281 AD
Sunfire Valley, Castle Osgiliath
"Darling, are you sure?" I asked, watching Eilis, her silver hair flying from her quick steps, walk back and forth, gathering and checking the things she needed for the journey.
"Yes. I've never been to a tournament. Especially one this big. Fel, come on, don't be a bore, let me..." The woman who has been my wife for over two years said, looking at me with her beautiful violet eyes.
"How does she do it?" I thought, raising my hands in a gesture of surrender.
Two and a half years had passed since our wedding. Our family life was quietly moving along, bringing joy to both of us. Ailis, freed from her father's harsh grip and the entourage of a family she'd grown weary of, blossomed into a beautiful flower, praised by nearly every bard in Dorne. Sometimes, listening to their songs, I even laughed heartily when these drunkards, ready to do anything for a mug of ale and a ham, concocted such opuses that my wife's face would either flush or twist so contorted that everyone else would recoil in horror. And how many idiotic knights , who thought it was okay to molest my wife in front of me, have I broken their arms and legs?
"Only two things in this world are infinite - the Universe and human stupidity, although I'm not sure about the Universe." I remembered the phrase of one great theoretical physicist, and, approaching my wife from behind, I put my arm around her shoulders.
"Perhaps you'll reconsider? In your condition, it would be difficult for you to cross half the continent." After my words, Ailis immediately and with incredible tenderness stroked her now slightly rounded belly. "My wife was pregnant for the third time. Little Elayna, born a year and a half ago, was a spitting image of her mother—straight, snow-white hair, slightly darker, fading to purple; her eyes and the perfect features of her childish face already promised to make her the most beautiful woman in Dorne, if not for one thing. My daughter was an incredible fighter."
As soon as she learned to run and talk a month ago, she set almost all her peers in the city where I sometimes let her go under guard to howl. She fought everyone—girls, boys, even those a year older than her. And the most amazing thing was, she always won. Seeing the admiration with which she watched the training of the northerners who had become my temporary guard, and me, it became clear to me that in the future, I would have a very strong fighter in my family. The main thing was to train her properly.
"You're right. I don't know what came over me," Eilis said apologetically, suddenly deflating and sitting down in the spacious, soft chair she'd loved to sleep in when she was carrying Elaine.
"The mood swings have started. We'll get through this," I thought, moving closer and taking her warm hand in my own. "Don't worry, my love. When your pregnancy is over, I'll organize a tournament on a scale no less grand than the royal one."
- Do you promise?
"I promise," I said, rising from my knees and taking up the remaining space on the chair. Sitting there with Ailis, who had quietly dozed off on my shoulder, I became increasingly immersed in thoughts about what was happening in the Seven Kingdoms and my lands in particular.
News of the death of Grand Lord Steffon Baratheon and his wife, Cassana Estermont, shocked all of Westeros. Rumor has it that as they were returning to Storm's End and sailing through Shipwreck Bay, a storm appeared out of nowhere, turning the bay into a living hell. Lord Steffon's two-masted galley, the Proud, was wrecked within sight of his castle. His two eldest sons, Robert and Stannis, watched from the battlements as the sea swallowed their father's ship. An unimaginable tragedy.
Which later resulted in a huge number of troubles.
According to Atrakes, who sent me a letter a few weeks after these events, Steffon sailed to Lys and Volantis to find a wife for Crown Prince Rhaegar. He failed—everyone remembered well how the marriage of the daughter of Clan Rogare to Viserys II Targaryen had ended. Therefore, an unspoken agreement was reached between the magisters of Lys and the triarchs of Volantis: "neither us nor you." And if it were broken, the traitorous clan would pay a swift price.
Ultimately, Aerys, unable to find a wife for the prince in the Free Cities and seeing Tywin insisting on the prince's marriage to his daughter, fourteen-year-old Cersei, made a new move. Just a week after my wedding, Prince Doran, who had decided to visit Osgiliath, received a letter proposing a betrothal between Elia and Rhaegar.
Such proposals are not refused and the engagement was immediately concluded.
At that moment, I was the only one who wasn't happy for Elia, who was crying with happiness as she married the most handsome man in the Seven Kingdoms, and later, in conversations with the Martell couple, I explained why.
This marriage was unequal.
Aerys used the Martells and Elia as a shield against the Great Lion, who, as it later turned out, was furious at the king's outburst. Yes, Elia's children, with Martell blood, would rule the Seven Kingdoms in the future, but that was only in theory. Even without my knowledge of the future, I told Doran back then that after Aerys's antics, who had fallen out with everyone he could, the Westerlands, the Iron Islands, and the Northern Alliance, now being forged by the Grandlords of the North and the Vale, would not support the royal dynasty. Doran and Oberyn didn't listen.
And they deeply regretted it later.
The prince and princess were married a year later, in the Great Sept of Baelor.
Even I, while scurrying around Westeros and Essos like a saiga, managed to squeeze in some time to attend the wedding. The Valyrian steel ring I gave her, set with a sun ruby and bought cheap in Valisar ( for just 1,000 dragons) from an impoverished nobleman, was a great hit with Elia and became her favorite piece of jewelry. Rhaegar, meanwhile, made do with an exquisite silver harp made in Tolos, a city famous for its musical instruments.
However, the king did not attend the wedding and even forbade his second son, Viserys, from attending. This is rumored to have sparked a major quarrel between father and son, leading Rhaegar to move to Dragonstone after the wedding, abandoning the Red Keep.
This was the first spark of a fire that was only just beginning to flare. And when, a year ago, Elia gave birth to a daughter, Princess Rhaenys, things got even worse. While Queen Rhaella (a saintly woman, to tolerate such a lunatic) welcomed the baby warmly, the king merely winced at the sight of his granddaughter, loudly declaring that she "stinks of Dorne" throughout the throne room.
This, coupled with rumors that Viserys was being considered for the heir, greatly angered the Martells. I still remember how much I had to calm Oberyn, who was staying with me at the time and was completely drunk from the news. I can't even imagine what happened to Doran, who loved his younger sister so much more.
I didn't waste any time during this time. After the wedding and a short honeymoon, I had to leave to take care of some business. I've been everywhere in these two years... It's like I've returned to my trading days.
First, I visited the Fowlers, Danes, and William's, checking on the transportation and quality of the seedlings for my land. After all, it is from these that my gardens will be built in the future, providing food and raw materials for the entire plot.
Then I traveled north, where I met with Lord Bolton. Roose Bolton, head of one of the strongest and most powerful houses in the North, had made a strong impression on me. Having replaced my recently deceased father, this man, barely as tall as my neck, with his unremarkable face, smooth skin, thin lips, and pale, almost colorless eyes like flakes of ice, had instantly pacified the vassals, who were agitated by the head of the house's youth, and now held them in an iron fist. From the Boltons, I needed coal, furs, and barley, a very popular grain crop in the North. In exchange, I promised to provide Lord Bolton with provisions at prices far lower than those offered by the Riverlands and the Reach, which since the time of Aegon I had profited from the Northern winters. A mutually beneficial agreement.
Of course, the Boltons weren't the first house I visited (they don't have the best reputation, after all), but the Mandrels jacked up the prices so high that it was a loss to work with them, the Umbers sent me packing, saying they didn't want to deal with some huckster, and the Karstarks simply didn't have the coal deposits I needed in their land in the first place.
My third destination was the Wall. Lord Darok Qorghil greeted me with honor, feeding me well and giving me a short tour of Castle Black. Of course, he didn't do this lightly—his goal was to secure new donations and recruits for the Watch, which he hoped to secure. I didn't disappoint him—in addition to a hundred golden dragons, the 996th Lord Commander of the Night's Watch received a very tempting offer from me.
The Night Watch itself was divided into three branches: scouts, builders, and stewards. My proposal concerned the latter.
The Builders themselves are a group of masons, carpenters, and foresters. Their job is to maintain the integrity of the Wall, its mechanisms, and the Night's Watch's castles in good repair. They repaired fortresses, built roads and villages for settlers, and, finally, cleared the Haunted Forest. It was the latter that intrigued me. Typically, the Builders use only a small portion of this forest, leaving the rest in place, to rot or gradually sink into the earth.
My proposal was simple - I would buy this "large" part of the forest for the price of 1 silver deer per ten trunks, thus providing a new source of income for the Night Watch.
Quorghil grumbled, of course, and argued that it wasn't the custom, but eventually agreed. Now, every month at Eastwatch-by-the-Sea, my ships would receive huge stacks of ship timber, essentially purchased for next to nothing. In Braavos, for example, timber grown in the cold and harsh conditions of the Wall, distinguished by its strength and texture, was willing to pay several times more. Thus, my ships began regularly sailing to the North, carrying food supplies and small orders for the Night's Watch, and bringing back valuable ship timber, furs, coal, and amber.
To achieve this, I even had to visit the Reeds on the Isthmus and lure nine werewolf families to my lands. For a carefree and secure future, they happily agreed to sail on my ships, serving as sonars and negotiating with the Magnars. No matter how clever the werewolves were at choosing the right winds and avoiding storms, the ships needed a safe harbor where the crews could rest.
The Magnars became this cove—probably the only sane inhabitants of Skagos who didn't rush at you with the intention of killing and eating you. So the Konung's house soon became a small harbor where my ships could dock.
Small surprises given to Oberyn a year ago were also found there. Five- and four-year-olds Gyn and Wulf, the fruit of a frolic with one of Lord Magnar's daughters, possessed the classic Martellian looks and the serpentine nature of their father. When I introduced them to Oberyn at Sunspear, I thought Grandfather Condratiy would have had enough. But the Dornish prince, on the contrary, merely laughed happily and ran off toward the Tower of the Sun. As I learned later from Lady Mellario, he and Doran had long ago made a bet that the younger prince would never have a son. The example of Obara, Nymeria, and Tyene was all too telling. The ruler of Dorne lost by paying for his younger brother's debauchery in the Summer Isles, which resulted in the birth of another daughter, Sarella.
All my subsequent travels were voyages to the major cities of Westeros and Essos, where I found impoverished but talented (in a world where noble patronage is more important than talent for a craftsman, this is not uncommon) masters and apprentices of every imaginable profession—blacksmiths, carpenters, gardeners, masons, shipwrights, shoemakers, builders, and many others—and offered them work for me. All of them, having received a small cash advance, set off for Sunfire Valley, where there was plenty of work for them. Of course, there were also those who simply took the money without intending to go anywhere, but such, thank the gods, were in the minority.
At the same time, I visited the Honey Grove, ordering from Beesbury several beekeepers and a breed of bees specializing in fruit honey, went to Oldtown, ordering almost twenty xebecs, which served for a time as substitute merchant ships until the dry docks of Osgiliath began to operate, and the Arbor, buying several varieties of grapes from the Redwynes.
Only recently was I able to return home and see my family. I'd only been to the castle once in two years of travel, attending Elayna's birth and then leaving for Lys almost immediately. I missed my wife, son, and daughter terribly. It was then that Eilis became pregnant for the third time.
Much had changed in those two years—the main buildings of the castle and the artisan district, already up and running and producing its first goods, had been completed. The foundations had been laid for a market, apiaries, orchards, fields, and the villages that served them. The region, whose population, thanks to my efforts, numbered nearly fifteen thousand and showed no signs of slowing down in the coming years, was rapidly developing, beginning to yield its first dividends.
But I knew I was still far from finished. I needed to complete the first section of the city, planned to house twenty thousand people, and surround it with a wall (the second and third sections would likely be built by my descendants, as they were designed to fit the size of White Harbor and Oldtown, respectively). I needed to complete Minas Ithil, protecting my lands from the sea, and begin construction of a second fortress, blocking the only landward entrance to the valley. I needed to complete and launch the dry docks for the fleet, as the "defense" of the Ironwoods was costing me a pretty penny. And finally, I needed to complete the military camp where my future squad and city guard would be trained, as it was cheaper to raise loyal and professional fighters myself. Yes, this was a time-consuming and expensive undertaking, but the effect was also corresponding.
And all this required money, of which I had only 200 thousand gold left.
The sum is large, but in the long run, insufficient for my plans. And to remedy this, right now, dozens of workshops and manufactories are smoking away on the northern edge of Osgiliath, producing things never seen in this world.
Flashback
273 AD
Citadel Laboratories, Staromest.
The Maesters' Citadel has always been renowned as the world's largest library and one of the finest (not to mention the only) hospitals on the entire continent. But few know that within these walls are dozens, if not hundreds, of large laboratory rooms. It was here, in the days before the Targaryen reign, that medicines, poisons, new alloys, mechanisms, and dozens of similar devices were created. It was here that the story of the confrontation with the ancient order of Alchemists was forged, who had lost many of their abilities over the past centuries and fallen to the creation of a simple "wildfire"—a single invention that the Maesters, to this day, have failed to replicate.
And now, within these four walls, I was trying to bring to the world something that would push its development for centuries to come.
My first thought was to create simple black gunpowder. I knew its recipe well from my university days back on Earth, as it was used to dig the first tunnels.
Taking the necessary ingredients in the following proportions—75% saltpeter, 15% burnt coal, and 10% crystalline sulfur (it was so good that the Citadel's storerooms could be stocked with anything)—grinding and mixing them thoroughly, I got gunpowder. Such a simple and straightforward recipe.
But life has a way of letting people down, no matter what their wishes. When I set aside a few grams of the resulting mixture and held a long, burning torch to it, nothing happened.
Nothing!!!
She simply burned up, like a simple coal in a fire! She didn't explode like she should have! She didn't flash like gunpowder created in the wrong proportions! She simply burned up…
I was shocked.
The next two weeks were spent searching for a solution to the problem or errors in proportions or materials. What had I done wrong? Dozens of types of gunpowder were synthesized, in the most absurd proportions and quantities. But the result was the same: simple combustion, without a trace of explosive reaction.
In the end, feeling a little desperate and under the influence of the constant lamentations of our master-supervisor, I had to give in.
"To hell with gunpowder. I'll do something else," I thought then, starting on another project.
My next goal was the steam engine. Having an architectural background, and therefore a basic engineering education, and a love of various history books, I, with the help of the Citadel forges and a few silver coins given to a few metalworking students, attempted to build a simple Newcomen-Watt steam engine.
Bummer. Again.
After checking all the latches and going over it screw by screw, I couldn't find any signs of a malfunction. I even wrote down the theoretical operating principle on paper and tested everything accordingly. It just didn't work, that's all!
The next six months at the Citadel were spent trying to create anything new and, most importantly, something functional . A simple battery made from a magnet… a Cartwright loom… I even tried making a simple Chinese lantern. None of it worked.
And the most interesting thing is that most people who saw my ideas didn't believe in them. No, that's not how I put it. They didn't doubt my innovations would work. Not for a second. Even after I'd theoretically justified them, created a precise blueprint, and explained the operating principles in a way that seemed almost mentally retarded. I would have understood if these had been unenlightened peasants from godforsaken villages or lords rigid in their views, spending their entire lives collecting taxes from the first category. But these were maesters. Maesters! Those people who, in order to learn new things and explore the world, renounced everything else: women, status, wealth, and power.
And these people didn't doubt for a second that my inventions and innovations wouldn't work...
I ended up going on a two-day brainstorming binge , the goal of which was to understand why this was happening. And I came up with a Theory! A Theory of artificially limiting progress.
If you think about it, it becomes clear that this world should have made a breakthrough in technological progress long ago. That same wildfire, superior in properties to Greek fire or napalm. I came across a small treatise stolen from the Alchemists' Guild, which described several stages of making this hellish concoction. It already used twenty different components, with perfectly calibrated proportions and ratios. And these are just the initial stages, which the maesters couldn't even begin to master in creating this Westerosi equivalent of pyrogel. And I'm supposed to believe that the people who created it didn't think of mixing charcoal, saltpeter, and sulfur after four millennia?
Yes, there may be hundreds of other reasons and factors that could disprove my theory, but remembering how the mechanisms I created magically did not work, I find only one answer.
This world is limited by someone. Limited in its progress, forever stuck in a strange, magical medieval state, where features of the 16th, 15th, and 14th centuries are intertwined. And if we consider the two-hundred-meter-high ice wall, the skeletons of four-meter-tall giants, the indestructible statues in Omber, the Lorathian labyrinths, the famous and mysterious Asshai, and the existence of an entire ancient kingdom of dragon lords, then there can be only one solution.
Magic…
Or the gods who limited people through magic...
Alas, I'll never know, because compared to the world, an ordinary person, without supernatural powers or the necessary knowledge, is just a grain of sand. I simply don't have the strength or knowledge to change anything. So, all I could do was think of all sorts of inventions or ideas that fit within the confines of the local "flavor" and suit my purposes.
This is what I was busy with, in parallel with my studies, until the very end of my stay at the Citadel.
The end f lashback
Remembering how much effort it took me to find technologies that weren't groundbreaking, were suitable for Planetos, were very profitable, and couldn't be replicated without the necessary foundation, I'm starting to get phantom pains in the back of my head.
In the end, I came up with just three things.
Waterproof and strong cement.
Porcelain.
Moonshine still.
It was thanks to the former that I was able to build the castle and the first part of the city in a measly three or four years. Unlike medieval Europe, the Seven Kingdoms used the Byzantine technology of hot mortar and probecrete (a mixture of slaked lime and a special silicate powder). Thanks to this, local lords were able to build such architectural marvels as the Eagle's Nest, the Oldtown Lighthouse, and, of course, the largest and most magnificent castle in all of Westeros—Harrenhal.
But I'm an architect by training, and I have extensive work experience. For me, making good, hard, fast-setting, and waterproof cement was quite simple. Thanks to my mentors in practice, who crammed all this knowledge into my "one brain cell, and that was a straight one."
The second idea occurred to me when I involuntarily began comparing the Yi Ti Empire and ancient China. And I remembered that, unlike Earthly China, Yi Ti didn't produce porcelain—a very expensive and prestigious item, exported en masse to the West, along with silk, before the creation of its European counterparts. So not attempting to recreate it would have been sheer stupidity.
And I succeeded. I'm certainly no professional potter or geologist, versed in all the properties of clay, but patience, books, casually asked advice, and facts recalled from a past life—and here's the result. White clay, which turns into precious white porcelain after firing, was created. And judging by the admiring look on Eilis's face when I showed her the small tableware set, they'll sell very well.
But the moonshine still thing was a real joke. Remembering how most of my innovations hadn't even gotten off the ground, I didn't even try to make it. Until one decisive moment. After a successful deal with the Old Town Trade Guild, when Atraxes asked me to be his translator, I was invited to a celebratory banquet where I tried it.
Pear brandy.
A rare Tyrosh drink, distinguished by its high strength, up to 35% ABV. And then I realized it couldn't be made without standard distillation! This ultimately resulted in the construction of a simple moonshine still, which (hallelujah!!!) actually worked. Thus, strong alcohol and perfume were added to the list of unique goods produced by my city. Although there was a slight problem with the former—the only source of sugar in this world was considered to be E-Ti, who guarded the secret of its production like the apple of his eye. Therefore, until the gardens grow and bear their first fruits, the only alcohol my wine and vodka factories will produce is whiskey. This is precisely why I purchased barley from the Boltons, and it's the only one I know the full recipe for—one of my close friends, back on Earth, ran a small distillery and told me a lot about its operation.
Naturally, I keep the secret of producing porcelain, perfume, and alcohol a closely guarded secret. After all, if the recipes were discovered, I would lose a large portion of my profits as a monopolist. I even had to follow the example of the Free Cities, whose artisan quarters, producing their "unique" products, are transformed into separate, strictly guarded areas, off-limits to outsiders, and the right to manufacture is awarded to several large clans, who are not allowed to leave their districts and are held accountable for maintaining the secret.
"After all, if it leaks, they'll all lose their lives," I thought, moving my dozing wife onto a nearby bed. "We need to hurry. The ships leave in a couple of hours."
The door creaked softly, and a small boy with blond hair and red eyes entered the room. He crept quietly, careful to step on the soft, shaggy carpet so as not to disturb the sleeping Eilis.
"Dad, are you ready yet?" Lyon whispered in my ear, coming closer. Yes, my son, who had just turned four, was very caring.
Lyon turned out to be a very smart and understanding child. Having started talking quite early, he chased me around like a top, asking me about everything. And sometimes his questions were so intense that I couldn't help but wonder, "Is this by any chance another person trapped in a child's body?" But after observing him a little more, I realized he was a simple and naive child, albeit very smart for his age. Even now, he often asked me to read him a book or tell him something new, and I didn't refuse. You can't suppress a child's curiosity at a young age. Otherwise, you risk raising inert amoebas.
"Of course, son," I replied, patting his shaggy head. "Go get ready. I hope you told nanny to pack some warm clothes for you? The Riverlands aren't our warm Dorne, after all. Even in spring, it's quite cold there."
"Uh-huh," he replied, nodding quickly.
"But this is the first time he's left the valley as an adult," I thought as my son adjusted the small clasp on his chest. Dressed in a simple hemp vest and white trousers with a long train, he made a devastating impression on all the servants working in the castle. Yet his features were those of Eilis, promising to grow into quite the heartbreaker in the future.
The only thing that made him stand out from the other town boys was a small gold medallion and small anklets and wristbands made of the same metal. My son really liked the color of this metal and its contrast with his hair. And since it was within the bounds of reason and one of his few childhood "wants," I didn't mind.
"After all, this is much better than Elaine's pugnacity," I thought, leaving the room taking with me a bag with some important documents.
Within an hour, three ships—the Black Panther, the White Tiger, and the Crimson Lion—passed through the gates separating the harbor from the rest of the sea and set course east. A long journey lay ahead—through the Dornish and Narrow Seas, through the Gullet Strait and Blackwater Bay. Then, using rowing power, past King's Landing, and against the currents of the Blackwater and Gods Rivers, they would emerge into the continent's largest lake.
God's eye.
Only after sailing past it and rounding the Island of Likov will the Tempers' ships, laden with porcelain, perfume, hemp, and iron, reach their destination: the accursed stronghold of Hoar.
Harrenhal. Where the largest tourney in recent years was to be held.