AC 51
The polished and carved wood was a beautiful piece of art. The golden eagle stood pronounced on the backrest of the chair, or throne rather. I had indulged myself a year ago and commissioned it upon completion of the outer wall. It sat in the much improved main hall of Eastwood castle. Hanging from the rails of the observation floor on the mezzanine were banners stitched with the sigil of my house. Slightly ostentatious, but projecting wealth was an important part of being a lord.
Today was my fifteenth birthday, and it was celebrated with a feast. Advisors and leaders of Eastwood Whisky and other such ventures were all present at the feast. Many raised from near poverty as they were rewarded for their competent service. They formed the 'court' of Eastwood.
Much had occurred in the past two years.
Eastwood now stood at a population of slightly over five thousand, more immigrants seemingly joining the settlement every few weeks. Some from the many surrounding farms located on my lands, and some from neighbouring provinces seeking better-paid work. With the settlement ever-expanding and my wealth from trade growing with every shipment, I had upgraded the weak wooden palisade with a thin stone wall. I had also set the wall further out than the original to give some growing room. Though if the current rate of expansion continued, and I believed it would do, I would eventually need to build a further set of walls or risk slums developing as the smallfolk clambered over each other to live together within the cramped space.
The test for crop rotation had turned out less success than he had hoped. It had originally only further increased Armon's disagreement with my plans. I had refused to be beaten so easily though, and it had been a case of matching the correct crops. His lands had seen yield increased by roughly thirty percent on the lands that had taken part. Maester Armon, after seeing my idea turn out so well, had at first been shocked and finally acquiesced to my desires and all my farmlands were now beginning to use the new system. I had made no further forays into innovation after that. I still desired to somewhat stay under the radar after all.
As it turned out, I hadn't any need to go looking for alchemists and pyromancers. Many acolytes from the Citadel never forge their chain and make their formal oaths. A few had been found after I put out a call for educated people. They had been instrumental in asserting more direct control and keeping records about the populace. Any good leader knows how to delegate after all.
The most important innovation on my part had been the recipe for concrete. Eastwood had doubled in size in my short tenure. It had soon become clear that expansion could not be kept up with at the current building speeds. Concrete seemed to be the best solution. The only thing I had been able to remember about it was that the cement aspect contained lime. Luckily, that was a compound well known to Maester Armon and considering my previous successes he had put up very little fight over this new idea. At fifteen years old I was fast approaching age of legally recognised majority in Westeros anyway.
Only one of my plans had failed. It had not been spectacular in nature as I was cautious to attempt it anyway. That plan being to develop a small port at the site of the fishing village near Eastwood. It was sadly not meant to be. I had only built the main harbour structure and a single trade vessel before a great storm passed over and destroyed much of what had been built. After that failure, I had resigned myself to trading only over land. Considerable wealth for a lesser lord had already found its way into my coffers through established land trade routes and if that was all I could manage it was no bad thing.
I downed the small cup of whisky after I finished eating. Feeling the warm liquid burn my chest. The whisky was far better now that it had time to age. Considering it was my birthday I had decided to break out a few of the first casks I had made.
Sat on the slightly elevated throne in the main hall as people danced and ate. I felt a distance between myself and those around me that had never really been there before. As a boy and lord of poor and petty lands, those around me had treated me as a petty lord and a child.
At fifteen, I stood taller than most of the men around me at a solid six feet. No longer seen as a child, my advisors and trusted members of my business ventures now gave me respect that had previously been lacking. Contrary to what I may have once thought, I missed that. I felt lonely now, in a way I hadn't since I first entered Westeros six years ago.
I exhaled softly and took a deep breath. There is no use lamenting what was. I have achieved most of what I set out to. Certainly, nothing to feel sorry about. From blacksmith's apprentice to merchant lord. A feat not many could boast.
"My lord." A rather pretty girl said, gently inclining her head to me.
In my self deprecating stupor, I had failed to see her approach.
I gave her a wry grin. "My lady." I recognised her as the daughter of Bryan, the man who had risen to prominence in my company.
She blushed. "Lord Aelon, I was wondering if you would like to dance with me."
I frowned slightly. Dancing was not something I had any experience in. Not something I had even considered in either of my lives, besides the nightclub two-step every man did.
I winced. "I am afraid dancing is not a strong suit of mine."
She frowned slightly and then smiled. "I can show you how."
Damn my hormones. I stood up. "Let us dance then." In my defence, it was a very pretty smile.
I heard Ser Morden cough out a laugh at the sight of me being dragged onto the dancefloor.
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Maester Armon
Being the Maester of Eastwood had been a dull affair. Condemned to life in a small keep without a lord had been a harsh sentence. I had always dreamed of life in a greater castle, perhaps even a great castle of the realm. Joining the Maester's was my attempt to explore and see more of the world and yet for a few years after my assignment I had seen nothing.
That had all changed when Aelon was made lord. At first I had thought him touched. Oh his mind was not dull, as sharp as any knight's blade, but he was a visionary and visionaries never fulfilled their dreams. There was an order to the world, a way things had been and would always be.
Until there was not. Aelon, in his short tenure as lord, had both frustrated and astounded me. Defying all that I had known my whole life, he rose from being the bastard grandson of a well-known rapist, to a merchant lord with growing wealth and prestige. I often wondered where his ideas came from, whether he experienced the dreams told of other Valyrian descendants or not. Regardless he was a remarkable young man, and despite not always seeing eye to eye with him, I had grown to like him.
He had proved himself more than capable of ruling, and certainly capable of running a business. Even one growing as fast as Eastwood Whisky.
I thanked the seven that even with his ideas he still allowed me to advise him and did not march furiously towards his own failures. I had argued against his implementation of what he called 'four-field crop rotation', and managed to get him to allow me to manage it on test lands rather than across the entire scope of his farms.
I had expected complete failure and instead been rather surprised that, after some experimentation, it was a resounding success. I soon realised that it was merely a step in his plans though, with productivity per acre increased, less people were required on his farms and they made their way into Eastwood looking for work. Convenient that such had happened just a year after he had complained of needing workers.
Such was often the case with Aelon. Individually his ideas seemed folly, but taking a step back you could observe patterns and understand fully the scope of his plans. Everything was connected, I just did not know for what purpose.
The failure of his port was a confusing time, Aelon had spent weeks planning it all and yet did not seem overly frustrated at its loss to the great storm. I confess that I had failed on my part. I had not advised against his attempt to build the docks and what he had described as a 'pier'. Yet he was fifteen now, and the time for me to get out of his way or find myself between him and his ambitions.
Every time I think I understand Aelon, the more questions arise. I merely hoped that he knew what he was doing.
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Bruce Buckler
Ser Bruce Buckler was old. Long past were the days of his youth. He had been alive to see the last Storm King die in the flames, or hear about it from behind his mother's skirts he supposed. Many interesting things had happened in his long life. The years of uncertainty after Aegon's the Dragon's conquest. The years of uncertainty when Maegor seized the throne.
The most interesting in recent years was the sudden rise of one Lord Aelon Eastwood. The bastard son of a bastard son of house Qoherys. Bruce supposed it would make a good song one day at the very least.
Before Aelon had visited Storm's End to accept his lordship, earned by the death of his father. He had not expected much of the boy, Lord Rogar had instructed Bruce to welcome him to the Stormlands and to send a trustworthy man with Aelon when he departed to ensure no foolish action on behalf of the boy. The lands he was gifted were nothing special, a meagre fishing village on the bay and some timber yards were the extents of the lands. A good gift and not much else for Storm's End.
After meeting the boy however, Bruce had found him strange. At the age of twelve he spoke as if he had lived a lifetime. Yet Ser Buckler had wished him well on his journey and expected never to hear of him again.
Aelon had proceeded to entirely defy expectations.
Where once was subsistence farming and a poor keep. Now stood a castle in its own right, with a town to its name rather than a mere village. A town numbering around five thousand occupants if Ser Morden's reports were to be believed.
Yet the most impressive feat was not in his mysterious invention 'whisky' but in his exploits into farming. The first tests Aelon had run were entirely unimpressive, but after a bit of experimentation, he had managed to increase productivity half again what it had been. Completely unprecedented.
Ser Bruce had dutifully reported such in his writings to Lord Rogar, to much scepticism and disbelief. Those hands which once toiled and maintained land were now free to join the Eastwood Whisky enterprise, the extra tax earned from Eastwood was not an amount to be dismissed. Lords all across the Stormland's loved the stuff. Reportedly even Lord Rogar and the King's Court.
He took a sip from his cup, relishing the burning warmth that erupted in his chest. Bruce admitted a fondness for the drink himself. Was not every Stormlander an avid drinker?
As his thoughts mulled around the happenings of the land, he was interrupted by a dullness spreading through his left arm, followed by a drooping face and a slowing of thought. He must have consumed more whisky than he at first thought.
He attempted to stand and found his left leg entirely uncooperative, ending up in a pile on the floor. Ser Bruce attempted to call for help but incoherent murmurings were the only response from his lips. As darkness encroached, he was glad he had seen so much of life. For he would see no more.
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The guard outside my solar knocked and entered. The golden eagle proudly displayed on his chest.
"My lord, Maester Armon wishes to speak with you." He said as he bowed.
"Send him in."
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.
"My lord, firstly, the works on the town streets have begun. I estimate the work will take about four moons to be completed."
"That's excellent news. Have you had a count done on my current gold assets?" I questioned. Armon dealt with the majority of my finances.
"I have Aelon. Despite you working to bankrupt yourself with investment in infrastructure. You currently hold twenty thousand dragons in the treasury. 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. 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.
"If I may, my lord. There is a matter I would like to discuss with you." The maester said somewhat nervously.
I frowned, "What is it?"
"Well, you are now five and ten. An age at which many men have been married at. Have you thought to consider 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. 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." I frowned.
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, 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.
"I will uh, peruse these later. There is something I would like to discuss with you whilst you are here maester."
Armon nodded at me.
"After failing utterly at creating a sea trade route, I reason that I will be conducting business predominately overland for the moment. As such I would like to ask your opinion on a new project. With a proper road, immigrants will find it much easier to get here from the west. It would also improve our trading capacity with Storm's End and further throughout the kingdoms." Armon's brows scrunched together in thought.
Armon dryly remarked. "I assume, my lord, that you would wish the most expensive road possible to be built?"
I laughed. "If by that you mean, I would wish a road better than a dirt path to be made, then you would be correct. Ideally the road would start going from here to Storm's End. I believe that once other lords and Lord Rogar in particular see the benefit of it we may be able to gather investment from elsewhere to continue the project." Go big or go home. Might as well build something that will be useful for centuries to come if properly maintained.
"I will run the sums and get back to you soon. In the meantime, I suggest you carefully read through my list of marriageable ladies." I blinked, he had actually winked at me.
Last edited: Jul 6, 2020
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