*Clang*
My sword swung from right to left in a slash, connecting with his in the middle. Vibrations make there way down the blade and into my arms, making me cringe at the feeling as I try to break my sword away from the lock our two swords found themselves in. Ser Benedict pushed forward though, until our faces were just inches away from each other. The feeling of something wrap around one of my legs has me distracted, enough of a distraction that Ser Benedict only had to push a little before I found myself falling onto the hard gravelly floor.
Groaning at the sudden collision with the floor, I prop myself up on my elbows. "Your getting better." Ser Benedict tells me, he offers me a hand, which I grab and hold onto as he pulls me to my feet. "It would seem that your brother didn't take all the talent within your family."
I give a grunt in acknowledgement to his jape, causing him to let out a loud, boarish snigger. "I did terrible." I say morosely, "Eh, I'd say you ain't half bad. Give it a couple more months and you'll probably be better than half the Kingsguard." Ser Benedict tells me, giving me a little nod with that casual smirk he always seems to have on his face.
I scrunch up my nose, "That's not a very good compliment." Benedict gives a bark of laughter before telling me to go sit down and rest. As I make my way towards a bench, Benedict calls up my Page, Monty to have a bout with him. The past year and a half have been kind to Monty, The constant travel between Casterly Rock and his father's land has tanned his skin to a light orange and that lessons with Ser Benedict has developed a tiny bit of muscle on his figure, similar to his father though Monty will probably be a lot more leaner. Life at the Rock has also made him more outgoing and less shy, most likely due to the constant presence of other pages and squires residing within the Rock as well as chatting with Tyrion and I over any books he may have read within the library.
According to Ser Benedict, Monty is quite good for his age he has just not put in enough effort in his lessons prior to learning under Ser Benedict. However it is evident to most people that Monty's martial talent lies with a bow, whether that is due to his accuracy or how he holds a bow as naturally as a mother holding a babe, or so the local bowyer tells me.
The bench I'm sitting on creaks and sinks as another person sits down on it, I turn my head to see Ser Rylen sat there, hands on his knees and watching the spar going on between Ser Benedict and Monty. "He's not half bad" He says as he gestures to Monty.
I snort, "Funny, that's exactly how Benedict described me." I tell him after seeing him staring at me with a curious gaze.
We sit in silence for a while, watching as Monty tries to get a hit on the the Master-at-arms of Casterly Rock. "You know, I was your father's page once." He tells me. My eyebrows raise in surprise, I didn't know that. "And I was his squire, then a Knight in his service and then I found my way as his Steward, a man he trusts to run his keep when away. There isn't a greater honour for me than that" Rylen says as he looks me in the eye.
"I was a son of a dying house, old and kin to yours. I greatly respected your father when he took me on as his page, and that only grew in time. I've been with him through so many things: the War of the Ninepenny kings, the Tarbeck-Reyne rebellion, life at court, your mothers death and Roberts rebellion. I had wished that my sons could accompany you as I had your father and that one day you may trust them enough to be your steward." He gains a far, distant look in his eye. " I am getting old, I might not see the day you are named Lord of Casterly Rock. Should that ever happen you'll need a new steward, someone you can trust and rely on."
He turns his head back towards the two sparring, I follow his eyes as well as I realise what he is trying to tell me. "You think Monty could be my steward?" I ask. Ser Rylen simply smiles and gives a nod, "He may need some help with his confidence but I see the way he his around you, He respects you. Never doubt someone's respect, fear buys a person's loyalty for a time however that stops when they have something worse to fear, sometimes respect can give you a man's loyalty that can last a lifetime. That is something your father and sister struggle understand."
Rylen stares at me as I think over what he had just said, he smiles again shakes his head, "Anyway, I originally wanted to talk to you about something else before I got side-tracked." He elaborates at seeing my curious gaze, "I have received word that those potential uses of water wheels you suggested should work, in fact Jogg has had a few of his workers build one of those 'Trip hammers' you told me about in Lannisport."
That certainly caught my interest. I had needed a way for water to be pumped into the wheel line irrigation system and the only method of pumping I could think of utilised steam, which I am way of from. So I came up with the idea of using water wheels to pump water from lakes, wells and aquifers etc. Of course the water wheel has a lot more potential than for irrigation, I could make trip hammers that would help produce wrought iron and other metals, a stamp mill that would crush and break up ores, I could also mill flour, make paper or even make woollen clothes via a fulling mill.
Evidently if I am using a water wheel a water source is needed, fortunately streams coming down the mountains as well as the numerous lakes within the Westerlands make this issue much easier to solve. Also canals can be built connecting to the Sunset sea, which can be used for water wheels as well as an efficient method of transportation via barges. I have also set out making plans for several mill ponds to be constructed via either weirs or mill dams near a few of the more populated villages in the countryside, where they will be able to make the most use out of a mill pond.
"Is that all?" I ask, Rylen simply shakes his head, "Jogg also says that those wheels his making for you are going to take a little longer than expected, he explained that making all the different spokes is arduous." I nod my head at that. There's no rush, I expected that it may take a while as it is different from what Jogg would normally manufacture.
"That's it, steel production is at a constant rate, it would seem everything is going well. Ah, it would seem Montford and Ser Benedict are finished with their spar, I will take my leave." And with that, Ser Rylen leaves whilst nodding his head to both Monty and Benedict in farewell.
"Up you get Cerion, you've had your break." Ser Benedict says to me as Monty collapses onto the bench next to me, the opposite side of where Rylen was sitting. I get a clap on the back and a smile from Monty as a silent 'good luck' and I grab my blunted sword as I prepare to be thrown onto my ass by Ser Benedict for another time.
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"'ere you go love" Her client says, tossing a brown coin at her face before laughing at the sight as he stumbles his way home in a drunken stupor. An insulting action, he knew that and so did she. The woman looks at the copper star in her hands with an emotionless gaze, 'Not even enough for a common whore' though beggars can't be choosers and one copper star is better than none.
A flock of maids and servingwomen pour into the room, changing the stained bedsheets and freshening the air with scents of jasmine and other fragrances. She makes her way into the side room, a personal quarters for her. One room for business and the other for leisure. There she would clean and pamper herself with the expensive cosmetic paints and colourings the Madam would buy for her most skilled whores, then she would wait for the next man (or woman) to walk through the doors with enough money in their pocket.
Not the most pleasant life but one better than many, 'better than scrounging for food and shelter in the dark alleyways of Lys, and a much better than her previous life in Volantis as well.' she thought as she looks herself in her mirror, her long curly silver hair still glowed in the dark despite being marred by an assemblage of bodily fluids, pale white skin seemed to blend in with her, albeit ripped white dress. Her eyes were her favourite feature, a deep rich violet within a case shaped similar to an almond, a sign of her Valyrian ancestry. Though that visage was ruined by the little marking at the corner of her right eye, a small teardrop. One could easily pass it off as a birthmark or beauty mark if they were less knowledgeable than a few, it symbolises her time in Volantis and it goes hand in hand with the small leather choker around her neck.
Such irony, a culture of people famed for their use of slavery has diminished so much that some now sell to the highest bidder. Her ancestry now causes her pain, men who have suffered in the recent war now come to make her suffer, the cost of her Targaryen like looks and being a distant kin to them.
A knock on her door brought her out of her thoughts, "Alysanne, you have a new client, get ready in five minutes." The Madam's voice came through the door, leaving before I could reply as I knew what would happen if I wasn't ready by then.