Maekar was having a good dream; he was surrounded by beautiful women—naked women. He sat on a throne as the women attended to his every need. This was everything he wanted in life made real.
A beautiful, buxom blonde approached him, her eyes filled with desire and a devious smile on her lips. She knelt down before him.
"What do you need, my king?" she asked.
"I think you already know what I want," he replied.
She smiled and leaned in, taking his cock into her mouth...
And just as the fun began, he woke up.
'Damn, that was a good dream,' he thought, still disoriented from waking.
'Strange,' he thought, feeling the same feeling he was beginning to have in his dream. He lifted his head and looked down to see a beautiful redhead, her voluptuous lips engulfing his cock.
He couldn't help but laugh as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. "This is a great wakeup call, Ros," he said, his voice laced with pleasure.
Ros smiled, taking his cock from her mouth and looking up at him with playful eyes. "I believe this is called a Dornish good morning?" she purred.
Maekar raised an eyebrow. "Oh, I've never heard of that one."
"My madame used to work in Dorne," she said, giving a lick to the underside of his cock, which sent shivers down his spine.
He had met Ros last year when he was visiting the brothel in Wintertown; she had become his regular. When he learned she could read and write, he made her an offer she couldn't refuse.
"What time is it?" he asked.
"Almost evening," she replied.
"What? Fuck, I'm late," he said, sitting up.
"Oh, you don't want to finish?" she pouted, a look of disappointment crossing her features.
"We can finish this tonight. Meet me in the workshop, and have the workers bring the machines to the central chamber. I will be showing them to my uncle today," he said, getting dressed.
Ros slid off the bed gracefully, quickly adjusting her dress to cover herself appropriately. She smoothed the fabric with her hands, ensuring everything looked orderly, and glanced at Maekar with a slightly amused expression.
"One of the guards told me earlier that your uncle was looking for you," she said, tying back a stray lock of hair that had fallen loose during their earlier activity. "He asked for you to meet him at his solar before supper."
He paused in the midst of lacing up his boots, his brow furrowing slightly at the information. "Great," he replied. "I'll bring him to the workshop after."
With a confident stride, he walked out of the chamber thinking of a lie to tell his aunt why he was so late to wake.
'I think it's best I avoid her today especially with her angry at uncle Brandon' he thought.
As he meandered through the corridors of the castle, he spotted a servant girl approaching with a tray full of steamed buns. The dish had become a favorite in Winterfell and other castles in the north after he had told the head cook how to make it.
Curious and a bit peckish, he intercepted the girl. "Who are these for?" he inquired, nodding towards the tray.
"They're for the steward, m'prince," the servant girl replied, adjusting her hold on the tray to keep it steady.
His grin turned mischievous. "Well... He won't miss one," he declared, swiftly swiping a bun from the tray. Before the servant could protest, he was already striding away from her, leaving a trail of amused looks from the people around him.
Savoring the warm, soft bun as he walked, he made his way toward the workshop. It stood where the broken tower once had. The tower was demolished under his uncle's orders and rebuilt into something far grander and more practical. It had become a mini citadel of sorts, bustling with workers and acolytes Luwin had taken under his wing. The building had been finished only a few months ago and was still being furnished. For the last month, they had been assembling machines that would create a whole new industry here in the north.
He entered the workshop to see Maester Luwin inspecting a large framed object in his hands.
"What's that you've got there?" he inquired, his curiosity piqued as he approached.
"It is a gift to Lord Stark from the merchant who oversees our ice trade in King's Landing," Luwin explained, his voice carrying a hint of amusement.
"So why is it here and not with my uncle?" he asked in confusion.
Luwin turned the frame around for him to see, revealing a meticulously detailed painting of the Red Keep.
Maekar's eyes widened in understanding as he looked at the painting.
"I thought it wise to intercept this before it reached your uncle," he confessed, setting the painting on a nearby table carefully. "Given his… feelings towards your father's family."
Maekar laughed, a rich, hearty laugh that echoed slightly in the vast room. "Either the merchant is an idiot, or he has a good sense of humor… It's good that you took it. Uncle would probably have thrown it into the fire without a second glance."
As Luwin gently set the painting down, Maekar found his gaze lingering on the image of the Red Keep. A rush of memories, not entirely his own, surged through his mind. It was always a surreal experience, recalling the snippets of life from the six-year-old Maekar Targaryen—the original soul of the body he now inhabited.
Ten years had passed since he woke up on a beach, disoriented and alone, found by men loyal to House Manderly. Adjusting to his new reality was challenging, but he was able to do it after some time. His uncles Brandon Eddard and Benjen had welcomed with open arms even Aunt Ashara Eddard's wife showed no coldness towards him considering she was once the queen's handmaiden and still continued to be friends.
He had the memories of the six-year-old Maekar who had died at sea, memories of a lonely boy who wondered why his father did not like him.From what he tried to understand from these memories at the Red Keep, Maekar was shunned at court, and Rhaegar, whether due to not caring or guilt over his actions with his mother, seldom visited the boy.
The last memories of little Maekar were the most painful—the ship attack, the cold, dark waters engulfing him as he drowned. The boy had died afraid and alone, and these moments were the hardest for him to relive. Sometimes he wished he could shed these memories, but a part of him wanted to find the people who had plotted the death of a child.
'Not now,' he thought.
He needed to gain more power after adjusting to his life in this new body as Maekar Targaryen. He had promised himself something: he had been given an opportunity to live in this new fantasy realm;
Why not live it to the fullest?
Why not enjoy the pleasures of life?
Why not rise to the very top?
Even in his previous life, he was a very ambitious man, and that drive had never faded away. He wished to climb to the very top of the ladder, and here, at the very top, was the Iron Throne. And he was only third in line to the throne well….fifth if he included his sister and uncle.
He was still considered a bastard by some in the south.
He started this climb by helping his uncle. He had suggested selling ice to the south and the Free Cities.
At first, his uncle laughed it off, but with the support of Maester Luwin, he showed his uncle how ice could be insulated using sawdust and straw. He explained to him how they could cut large chunks of ice from beyond the Wall or from frozen lakes in the North itself, and transport them by sea to the Free Cities and the cities in the south. It would only partially melt, and there would be plenty left, which could be stored in ice houses that they would build in the city and the be sold.
They tried it first with Braavos, and seeing the increase in popularity and the coin made from the first few months of trade, his uncle threw his full support behind him. They partnered with various merchants, influential figures, and lords across cities on the coast of the Narrow Sea. These partnerships were crucial, as they provided the local knowledge and infrastructure necessary to establish and maintain the ice houses.
It had become a luxury product in the south and the Free Cities, and his uncle and the lords of the north now held a monopoly on this trade.
He was not done yet after the success of the ice trade and seeing how expensive parchment was, he decided to introduce more durable paper here.
Leveraging the abundant timber resources of the North, his venture into paper-making had started as a modest endeavor which he thought would take some time to get going but it quickly caught the attention of customers far and wide. The Free Cities, with their vast networks of scholars, traders, and bureaucrats, emerged as the primary customers, drawn by the cost-effectiveness and quality of the paper compared to traditional parchment.
It got so popular that they could not keep up with the demand, so he had to think of a way to increase the production. This led to him deciding to harness the power of water. The North had many rivers and streams; uncle Brandon with his urging decided to create a village near Winterfell where a branch of the White Knife flowed. There, he and Luwin created watermills to harness the power of running water.
This helped in mechanizing the process of pulping and automating the pressing of pulp into sheets of paper. With the success of the first watermill, they made multiple water mills, and soon the village grew into a small town, which his uncle named Maekarton in his honor. His uncle had also granted permission for other lords to do the same, provided they pay a special tax to him yearly which he also charged for the ice trade.
The watermills were also being adapted to other sectors, especially in agriculture.
With Uncle Brandon crediting his success to him, he was well-known and respected in the North. Even though he held the name Targaryen.
His fame was also increasing in the South, according to his burgeoning network of spies which Ros had been helping him build.The primary source of this network were whores who worked in brothels—a tactic he had taken from the playbook of Littlefinger himself.
He was broken from his thoughts as he watched the workers brought out the machines he and Luwin had been working on for over a year, something that was going to make the North a fortune and kickstart a new industry.
Ros
.
.
This is part 1 of this chapter.
A lot of exposition to set up the MC and what happened in the 10 years he has been here.
If there is any confusion regarding the part where he talks about six year old Maekar's Memories.
Here is how the MC arrived in this world.
Six year old Maekar Targayen is sent to the north according to the deal struck by Brandon and Rheagar.
His ship is attacked and he drowns.
The MC wakes up in Maekars body washed up on a beach and found by Manderly men.
The MC has memories of Maekar and his time in the red keep and that he drowned so he knows someone is out to get him.