26

Chapter Twenty Six

The Following Day

Eastwood

I watched silently as Olly's body was lowered into the casket.

My friend was dead.

My first friend in this world. When I first arrived here, a young lad, not even a man, he had been the only one to befriend me. Not for status, but because on one fine day, he'd beaten the snot out of me in the yard. I stumbled back up and the two of us laughed.

And then we were friends. Even when he went to work in Eastwood Whisky, we'd remained friends. I'd officiated his wedding, and he'd named his firstborn after me. I'd hoped that soon, he would earn his promotion and run Eastwood Whisky in my name and serve as one of my most loyal retainers.

He was dead. Dead defending our home. Felled by a fucking stray arrow of all things. An ignoble death for one of the only truly noble men I had ever known. He had no obligation to fight. He was not one of my men at arms, nor was he one of those called upon as part of my levies. His position as the Chief of Supply at Eastwood Whisky shielded him from that.

And yet when the call for volunteers had gone out, he had been first in line. As someone who'd received training under Ser Morden in his youth, he'd been placed at the gate. I hadn't even known.

Ahead of me I saw Marvin, Olly's father and one of my most loyal men at arms. The sergeant was doing his very best to maintain his composure. Even now, I could see the tremors that wracked his body as he struggled to hold back his emotions. No man should have to bury his own child.

And yet, here we were. But silent spectators as the Silent Sisters lowered my friend's body into a casket. I had knighted him posthumously and ordered him to be buried with full honours. His family would be granted some lands near Eastwood and little Aelon would one day serve in my household. It was the least I could do.

The Battle of Eastwood, as the men had taken to calling it, had ended just the night before. And somehow, this whole conflict had more or less gone according to plan. My Keep had been burned, but my town was intact. Weathered and damaged but intact nonetheless. All my wealth, my industry and my commerce would bounce back, greater than ever before.

Borys was dead. Lords Buckler, Fell, Trant and Connington, my greatest enemies, were captured and awaiting the King's judgement. Their armies were routed and dispersed so thoroughly that it would be generations before they recovered. And what was the cost? Just a few thousand lives.

Thousands lay dead. Smallfolk, soldiers, knights and nobles. Thousands had died so that one man could usurp his brother and serve as Regent for a scant few years. Now more than ever, I was keenly aware of the sheer magnitude of the barbarism of this godforsaken land.

Distantly I could hear the Septon say a few words. A eulogy of sorts. For my friend. The words blurred in my mind, as the Septon spoke of Olly's virtues, of his honour and his chivalry.

And not a word was spoken of his generosity, of his kindness nor of the fact that Edwell was a decent fucking human being. One of the few in Westeros. How fucked up was this world, when knightly concepts of honour, chivalry and dying a good fucking death took precedence over a man's deeds and character.

Off to the side, I saw Garon Baratheon, now the undisputed Regent of the Stormlands. The man had deemed it fit to attend the funerals of every knight that had died in the battle. He seemed genuinely remorseful. Perhaps that was a good sign. Olly had died for him. By the Old Gods and the New, I'd make sure that the man would live up to our expectations.

The man had had a rough week. Despite our protests, the man had led from the front. And despite all their differences, he had lost his brother as well. When I had taken up Lordship of Eastwood, there had been five Baratheon brothers and several more sons, daughters and wives. Now there were just five Baratheons alive. Plague and War had claimed most of the House.

And now with the recent civil war in the Stormlands, House Baratheon was weaker than it had ever been. I did not envy the new Regent.

As the service came to an end, I slowly approached Marvin.

"Lord Aelon," said he, nodding at me.

I had meant to say something. I'd even thought of what I'd say to him as I had waited, I searched my mind for something to say and came up blank.

"Not here, my lord. Not here, not now. Hold your head high. Give your condolences and walk away. And when you are alone in your quarters, away from judging eyes, then you may grieve. I know I will do the same," said the wise man even as his eyes hid an immeasurable amount of grief.

Composing myself I nodded at him as I passed on my condolences.

"He was a good friend to me. House Eastwood will never forget his service," I promised.

"Aye, lad. I know. Olly admired you as well. Don't ever doubt that. Hardly a week could go by without him telling me about some fancy reform you had initiated in Eastwood and how it would be a boon for our people. You did well by my boy my Lord. Our family will remember that. House Eastwood will forever have our loyalty," replied the man at arms with a slight hitch in his voice as he spoke.

I nodded at the man and with one last mournful look at Olly, I swiftly departed.

Borys was dead. But Buckler, Fell, Trant and Connington were not. And tomorrow I would make them pay dearly for their folly.

But tonight I would mourn my friend.

Eastwood

The Next Day

Serwyn POV

The castle was a ruined husk of its former self. The burning beams had caused a collapse in several sections of the castle and it would take months for the damage to be repaired, or improved, to Aelon's satisfaction.

They had won, but Borys Baratheon had extracted a heavy toll.

Of the five thousand men who had fought for Ser Garon Baratheon, nearly a thousand were dead, with many more lying injured. Many would recover, but Maester Armon estimated that many would succumb to their wounds, not to mention those who would live, but be crippled for life.

Serwyn had never liked battle. Even in the yard, he had always struggled with a sword in his hands. His father had believed it was because of his different preferences, but even as a young child, he'd always preferred the company of books instead.

And so he'd buried his nose in books and the pursuit of academic excellence.

And then war came calling on their doorstep, and Serwyn could do nought but watch, as other men stood on the frontlines, while he was relegated to the back. Aelon had not phrased it that way, and logically, Serwyn knew that his strength lay not in taking up arms, but in coordinating the defences and arranging supplies and relief, but it had stung nonetheless.

But even so, he had persevered, and he knew his efforts had had an impact. Thousands lay dead on the battlefield, and while he may not have had much to contribute during the battle itself, he could ensure that he played his part in the aftermath.

There was much to be done. Too many were dead. Too many were grieving. Protocol required that Lords Aelon and Errol see to the last rites and funerals of those dead in their service. It was left to Serwyn to see what could be salvaged from this horrific situation.

He'd ridden out to the castle a few hours ago. Hundreds had died during the siege and the subsequent fire. Their bodies needed to be recovered and buried. He also hoped to salvage what he could from the crumbling remains of the once strong Keep.

Over the next few hours, he along with the men that he had gathered worked tirelessly. Aelon had been very explicit in his instructions. All bodies needed to be carefully gathered and disposed of, lest they become breeding grounds for disease and pestilence. No one wanted a repeat of the Shivers.

Even as they rode back into the town, Serwyn could not help but shudder at the sheer death and destruction. The town itself had been spared the brunt of it, with the walls and outskirts having shouldered the lion's share of the damage. The district where Borys Baratheon had breached the gate had suffered great damage, but fortunately, the damage was limited just to that area. But the same could not be said for the rest of Eastwood's lands.

While Buckler and his allies had made quick progress towards Eastwood, they had nonetheless wrought much damage on their path. Over two dozen villages along their route had been burned and sacked. Ser George had done his best to evacuate as many smallfolk as possible, but even then, many had been left behind.

Even Borys and Connington when approaching from the south had left behind a trail of death and destruction. It would take many years for Eastwood to recover from this war.

If nothing else, this war had proved that House Eastwood would have to invest far more than it had in the past in defence and military. Aelon was brilliant when it came to politics and economic matters, but he had been far too complacent when it came to matters of defence.

Serwyn and his party eventually made their way to the town hall that had become Aelon's temporary residence. As he approached he spied Warren out of the corner of his eye. He nodded at the man as he dismounted his horse and walked up to him. The Steward would be under an incredible amount of pressure in the coming weeks.

"Warren," greeted Serwyn, "how fares the town?"

"Not too good my Lord. Oh it could have been worse, but even then, it will take much time and gold for Eastwood to recover," replied the Steward as he fell into step with Serwyn.

"Gold we should soon have aplenty. We won the war my friend. Lord Garon has committed that he will ensure that Buckler, Fell, Connington and Trant will pay hefty reparations to Eastwood for their action. And that's not even taking into account the number of highborn hostages we currently have as prisoners. Their families will pay hefty ransoms to see them released."

"Aye, but it will take time. Even if reparations and ransoms are paid, it will not be paid immediately. But in the meantime, our short term cash flows will be heavily stressed if we cannot resume our business enterprises soon enough."

That gave Serwyn pause, "Is that a major concern? The town is intact for the most part. We should be able to resume business soon enough."

Warren shook his head and replied, "With the Shivers, lack of business during winter and Aelon's desire to be Bran the Builder Reborn, we were dangerously low on gold even before this war began. If we do not acquire a lot of gold and that too quickly, I'm afraid that we will struggle to rebuild back to the way things were before the war, much less better and grander as Aelon is planning."

"Is the cost that great?"

"The walls and gates are so heavily damaged that it might be easier to rebuild them from scratch. I'm assuming the Keep is worse off?" asked the Steward well aware of his earlier visit to the Keep.

Serwyn could only nod solemnly at that.

"Hundreds of our own are dead. Not just men at arms but smallfolk in the countryside as well who were unfortunate enough to be on either Buckler or Borys's route. Even if we have the gold to rebuild, we may lack the manpower. Winter ended over a year ago and the men will be needed in the fields if we wish to meet even the lowest end of the output targets Aelon set when Spring began and-."

"-Warren my friend," interrupted Serwyn, "Aye the situation is dire. But you must not fret so much. Aelon has done House Baratheon a great service. House Eastwood shall be rewarded greatly for it. Let us not make hasty conclusions until justice is served. Undoubtedly the situation will change thereafter."

"Aye. Lord Aelon has tasked me with preparing the estimates of the cost of repairs and loss of life to be presented to the King once he arrives."

"Tis a wonder he hasn't arrived yet. It's been nearly three sennights since we sent word," said a disgruntled Serwyn. Much death and destruction could have been avoided if the King had arrived even yesterday.

"The King is with the army somewhere in the Marches. It could be that he has not yet even received word of the conflict here. The messenger could be lost, waylaid, attacked by Dornish raiders or any one of a dozen other reasons," replied Warren as he laid a hand on the younger man's shoulder.

"Let us ho-"

A titanic roar cut off the voice of the Tarth. A massive shadow passed above the two men as they immediately turned their heads skyward.

"Dragon!" cried out one of the men nearby as he pointed to the unmistakable shape of the dragon above them.

Serwyn could do nought but marvel at the sheer majesty of the sight before him. Bronze scales glittered in the sun and the tan wings cast a shadow that cast half the town in darkness.

"Vermithor…" whispered Warren from beside him.

"Aye," murmured Serwyn, "The King is here."

Eastwood

"If I'd been even a day earlier, they'd never have had the balls to even attack Eastwood," groused Lord Brynden as he sat at the table across from me.

I attempted to hide my amusement at his grumblings, "There is no doubt in my mind you would have done so, my lord. Yet it is good your forces had arrived fresh and intact as they assaulted our walls. The enemy is crushed and scattered. We have them by the balls now."

"Indeed my lord," continued Adam Errol, "the fact that you arrived with such great numbers and with such haste is a blessing in itself."

The Lord of Evenfall Hall almost puffed up as he replied, "Aye. The Seven looked kindly upon us. The convoy to the Manderlys arrived a few days earlier than expected. If they hadn't I might not have been able to cross with more than eight hundred men."

I nodded in agreement, "Praise the Seven. Now let us hope that the King looks upon us as kindly as well. While Lord Garon will definitely speak in our favour, we will require the blessings of the Crown as well if we are to recover from this catastrophe."

"What is the situation then?" asked Brynden as he changed the topic.

"Not as good as I hoped, but not as bad as we expected. Our industry is mostly intact, so we should be able to resume exports soon enough, although I cannot be certain if they will be in the same volumes as before. I burned through a substantial chunk of my reserves of whisky in the defence," I replied even as I suppressed a smirk at the pun.

"You'll have all the support you will need, Aelon. None of us have sacrificed as much as House Eastwood as in the defence of House Baratheon. Now all that remains is seeing to it that we receive our rightful due for our service," mumbled the Lord of Haystack Hall.

"And make sure that Buckler and his cohorts are neutered for generations to come," added Brynden with a dark look on his face.

The three of us, Errol, Tarth and Eastwood, sat in the room as we waited. King Jaehaerys, First of His Name, King of the Andals and the First Men and Lord of the Seven Kingdoms had arrived atop his dragon, but a few hours ago alongside the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, Ser Gyles Morrigen.

We had all been appropriately awed by his presence and the necessary formalities and protocols had been followed as we welcomed him to Eastwood. The young King had taken one look at the devastation and then immediately ensconced himself in the chambers that had hastily been set aside for him with Lord Garon. So far, no word had come from inside as we patiently waited for the King to send word.

Eventually, the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, Ser Gyles Morrigen, stepped out and said, "My lords, His Grace has requested your presence."

Setting off into the hall, the door was opened by two guards and as we entered, and shut behind me with a firm push.

Watching as he sat upon a high backed chair, sat King Jaehaerys Targaryen. He shared the same Valyrian features as me, but more regal. There was a certain air of command about the young man. And he was young, just a year older than me. But even so I could easily picture how he must appear seated upon the Iron Throne in King's Landing as he ruled over the millions of men and women of Westeros.

"Your Grace," We knelt as we approached the King of Westeros.

Violet eyes the same shade as my own were turned in my direction.

"Lord Aelon Eastwood of Eastwood, Lord Adam Errol of Haystack Hall and Lord Brynden Tarth of Evenfall Hall," announced Ser Gyles as we knelt before the man who would one day be known as the Conciliator.

"Rise and be seated my Lords," said the King as a pale hand indicated at the red cushioned chairs opposite where we seated ourselves.

"I am informed by Lord Garon that I have the three of you to thank for ensuring the survival and protection of my half brother," said Jaehaerys, his voice surprisingly deep for a man so young.

"We did as duty and honour dictated my lord," said Adam, taking the lead as we had agreed upon. He was, after all, the most senior and influential member of our alliance.

"Perhaps, but from what I have seen, the three of you have gone far beyond what duty and honour dictate, more so in your case Lord Eastwood," said Jaehaerys as he levelled his gaze at me.

"Lord Garon was the rightful Regent, my Lord. As decreed by Lord Rogar in his Will. Lord Boremund is his heir. There is no greater duty than seeing to the protection of the heir and brother of the man who elevated me and mine to nobility," I replied in a steady tone.

The King just hummed in response, frustratingly showing no emotion in his demeanour.

Seeing the opportunity, Brynden decided to press, "Lord Boremund, Lady Mya and the Will are currently at Evenfall Hall under the protection of House Tarth. I have already sent for them to return to Eastwood so that you may examine the Will yourself, Your Grace."

"I am grateful to House Tarth for extending its protection to House Baratheon during its time of need. But as far as the Will goes, I will not need to examine it," replied the King.

Silence fell across the room at the proclamation before Adam eventually spoke up, "Your Grace….?"

"I was present when Lord Rogar wrote the Will, my lords. I sat by his side as he explained his reasoning for vesting the Regency in Lord Garon's hands as opposed to Ser Borys. I was there when he dispatched the Will and sat by his side as he took his last breaths."

This….changed things.

Out of the corner of my eye, I belatedly saw the smug expression on Garon's face, obviously having discussed this with the King prior to us being summoned.

I could barely hold back my laughter as I considered the situation. The King had witnessed the fucking Will. By the Gods. Buckler and his cohorts were well and truly fucked now.

With the Will no longer in dispute, Borys, Buckler and their lot had essentially attempted line theft. In Westeros, there were few crimes greater than that.

While Borys may be dead, Houses Buckler, Fell, Trant and Connington would undoubtedly pay for their actions. The only question that now remained was how much.

"That is good to hear, Your Grace. I am heartened that on his deathbed Lord Rogar had you by his side," replied Adam, as always the flag bearer of protocol and propriety.

"And as far as the Will goes, we always believed in its validity, Your Grace. That you were witness to it, only goes to show how greatly Ser Borys misstepped and how low Houses Buckler, Fell, Trant and Connington have fallen to follow him in his attempt to usurp the Regency," I continued. There was blood in the water. Now was the time to leverage our position.

Lord Regent Garon Baratheon, for there was no doubt now about his title, decided to finally speak up, "There is little doubt that the Houses in question have erred greatly. I have spoken to the King in depth, and he has agreed that reparations must be made. Loyal Houses such as yours shall be rewarded for your service while the disloyal shall be punished for their misdeeds."

"Aye," spoke the King, "but we are not barbarians. Lord Garon and I shall hold court tomorrow. We shall hear the accounts of the captured lords and call upon them to explain their treasonous actions. And then I shall pass judgement."

"Of course, my Lord," replied the three of us as we inclined our heads in deference.

"But even so. While I have received Lord Garon's accounting of the events that have led us here, I would still like to hear from you as well. Spare no detail. I wish to hear of every minute occurrence," continued the King.

And so the three of us launched into the tale of what was now being called the Battle of Eastwood and the events that led to it.

The lion's share of the narration was done by me, considering that it was my home and lands that were assaulted, with Adam and Brynden pitching in from time to time whenever relevant. Throughout our accounting, Jaehaerys remained impassive. His expression barely betrayed his emotions as he heard our tale.

From time to time even Garon pitched in, specifically focusing on the atrocities wrought by the enemy on my lands as well as the losses incurred by us in defending the Keep and the Town. And of course, highlighted the deaths perpetrated by Borys in Storm's End as well which lead to him fleeing from the great castle with Boremund and Mya in tow.

"A harrowing tale indeed my lords," said Jaehaerys as we finished, "you have indeed done House Baratheon and in turn, the Crown, a great service. Rest assured, your deeds will not be forgotten."

"It was our honour, Your Grace," intoned Adam.

"I have much to ponder upon here. Such an event is unfortunately not unprecedented in our history. But even so, to so blatantly attempt to usurp the Regency of one of the Seven Kingdoms is undoubtedly a grave offence."

"Indeed Your Grace. Treason such as this must be punished most severely. We must make an example of these traitorous Lords," responded Garon.

The man was out for blood. His Regency had begun in the worst possible manner. House Baratheon was at its weakest since its founding. In the scant sixty years of its existence, House Baratheon had never been weaker. The unruly Stormlords of the Marches still remembered the Durrandons and chafed under the rule of the Targaryen Banner. Garon needed to take decisive action as a show of strength.

Recent events had firmly established who his enemies were and who his allies were. The former were currently in my holding cells. The latter were currently seated with him.

It was in his best interests to ensure that Buckler, Fell, Trant and Connington were harshly dealt with while our little alliance was elevated as far as possible, without threatening Storm's End's own power.

It was a fine line the Regent would have to toe. The Lords of Cape Wrath and the Marches would smell the blood in the water. He would need a strong power base to keep them in line. Lord Rogar had ruled with an iron fist. His ties to the Crown and his own power base in the Stormlands allowed him to impose his will on the unruly Stormlords.

Garon would need our support to firmly establish his Regency and secure Boremund as Lord Paramount when the time came. But he also needed to keep us in line lest we become too powerful.

I did not envy the man.

My musings were interrupted as Jaehaerys said, "Indeed. But in the interests of fairness I shall reserve judgement until I have heard from the Lords in question themselves. But it is late now my Lords. I would like to retire for the night. Lord Aelon, I hope you shall be able to make the arrangements for me to hold Court tomorrow."

"Yes, Your Grace. I only regret that you shall have to hold court in the town hall as my Keep is currently unavailable," I replied with a slight grimace.

"Aye. I did see that. A shame that war necessitated such actions. However, it is no problem, Lord Eastwood. Justice is justice. Whether it is served in the Throne Room of the Red Keep or in the barn of a farmer," intoned the King imperiously as my fellow lords and I nodded along.

"Very well my Lord. By your leave."

Jaehaerys nodded and we bowed before we left.

As we were escorted out of the room by Ser Gyles, my fellow Lords and I looked at each other impassively.

"I have a bottle of Gold Label in my chambers," I said with a smirk on my face.

Brynden let out a bark of laughter and even Adam smiled softly.

"Aye, I wouldn't mind a bottle of whisky after today."

Eastwood

Aelon POV

'What a week' I thought as I walked the elder Lord of Tarth back to his rooms. My wife's uncle was no lightweight, but the amount of alcohol he drank in the past couple of hours would have been enough to down a horse.

For the first time, since our alliance had begun, I finally felt like an equal when I sat with the two of them tonight. Oh, the two lords had never treated me badly, quite the opposite in fact. But even so, I had not been their equal in the alliance. My House was young, my lands were small and my population too low. They always treated me fairly, but I was always the junior partner in our little alliance.

However, recent events had caused them to reconsider their position. As Adam pointed out, it was likely that as of tomorrow, I would be a minor lord no more.

We had spent much of our time discussing the demands that we would make during court tomorrow. A united front would be necessary if we wished to succeed. Warren was still finalising his report, but we had a pretty good estimate of the damage caused. I had received ten thousand dragons as compensation when the Bucklers had struck a few years ago and wrecked a small village. Considering the damage that had been wrought this past sennight, the number was undoubtedly going to be substantially higher.

It was unanimously agreed that we would be asking for reparations in terms of both gold and lands. Reducing a Lord's land was not something done lightly. It was a punishment that was reserved only for the most grievous offences. Fortunately for me, attempted line theft was one of them.

My lands comprised around 1.3 million hectares and around sixty five thousand people. House Fell's lands and population were around double my own. House Buckler's lands and population were twice that of even Felwood. I was reasonably confident that between the two of them, I would be able to add another few hundred thousand hectares to my holdings.

Hostages were also a must. Divided between Haystack Hall, Eastwood, Tarth and Storm's End, to keep the rebel lords in line. We had even discussed the possibility that we may have to concede a few marriages to keep the peace. Especially so in the case of House Buckler.

Lord Buckler's son and heir had died during the assault on Eastwood. There were cousins aplenty, but of the main line, the Lordship would undoubtedly go to the man's grandson. A lad of four name days. House Buckler could potentially face a succession crisis in the next few years if steps were not taken tomorrow to prevent it.

On the other hand, Tarth of course could not be awarded lands per se and so a compromise was achieved. We would lobby Garon to renew Tarth's port charter next year, with a few changes. Changes that would allow Brynden to expand the port, maintain more ships and allow for greater ease of business for trade ships.

We would request some further boons as well. But that would be a part of a private discussion between Garon and ourselves once Jaehaerys had departed. Storm's End had lost its Castellan, and with all due respect to Ser Bruce's memory, it was felt by the three of us that Edwell would be an excellent replacement.

We had raised armies, sacrificed my Keep and shed blood for Garon Baratheon. The hard part was done. Now all that remained was to see to it that we were well rewarded. Rebuilding after this was done would be a headache. But I had plans. Plans that would require a lot of gold. Fortunately, if all went well tomorrow, I would have gold aplenty.

"Thank you lad," slurred Brynden as I dropped him off at his room.

"Sleep well Uncle, big day tomorrow," I said as I patted him on his shoulder.

The man nodded and shuffled into his room. The fact that he could still stand was quite impressive.

It was a pleasant night, so I decided to make my way to the rooftop. The past few days had been maddening and I wanted some time to myself before the inevitable madness that tomorrow would bring.

As I stepped onto the terrace, I found that I was not alone in my desire to seek solitude on the rooftop.

King Jaehaerys, it seemed, had a similar idea as he stood against the parapet. Ser Gyles, his ever present shadow, stood tense nearby as he detected my presence.

"Your Grace," I started, "I did not realise you were here. I'll leave you to it."

I bowed and made to leave.

"No please Lord Eastwood. Join me. I had wished to speak to you anyways," replied Jaehaerys as he motioned for me to approach.

I only bowed further and stood silently next to the King as we together looked over the town sprawled below us.

"You have a beautiful town, Lord Eastwood," commented Jaehaerys after a few moments of silence.

"Thank you, Your Grace. It was even more beautiful before Borys inflicted himself on it."

"It is an achievement nonetheless. I am reliably informed that this town was no more than a large village a few years ago. You have done well for yourself since your ennoblement."

"You honour me with your words, Your Grace," I replied.

"I am curious though Lord Eastwood. You have the look of Old Valyria. How is that so?"

"I am no dragon seed, Your Grace," I said with a soft chuckle, "my father was Daegon Waters and he was one of the many bastards sired by Gargon Qoherys."

The King's eyes widened in realisation and perhaps even judgement.

"My grandfather was a terrible man, Your Grace. His sins were myriad. Much of what I do here in Eastwood is in hopes of cleansing my line of the taint of the Guest's sins," I replied solemnly.

"The son cannot be blamed for the father's sins, Lord Eastwood. The grandson even more so. From what I have seen here in Eastwood, my Lord, it seems to me that you have more than made up for the actions of Gargon Qoherys."

"Thank you, Your Grace," I said as I bowed slightly.

"And while Gargon may have been a bright upon House Qoherys, House Qoherys had faithfully served House Targaryen for centuries. I am heartened that their line still survives and serves as loyally as they did in the past."

"House Eastwood shall forever serve House Targaryen, Your Grace."

"On another note my Lord, I could not help but notice the roads while I flew here. The ones leading North, West and East. You are responsible for their construction?" queried the young King.

"Indeed my lord. Roads are the backbone of any civilisation as you are well aware. The one leading North connects Eastwood to Haystack Hall, the other goes West to Daegon's Valley and the one going East connects Eastwood to Stormtower Port."

The King's brow raised slightly upon hearing that.

"Impressive. Few Lords invest so greatly in developing their lands," he replied eventually.

"Perhaps. But these roads are investments that are already yielding great returns."

"Undoubtedly. But building roads is costly. Maintaining them even more so. They undoubtedly place great strain on your coffers."

"Maintaining the roads is undoubtedly costly. But the tolls charged more than cover that cost. And as far as building roads goes Your Grace, building regular roads with stone is costly. But when you use the Eastwood Concrete, the cost of material and labour is substantially reduced."

This was it. I had hoped that one day in the future I could present my concrete to Jaehaerys. He was the man who built the Kingsroad after all. But never in my wildest dreams had I imagined that it would happen so soon and in a manner so private. Here, on my rooftop, I had plenty of time and his undivided attention. I could not have asked for a better platform to pitch concrete to the King of Westeros.

"Concrete?"

Hook.

"A compound material manufactured by baking river rock. We produce it in great quantities down in Southwood and use it primarily for road building but have also found it to be suitable in constructing buildings as well."

"And you claim that your 'concrete' is a suitable alternative to stone?"

Line.

"Not just a suitable alternative my lord. It is superior. While concrete may not have the tensile strength of stone, it is significantly more malleable, cheaper to produce and easier to transport."

The King's brow nearly disappeared into his hairline as he considered my words.

"If what you are saying is true, Lord Aelon, then this 'Concrete' will undoubtedly have a great impact on some projects that I am planning. Perhaps you can bring a few samples to King's Landing once the situation has settled down here and I can have my own people test it."

Sinker.

"Of course Your Grace. I must anyways visit King's Landing soon. There appears to be some dispute regarding a tax on my whisky which I must deal with. I can bring my samples and the people in my employ who manufacture the concrete in case your good people have any questions," I replied as I held back the smile that was threatening to break out on my face.

"That would be splendid. If your concrete is as effective as you say it is, you will undoubtedly have done the Crown a great service."

"I am honoured, Your Grace."

"Let us turn away from matters of business, my Court is rather fond of your Eastwood Whisky…"

Look out King's Landing. Here I come.