Author's Note: Based off the Game of Thrones Fandom Wiki, each Gold Dragon is worth 210 Silver stags, and each Silver Stag is worth 56 Copper Pennies. An unskilled laborer would generally make 1 Silver stag per day.
In the Land series, 1000 Iron bits= 100 Copper coins= 10 Silver coins= 1 Gold coin.
Silver bands= 1 Gold coin, Silver weights= 2.5 Gold coins.
Gold bands= 10 Gold coins, Gold weights= 25 Gold coins
Chapter 4
Winterfell, Sanren 19, 15,367 ABG
Eddard strode through the bowels of the First Keep with an easy familiarity. It had been a week since he had found Bran and Arya trapped within the labyrinthine passageways that snaked underneath Winterfell, and in that time he and his most trusted men had scoured every square inch of the place. In their search, they had found many odd, terrifying, and incredible things that Maester Lewin had religiously catalogued before placing them in their newly found treasury. That was where he was headed now.
As he crossed the circular entryway where he had discovered his children, his eye was unerringly drawn to the intricate mural etched into the stone floor in the center of the room. The tripartite work of art had flummoxed his learned Maester who warily declared that the mural was a record in a form of proto-old tongue that placed an emphasis on physical representation rather than using modern writing conventions.
He found his feet unconsciously moving toward the mural as he pondered the scene once more. As with the rest of the room, the mural was circular. However, the piece was split by two vertical lines that separated each part.
The scene on the left was made up of flowing lines that seemed to merge and diverge at random points. As the lines reached toward the center of the mural, however, they became straighter and almost seemed to become stagnant. The hypnotic pattern on the far left reminded him of the ocean while at sea. Yet, as his eyes traced over the rest of the pattern he was reminded of a scene from his childhood, of ice fishing over a frozen lake. Cautiously, he had deemed that section to be representing water.
In the center, the etching took on organic shapes and the work seemed to flow from the bottom to the top, as if the shapes were growing. The fact that there was a stylized weirwood tree in the center made him attribute this section as representing life.
The last section, the one on the right, was utterly different than the other two. Instead of flowing lines or organic shapes, the work consisted of repeating jagged spikes in a pattern that was infuriatingly familiar, yet he couldn't place where he had seen it before.
'Still, that must represent earth,' he thought, as he was reminded of the system messages he had received a week ago.
The 'heart crystal' Bran had given him had been nothing short of a blessing of the Old Gods. After claiming the village, he had been inundated with system prompts vying for his attention. Opening them once more, he took a quick look at what he gained.
Congratulations! You have claimed your first village. You are now Master of Winterfell Village. Your village is Level 1. As you increase the level of the village, more powers and resources will become available. This village is built upon a Place of Power. As you possess the prerequisite affinities, Water, Life, and Earth, you are now bonded to this convergence of ley lines. You now have access to the magic and mana associated with this particular Place of Power. There are many secrets to any location of Power, and you must apply yourself to discover and master them. Good luck!
Village Level 1: Total Mana: 1000. Mana regenerates at 41.67 per hour. Boundary of surrounding lands: 10 miles from confluence of ley lines. Requirements for level up: (1) Increase population to at least 1000. (2) Build 100 freestanding buildings. (3) Receive a pledge of fealty from three village masters. (4) Finish three quests of Winterfell village.
Congratulations! You have won +700 Fame Points for founding a village on a Place of Power!
Total Fame Points: +950
He had also gained access to an incredibly detailed village interface that put the one he had gained through his Administration skill to shame. He now had access to village enchantments, summoning, and defenses as well as a host of categories that were specifically tailored to synergize with the Administration skill such as population records, income generation, global relations, and even road maintenance.
After discovering that he was able to place more of the blue 'flames' that lit the underground passageway as part of his new summoning ability, he had been using the village mana pool to place more of the non-burning lights, which would supposedly last for a year, along strategic points in Winterfell and Winter town. His children and the Maester were dismayed at his lack of willingness to summon something 'more fun' as his children called it, but the placement of those lights had already resulted in a small decrease in crime.
"My Lord?" One of his guards asked, breaking him out of his revery.
Looking at the guard in question, he realized he had likely been staring at the mural for several minutes now.
"Just got lost in thought, Torrhen," Eddard said with a nod to the guard.
"Come on, Winter," he said with a nudge to the direwolf's side.
Winter rose with a brief stretch and yawned at Torrhen and the other guard, exposing her massive canines to the pair who paled in fright, still unused to being around the direwolf.
Eddard rolled his eyes as he caught a smirk on Winter's face.
'The bloody mutt is getting more intelligent every tame I Tame her,' he thought in both pride and worry.
As they walked down the blue-lit corridors, he mentally catalogued the different passageways as they passed them by. The catacombs to his right went under the lichyard and were utterly massive, going further underground than even his family's crypt. The first three paths to his left simply lead to dead ends or areas that had ended up collapsing over the millennia. Further down the main corridor, the next room to the right was once an armory but now contained only piles of rust and obsidian scattered around the room. Near the end of the corridor was the treasury, and the only room, besides the entire passageway itself, that he could lock down simply by willing it so.
Placing his hand on the stone door, he willed the treasury to open, hearing the grinding of stone and gears as he did so.
"Guard the door. No one goes in or out until I come back out," he ordered the two guards.
"Aye, milord," the two responded seriously.
As he and Winter walked in, he noticed many of the changes the room had undergone since he had last been here just days ago. The cavernous stone room itself remained unchanged, however he could tell that Maester Lewin and Vayon Poole had been busy organizing and accounting for all the contents. The precious metals, placed in chests, were in one corner, weapons and armor in another, and all the… strange objects were placed carefully out of the way on top of one of the counters. Toward the back of the room, he saw both the Maester and Vayon arguing over what looked to be a large tome.
"…should go with the rest of the horrible objects," He heard Vayon say in exasperation toward the Maester.
Eddard watched the Maester hang his head as he looked at the book longingly before agreeing.
"Fine, fine, you're probably right," the Maester said as he threw his hands up in the air as if warding off the Steward's words.
"What's wrong with the book?" Eddard asked the pair.
"It is bleeding," Vayon deadpanned as he turned around and looked him in the eye.
Wincing, Eddard noticed for the first time how haggard both his Maester and Steward looked.
"I see," Eddard said slowly, trying to ignore the red 'ink' dripping on the floor.
"Once you finish cataloguing our new gains, perhaps you both should take a day or two off," he gently suggested.
"That would be most appreciated, my Lord," his Steward said with a sigh. "I haven't been able to spend much time with Jeyne since this system nonsense began."
"I, too, would enjoy a day or two to pursue some new interests," the Maester said with a gleam in his eye that Eddard wasn't sure he liked.
"Right then," he said, "how much do you have left to record?"
"Not much, thankfully," his Steward said. "All that we have left are mainly the out of place objects like cups, boots, and other small things. The gold, silver, weapons, and armor have all been inventoried."
"And how much did we gain?" he asked curiously.
In response to his question, the Maester flipped through a small notebook before droning, "600,000 gold coins, eight-hundred silver ingots, thirty-eight weirwood bows, dozens of obsidian weapons, and six sets of what appears to be armor made of dragon bone."
"An impressive collection," he responded, mouth dry as his heart hammered furiously in his chest.
"Indeed, my Lord," the Maester responded tonelessly. "What I find interesting is the stamp on the coins, a direwolf on one side and what I believe to be the Crown of Winter on the other. I wasn't aware the north had any gold mines," he finished with an inquisitive look.
"We don't," Eddard said flatly. "The Wulls have a silver mine in the mountains, but as far as I'm aware, gold has never been mined in the North."
"Of course, my Lord," the Maester said easily. "With this addition to the treasury, our total coinage at present consists of 500,000 gold dragons, 600,000 of these 'gold wolves,' the eight-hundred silver ingots, and 14 million silver stags. Though, I must say that the purity of both the new gold and silver is much higher than that of our traditional currency."
"What do you mean?" Eddard asked.
"The current ratio of gold to lead for the making of gold dragons at the Royal Mint is twenty-two parts gold to two parts lead. The same ratio applies for the minting of silver stags, my Lord. These coins, however," the Maester said as he held up a gold coin with a direwolf emblazoned on one side, "are twenty-four parts gold," he finished solemnly.
"This is a good thing, no?" Eddard asked.
The Maester hesitated before saying, "I believe so, my Lord. However, some may see it as an attack on Westerosi coinage if it is put into circulation. Not to mention, it would be fairly simple to determine the origins of the coin. I would advise that you either only trade these within the north or use them in case of emergency."
"Thank you, I will take your words into account," Eddard said as he heard a sloshing noise behind him.
Turning around, he saw Winter drinking out of what appeared to be a giant's skull with the top cut off.
Sighing, Eddard asked without turning back around, "What is she drinking, Vayon?"
"Ahh, I believe that is what we listed as the never-ending draught of ale, my Lord."
"Well at least it'll be a good gift for the Umbers," Eddard mumbled.
Apparently hearing him, Winter began to whine as she looked at him with what appeared to be 'puppy eyes.'
"Those don't work when you're the size of a horse, girl," he scolded.
Winter didn't seem to care in the least as she kept staring at him and started to whimper.
Disturbed by the sounds coming from the massive creature, Eddard broke first.
"Bah, fine, keep the damn thing!"
Pleased, Winter grabbed the top edge of the skull and sauntered happily out of the room.
Ignoring her, Eddard spoke to the amused pair.
"Make sure to lock the room when you leave. I would hate to have to blame you for something missing since you two, beside myself, are the only ones with access to this place," Eddard said sternly.
"Of course, my Lord," the pair said quickly.
Nodding at them once more, Eddard exited the room as he pondered the ramifications of his newfound wealth.
'I could finally afford to rebuild Moat Cailin or perhaps re-settle Sea Dragon Point for Bran or Rickon when they come of age,' he mused as he weighed the benefits and drawbacks of each choice.
Ultimately, he knew the choice would have to wait. The likelihood of a threat from their immediate south was minimal as, despite the current condition of the Moat, any army trying to pass the Neck would be heavily bled for their temerity, as history showed. The east coast was likewise a place that was already well-defended as the Manderly's, Boltons, and Karstarks, three of his premier vassals, all called that area home. It was the west and the north that he was truly worried about.
Knowing the Ironborn, they likely already knew about gaining experience through killing others and would soon, no doubt, be reaving and raping up the coast as their ancestors did.
'A good thing we massacred them nine years ago,' he thought with uncharacteristic bloodlust.
The Ironborn had managed to scrounge up 30,000 warriors, and by the end of their short-sighted rebellion only 4,000 managed to surrender.
'I'd be surprised if they're even at half-strength,' he thought.
Still, the damage 15,000 Ironborn could inflict was not something to discount.
The north was in even worse shape. The Mormonts, the Mountain Clans, and the Umbers were up there, along with the Night's Watch, but their numbers were nothing compared to the hordes of wildlings beyond the Wall. The worst part was that the area had once, while not flourishing, at least been productive and sustainable.
'Until 'Good Queen Alysanne' sunk her damned claws into the north,' he thought, grumpily.
The meddling harpy had more than doubled the land given over to the Night's Watch that the original 'Gift' had provided, and the results were insultingly predictable. The beleaguered organization, unable to provide security for the over 40,000 square miles of arable land the Gift and New Gift made up, saw the smallfolk, whose families had farmed the land for thousands of years, flee south, away from bandits and wildlings.
The loss in food production and tax revenue to the north had a crippling effect on the northern kingdom that was still felt to this day.
'I should have petitioned Robert to undo that edict,' he thought for the thousandth time.
'The King's hatred toward anything Targaryen would have ensured he would do so. Still, not anything I can do about it now,' he grimaced as he began the climb out of the First Keep.
'Wherever the hammer will fall,' he thought determinedly, 'at least we will be prepared for it.'
Several days ago, he had convinced his heir and his wife that war was likely in their immediate future, even if he was unsure where the threat would come from. Since then, he had ordered his professional men into a state of semi-readiness, an order that his master-at-arms took with glee, and ordered the blacksmiths, fletchers, leatherworkers, and seamstresses to start producing all the equipment necessary to propagate war. The massive injection of funds for war preparation had not gone unnoticed by the residents of Winter town but most seemed to take it in stride, simply happy to be making more coin.
As Eddard walked out of the First Keep his face eased at the sight of the grey, overcast sky, happy at the familiar sight.
"Even if it is still too bloody warm," he mumbled.
"What was that, milord?" one of his guards asked.
"Nothing, Torrhen," he sighed. "You men are relieved. If anyone asks after me, tell them I'm in the Godswood."
"Aye, milord," the duo responded.
Walking toward the Godswood, he pulled up the settlement interface and mentally tugged on the option that read 'Current Buildings.'
All but one of the buildings in his settlement were 'Level 0' but that didn't mean they were in any way the same.
Briefly looking over one of the listings, he noticed some issues.
House x 3372 (Wood)-
Level: 0
Durability: Variable due to Variation in Building Quality
Quality: Slum to Well Crafted
Housing: Variable due to size
Deciding to try and separate the houses based on the lowest quality, he was pleasantly surprised when the system allowed him to do so.
House x 121 (Wood)-
Level: 0
Durability: 63
Quality: Slum
Houses: 5/10/15 people (comfortable/adequate/overcrowded)
The majority of the houses in Winter town were currently unused as the migration that occurred in the winter years had yet to occur. That being the case, he would see to it that his master builder rebuilt the worst of the unused houses when he had the time to do so.
Closing the village pages momentarily, he nodded at the guards manning the gate to the Godswood before walking through.
The feeling of peace he always had when visiting the Godswood had magnified since coming to the Land. Now that he had access to the village interface, he was able to pinpoint why that was the case. Pulling up his only 'building' above 'Level 0' in the interface, he thanked his ancestors and the Old Gods for the blessing that was their heart tree.
Guardian Weirwood (A magical tree, new to the Land. This Guardian Weirwood is over 10,000 years old and has been irreversibly bound to the closest nexus of ley lines from which it draws sustenance.)-
Level: 3
Effects: (1) Provides a Mana Pool of 2500 (Mana regenerates at 104.17/hour) to the Master of Winterfell Village while inside the village's domain; (2) +10% Skill growth to practitioners of Water, Life, and Earth magic within the village's domain; (3) Temporarily boost crop growth inside village limits by 10% for 30 days after a sacrificial blood offering.
The first effect alone was incredible. While so far the mana pool had only been used to place more of the blue lights around Winterfell, and to supplement his own mana pool when he cast Tame, he was extremely grateful for not having to bottom out his mana pool, and fall unconscious as a result, every time he cast the Blood Magic spell. The second effect was also likely to be a boon to his people, though he had, as of yet, been unable to discover how to 'unlock' the Water, Life, or Earth Magic skills. The last effect, while disturbing, was too beneficial to ignore.
Hence why he was out here in the first place.
As he came in sight of the weirwood, he saw a dozen of his guards along with a weathered farmer holding a placid looking goat. Greeting his guards and the farmer, he ordered his men to pay the farmer before sending the old man away.
"Nae, milord. Not every day one like me gets to see the Godswood. If'n it be the same to you, I'd like to watch," the old farmer said, revealing his rotten teeth in what the man probably assumed was a smile.
Not seeing a reason to refuse the man, he quickly agreed, if only just to get on with it.
Grabbing a firm hold of the goat, the animal obediently followed him as he kneeled before the roots of the weirwood. Unsheathing his dagger, he angled the blade just so and plunged the metal into the goat's heart, twisting as he pulled the blade out.
The short bleat that came from the goat's throat was silenced as the tree groaned and seemed to 'pull' the rest of the blood out of the dying animal in a torrent. Seconds later, the shellshocked audience looked at the desiccated corpse of the creature in horror before one of his guards spoke up.
"Looks like it's still hungry, milord. Might need to sacrifice something with a bit more meat on the bones," he said as he gestured suggestively at the farmer.
The farmer, whose eyes had already been white with terror, stiffened up, pissed himself, and passed out.
Rolling his eyes, he tried and failed to hide his smirk to his chuckling guardsmen, before saying, "You get to carry him back, Ragnar."
"Aye, milord," the guardsman said, openly showing a grin.
Looking over his notifications, Eddard was relieved to see that the goat had been enough to trigger the weirwood's third effect.
'Things are starting to look up,' he thought in contentment.
Author's Note: I realize I've been throwing a lot of numbers at you all, but I've been trying to introduce the system mechanics in a coherent way before all the action starts. Next chapter will see a time skip of 4 weeks and the gathering of the Lords at Winterfell. Thanks for Reading!