We drink to our youth, for days come and gone
For the Age of Aggression is just about done
We'll drive out the Dothraki and restore what we own
With our blood and our steel we will take back our home
Extract from "Age of Agression" by Aenys Targaryen.
---
Alyn Stokeworth sat at the Iron Throne and dispensed justice.
It was the most boring, time-consuming and flat out dangerous part of being the hand of the king. The iron throne was amongst the most impractical seats the world had ever seen. When one satt it, you had literal sword blades pointed at one's back.
That meant either wearing mail all the time while sitting on it, or constantly being careful not to lean backward. Either way, neither was comfortable. Wearing mail all day was not fun, and getting poked in the back was an annoying prospect at the best of times, being so while trying to sit in judgment was amongst the most annoying things he had ever experienced.
At the moment, he was sitting in judgment on a man who had allegedly stolen a man's wife, having an affair and trying to run away together.
The punishment for that would be a week or two in the stocks for the woman, with a severe bout of public whipping and the stocks for the man as well as a hefty fine.
Problem was that no one could actually verify that the man lobbying this claim was actually married to the woman in question.
They were cousins that had moved to king's landing from Duskendale 3 months ago. So far so good. He had several of their neighbors as witnesses, having been acquainted with them over the 3 months.
Problem was that apparently none of them had ever mentioned this supposed marriage before the other man had entered into the tale.
There wasn't proof they were actually married, but there was nothing to say they weren't either.
And if they were not, the man was not legally the lady's guardian, and could not actually prevent her from leaving with her lover. If he had been her uncle, brother or father that would have been one thing, and the man would have been guilty of kidnapping. Easy, and clear and simple with no possibility of making a wrong verdict.
Here, he simply had to come down on whoever he thought was lying.
In this case, he decided on the man.
After that, it was a smuggler. He had him hanged.
A bar brawl that had gotten out of hand and ended with a tankard across someone's head, killing him.
The man who swung it got a death sentence while his friends who also participated in the brawl got 7 lashes.
A woman accused of having intercourse with her own 7-year-old son.
The silent sisters.
A farmer owning a peregrine falcon. Confiscating the bird, and 3 lashes.
A man who fled a brothel after killing a prostitute. Hanged.
7 thieves of various degrees. Punishment varied from hanging, to hand loss, to a beating depending on the age and objects stolen.
And on and on it went.
Finally, the last case of the day. A man punching a Septon in the face.
He'd have laughed, given the Septon was visiting a brothel when he was assaulted, but alas, the swords and stars made it clear that no laughter would be happening here.
Anyway, striking a holy man. Losing his hand.
After that, it was descending from the throne, ass sore and retire to the council chamber.
There he mercifully got to sit on a pillowed seat.
Then it was the matter of finances, Aenys demands, and his personal dealings.
"How many halberds do we have so far?"
"421." Tom, the leader of the city watch answered.
"As for the crossbows, the King asked for we have 47 so far."
Decent numbers. He wasn't sure how long it would take before the first men of the king's army arrived, but he would prefer to have as many weapons as possible before that.
"Speaking of those crossbows…"
Alyn turned to Arthur Royce, the master of Laws.
"I've had a lot of requests from Crownlander lords for them. Needless to say, most who visit the training yard have been suitably impressed by the kings Crossbow."
"The answer is still no Royce. Aenys has been damned clear that until he has as many as he needs, for the host, he's building, every new crossbow will go to the Kings host."
The valeman sighed.
"As you say my Lord, but I still say we could probably invest in more crossbow makers. We have the coin for it, and we would be able to earn quite the coin on selling them to all the land."
He would normally agree. But at the moment, he had something else he was investing coin and money into.
The king had been pretty clear in what he wanted out of the new projects, which so far, his men hadn't come close to achieving. Now was not the time to split one's focus.
"At a later date perhaps. For now, let's move on." He nodded at Tom.
"How are the men taking to the goedendags?"
"Pretty well. They're easy to carry around, they work well as clubs, and they're great for impaling someone when you need to."
He hesitated for a moment.
"Rather queer name though…"
"If you don't like the name, take it up with his grace. He created it."
Tom did not respond, and he was certain Aenys would hear no complaint from him on the matter. Common men did not question kings.
Truth be told though, it WAS a queer name. At least the name of the king's other inventions made sense.
They tended to be rather self-explanatory. Goedendag stood out like a rusty nail though.
Amongst the King's inventions, it was probably the most simple. It was for all intents, just a stick with a spike at the end. Yet it was a surprisingly effective weapon against unarmored enemies or those dressed in just mail.
Perfect for an organization like the city guard that usually used cudgels and spears to keep order. Now they had both in one.
He really wished the other inventions the king had sent the designs for had gone as flawlessly as the goedendag had.
But that was not information he was going to share with the council. Aenys had asked for secrecy, and he was one to deliver what his king demanded.
After that, they chatted about less important matters, for a while. By the time they were done, Alyn desperately wanted to go lie down.
Arthur and Tom had finally left, leaving him alone with Grand Maester Gaewen.
The maester had remained relatively quiet during the meeting, as was his norm.
Now it was time for the final business of the day.
"How goes the making of the Kings substances?"
The old man chuckled.
"Well, and not so well."
"The artificial stone has proven to be all the king said it would be. And as he said, the sand from Dragonstone makes all the difference."
Alyn nodded. "I'll admit, I've never had much faith in alchemy before. But this stone…. The potential is endless."
"Aye, that it is. Roads would not have been my first choice for it, but it is not our place to question the king's demands."
Roads. Damned, the king had insane plans for roads throughout the kingdom. From the wall to Oldtown, he wanted there to be roads. Grand sweeping roads.
He would have it was the most ambitious scheme imaginable, but quite frankly the dike was far more so.
Now he just had to find the coin to pay for all of it, at once. He would need to reach out to his contacts in the free cities. The king had said in his letter that he had plans for a grand reform of the tax system, but it was always better to be on the safe side. Also, he had given him a list of offices the king planned to add to the council. A lot of them.
Some he had asked Alyn to find men suitable for the job, while others he had people in mind.
Some he supported wholeheartedly, while others were baffling.
The master of coin would be split into two offices, the master of coin who dealt with internal coin and taxes and the master of commerce, who dealt with trade and tariffs.
Simple enough, it made some sense to delegate the office into more manageable, specialized jobs.
The baffling part was who he wanted to hold the seats.
The master of coin was to be Florence Fossoway, betrothed to the heir of Highgarden. Even ignoring the scandal of putting a woman on the king's own council, neither he nor anyone else he knew had ever heard anything of note about this lady Fossoway.
Hells, he had even dug into the royal spy network to try and learn anything about her.
Other than her being engaged to Martyn Tyrell, the young woman was a complete mystery.
The man Aenys wanted as master of commerce was definitely not a mystery, though in many ways he was even an even more bizarre choice.
Rego Draz was an up and coming pentoshi spice monger and by all accounts one of the richest men in Pentos.
He was also a gutter born bastard from the slums of the city, hated by all the city's leadership, and worshipper of a queer eastern god.
They were insane choices and he would have to talk some sense into Aenys about them.
Less insane, though still somewhat scandalous was Goren Greyjoy, who would become the Grand Admiral of Trade.
It was one of the three offices for naval affairs. The master of ships would retain the title as supreme head of naval affairs as long as Daemon Velaryon held the office, then it would be changed into the title, Grand Admiral of the Royal Navy who was in charge of the Kingdom's warships.
The third was the Grand Admiral of Transport, though he wasn't entirely sure what that entailed exactly.
Getting back to the matter at hand he continued the conversation with the second big topic at hand.
"And the king's black powder?"
The maester made a face like he had tasted lemons.
"Not… So well. Oh, the recipe works, but it's also proven way more powerful than the king anticipated."
"Is… is that a bad thing? I was the impression this thing is to be used in mines. Surely it being more powerful could only be a good thing?"
"Well yes, for the purposes the king intends, it's just fine. But the maesters I've consorted have suggested other uses for it. But alas, the powder is too strong for those. We'd need much stronger metal than we currently have."
Well... They might be getting that, but he did not voice that thought.
"So how much can we produce in half a year's time?"
"With the current crew I have? Mayhaps 240 barrels or so."
Not enough. They would need much more. That would mean he would need to hire more men to make it. Great, more men he would need to pay. Just what he needed.
---
In my letter from Great Wyk, I had made sure to alert White Harbour that their king was making a visit after having crushed a large scale revolt amongst the Ironborn.
I hadn't ASKED for a parade or celebration, but my language hadn't exactly discouraged it either.
The only thing welcoming us at the moment was rain. Rain, rain and more goddamned rain. Not the harshest of winds mind you, just enough to add a biting cold to a torrent of cold sloppy rain.
So as we finally saw the sight of White Harbour far below us, any thoughts of splendid welcome were drowned out by a fervent bitter desire of getting a roof under my head and changing to something that was not wet like cloth thrown in the pool.
The last time I had felt this cold and miserable was when I had fallen into one of Amsterdam's canals a cold autumn day.
White Harbour was probably the best planned and constructed city in Westeros, but at the moment I couldn't have cared less if it was a 100 times worse than King's Landing. It had buildings with roofs, and that was all that mattered to me.
As i we changed to freefall, i felt Humfrey's arms clench tightly around my waist. The man never had been fond of this part. He generally didn't like flying in general, to be honest.
Before we slammed into the ground and was pulverized by gravity, Quicksilver unfurled her massive wings to the sides, and like a parachute being used the momentum began to suddenly halt.
We still slammed into the courtyard with that oh so familiar crack though.
The reception was pretty scarce. Just a couple of unfortunate guards whose faces I could not see in the rain.
One of them shouted something, as we descended from the saddle.
I didn't hear what he shouted in the damned torrent, but thankfully the man ran up to us to talk.
Humfrey instantly put himself between us, as a good bodyguard should. The man still shouted started to become coherent, and I finally realized he was asking us to help him stable quicksilver as he pointed towards a piece of shelter obviously hastily constructed.
Yeah, he was a true Northman alright. No bullshit about formality in this weather. I hastily walked up to the shelter with quicksilver following.
Once under a roof, the dragon lazily entered and lied down. Unlike me and Humfrey, she had not been much bothered by the cold. Lucky fire breathing lizard.
"Your Grace." the Northman said while bowing his head.
"Welcome to White Harbour."
---
The warmth of the bath enveloped every bone and sinew in my body.
Ah…. This was the good shit.
No fancy perfumes, no bullshit servants to annoy me, a very competent(and dry) guard at my door and no one in the world to disturb me.
Just me, the wood and the water.
After finally entering New Castle, I had been welcomed by a rather shocked to see me Brandon Manderly, Heir of White Harbour. Apparently, they had not expected me for at least another week and hadn't prepared for their king's arrival.
I guess it wasn't their fault. Most monarchs would have stayed to celebrate their victory for half a week at least after crushing a revolt. Not me though. I had shit to do and the day I had crushed Lodos and mounted his head outside the main sept on the iron islands, I had taken flight north.
Ok, so I had done other things too before I took flight northward.
For one I had told my septons that I was making a device to speed up the production of Books, and once it was done I would be sending many, MANY copies of the seven-pointed star to help them in their work.
Killing the drowned god worship had two steps. First, give a much more profitable alternative to raiding.
The second was to convert all the ironborn to another religion. Meaning the faith of the seven given the lack of proselytizing with the old gods.
Still, it would be a while before I got bookmaking up and going.
Printing presses were amongst the easiest of my machinery to make. The concept was so simple that I could convert a random winepress.
Paper…. Not so much. I didn't know how to make paper. Meaning that unless I managed to find another way to get it, the printing press was useless.
Thankfully, someone else did know how to make paper. Problem was that they were nearly as far away from me as Asshai was. Yi Ti was pretty advanced in many ways from what stuff flowed west to Westeros, but one thing most ignored in favor of things such as incredible art and tapestries was their paper.
The paper the empire used was better quality than the parchments of the west, but more importantly, it was paper, and thus made from trees, and could thusly be mass-produced.
I would need to send a trade fleet east to secure knowledge of how to make it. The moment I got a steamship model up and running(whether paddle or propeller model) I would begin work for a massive trade expedition.
Hopefully, Yi Ti would be more accommodating to trade than the ming had been. And if they were not… Well, there was always the Justinian way.
I would have paper mills one way or another.
Still, that was for another day. Lots of shit was for another day I had found.
I had enjoyed the bath my hosts had so thoughtfully provided me, for maybe 10 minutes when I was interrupted by something I had made pretty clear I did not want to hear.
Knocking on the door.
I opened my eyes to glare at the offending piece of wood.
Then I saw I had failed to actually lock the damned thing. I had been so damned hasty in getting my ass into a warm bath I had incredulously forgotten to lock the damned door.
Great. Any attempt to get dressed would risk me being caught naked.
Another set of knocks. "Your grace?" Humfrey's voice.
I growled.
For a moment I considered just telling whoever it was to go fuck off, but it was probably Manderly, who had finally gotten his ass back from wherever he had been(most likely visiting a brothel from his Son's reaction when asked about it.
I had to try and not be a complete ass.
"Who is it?"
"Your Brother." Replied a loud, cold, hard voice.
Then the door went open, and Maegor Targaryen strode into the room.
Instinctually I almost went to cover myself up, but I held my pose, of leaning back on the tub's edge, my arms spread out along the edge.
It was an attempt to play this whole thing cool. Pretend I wasn't bothered by my brother barging in while I was naked.
Maegor was dressed in full Northern dress, fur and leather dyed black and with the Red Three-headed dragon on his surcoat. Amazingly, he wasn't armed.
Humfrey was and had Blackfyre drawn in his hand as he followed behind him with a very worried expression.
If Maegor was bothered by having an armed man with a Valyrian steel blade at his back he was not showing it. Instead, he just glared at me with his usual look.
"Aenys." He greeted me with a short quick nod.
"Maegor, what an unexpected sight. I had not thought to find you here."
The tall behemoth scowled.
"The hell do you mean I'm unexpected? YOUR damned order kept me from taking a ship south."
Oh right, I had casually written that if Maegor was still in the city he was to remain there until I came North.
"Truth be told brother, I did not expect you to still be in the north by the time I sent the letter from Stonehedge."
I waved to Humfrey.
"Leave us, sir. I shall need to speak to my brother. Under four eyes."
Humfrey hesitated. It was an order he clearly did NOT want to follow, but finally, after maybe 10 seconds he did withdraw to the door and closed it behind him.
"So… How's the North been treating you brother?"
"It's cold, damp and travel takes inane amounts of time to do."
He narrowed his eyes.
"Now. What the hell do you want brother?"
Storms he was tall. It was easy to forget since Aenys had always been nearly as tall, but when I was seated, just how large he was was obvious.
He was like a living, moving Tower.
"The destruction of the Dothraki."
For mayhaps the first time in Aeny's life, he achieved the feat of making Maegor look completely derpy with that confused look on his face.
"What?"
"The destruction of the Dothraki, brother. The horse lords beyond the sea."
Silence.
"Explain."
Ah, back to the coldness.
"Well, brother, you see, I have this problem with the fact that I am in need of coin to finance my many, many plans for this continent. And as I am a practical man, I thought I might as well do some good while earning that cash."
"And the Horse lords factor into this how exactly?
"Well you see brother, I realized that the free cities have a lot of coin and that they would be the best source of money in the immediate future. Sooo… I sent Lord Tarth across the sea to give each the free cities an offer. In exchange for each of them forking over 2 million gold coins or so, along with some other deals, the Kingdom of Westeros will rid them of a longstanding and massive problem forever."
"You want to wipe out the horse lords? All of them? "
The coldness in his voice was gone, replaced by…. Eagerness? Longing?
"Every single one."
"You mean to use dragons to do this."
"I mean to use Balerion the Black Dread. That's where you come in. Once you go to Dragonstone, you will master the Black Dread. Then spend some time mastering him for war brother. For when Tarth returns to dragonstone, you will go east. And you will turn the Dothraki sea to ashes."
A smile did not come to Maegor's lips, but he did threaten to smile. It was disturbing.
"I shall do this thing Brother."
Then he turned to leave.
"There is another matter I need to discuss brother."
He turned back.
"What?"
"Your Wife's Barrenness."
Wow, it did not take long for his regular look of eternal scowling to return.
"What about her?" He replied in a tone that promised pain if I did not drop it.
"Well brother, I find it rather unlikely that you will produce the heir you want if you keep planting your seed in ground where it will not grow. Luckily, as king, I have the right of legitimization. If you were to say… Go find yourself as much female companionship as you'd like, I'm sure you will find one sooner or later with fertile ground."
"What, you want me to make a harem?"
"Pretty much. I'll legitimize any child of yours you want Brother. One or a hundred, I don't care, just make some."
He stared at me.
"When the hell did you become tolerable?"
I chuckled.
"When I put on a crown brother."
Maegor left after that, and when the door closed behind him, I let out a huge sigh and slid down further into the tub.
Then I climbed up and went to actually lock the door before returning to the bath.
I had felt like I committed to this part when I sent Tarth across the sea.
But actually telling Maegor about it made it truly sink in. I was planning on committing complete genocide. Admittingly it was upon the Dothraki, a culture and people without a single redeeming quality, one that had committed genocide on a scale far larger than the one I was planning on committing to them, and a people with a religious manifest destiny that demanded that they eradicate farmers completely and conquer all the world.
They were as evil as any nation could possibly be while still being made up of free men.
And I didn't feel a damn thing about ordering all of them to death.
It was a disturbing notion.
I had known from the start when I made my plans of getting maegor out of the picture for the start of my reign that this would be the way I would take, and that Essos would be far better of without the Dothraki.
Every single other people in essos would regard this as an unambiguously good thing. No one would mourn the Dothraki.
Yet I had expected to feel really, really bad about it. Yet I did not.
I felt more sadness for having to kill my iron rebel subjects than I felt about sending Maegor to butcher the Dothraki wholesale. Aenys was not a bad person, but he was a man of his time, and frankly, he did not have a shred of sympathy for the Dothraki.
Hell, Aenys had more sympathy for the Dornish who killed his mother than he had for Barbarians such as the Dothraki or the wildlings. At least the Dornish was fellow human beings, no matter how treacherously he regarded them
He did not even consider the barbarian races as fellow human beings. No one in Westeros did. No more than they considered wildlings human beings worthy of life.
I knew that genocide was wrong. Yet I just didn't care. At all. God that was disturbing. At least with the Wildling of the mountains of the moon, I had plans for an alternative to genocide, but looking inside myself I had to confront the truth. If that plan failed wholeheartedly, I would not feel any regret doing to them what Maegor was going to to do to the Dothraki.
I needed a drink.
---
Amongst many arts of which my father mastered, his mastery of music was yet another way he put his mark on Westeros and to a lesser degree, Essos.
He grew up with a rather noted talent for the art of the song, though he did not pursue the art as vigorously after becoming king as he did in his youth.
Instead, as King, Aenys was more for writing songs than performing them.
The first was his famous tribute to the Starks of Winterfell, and the regional anthem of The North "When Winter Comes".
After this piece, he would go on to make many more, including the regional anthems of each province of Westeros(Except Dorne.), the national anthem of the Kingdom as a whole, several army marching songs, naval songs, and many smaller songs.
In Westeros, the songs "Over the Hills and far Away", and "Hearts of Oak" are generally the most famous of his non-anthem works.
In essos however, his most famous work was "Age of Aggression." A song so popular amongst the Saathi, that when they finally declared their kingdom of old reborn, they adopted a modified version as their national song, as became popular for nations to have during this time period.
Extract from "Dreams Made Manifest" by Alysanne Targaryen, First Master of the art of History.