Chapter Six
Ser Norwin Moreland tugged his forest green and earth brown cloak tighter about himself, holding back a shiver to his limbs as the North's bite cut to his flesh. He was sitting on an overturned log surrounding one of the many little fires their party had set up in Moat Cailin. Above him, amidst reddish brown piper's grass and wiry thin reeds, rose half-rotted black basalt towers, the chipped and stained teeth of the lands in an open maw slick with pond scum and river water. Between his hands was a clay mug full to the brim with a sweet-scented tisane made by the sole lady of the party. Dark purple poison kisses bobbed on the top, their waxy petals enclosing a sundrop yellow center. Norwin hadn't been sure about drinking a tisane laced with a flower explicitly named poison but eventually the cold drove him to a sip. And a slight bitter aftertaste aside, the drink was quite good.
'It's the only warm thing about the lady thus far,' Norwin thought, eyeing the dark-haired lass sitting nearby her horse, feeding a raven nuts by her own hand. It kept her far away from the warm tongues of the fire but she seemed indifferent to the chill. It made him envious that she could move around with such ease in nothing but the simple long-sleeved, high-necked dress Northern ladies preferred.
For the first day of their journey, Lyarra Snow had been as cold and silent as her name, neither engaging the party in any conversation nor answering any but the most superfluous question in polite, short-clipped answers. She'd ridden her horse next to Lord Tywin's, near the center of the party, as was her right as his future gooddaughter but hadn't spoken more than a handful of phrases to him. Not a single complaint had passed her lips over the course of the trip, wherein she made the unusual choice to ride astride. Indeed, she handled her steed fairly well for a lady though it was evident that the bastard wasn't used to traversing long distances. Lord Tywin had arranged for two more rest periods than they typically took and during them, Norrin had spied the young woman slipping away to her usual distant spot, discreetly taking a hand between the slits in her heavy overskirt and rubbing at her thighs. He sympathized. His first overland journey to a tourney had rubbed his calves raw too.
'I wonder if the skin beneath her dress is as fair and smooth as that above?'
Not soon after having the thought, Norrin hurriedly shook his head to dislodge it. He took a gulp of his tisane, wincing at it burned the roof of his mouth, and ventured a nervous glance at his liege lord. The knight intellectually knew that Tywin Lannister was incapable of reading minds, and was immersed with the papers on his lap desk regardless, but it was difficult not to react that way. His brother's childhood stories of the man and how he knew all of the comings and goings of the Westerlands still haunted him in adulthood. Ser Norrin was not in the least bit eager to learn of Lord Tywin's reaction to any man that covetted his son's bride, for all that this match seemed to displease him.
'It's such a shame though, to waste such a beauty on a man that preferred the white cloak.'
Ser Norrin had been a castle knight in Lord Tywin's employ for near four years now, since the young man of eighteen years had been knighted. He was well-known to the servants there and even bedded a comely maid regularly enough that he'd learnt of Ser Jaime's reaction to the soulmark. While it was understandable that no man desired to be bound as reparations, and to a bastard nonetheless, getting piss drunk over the news and wrestling the Imp took that a step too far. Maybe that rumor of Ser Jaime being rather more fond of the sword than accepted had some basis after all.
'Not that the lady can be expected to remain a maiden. Lord Tywin would get an heir from her if he had to hold Ser Jaime at swordpoint himself.'
Those words prompted another anxious gulp of the tea, after which Norrin decided that he'd wait until he was in his quarters before he had any more musings that would lead to a shallow grave in Moat Cailin. There'd been men enough buried here for far worst offenses than he'd committed thus far.
Watching the girl had brought back his sympathy for her plight however. Not for leaving her home to wed a man she barely knew. Ladies did that sort of thing all the time and even if he would be unable to satisfy her in bed, Ser Jaime was a better match than any bastard could hope to make. No, Norrin instead felt acute sympathy for the calf pain of a day's hard riding.
"Hey, Androw." Norrin used his covered boot to sharply nudge the sleepy-eyed lad across from him. The squire was Forsyth's and thus far, hadn't been the worst sniveling, bright-eyed brat he'd seen. "Have you any more of that ginger tincture?"
The sandy brown-haired boy started a little, looking up forlornly from his own finished drink, to squint at him. "Yeah, whatta you want it for?"
"Just want a good night's sleep," Norrin said easily, as though he hadn't developed the callouses and muscles years ago. "Trade you the rest of my tisane."
The boy perked up and promptly swapped his half-finished drink with a wrapped handkerchief stained with yellowish paste. The sharp scent of ginger hit his nose as he stood up, taking a moment to stretch his own legs, as he left the fireside. Most of the men were too tired to care but he caught a few eyes tracking his progress as he made his way through spongy soil still wet with last night's storm. This was far enough south that it was small pools of greenish water marking the event than a thin layer of icy white powder.
Lady Lyarra looked up when he was more than half a dozen paces from the horse. Her violet eyes retained their hue even in this dim light, presenting themselves as two hardened gemstones to him. The Westerlands didn't have as many precious gemstones in their vaunted mountains as they did gold or silver strains but House Moreland had a few deposits near their land. Norrin personally found her gaze akin to the alexandrite collection that graced his mother's brow, collarbone and ears. Under the candlelight, the stones shone as fiercely as her eyes did now.
"My lady." Norrin sketched a perfect bow, as one did to the woman that would rule should Tywin Lannister ever humble himself to die. "This is for you."
"Ser… Norrin," the lady spoke after a second's pause and he found himself unexpectedly pleased that she'd remembered his name. She didn't move to accept the handkerchief held between his cupped hands though, instead looking at him with wary and hooded eyes that struck him as uncommon in a young maiden of her years. "What is it?"
"A ginger tincture that can soothe aches."
Her eyes widened slightly in surprise but her face remained as implacable as ever. Had he not seen her descend into tears when leaving behind her family, Norrin would have thought this Northern lady as heartless as any to ever grace a lord's bed. Pale hands reached out to accept the offering and he looked down to gaze at little details that none of the trueborn ladies he'd ever seen had. There were calluses on her palm, a stain of ink not yet faded on two fingers, small white scars littered throughout and then her hand receded.
She opened one of the linen's triangular folds to peek in. "Ginger root, minced garlic, black pepper seeds, Valerian stalk and… willow bark, I think? Yes, this'll be far more effective than my current paste. Thank you, Ser Norrin."
The knight hid his surprise through the matter-of-fact listing.
He was startled a moment later when the lady looked up to him, a sincere smile breaking across her face as though a sole ray of sunlight had fought it way through foreboding clouds. Th upturn of pink bowed lips softened the sharp angles of her cheekbone and the long face of the Starks. The violet eyes warmed to something sweet-natured and amicable rather than distant and untouchable and shallow curves broke into the smooth skin around her mouth. She dimpled. It was sincerely frightening how swiftly that managed to steal his breath away.
"You're welcome, my lady," Norrin managed to say, before staggering away. As he did so, the brief surge of emotion that overcame him, breaking through his perfectly reasonable fear of his liege lord, was unaccountable regret. This was the beauty to wed Ser Jaime? 'What an absolute tragedy.'
x
Lyarra took out one of the sheafs of bound notes within her burlap satchel, drew out the foremost roll of parchment and then returned her fortnight's worth of hard work. She gave the perfectly serviceable satchel one pat of apology. It had been sufficient to her needs for the many years since she'd first sown it as a girl of eight but the slight tightening around Lord Tywin's eyes meant that it would soon be discarded for one of boiled leather, metal clasps and possibly gold stitching. It was, as with many other parts of her, apparently inadequate to her position in accordance to her future goodfather's will.
The dark-haired girl tried not to take too much offense to that. She knew that all brides sacrificed a measure of their past for their future roles and responsibilities and Lyarra, being a bastard, would be expected even more. She knew that this loss would be one of many minor slights to her history. She knew that she would lose this satchel, a piece she hadn't even cared for until its imminent loss became clear to her. She knew all that but she couldn't help that well of bitterness in her chest either. Once again, Lyarra Snow was being measured by another and found wanting.
'At least, as a Lady Paramount, they'd have to impose their judgement solely through the eyes.' Lyarra felt a good deal more cheery at the thought. There would always be people conferring judgement upon her for being a bastard, she knew that, but if their trip had proven anything so far, it was that Lyarra Snow's status in the world had risen significantly.
In the last twelve days, the party had made its way south via the Kingsroad and turned westwards on the River Road at the Crossroads Inn. The road here was better maintained by the Riverlands and, as the party of a Great House with the proper pennants flying in the wind, they'd been able to move quickly past cleared roads. Lyarra had earnt a fair few curious glances herself, her raven hair an anomaly amidst shades of gold, brown and even russet in her party and with her inability to darken even a shade more in the sun.
They hadn't been unkind glances though. The smallfolk had looked at her like she was some important lady- which, she often had to remind herself, she technically was now- and made way for Frostbite. When they settled in village inns alongside the road, she was afforded one of the best rooms on Lannister gold and with a guard before her door at night. When she was escorted around the markets as they picked up more supplies, merchants hawked directly at her and threw flattery and prices at her feet. When she passed a wandering Septon on the street, he'd immediately conferred his blessings upon her, faster than Lyarra could protest that she was a follower of the Old Gods.
'Disadvantages of being Ser Jaime Lannister's bride: Septon blessings. Advantages, as many ink bottles and parchment scrolls as I'd like.'
Lord Tywin had dropped a red-dyed drawstring pouch on her lap in the first village they'd passed, instructing her to limit herself for the duration of this trip. One glance had told Lyarra that that would be an absurdly easy task; a later, more thorough counting, revealed twenty gold dragons and five silver moons. She'd known House Lannister was wealthy but this was an exorbitant sum for more than just a fortnight's trip. The average farmer in the North made a five dragons in one year's work.
For Lyarra, who hadn't spent more than two stags in writing supplies, thread and apples for Frostbite, this would more than double her savings. If this marriage business didn't work out, the dark-haired girl might consider finding a ship to take her to Dorne. Of course, if the soul mark on her wrist didn't kill her, than the Martells might for being Ned Stark's daughter and Jaime Lannister's soulmate…
No one had been actively unkind to her thus far but it was evident from Lord Hoster Tully's cold reception of them at Riverrun, that the man either strongly disliked her future crest, disliked her or likely enough both. The man had condescended to her throughout the entire one-night stay in the castle. Lyarra hadn't taken any insult from that, other than a few discourteous thoughts about the apple not falling far from the tree where Lady Stark was concerned but Lord Tywin had. While she was certain he felt her an inferior bride for his son, the man hadn't taken well to anyone else implying anything of the sort. He'd been equally dismissive and scornful to the Riverlord after Edmure Tully slighted her by offering his arm to the Septa of their castle for dinner. Hoster Tully's reaction to this had been controlled but Lord Edmure's had not and viewing any features reminiscent of Lady Stark's contort in frustration and affront was a balm to her soul. She'd almost liked her goodfather then.
The man wasn't speaking to her presently, though he rarely ever did, and none of the knights that had thus far treated her obsequiously spoke either. The silence settled amidst their party between tension and comfort, neither siding to one nor the other, and Lyarra decided that she simply couldn't have it. The rolling green plains and winding rivers of the empty stretch of road could be interesting for only so long after all and while she hadn't any intentions to speak- the Gods forbid the thought!- Lyarra was bored. Her default when in this form was to find comfort in the written word.
Thus, a neatly arrayed list of Westerlands Houses with tiny sketches of their banners and creeds, laid out before her. She balanced herself well on Frostbite, kept one hand on the reins and began to study.
House Algood. A golden wreath on blue with a golden border. Victory at All Costs.
House Banefort. A black-hooded man on a grey field with a fiery crest. Woe Betide Our Enemies.
House Bettley. Three blue beetles on gold. Seeking Ever More.
House Brax of Hornvale. A purple unicorn on a silver field. To Look-
"What are you reading?" A deep voice drew her out of her study, pink lips still pursed as she mouthed the last phrase to herself. She looked over to the hazel green eyes of Lord Tywin, silently angling her parchment so that his keen gaze could read the words.
"I'm studying the Westerlands' bannermen, my lord." Lyarra answered aloud as well, in case she'd misjudged his sight. Lord Tywin was a proud man. He'd not appreciate having to request her answer again should his eyes fail him in this.
There was a nod of acknowledgment but his features were too still for her to discern any censure. "The knights here are drawn from some of my principle bannermen. You'll learn details of their immediate households from them personally."
It was not a request, so Lyarra, discomfort pooled in her belly at this very first test placed in front of her, returned to the parchment. Her voice trembled a little at the beginning words. "I-is anyone of House Algood here?"
An older knight with salt-and-pepper sprinkled hair looked back with a kindly expression. "I am, my lady. Ser Thyman of House Algood. My older brother, Lord Edwyle, rules our House."
'Old enough for a wife and children then.' Lyarra took a deep breath. "Has he any children, Ser?"
"Aye, two daughters, both married, and a son of nineteen years, soon to be wed. My nephew is Ser Martin Alwood and he's betrothed to Lady Cylla Hawthorne…"
It continued in this manner until the sun rose high in its zenith. Soon, the dark-haired girls nerves gave way to the focused concentration that characterized her studious nature and made her excel in Maester Luwin's memories. She did her best to commit as many names to her memory as she could, at least the lords and their sons, though many of the names escaped her. Not all of the men were as detailed as Ser Thyman but Lyarra learnt from sons of Houses Clifton, Drox, Ferren, Garner, Greenfield, Jast, Lantell, Moreland, Sarsfield and Serret. Ser Caelum Vikary was just giving her an account of the main branch of his House, the sour expression showing that he didn't care overmuch for his father, when a loud, panicked whinny came from the front of the party.
'By the Gods' tits!' Lyarra held tightly to Frostbite's reign, pulling the grey and cream thoroughbred back a little to keep it from skittering in fear. Her knees clenched around her mount instinctively, one hand balling around the edge of her parchment before common sense had her drop it and use both hands to maneuver her steed. The other horses either closed protectively around her or rode forward to meet the bandits ahead.
It was a group of roughly ten to fifteen men, all poorly attired, bearing scythes, hammers, pitchforks and other farm tools in their hands, and screaming as they ran at the knights. The immediate two in the front surged forward, drawing gleaming metal in one practiced gesture and falling on the bandits with ease. A few others dispatched to do the same, well-trained, well-practiced and without mercy, either innate or trained, against the men to attack them. Lyarra's heartbeat thudded rapidly as she watched the bandits fall one by one, a few scrambling back to the relative safety of the woods on either side of the road, as it became obvious where the victory would lie. Finding one man that had managed to outflank a knight raise his pitchfork, certainly unable to pierce the guard's plate armor but more than capable of striking a fatal blow to that poor horse, she acted.
'I have to practice this more.' It was downright pitiful how her clumsy fingers slipped underneath the overskirt of her dress, taking out a sheathed knife from its inner pocket and undrawing it. The familiar weight of a knife in her hand comforted Lyarra immensely as she curled her fingers around the hilt, took aim and threw it into the air. It whistled overhead the guards, aim true and a sincerely beautiful arc, before hitting its target true. The bandit howled in pain as the steel dug fully into the fleshy knucklebones of his pitchfork hand.
A heartbeat later and his screams were silenced forevermore. The knight had slit his throat.
There was blood spilled all over the road and while Lyarra had seen such a sight before, had travelled with her father and even thrown a knife in defense two years past, it felt decidedly different. There was no Ned Stark here to turn to her, grey eyes swamped in concern as he placed a comforting hand on her shoulder and turned her away from the blood and gore. Her stomach turned. The dark-haired girl would have been tempted to draw out her breakfast from this morn had it not been for one thing. The men were all staring at her. The Westerlands men were all staring at her and Lyarra suppressed any indication she'd have of sickness or fear. This was not her father and these were not his men. There was no room for weakness in her husband's House.
The Snow coughed self-consciously and then firmed her voice. "You were saying, Ser Caelum?"
x
The mountain pass to Casterly Rock was dotted with the ramshackle buildings of abandoned towns from whence riches of the earth were once mined. Tywin Lannister made a mental note to have someone come by and tear these eyesores down. They detracted from the natural beauty of the land around them. On either side, rose majestic sheer cliffs of yellow-white stone veined in strains of the white chalk preferred for teaching tools amongst the nobility and merchant classes. There was the crisp green of the grazing land preferred by livestock in the plateaus they'd crossed thus far and pockets where spruce and fir sprung up, huddled together in a few rare areas of nutrient-rich soil. The sky above them was a full expanse of blue one would have to strain their neck to see directly above the rocky ridges. Far to his east, nearly past where they could be seen, were thin wisps of black drifting upwards to the heavens.
He saw the bastard's eyes directed there also and offered a curt explanation. "The iron-smelting guilds have a factory there."
Lyarra Snow's eyes lightened in clarity and she looked expectantly at him for more knowledge. Tywin found that this didn't bother him overmuch as he fell to lecturing the child that had the good sense to learn about her husband's home and the House her own son would lead one day. A maester's role suited him well, as he'd been the eldest of four brothers and had no compunctions in lecturing to the others whenever the mood took him. He'd even taught Jaime the lessons accorded to his Heir occasionally though his son's lack of interest in them, as well as his own heavy responsibilities as the Lord Paramount of the Westerlands and the Hand of the King, meant this was not done often. He was pleased that the bastard listened as attentively to him as Kevan would.
"While the main occupation of the Westerlands is mining, accounting for near two-thirds of the workforce, there are also plenty of individuals focused on agriculture, livestock, particularly sheep and cattle, industry, artisanship, fishing and the requisite positions necessary to supporting a society, such as seamstresses, bakers, butchers and the like. The gold, silver and precious gemstones that we mine are passed onto silversmiths, metalworkers, jewelers and others to craft into specialized items that can be sold for a hefty sum within and outside of the Westerlands. We also have eight iron-smelting operations that handle a good half of the iron we mine, though I've plans to expand that in the future and currently export both raw iron and crafted steel to the other realms."
He took a moment to pause here and allowed her to absorb the words. She nodded after a moment. "Is the gold also exported to make coins and the like?"
A pride enveloped him as he replied. "It is not."
The bastard girl's eyes widened in surprise. She opened her mouth, possibly to refute the answer, before pursing those bow-shaped lips and thinking it through. Her tone was filled with disbelief. "The Crown allows you to mint the coins yourself?"
Tywin nearly smiled. He didn't but he was almost tempted to. "It was a concession made by King Robert as the previous factories were destroyed by the war and the Crown needed excess coin to drive down inflation and stabilize the economy."
"And the King didn't retake the operation himself after the economy was stabilized?"
"He did not." Robert Baratheon's lack of common sense and inability to rule infuriated him often but in this matter, it had been to the decided advantage of House Lannister. Tywin had poured plenty of gold into the King's pet projects- namely, tourneys, whores and wine- in order to gain this. "The Crown gives us a generous stipend each year to perform the service in their stead."
Luminous violet eyes were still filled with outright wonder at their monarch's carelessness. He could understand why. Most men weren't foolish enough to grant such a powerful economic tool to a single realm, even if Tywin was ostensibly beholden to the King's orders.
Lyarra Snow moved on. "Sheep provide wool and cattle leather but that leaves silk, linen and other fabrics to be imported?"
He inclined his head. "We import most of our linen from the Riverlands, under a heavy tax, making it a more expensive fabric here. The silk likewise is gained from the Reach, after they export it from Dorne, making the cost too high for most smallfolk. A good selection of products from Pentos makes its way through the Gold Road from King's Landing and due to another agreement, it is only taxed twice, upon entry to port at Blackwater Bay and when it reaches Deep Den, the first city for which Westerlands' taxes are levied. House Lydden holds that seat and its current lord, Lord Arlan, is my foremost tax collector. He arranged for bi-monthly caravans to travel to Casterly Rock…"
As the two continued their lesson, Tywin Lannister was merely left to mild regret and wistfulness. 'Why could Jaime not have been like the bastard?'
x
In the high halls of Casterly Rock, a dwarf poked a knight sharply on the cheek.
"Look, it was funny the first day and I pitied you for the rest," Tyrion said exasperatedly. "But it's been a fortnight now and I am running out of wine."
His brother, the golden-haired Golden Son of Tywin Lannister, groaned and covered his eyes. The drunken man was curled up on a bed, not even his but Cersei's childhood abode, trying to work through his hangover. It would have been laudable except for the half-filled glass bottle of Arbor gold held laxly between his fingers.
Tyrion sharply drew open the curtains. Jaime released a grief-filled whine. The glass bottle wavered dangerously and the Imp toddled over as quickly as he could to save his precious drink from his older brother's goddamn inability to get over a mean-spirited woman that cheated on him repeatedly. And who was also their sister but since when had that ever matter to dear Jaime?
'At least the sour vintage is safe,' the dwarf thought in relief. It wasn't often that Dornish strongwine made its way to Casterly Rock and when it did, it was at incredibly inflated prices. Tyrion had acquired a few bottles over the years and when it became clear that Jaime meant to drink them all, he'd paid his most tolerable cousin, Joy Hill, to hide them in her clothes hamper. "Get up, Jaime."
"Go 'way, Tyrion," Jaime mumbled back. He opened one bloodshot eye and damn all the Gods for their unfairness, for he looked nearly as handsome, piss drunk, foul-odored and rumple-nested as he did when he cared about his hygiene. The lion knight hissed at him. "I want to die."
"You can't do it by wine, that's my plan," was his quick retort. "Father's arriving this noon."
That was the wrong thing to say. Jaime buried his head in a child's pillow and started mumbling to himself. Previous experience had revealed this to be recriminations against Lyarra Snow for daring to wear his soul mark and inadvertently leading to his discovery that Cersei was a cuckolding whore. Well, more of a cuckolding whore than usual, considering she was wed to that lush they called a King.
"You need to make yourself presentable. A damn bath would be a good start," Tyrion muttered. He didn't particularly care for the increasingly ridiculous threats his brother spouted against a young woman he couldn't take action against anyway. Jaime had levied the same threats against him, words slurred in sudden upset, for taking a most unusual path for a Lannister and revealing the truth.
"Give me a name," Jaime responded mulishly.
"A bath, a meal, a visit and no more than a daily glass of wine for a sennight," Tyrion bartered.
The knight didn't bother to make a counteroffer before he surrendered. It sincerely hurt Tyrion's heart to see his proud older brother reduced to this, even as he accepted that it was a necessary part of pulling Cersei away. She'd spent so many years with Jaime, sunk her claws in so deep and poured through so much venom by her kisses, that it would take an equal pain to wrench them out and leech him clean. Lesser men may not have even survived it but he knew his brother. Jaime was a knight. One tarnished and cracked by the difficult choices life had presented before him but an innately good man inside, at least to the ones he loved. Without Cersei there to belittle any quality that didn't fit her idealized image of her twin, as the mirrored half and oftentimes blade of her will, he'd find those traits that first inspired him to be a knight. He'd find his courage and decency. Jaime would survive.
'And until then he'll be finding ways to inflict even more pain on himself though.' Tyrion went through his mental index of men he knew his sister to have slept with, having decided at the earliest to omit any they were close kin to, like Cousin Lancel. "Osmund Kettleblack."
Jaime closed his eyes, self-inflicting yet another blow to himself. "I'm going to kill him."
"I know you will, Brother," Tyrion said sympathetically, patting his back. "Now, rise from bed. I've had a maid ready your bath."
x
I am oddly fond of Jaime at the moment and decided to write another chapter of this as a result. Lyarra's strongly inclined towards the economy and understands the basics underlying trade. Her talent in politics and intrigue is far more limited but she'll learn swiftly, as she has to. Also, to try and instill some type of order in finances, I've decided on the following:
1 Dragon = 1,250 USD.
I know that an ounce of gold is higher, roughly $1326 as of this writing, but the former amount is easier to track.
30 Silver Stags = 1 Moon = 150 USD
1 Silver Stag = 5 USD.
It takes 210 Silver Stags to make 1 Golden Dragon but that would make it roughly 6 USD for a Stag and this is easier to keep track of.
1 Copper Star = 1 USD
1 Copper Penny = 0.5 USD
Every other currency in Westeros won't be considered for the course of this fic. Also, I know these figures are wildly differing in value but in my defense, GRRM made 1470 Copper Stars equal 1 Dragon's worth and you cannot tell me that people calculated that easily. There are also many oddities when it comes to the cost of basic goods in Westeros, so that doesn't help either.
Lyarra has 20 Golden Dragons, 4 Silver Moons, and 28 Silver Stags from Tywin. Her own funds comprise of 13 Dragons, 7 Silver Stags and 3 Copper Stars in mostly silver stag and copper stars form. She only had 8 full Dragons before this (nameday gift from Ned from her seventh birthday onwards) but I use it in that form to make it easier to track. In total, Lyarra Snow's Current Funds:
Golden Dragons: 33
Silver Moons: 4
Silver Stags: 35
Copper Stars: 3
USD: $42,028
She'll get an allowance from her husband (or more accurately, Tywin since Jaime is currently an unemployed, depressed, drunk slacker… poor Lyarra. She'll be so unimpressed by her husband) but will be expected to maintain her own household. Genna will sit down and try to help her sort through this but Lyarra has a head for numbers and will do her best to manage this responsibly. I'm not sure what the full costs of a lady's household should be. I know she needs to set aside funds for her own wardrobe, the upkeep of Frostbite (stable costs and food), allowances for her ladies-in-waiting, miscellaneous purchases like her own harp and that's about it. There are likely others and if anyone has estimates on how much should be marked for each cost, please inform me. Also I was not kidding; Tywin really did hand her over 25 grand for spending money. Part of that was to impress upon her how much wealth and power he has. It worked to some extent though her innate Stark came out and became very judgemental at this colossal Southron waste of gold. I expect Lyarra to have a coronary when she learns how much the King gives away for his tourney purses.
Lyarra: Robert Baratheon is my father's best friend and I will be loyal to him as my King.
Tyrion: He's six million dragons in debt.
Lyarra: Screw it, we're taking over this kingdom!
What would a good monthly allowance for the next Lady of the Westerlands be? Is 50 dragons reasonable? I mean, in medieval times, the rich were very rich and the poor were very poor and there wasn't much in between. Lyarra needs to get the same allowance that Tyrion or Jaime could expect or near that amount and while Tyrion's whoring and drinking habits could be a mid-level expense, books were handwritten and worth thousands in those days. Lyarra has access to the Lannister library but she'll likely also purchase a few books for her own private collection, so she needs the kind of allowance that will cover that.
x
Update: This is a fact sheet on the current finances of House Lannister and landmass of different realms in Westeros. Thank you to Author376, who helped me work through most of this, and also ArkonWarlock, witchbreaker, InkyKate, AngelQueen and others that have contributed great ideas and inspired even more. The above is a short list, so I apologize if I overlooked anyone here.
Landmass of Regions:
The North: 3,300,000 sq. mi.
The Iron Islands: 50,000 sq. mi.
The Vale: 350,000 sq. mi.
The Crownlands: 150,000 sq. mi.
The Riverlands: 500,000 sq. mi.
The Stormlands: 500,000 sq. mi.
The Westerlands: 350,000 sq. mi.
The Reach: 900,000 sq. mi.
Dorne: 900,000 sq. mi.
Reasoning: The landmass of Westeros is, according to GRRM, equivalent to South America, making it roughly 6.8m sq. mi. For the purposes of this story, it'll be rounded up to 7m sq. mi. and divided thusly. 50k sq. mi. will belong to the Iron Islands and 150k to the Crownlands, bringing it down to 6.8m sq. mi. Of that, the North is slightly less than all of the other realms put together, so here, the North is 3.3m sq. mi. and the other realms are 3.5m sq. mi. altogether. Of the 3.5m, the Reach and Dorne are roughly equal to one another and make up a little more than half, with 900k sq. mi. going to each of them. This leaves 1.7m sq. mi. remaining, of which the Riverlands, the Stormlands, the Westerlands and the Vale share. Now the last two are supposed to be equal in size and the first two are slightly bigger than that. To keep it simple, the Stormlands and the Riverlands are the same size, with 500k sq. mi. each and the Westerlands and Vale split the remainder at 350k sq. mi. Now these are very rough estimates but it puts the Westerlands as one of the smallest regions by landmass, coming in either sixth or seventh place.
Wealth of House Lannister
Personal Income on an Annual Basis: 780,000 Gold Dragons or $975,000,000 USD
Breakdown:
185k GD from Casterly Rock mines
200k GD from bannermen mines
125k GD from grazing tolls on land
270k GD from business and trade taxes
~6k GD from miscellaneous fines
Reasoning: Sales tax isn't something easily calculated in medieval times, so I apparently cannot squeeze out more gold there. The Casterly Rock mines were calculated from Potosi, Bolivia, the famous city that had a mountain made of silver and earned Spain incredible riches during its colonisation. At its height, the mine produced 25 bags of silver ore daily with each bag weighing roughly 45kg. A kg is roughly equal to 35 oz. and the going rate for silver is $16 per oz.
Math: 25 bags * 45 kg. per bag * 35 oz. per kg. * $16 per oz. = 504 GD daily or $630,000 USD.
In a year's time, the mine would produce 183,960 GD, rounded up to 185k GD.
For the bannermen, there are four other very profitable mines in the Westerlands, not owned by Casterly Rock. Those mines are Castamare, Golden Tooth, Nun's Deep and Pendric Hills. Tywin demands a flat annual fee of 50k GD from each of them, which encourages innovative practices amongst his bannermen because they get to keep the remainder of the gold mined.
For grazing tolls on land, the average Northern farmer makes 4 GD annually. In the Westerlands, there's more demand for local produce and better soil, so that rises to 5 GD. It's a step up to be a cattle farmer or sheep herder instead and the average one brings in 8 GD annually, of which a 6.25% tax means that Tywin makes 0.5 GD per toll. He sells 1m tolls annually for an income of 250k GD and splits that equally with bannermen for 125k GD for Tywin. Where did I get those numbers? I made them up but they sound reasonable enough, so I'm keeping them.
For business and trade taxes, this one was likely lowballed. The Westerlands has a population of 3 million people. In the United States, 63% of the population (as of 2015) were working age adults. That rounds down to 60% of the Westerlands, around 80% (of the 60%) work in service-related jobs, like miner, guard, servant, farmer, soldier, etc. They do not pay income taxes. 20% do pay business taxes though, which is higher than the Westerosi average but the Westerlands has many silversmiths, jewelers, artisans, etc. This leaves a working age, taxed population of 360,000 people.
Math: 3 million people * 60% working adults * 20% business-related workers = 360k people.
The average salary for a business-related worker shall be fifteen dragons, considerably more than menial jobs because one needs education and experience for this. Tywin charges a 15% tax but 10% goes to the various bannermen, so he only gets 5% overall.
Math: 360k people * 15 GD salary * 5% tax = 270,000 GD
As for the fines, you may have noted that there have several times throughout this explanation where I either rounded up or down. The miscellaneous fines are to account for any underestimates with the sums (for overestimates, Tyrion gambles with the luck of the devil). Tywin has issued rules to his bannermen about keep the roads clear and the drinking waterways unpolluted and if he sees said rules broken, he will institute a fine. That's where the ~6k GD, maybe more, maybe less, comes in.
Also, after calculating all this, I just realized that Tywin Lannister is rich. I know everyone says he is but this doesn't even account for the many other lesser sources of income he may have had, like investing into some of the businesses in his realm or import taxes. He is a very wealthy man.
Annual Expenses of House Lannister
Robert Baratheon: 300k GD
Casterly Rock: 125k GD
Lannister Naval Fleet: 16k GD
Personal Knights (Peace): 64k GD
Household Allowances: 75k GD
Tourney and Entertainment: 75k GD
Almsgiving and Faith: 60k GD
Remainder: 65k GD
For Robert Baratheon, he actually had decent reserves when he first regained the throne, despite the financial instability then because he had war chests from all of the looting the rebels did of Loyalist Houses. He also gained a fair bit of coin from issuing punishment to Houses like House Darry that stood with the dragons. The instability was because Robert outlawed Gold Dragons with Aerys' image on them, which were the foremost denomination then and without hard currency, trade grinded to a halt. Tywin Lannister moved quickly to print new Gold Dragons with Robert's face on them and retained control of that aspect of the monetary supply since. With the King's lavish spending though, that cushion dwindled and he started borrowing heavily from House Lannister post-Greyjoy Rebellion. Lyarra was eight then, she's fifteen now and the King owes her goodfather 2.1 million GD. It's not the almost 3 million GD that gave poor Ned a heart attack when he was Hand but it's still considerable.
Casterly Rock has many expenses, focusing on upkeep, food, servants, etc. The primary driver of costs is heating bills. They need to import most of their lumber because the Westerlands doesn't have much in the way of forestry and thus, bring in lumber from the Reach. Getting it from the extensive forests of the North, particularly in the Neck, would be nice but you'd have to traverse your ship through Ironman's Bay and there isn't a ready port there. If only there was a Northern lady there to persuade her goodfather into making a considerable investment in a Northern port and handing control of those operations to House Reed… It'd be cheaper in the long run but there's not a lot of gold available in the budget yet.
The Lannister Naval Fleet is comprised of, according to ASOIAF Wikia, fifty to sixty large galleons. Of course, there's a significant difference between those two numbers but let's assume sixty to be safe. House Lannister does not own them all. They don't even own the most ships, that honor belongs to the Fair Isles, which are the primary line of defense against Ironborn aggression. Tywin owns twenty galleons. It takes 800 G to maintain them annually, so his costs are 16k GD. I quadruped that for household knights, guards, soldiers, etc. when not at war, making them 64k GD. This is Tywin's personal army, not the full one he raises for battle, and yes, it does include Gregor Clegane, also known as Lyarra's future target practice.
Household accounts are based on the premise of the Saudi Royal Family that assigned monetary allowances to their 2000 plus members annually, ranging from a couple thousand a month (third cousin) to a few billion dollars (brother of the King). Basically, the closer you are to the main branch or the more useful you make yourself, the more you get. Kevan and Genna, for example, get supplemental allowances of 1000 GD annually, while Jaime and Tyrion get 700 GD each. Each niece or nephew gets 200 GD and so on. Tywin spends about 75k GD here.
He spends 50k for tourneys and other entertainments annually because, unlike Robert, he does not think 40k GD purses are appropriate. It's somewhat of an anathema to him, really. Almsgiving and Faith tithes take up 60k GD, mostly because its expected of him. That leaves him with 65k GD remaining or about 81,250,000 USD, which isn't insignificant but it makes him feel poor. Tywin is limited on the projects he could pursue with this amount of money, without going into the red for it. He currently does not have any significant debts but also doesn't have a rainy day fund either.