were significantly better-built peasant homes than could be found in most places on the continent outside of major cities such as King's Landing and Oldtown and had almost certainly contributed to the continued migration to his lands. The rent charged was relatively low and the lease agreements had long tenure to provide a sense of security to the families which in turn encouraged further immigration.

The organisation of buildings within the developing town was done by districts. There was a residential district and an industrial one. The industrial district was home to the blacksmiths and other craftsmen, along with the growing complex used for the production of whisky.

Time was something that seemed to be passing incredibly quickly. My body was nearly fifteen years of age, almost a man by westerosi standards. The past two years had been eventful. The sale of whisky was producing hundreds of dragons of income per month. Eastwood was expanding. Construction of the small dock at his fishing village was just beginning and it seemed there was no end to the projects that needed my attention.

As promised to the people of Daegon's Valley, massive shelters made of wood were being constructed to accommodate the beleaguered miners who were previously left to the mercy of rain and snow when storms and winter arrived. Patrols had been increased in my northern holdings under the watchful eye of Ser Harys. While my incomes were greater than my expenditure by a substantial margin, which was expected to grow even further, the initial investment required for the myriad projects that I had financed had left my cashflows very weak, even though my incomes and revenues were finally recovering.

A small mining community had also formed near the new vein of iron that had been found in the western mountains. While the population was still low, numbering around three hundred odd smallfolk, it was still very productive. In the past year since the discovery of the vein, miners had migrated from Daegon's Valley as well as from the lands of Houses Buckler and Fell upon hearing tell of a rich new iron vein in my lands. The miners were experienced hands and had completed the prospecting recently, and were according to the reports I had received, ready to begin actually mining the iron ore within the next couple of moons.

In anticipation of the same I had given the order for a few additional furnaces to be built in Daegon's Valley to accommodate the increased production. The increased production would serve me well as the Baratheons, Conningtons and the Marcher Lords were always willing to purchase good quality tools and weapons. While my earlier output was sufficient to supply the Baratheons and the Errol's of Haystack Hall, with the increased output from this mine I would be able to trade with the Conningtons and the Marcher Lords as well.

Free time was hard to find and when I did, it was spent in the yard or in my workshop, still located in the old barn near the new castle walls. Recently I had begun making a deck of cards, there were a few good games that I could remember that would be fun to play again. Cyvasse was complicated enough that it was more of a mental training exercise than a relaxing pastime and I had grown tired of it soon after Armon had taught me.

I sighed as I looked over the palisade from atop a hill at the landscape beyond and idly wondered how I could delegate more of my work to others.

I huffed and dropped the heavy bag of baked lime on the floor before stretching my arms above my head. The old barn which served as my workshop was much different. Tools lay strewn around the various work benches against the walls. I used this workshop primarily to work in privacy on various ideas from my previous world which I felt could be implemented here to great effect, but which required much trial and experimentation.

Once again I found myself working on a project personally. That being the creation of a rudimentary form of concrete. The materials were simple, the concrete itself was just cement and stones. The cement was also simple in theory, but more difficult in practice.

I had started by getting some workers to collect limestone from the banks of the nearby stream. Once that was done, it was shipped carted off to the new kiln at Southwood to be baked, it was back a few days later, baked and ready for the next step.

I picked up the bag and emptied an amount of it onto my workbench. The resulting powder cloud made me duck back and cough, the feeling being almost as bad as being in the mines at Daegon's Valley.

As the cloud dispersed I walked back over to the bench and picked up a piece of the baked lime, rubbing it between my fingers it began to crumble into dust and I smiled. As I crumbled all the baked lime, avoiding the brutal, unhealthy dust, I considered my plans for the concrete I was attempting to make.

Whilst I had sourced some amount of lime locally I would likely need to find and import it from elsewhere. There was simply not enough limestone in my lands to complete the projects. I had been informed by Warren that limestone was frequently used by the Marcher Lords and that Lord Swann, his previous employer, would be amenable to trading it. Though whether it was gold or grain was up in the air.

However, Stonehelm was far. It's practically on the other side of the region and the cost of transporting significant amounts of limestone across the region would be nightmarish. Furthermore, with their martial culture and traditional principles, it was very likely that the Swanns would not deal even handedly with a Lordling with mercantile interests such as myself. I would have to be very careful in approaching the Swanns of Stonehelm.

The plan was to use the concrete to create better roads. The frequent storms that plagued the Stormlands, frequently brutalized the dirt roads and paths in the region. A road network in my lands, made of a more resilient material like concrete, would not only connect all the major settlements but also ensure that the cost of maintaining the said road network would be much lower. I was also planning for the creation of roads from Eastwood to Haystack Hall in the north and Storm's End to the south which were my primary trading partners. However, it was the funding for such an endeavour that I was yet to work out. Whilst I was now making money in reasonably large quantities, roads were an expensive endeavour, especially when made with new materials I had yet to work out agreements for.

Roads were certainly a priority moving forward, in 49AC there was no main continent wide road network as there would be in 300AC, and roads were the lifeblood of trade. Trade that I was attempting to make good use of.

I had one idea for financing the road building, but was tentative in bringing it up with my advisors. Getting into debt so early in my reign was unlikely to be popular with them after all. However, I believed the project would pay for itself in time and was certainly necessary from a convenience perspective too. I wasn't sure about how banking and money lending worked in this world. But it couldn't be any worse than the predatory practices followed by banks in my previous one.

I believed the Rogare Bank was in operation and reasonably powerful; it is based in Lys which was relatively close. Though they were also involved in the slave trade which wasn't something I wanted to be associated with. Furthermore if I remembered correctly, the Rogare Bank would nearly collapse in a century or so, nearly bankrupting many of its investors such as the Velaryons. While this would not be a problem for me today, it would be devastating for my descendants if they continued banking with the Rogares in continuation of my actions. The Iron Bank was of about equal power to the Rogares and well-respected. That definitely seemed to be the best option moving forward.

I needed to work out the amount my road building projects would cost and how much would need to be loan financed, but to do that I needed estimates on the cost of materials necessary for concrete production. Furthermore, all the gold for the construction would not be needed immediately. It would be needed gradually as the work progressed. Time during which my incomes were sure to grow. I would need to have a word with Warren as to the latest projections of income that he had developed. A loan with a smaller tenure, even with higher quarterly payments, disbursed over a few years, would be much more preferable as opposed to the long tenure loans where I would end up paying nearly as much in interest as the principal amount borrowers in the first place.

Turning my attention back to the task at hand I collected my powdered lime into a bucket and mixed in some water. Grabbing a shovel, I added a load of sand and stirred it all together. Next up was mixing in some crushed stone to turn the basic cement I had into what would hopefully be concrete.

Once done, I looked at it tentatively. It didn't really look like the concrete I had seen back in my previous world, not at all in fact. Was I missing something?

Sighing, I prepared to start again and alter the ratios. Trial and error was certainly my friend.

The guard outside my solar knocked and entered. The golden tree proudly displayed on his chest. I had recently commissioned one of the seamstresses in Eastwood to create appropriate clothing for my Men at Arms and the Eastwood Town Guard. My meeting with Ser Edwell had made me realize that aesthetic presentation was extremely important to the Nobility of Westeros which had spurred me to invest more in clothing, furnishings and armour.

All fifty of my Men at Arms were now fully armoured courtesy of the blacksmiths of Eastwood and I had placed an order for several expensive pieces of furnishings and tapestries from the Tarths of Evenfall Hall who regularly traded in such products. With the renovation of my Keep ongoing, I was hopeful that the addition of these extremely expensive items would be an adequate display of my wealth and power for any visiting Lord.

"My Lord, Maester Armon wishes to speak with you." Said the guard as he bowed.

"Send him in," I barked and winced as my voice cracked. At the age of fourteen, puberty was well underway and beyond inconvenient on many occasions.

Armon walked in and bowed. I gestured at the empty seat in front of my desk. "Armon! A pleasure to see you on this fine day. Please, sit down." Laying it a bit thick perhaps but it was useful to keep him on my side.

He smiled at me and sat. I poured us both a healthy amount of Eastwood Whisky.

"Firstly, despite you working to bankrupt yourself with investment in infrastructure. You currently hold twelve thousand dragons in the treasury. The past few moons we had reached dangerously low levels, but with the recent tax season and incomes having increased substantially from the whisky and soap trade, we are fairly comfortable at the moment. I cannot argue with the results of your trade interests." He met my eyes and smiled. His hair had begun greying now, no doubt my fault.

I grinned, that was a sizable amount and in no way did it reflect my actual income. My income had increased a lot over the last two years. Mostly exports from Eastwood whisky. Though taxes also played their part. Increased prosperity benefited me directly as well as the smallfolk. But with the expenditure incurred for the infrastructure development that I had ordered during and following my Progress, I was spending gold almost immediately upon receiving it.

The next consignment of stone from the Errols was due in three moons and while I could pay for it from my own incomes, albeit with some difficulty, I would not have enough gold left over to fund my road building project over and above my current expenditures. While I had hoped that I would be able to avoid borrowing money with the growth of my whisky and soap enterprises, it would still not be enough to fund a project as large, intricate and expensive as my proposed road network.

In hindsight, I realised that I had committed a grave error and jumped the gun in purchasing the stone from the Errols this early. I had severely overestimated the rate at which my whisky and soap businesses would grow. While the business was growing at an excellent rate, it was still slow going as I was struggling to make much headway outside of the Stormlands and the Crownlands. A matter that I was hoping to address soon.

With the deal having been already struck with the Errols, I was honor bound to meet my commitments. I would have to seek a loan from the Iron Bank, in order to maintain my current growth.

"Maester Armon, it is good that you are here as there was a matter I wished to discuss with you." I said as I cleared my throat. "As you may be aware, with our current growth, I will not be able to fund my road building project and as such I am considering seeking a loan from the Iron Bank." I leaned back and waited for Mount Armon to explode.

Predictably the Maester's brows nearly touched his hairline as he practically thundered, "My Lord, that would be most foolhardy. Only the most desperate of Westerosi Lords ever approach the Iron Bank. You would be better served waiting a year or two before implementing your planned construction. The stone from the Errols can be stored safely and used at the right time."

It was a good idea, one that I had considered even, but the Maester had unfortunately not taken one major factor into account. "During any other time I would agree with you, but the Citadel has projected that this summer will be a long one. We can safely assume that summer will last another three years, which would make this the perfect time to build roads. When the autumn storms strike, much of the work will have to be halted and it will be difficult to make much progress in Winter as well. If we wait even a year, the unfinished roads will be washed away by the autumn storms and we will have incurred immense losses."

It was clear that my words had a significant impact on the Maester as he relaxed almost imperceptibly and considered my words. "While that is a very valid argument my Lord, I must still encourage caution."

"We do not have much choice Maester, I shall give instructions to Warren to begin calculating the amount of gold we would need to tide us over as well as to prepare a proposal for the Iron Bank requesting such a loan. I would like you to give your input in these discussions." I said as I rubbed my brow, a headache building up at the mere idea of the sheer amount of oversight such an endeavour would take.

"I am at your service my Lord." Replied the Maester.

"I was also considering that Warren should be the one to visit the Iron Bank in my stead. His knowledge of economics and accounts is unparalleled and I am confident that he shall acquit himself well." I stated. I could not afford to leave my lands unattended for several moons so early in my rule. And out of all my retainers, Warren was truly the best option to send to Braavos.

"The idea bears merit, my Lord." Nodded the Maester.

As I was about to dismiss him, The Maester said somewhat nervously, "If I may. There is a matter I would like to discuss with you."

I frowned, "What is it?"

"Well, you are getting older, and I thought it may be prudent to begin considering your future. Have you considered a suitable match?" Armon looked thoughtful.

Huh. That was a very good point. The truth was I had considered it, but the matches available to a petty lord at the time seemed all too underwhelming. Upon my ascension to Lordship, I had received offers of marriage, from some minor landed Knights for their daughters and sisters as well as one from a minor cadet branch of House Fell. But I had begged off on those offers citing my young age. With me approaching my age of majority, I would soon be inundated with offers of marriage. While I was newly ennobled and a former bastard to boot, I was still a Lord sworn directly to Lord Baratheon. However, If I waited a few more years for my wealth and the prosperity of my house to increase then I may find a wife from the family of a higher lord.

"I have Maester, but don't concern yourself with such for now. I will look into it more thoroughly soon." The maester didn't seem to like that answer.

"I am afraid this may be more serious than you understand." He said, causing me to frown.

Armon continued. "You have done excellent work in your three years here. The people here are happy, well-fed and prosperous." I nodded. "Ask yourself what happens to these lands and your people if you die without issue."

I thought about it. Upon my death, the lands of Eastwood would default back to House Baratheon, likely left to fester under poor administration. My progress would all be for nought.

"I- I confess I had not considered that before. These lands would return to House Baratheon and be left unadministered once more." Armon snorted.

"It could be a great deal worse than that. You realise not every lord cares much for the welfare of his people? To many, commoners are more akin to livestock than anything else. Your entire progress and work so far could be whored and drank away by the next lord of Eastwood." My eyes widened in alarm. Fuck.

I forced a smile onto my face. "I assure you, Armon. I am quite free from illness."

"Nevertheless Aelon. As the Braavosi are fond of saying, 'All men must die'. Despite your successes, you are still a man. As mortal as the rest of us." I snorted at that. Images of a certain Stark girl flashed through my mind.

"I understand Maester. I assume you have some suggestions prepared?" Armon always gathered information and notes before presenting an issue; it's a trait I rather liked about the man.

Armon gave me an unsettling smile before dumping a pile of parchment on my desk. The fucker, I stared at it in mild disbelief. Somewhat awkwardly I responded, "I will uh, peruse these later."

Armon nodded at me and bowed as he left and I continued to work through my stack of paperwork. Turning slightly I caught sight of a stack of parchment.

I apprehensively stared down at the small stack I had been avoiding. I had decided that it was nigh on time to consider matches. A pathetic sense of dread invaded me every time I considered it though. Much of my pre-change mindset had been purged during the harsh years I spent in Westeros. Despite that, the idea of marrying a girl who would have been considered still a child in England made my skin crawl.

Letting out a breath I grabbed the parchment and unfolded it.

Melissa Buckler

I could see the merit of such a match. House Buckler's lands bordered my own and they were an old and powerful house. I wondered whether or not I would even be considered as a suitor for a Buckler. She was the second daughter of Lord Buckler and a marriage between the two of us would be beneficial to both Houses as we were important trade partners. Yet, the Bucklers were an old House, and rather traditional at that. It was unlikely the Lord Buckler would see his daughter married to a mercantile lordling who was the bastard of a bastard.

Elena Tarth

The only daughter of House Tarth currently unwed, she was the child of Lady Laryssa Velaryon and Ser Evan Tarth, who was in turn the younger brother to Lord Tarth. She was far enough down the line of inheritance that an offer for her hand may be considered and at the same time her mother was a Velaryon of Driftmark which was a connection that would likely be useful in the future.

My lands are across the straits from the Sapphire Isle. Perhaps sea trade could be pursued through marriage? I hoped she didn't look like her relative Brienne or it might be a harsh marital life. Of course, I respect Brienne's valour and honour in the show alongside the attempt to break the status quo of inferior women. Still, a pretty face is never a bad thing.

I chuckled at the imagery.

"Ser Morden, what do you think of Tarth?" I asked my ever-present shadow.

"Hhhmm, is this a marriage we are thinking of?"

I nodded in the affirmative. "One of Armon's suggestions."

He grunted. "Could do worse. They are close and since your positioning is poor for heavy sea vessels they can do much of the heavy lifting."

"I had much the same thoughts." He grunted once more and returned to reading. Hard to drag him away these days.

I decided to speak with Maester Armon about Tarth later on. It's definitely deserving of some thought.