-Chapter 48-
-POV MC-
-1st day of the 1st moon of the year 300 AC-
-King's Landing-
The new year, a day I had rarely celebrated in this world, but this year I decided to do it right. I organized a grand party to which all the lords of the Lannister-Tyrell-Connington alliance were invited.
I had had a colorful year, starting with Renly's death, the capture of Storm's End, and the annihilation of Stannis's army, then the complete destruction of Stannis's forces and Joffrey's death, my reconciliation with Cersei, my MARRIAGE to Cersei, her pregnancy, the death of my Uncle Jon Connington, and the Young Griff... or should I say the young dragon.
But I didn't stop there. Once the Golden Company fleet was sunk and absorbed, I directly annexed the Stepstones to the Seven Kingdoms while ensuring they were attached to the Stormlands.
I needed a good reason to maintain a permanent army of 30,000 soldiers and a fleet of 10,000 sailors.
An army that required me to spend 1 million gold dragons annually to arm, feed, and pay my men.
Sitting at my massive oak desk, a dim light filtered through the arched windows.
The Stormlands had always been a region of storms and turmoil, but under my rule, they had also become an industrial empire.
I opened my large ledger and began to review the numbers, recalling the wealth of House Connington that I had accumulated and which was growing day by day under my command.
The first figure that caught my eye was from the hydraulic factory, using the power of our region's roaring rivers. This marvel of engineering had turned beets into pure gold, quite literally.
With 500 tons of sugar processed, the revenues amounted to the equivalent of 5,000,000 gold dragons, an impressive figure reflecting the high demand for this luxury product.
Next, I examined our whiskey figures. My mechanical distilleries, powered by steam and water, had filled 350,000 bottles of this golden ambrosia.
The profits totaled a sum equivalent to 3,000,000 gold dragons. The bottles of different qualities were selling like hotcakes, attesting to the refined taste of our consumers.
Our warehouses were also full of vodka, and my figures showed a production of 850,000 bottles, with combined revenues amounting to 2,750,000 gold dragons. I knew this product would be a constant source of wealth for years to come.
Brandy, the drink of the elites, also had its own columns in my ledger. 700,000 bottles sold translated into 2,400,000 gold dragons. Every drop of this harsh and sweet liquor assured me of its value.
Turning the pages, I came across the figures for grenadine and brown sugar, produced in our steam factory.
The sale of grenadine alone had brought in 1,000,000 gold dragons, 1 gold dragon per bottle of grenadine was the price of news and good things.
'But a product to watch closely due to its short shelf life,' I noted mentally.
Brown sugar, more expensive to produce but also more lucrative, had generated an impressive income of 8,000,000 gold dragons.
Finally, chocolate, sweet and rich, produced in three delicious varieties, three tons sold, equating to an income of 3,000,000 gold dragons. Each jar of this delicacy represented a small treasure.
As I closed the ledger, I leaned back in my chair, contemplating the vast wealth I had accumulated with satisfaction.
With annual revenues exceeding 25,000,000 gold dragons, I knew the Stormlands, under my governance, had prospered far beyond my wildest dreams.
But my wealth didn't stop there because I had taken it upon myself to kidnap Littlefinger while he was traveling to the Eyrie.
---
-Flashback-
I had always considered myself a man of reason rather than cruelty, but there are moments when dark necessities dictate dark actions.
Littlefinger, Petyr Baelish by his real name, had always been a silent player, pulling the strings of Westeros from the shadows.
His reputation as a cunning fox had always preceded him, but capturing him had been surprisingly easy. I had feared he might escape me, but once he was in my possession, I knew I held the key to many secrets and immense wealth.
My dungeon was dark, damp, with a moonlit smell, the dim torchlight casting flickering shadows on the stone walls.
In the center of the room, Littlefinger was tied up, his clothes torn, and his face bruised. He looked exhausted, but his eyes betrayed a glimmer of stubborn hope.
"You'll get nothing from me, Connington," he growled, giving me a contemptuous look.
I smiled, showing Littlefinger the confidence I had in my plan. "I don't need to, Petyr. I have a special guest who will do it for me."
It was at that moment that Robar Royce entered, disguised as an executioner, his imposing stature reinforced by a frightening mask hiding his true identity.
Littlefinger would never recognize him under this costume because Robar and I had devised this plan together, wanting to uncover all his little secrets.
Robar approached Littlefinger and grabbed his chin, forcing him to look up at him.
"You will tell me everything you know, Baelish," he growled in a menacing voice.
Petyr Baelish laughed weakly and said, "And who are you to ask me that?"
Before he could react, Robar placed a cold dagger against Littlefinger's throat.
"I am your worst nightmare," he replied coldly.
The following hours were a mix of screams, pleas, and revelations. Littlefinger, despite his reputation as cunning and crafty, could not resist the pain inflicted by Robar.
He revealed plots, intrigues, betrayals, and especially his interactions with Lysa Arryn and the news that little Robin Arryn was not Jon Arryn's son but Baelish's bastard.
When the sun began to rise, we had everything we needed. I nodded to Robar, grateful for his crucial role in this endeavor.
He removed his mask, letting Littlefinger see his true face for the first time. Baelish's eyes widened in surprise, as everyone thought him dead, but before he could say a word, Robar gagged him again.
"It was a flawless performance, Robar," I said, smiling because I now knew all the places where Baelish had hidden his gold, his account books, and all his spies and establishments.
He nodded and then said, "It's time for the world to see the real face of Littlefinger."
I looked at Littlefinger, his eyes full of betrayal and rage, and said, "Don't blame me, I know you wanted to be king, but in the end, you are just a small man with delusions of grandeur. You had neither the blood, the means, nor the strength to be king. You played a dangerous game, Petyr, and now you're paying the price."
We left the dungeon, leaving Littlefinger in the hands of his guards, knowing that the truth about his machinations would soon be revealed to all of Westeros.
-End of Flashback-
---
He owned inns and brothels worth 7 million gold dragons and earning at least 2 million gold dragons annually.
I directly sold all the inns and brothels because I didn't want to be associated with that kind of trade for a sum of 9 million gold dragons... yes, I must admit I know how to negotiate.
With various other businesses, notably silk and spices, I had accumulated this year a fortune of 13.2 million silver stags, 12 million silver moons, and 38 million gold dragons.
10 million gold dragons to reinvest everything in my cities and complete the construction of a wall and housing for my initial plans: 100,000 people in Griffin's Den City, Griffin's Rock City, Griffin's Cave City, while for Griffin City I wanted to expand this city enough to accommodate 1 million people at full capacity.