"Hah?" Lord Wylis gave a short laugh. "No. Not I, nor any man. So long as I draw breath, Robert Baratheon sits the Iron Throne and rules this realm, I'll battle for it. I saved the Queen and the Princess because it was right. It was never for a crown."
Benjen let out a relaxing breath at that. He didn't want to be involved in that sort of politics, nor did he want Lyanna to.
"That puts me at ease, Lord Wylis."
"Why the courtly tongue? We're brothers still, are we not? Come along, you two must be starving. And Brandon, tell me about Lady Barbrey."
A big grin appeared on Brandon's face that Benjen recognised very well. It was one that hid his elder brother's lechery.
"Lady Barbrey? You're with her again?" he asked.
"You're bloody right, she's gotten even finer. By the gods, that woman is like the finest wine."
"..."
Was Brandon Stark in love? Benjen found it hard to believe.
####
While the Stark siblings went to roam the castle and meet its inhabitants, Wylis was left alone to do as he pleased, and he was pleased to do some work. It was time to use the reward he'd gotten from the Foodgasm quest.
His sword on his back, dressed in ordinary yet noble robes and a huge fur cloak that made his already broad shoulders seem broader, he went into the town. Behind him walked Chett and Small Paul. The three men combined cast a big enough shadow to scare anyone, all being giants with steel.
There were a few poultry farms in the town, and he aimed to visit each one that day. The goal was to open his own farm. And because of the growing needs of the town, it was a thriving business.
"Here, m'lord. Forgive me, it's muddy here."
Wylis followed the farm owner and saw the chickens. As soon as he laid his eyes on them, he somehow knew exactly which chicken would produce the best eggs, which chicken should be kept to reproduce to produce the larger chickens. He knew it all just from a glance.
Wylis' goal was pretty simple. One, he wanted to have a variety of chickens local to Ramsgate that produced the largest, finest eggs. Of course, Wylis put that in priority as it would help him maintain his protein intake, same for his growing army. Second was to produce large chickens, larger than any out there.
"Give me that one, that, and that." Wylis pointed at one rooster and two hens. "Stop. Don't kill them! Chett, tie them up and bring them along."
"..."
Wylis noticed his noble squire's hesitation. "Move it."
"M-My lord… I… I don't like them."
"Chickens?"
"They scare me."
"..."
Wylis was left speechless. "But I saw you eat chicken."
"That's different, my lord. On the plate, they are dead and tasty. But now… look in their eyes, their beaks, they're evil."
What the fuck? Gotta be a joke.
"You're scared of chickens because they're wicked? Either you toy with me, or there's a tale in it. What did they do to you, stick a beak up your arse?
"Aye, they did. I was a babe, just two, still got the marks."
"..."
Wylis dumbly stood there, looking at the farmer's face as the poor old man looked back at him, and then at Chett with sympathy. Wylis looked behind at Small Paul, the big guy giggling at the butterflies sitting on his nose.
Should pick better men to bring with me.
"I'll do it then. But Chett, if a cursed chicken sets your knees to knocking, you'd best make peace with it. Each cooked fowl in my castle is yours to kill now. We roast plenty, so you won't lack for chances. Meet the thing on your plate and conquer it. It can't peck, scratch, or shame you any longer."
He saw Chett gulp, but said nothing. Everyone had stories, some weirder than others. Some were scared of tight spaces, some of height, some sea. Chett just happened to be one of the unlucky ones.
After that, Wylis helped the farmer tie the three chickens by their feet and then handed them to Small Paul to hold over his shoulders. The big guy didn't give a damn as the chickens tried to free themselves.
Wylis went to a few more farms after that and took a total of ten chickens with him. They were the best he could find in the entire town, and from those ten, he planned to make the world's best.
After setting up an enclosed space for the chickens outside the castle and then assigning someone to look after them, he returned to his castle. He went back to his solar and started drawing plans for the walls he planned to build that night while keeping the rest of the townsfolk working on the port.
"This should serve." He peered into the chest in his solar. Broken bits of Valyrian steel were within. Old armor plates, cracked bits of helms, and sword shards. With the Tarly blade beside them, he felt well supplied.
"I think I'm due a proper great Valyrian sword. Still, after my first dive in the sea. The waves may gift us enough for a helm as well."
Closing the chest and locking it, he returned to his table while Chett stood nearby, always keen to hear his command or teaching.
"What say you, Chett?" Wylis said, lounging in the great chair and beckoning his squire to sit. "Robert will have told Ned already, I'd wager. I warned him a new war is brewing, and Robert loves prattle near as much as wine."
"Aye, I reckon it true. The King never struck me as a man to hold his tongue."
"Just like his cock," Wylis muttered with a sigh, but again, who was he to speak of that? "Common sense dictates that Ned will suspect the Boltons, considering old bad blood and their recent actions. You don't hate me, do you, Chett? Your lord has gone wading into dirty politics."
Chett shook his big head firmly; his features could be considered handsome now with his stubble beard and classic Northern dark, long hair. "Steel answers steel, my lord. Give them what they grasp, a blow when they need one, a game when they fancy playing."
Wylis whistled at that, impressed by what his squire had said. "You're reading?"
"Aye, I read whenever I have time. A little every night before I sleep."
I can overlook the chicken business for that.
"Well said. A man with a sword is trouble, but a man with a sword and a plan is worse. Too many foes greet me like I'm some simpleton brute, then wonder how they end up on the ground. I profit from their mistakes. Now go on, do your thing. I have nowhere else to be."
"Understood, my lord. I'll make my rounds about the keep and loose arrows at practice. Lady Kaiser should be schooling the lads."
"Go on."
All alone, Wylis worked on his own things. He started drawing the entire manufacturing district with water-wheels that would run the many mills and more. From steelwork to weaving machines that would use a belt system to run.
He drew plans to set up a large building for soap making. Glass and lenses next. Cast Iron cookware would also be a low-grade product before getting the more refined things in order. He also felt the need for a brick factory, as he won't build every single thing. Water pumps and irrigation wheels through a network of canals would later help agriculture in the lands outside the city.
Paper industry, alcohol distillation would bring in a major profit. Standardized weights and measurements were already being used in his town.
"Best built an efficient and large sewer system with over a million people in mind. Tyrant's Squire won't accept anything less. Water supply and bathhouses as well."
The list was long. Most of it was for the sake of patenting in the royal registry later, when he'd eventually visit King's Landing.
Slowly, as night fell, Wylis shifted from his tower-top solar to his ground-floor solar where the family usually gathered. After having supper, the women got busy speaking with Brandon and Benjen right at the dining table.
Wylis, meanwhile, lounged in his solar, relaxing on the big settee. He wasn't alone, however. As he lay back, head on the armrest, his surroundings were filled with happy giggles. Rhaenys was sitting on top of his chest, staring at his face while he told her a story. Magnus was asleep between the gap of his legs, the boy on his back, snoring. Right under him in a line was Arthria asleep. Both had gotten tired after playing. Aegon was busy pushing his bicycle around. Simon was sleeping beside his neck, Daenerys was held in his other arm, awake and staring at Rhaenys.
The other kids were too young to be there, and really, he didn't have any more arms or legs to handle them.
"No! That's impossible! You can't slay a dragon."
"Oh, he did, true enough. Not a dragon though, only a wyvern, a poorer cousin of the line. Geralt of Rivia is no butcher. He knows dragons think and bargain, and he leaves such folk in peace."
"Dad…"
Oh, my little heart.
Wylis loved this little girl even more each time she called him father, and he already loved her enough to end noble houses.
"Can you kill a dragon?" she asked.
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Advance chapters on [PATREON] are in long-form format. I have 12 long chapters of this story on P@treon. That's equal to 45-50 Webnovel chapters.
Check out Wylis X Lyanna Stark NSFW Art & Solo Dacey Mormont Art, and advance chapters at [email protected]/MrPlotThickens Or Subscribestar.adult/mrplotthickens
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