4th Moon 124AD
The winters of Westeros weren't so epic as George had made them out to be. It made sense really. The sort of winters that he described would have seen a vastly different ecological system to Westeros rather than the near earth one that existed.
That and the fact that any sort of civilisation of humans would have been wiped out comprehensively from the years long winters. No-one beyond the wall would even be alive.
What did the people on the net call it again? The words or the concept was foggy but it was there, in the dark recesses of my mind, just out of reach, tantalizing and almost as if it was taunting me. I shook my head of the thought, even as annoying as it was.
All that mattered was the seasons of Westeros were not like how I remembered George wrote them.
Westeros had four seasons, tamer than I would somewhat suspect when it came to winter, but every now and then, at random intervals, these 'long winters' I came to call them came and stayed for months that turned to years before disappearing and making way for spring.
I quite liked that.
The thought of winter lasting for years on end horrified me. I could never deal with the cold and it seemed that was something I shared in this new body of mine, even if it was more physically fit than my old one.
Twelve years.
I have been a Tully for twelve years and have ruled the Riverlands as its king for just as long.
I somewhat felt the need to toast myself a glass for making it this long. Things had been relatively quiet and I honestly couldn't help but wonder when the major fuck-up was going to come from. Or maybe it was never going to come.
Perhaps I was just being too paranoid by half.
"Father," Cirilla Tully looked up at me with big, deep blue eyes. "Is something the matter?"
Yes, I had named my daughter after a video-game character and I was not ashamed to admit it. A video-game that had made quite an impact on me when I had played it. So much of an impact I still remembered it to this day.
One of my regrets and the things I missed about back home. I had aimed to play the first two games from that trilogy and perhaps even delve into writing a few fanfics about the setting, Nilfgaard in Planetos or the Old Continent.
That would have been amusing.
I never got the chance to read many of the books that I wanted to read, nor live the life the mundane life that I was going to live.
Hm, how queer, it seemed all my held back angsting about my situation was all coming out now. Hopefully, I won't break down into tears. That, and the fact angsting was something I considered beneath me.
I was still very much of the juvenile thought that angsting was very much emo in nature.
"Just thinking child." I replied with a smile at my firstborn, taking a moment to ruffle her hair as she giggled at the action. "Have you done your work?"
She nodded as she held up a piece of paper with workings on it. I took the paper and looked over the numbers on it and nodded. "Well done and you showed your working out as well. I'm sure the Grand Maester will be pleased."
As a side effect of my time here, I had by complete accident, introduced long division and multiplication. Considering the advances that Westeros and the rest of the world had, I was honestly surprised that particular basic mathematics wasn't actually a thing.
I mean, capable of building medieval skyscrapers but some basic division involving several digits was beyond them? That was weird. I hadn't even seen anything resembling an abacus during my time here.
She beamed at my praise as I gave her the paper back. Ciri was a strange child, I never knew anyone who would be so pleased to be doing homework.
Homework had been the bane of my educational life but she thoroughly enjoyed it. Clearly, she hadn't taken this aspect from me but from her mother. That was the only thing that could explain the oddity.
"Do you know what you will be learning tomorrow?" I asked, as I picked the little girl up and placed her on my knee.
She fretted some as she made herself comfortable before she answered me. "Well, in the morning I'm learning more Numbers, History, Valyrian" She began to count off. "Then after that lunch, it's Valyrian Dialects, Poetry and Music."
I ruffled her hair once more. "I'm sure you'll do well. You and your brother are very smart. Smarter than your father and mother combined." Jaime said as much and I doubted the guy would lie to me about that sort of thing.
She giggled as she tried to throw my hands away from messing her dark auburn hair too much. "No-one's as smart as you, silly!"
If only that was true.
***
The pea whistle blew loud and shrilly, stopping the game right then and there. I marched onto the field and pointed at Willem-right, excuse me- Ser Willie Darklyn now and thumbed in the direction of the sidelines. "Alright, you're off."
His jaw dropped. "W-What? But your grace, that was a fair tackle!"
Like fuck it was. "You had your hands hooked around his neck. That's not a fair tackle in the slightest. I'm sure I explained the rules perfectly when I came up with this game. No tackles to the neck. Illegal." I thumbed again in the direction of the sideline. "You're off."
"Understood, your grace..." He said, his head hanging down as he made a slow march to the sidelines.
I picked up the ball and looked at the gaggle of lordlings that stood awkwardly in front of me and I rubbed the bridge of my nose. "I'll say it once more. No tackles to the neck. If you end up breaking someone's neck with such a stupid tackle, don't expect me to cover up your stupidity," I looked them all down sternly before I shrugged. "But that won't make me stop you lot from having your fun though. Just be careful about it, my castle doctors have been complaining about the constant work you lot give them. Then again, I am paying for them to do just that, but cut the guys some slack, would you?" We shared a chuckle before I threw the ball back into the middle of the group. "Alright, at it again. Red is trailing by seven points and you have a quarter hour left. Let's see if you can turn this around."
I walked away and blew the pea whistle again and I didn't need to turn around to know that the lordlings had immediately jumped onto the ball ready to play again.
I don't know what exactly it is. It was something like Gaelic football, but at the same time, it was something like Rugby. They kicked the ball and they also threw it, sideways like rugby and they lined up in a Gaelif-esque football formation.
Whatever the fuck this sport from hell had come around (my fault really, I got a bit wee drunk) from, it was beholden of me that it didn't kill too many people. Therefore, rules had to be drawn from the rules of both sports that I could remember and from nothing more than common sense.
At the rate this was going, this sport was bound to somehow need padding like American football for the type of hits that seemed to occur.
"I admit, I was at fault, your grace." Willem Darklyn said as I came to stand beside him at the sidelines, both of us standing inbetween cheering teammates and spectators, both highborn and lowborn. This new sport from hell had become quite popular, quite quickly. There was a profit to be had from this, I was sure of it. "That was a dangerous tackle and I could have snapped Harys' neck. The Pipers would not have liked that."
I inclined my head as I accepted the apology. It was a complete and utter shame that I was the only one with a reasonable head enough to make sure to referee these things objectively enough. The other referees had to be 'convinced' to be fair and impartial or else.
"No. No, they would not have." It annoyed me greatly that the lordlings that had come to court found this sport so fun to play, despite the sheer heart attacks I swore I had every single time I saw a particularly hard tackle. Thank the gods that I had made it paramount that they all wore some padded clothing to limit the damage and a helmet as well. "You got lost in the game, it happens. Happens to me as well, but just treat the game as if you were in battle. If you lose your head, you lose your head. It's best to make sure that the blood doesn't rise to your head, lest you pay for it."
The young ser nodded his head before groaning when one of his teammates was tackled out of bounds just before the try line or he could take a shot at goal. Like I said, I didn't know what the fuck this sport was. It sort of reminded me of Gaelic football but it had been a long, long while since I last played that particular sport.
"How's your sister?" I asked.
"She's doing well." A smile spread across his lips. "I'm soon to be an uncle again. She writes that her belly grows big with child once more."
I gave him a clap on the back. "Well done, celebrations are in order I say! I would send her some Riverlands finest, but women shouldn't drink whilst pregnant." It was amusing that one of my former hostages now counted a brood that was bigger than mine.
He looked at me apologetically. "She begs to name the child after you if it's a boy."
"I thought she didn't like me much." I asked with a raised eyebrow of amusement. "She never gave the sort of impression that she...respected me all that much all those years ago."
He laughed sheepishly. "I wouldn't say that your grace..."
"It doesn't matter, she can have my leave if she wishes to name her child after me. Best she doesn't though, don't you say?"
He smiled as he nodded in agreement. "I can agree to that." He shifted closer to me and leaned his head slightly closer to mine before he spoke lowly in a whisper. "There is something urgent that I must bring up in the Cabinet later on, your grace. It's just whispers but it might pertain to the future of the kingdom."
I didn't look at him, but I made a subtle nod of the head just enough for him to see.
It seemed this peace couldn't last for long after all.
***
The Cabinet meeting room was held in the smaller hall above the Great Hall of Riverrun. My Cabinet was a means of helping me running the kingdom by delegating duty to hopefully competent lords, considering I had yet to see the smallfolk rising up against their lords or lords rising up against me, it seemed to be going well.
But apparently, this honeymoon period of mine was to soon come to an end if Willem's wanting to bring something up in this coming meeting was true.
We met once every week when we could, some of them came every month, like Ser Patrek, his duties requiring him to be further away than most, barring any emergencies of any kind that would call for a sudden meeting out of the blue. I was the first to arrive and I sat at the head of the table in the king's chair, idly resting my head propped up by an arm leaning on top of the armrest.
I could hear the shuffling of feet as they made their way up the stairs.
The first to enter was my First Minister and chief advisor, my goodfather Lord Samwell Mooton. A little cabinet reshuffle had seen him kicked upstairs and he seemed to be doing the job well enough. His hair had lost some of its colour and there was now more noticeable signs of wear and tear on his face as he continued further onto his middle ages, but he was still a hale and healthy man.
Lyam Mallister my chief diplomat was the next one to enter, smiling at me as he strode into the office with the confidence of a man who had grown into his role of maintaining relationships with the other kingdoms.
My new finance minister was the next man to enter, a distant relation of mine and Lyam's, a senechal to House Mallister, Olyvar Mallister. My nuncle and Lyam had vouched for him and I trusted both of them so I had passed that particular position to him, that meant four of the cabinet was firmly on the side of the Tullys in terms of representation and powers.
Lady Anya Bracken was next to enter, a little on in the years, but like Lord Mooton, she got on with it. Her appointment to my cabinet had caused something of a scandal, her being a woman and all, but she had been pretty much the first of my supporters when it came to the greater lords of the realm. I just thought this as nothing more than a belayed reward for that support.
And anyway, whatever critics she had of her because of her sex, she had shown herself capable to her job as my minister of justice. Only the truly misogynistic lords still had a problem with her having a seat around this particular table, but they were smart enough to keep that to themselves.
Ser Willem Darklyn and Lord Brandon Blackwood where the next to enter, quietly talking amongst themselves. Those two got along quite well, despite the both of them being my spymasters. Ser Willem in charge of keeping of affairs we should be aware of abroad and the other of affairs we should be aware of at home.
Ser Patrek marched in next, face stern and eyes hard, dressed in the uniforms of the Army of the Trident and behind him, Ser Guyard Cox, First Lord of the Admiralty, dressed in faded blues of that particular branch of the kingdom's armed forces. Lord Matthis Butterwell, the agricultural minister walked in next, patting a white handkerchief upon his persons, how he was able to sweat so in winter was beyond me, with Lord Benjamin Buckwell showing himself next as my minister of commerce. Last but not least was my Grand Maester Jaime who took a seat opposite that of the first minister.
I rose from my seat when the first of my cabinet had shown himself and had waited standing up for the rest to file into the room. Now that they were all here, I inclined my head slightly to them. "My lords, thank you all for making it to this meeting. So, let's get started, shall we?" I finished with a nod to the scribe at the side whose job was to record the contents of such meetings.
The benefits of bureaucracy.
We all took out seats, but Lord Butterwell noticed that one among our number was amiss. "Are we to not wait for Ser Franklyn?" He asked, stuffing his handkerchief into the sleeve of his long-sleeved doublet.
"The ser has been busy as of late with the many of his tasks." Answered Lord Mooton as he opened a ledger of notes. "He is overseeing the last of the route for the grand canal that will connect the Bay of Crabs with that of Ironman Bay."
Ser Guyard stroked the goatee that hanged around his chin excitedly as he spoke. "So, it's to finally be built? Bout time I say!"
"Well, there were other affairs to be handled first before we could begin to even think of building it." Lord Mooton replied.
I was sure that he wasn't just excited at the prospect of all that potential trade that would pass through Saltpans at the mouth of the Trident. That was probably more than enough to set him salivating at the mouth.
The meeting then proceeded to go about as normal. Lord Butterwell said all was good with stocks for the winter, that they had more grain and foods to feed the people. "Our southern lands continue to grow crops as well! No-one shall die of starvation in our northern lands at this rate!" He boasted as he continued to talk, as well about the grain shipments being sent north to someone I considered still too early to call an ally.
Lyam spoke all was well with ties with the north, that we were busy making friends with promiment and lowly houses, yet we weren't still close enough to getting our hands on some ironwood. Torrhen really didn't feel like selling that wood to anybody, but I told him to continue to tell his agents to continue to petition the winter king.
He had to break at some point or there had to be something that he wanted.
"Though Lord Marq Vance has been telling me of some interesting developments at the Eyrie Court." Lyam said as he spoke of the kingdom to our east. "The king and his brother don't like each other much, the younger jealous of the crown that rests on the older's head."
Oh right, I remember something about them two. Something, something, about a king who flew?
Ser Willem nodded his head as he agreed with what Lyam was saying. "Although it's not from the halls of power like that of Lyam, sailors and merchants speak of Essosi ships travelling from Essos to the Sistermen."
"A civil war then?" Lord Buckwell asked with a grunt. "That won't do. We trade a fair bit with Gulltown and the Vale in general."
Some of my lords couldn't believe the notion of such a thing. "The Arryns are of the noblest Andal blood, surely they wouldn't fall to the lowest form of Kinslaying!" Ser Guyard Cox let out, aghast at the thought apparently.
"Men will be men, good ser," Lady Anya Bracken cut in, slipping a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "If Jonos truly wants the crown on his brother's head. He'll make sure he gets, damn what the gods think about his actions."
"But this all nothing more than conjecture at the moment," The Grand Maester cut in before arguments could start. "For now, we shall keep an eye on proceedings and let's not find ourselves rushing to any unseemly conclusions." They nodded and we all carried on.
Lord Buckwell spoke well of how trade was fairing. The new roads saw a lot more traffic of merchants travelling to and fro and the same as well for the rivers that were apparently near swamped with barges travelling down the many rivers of our kingdom, moving goods and wares to be sold in the market towns and cities.
Ser Guyard Cox spoke well of the fleets stationed at Seagard and Maidenpool, along with the new fleet that was being built at Duskendale. In half a dozen years, they had yet to even suffer a single ironborn raid, the semaphore system doing its job as a fast messenger system.
"I suspect they might have moved south for easier prey, knowing they stand no chance against our own." He all but boasted.
"That might be true." Ser Willem said with a frown. "The Lannisters, Hightowers and Redwynes have been building a lot of ships as of late, curiously, they all started at the same time."
"Ironborn?" I offered as a plausible reason for such a cause of action.
He shared a look with Lord Brandon Blackwood before he spoke. "Perhaps, but I think there might be more to it, your grace."
I quirked an eyebrow as I sat up straight. "What makes you say that?"
It was the Blackwood scion that spoke up. "You tasked me with keep abreast of happenings inside the kingdom your grace, and I have taken to that duty with as much ability as I could offer. All I can say is, that there has been some quiet discontent over the past few years."
My brows burrowed together slightly for a moment. "What do you mean, my lord?"
"As you are aware, the Faith has been preaching in these lands ever since the ironborn were pushed back to their bleak islands. Although many welcomed the septons and septas with their teachings, the same cannot be said for many others." He pulled out a pamphlet of paper and passed it on down to me. "One of my men found this, your grace. Something I doubt the Faith will take to well if they become aware of it."
I picked it up and read the title. "The Seventy-Seven Stars?" I didn't even need to read all of it to see that the Faith probably weren't definitely going to like this. "Where did this come from?" Although it was certainly made by a printing press, it wasn't made by one of mine.
The press was to sloppy and the writing slanted and sloping, nothing of the perfect uniform that my engineers had come to expect from the printing presses that I held underneath my control. I thought technology was supposed to be a hard knock to crack in this place. I silently despaired.
"That was from my man in the lands of the Smallwoods," Brandon Blackwood pulled out even more of the pamphlets and dumped them onto the heavy table that we sat around. "And these, are from Raventree Hall to all the way down to Harrenhal, your grace."
Son of a bitch.
When I had envisioned the printing press spreading ideas, this was not what I had in mind.
I slumped back in my seat and linked my fingers together underneath my chin. "Although it's still early days, I do believe we might have a problem in the future. Lord Brandon,"
"Your grace?" The Blackwood perked up.
"Does this have anything to do with this Luthor man you have told me about?"
"Most likely, your grace. He has been raising something of a stink."
Lady Anya snorted. "More than that. This Luthor could very well bring doom upon our kingdom. Gods, what does the man think he is doing?"
Lord Butterwell sniffed disdainfully. "You shouldn't bother to question the minds of smallfolk my lady, they know not of what affairs they find themselves meddling in. Nevertheless, he must be stopped, preferably by him losing his head."
"And make him a martyr?" Asked Jaime shaking his head. "I've heard of this man. The people think him a preacher. He has garnered a faithful following. A following that has kept itself civil over the years, not causing any trouble, none of the likes. If we kill him, that would just rally more to his cause and then, then my lords, my lady, we have a problem."
"I happen to agree with the Grand Maester, the last thing we want to do is make this Luthor a martyr of all things." A Joan of Arc I did not need. "Lord Brandon, please find this man and bring him to me. I'd like to have a word with him. And if he does not want to meet me in my home, he can choose a place of his own. I mean him no harm and merely want to stop him from causing damage that could very well bring civil strife amongst our people."
Lord Brandon smiled softly at me as he inclined his head. "Your will shall be done, your grace."