Chapter 17

~Garth Flowers~

His lord had returned to the Dreadfort shockingly early in the day. Either they have traveled through the night or they had camped close by and woken up at dawn. Garth wasn't sure which one was more likely, given how queer Lord von Carstein often was there was as equal a chance for one as the other.

"I'll meet with the people from White Harbor this afternoon. But first we have things to go over in my solar."

"Yes, my lord. I sent a guard to inform Martyn to meet us there," Garth said as he hurried to keep pace as his lord strode purposefully through the halls. "Did things go well on Bear Island?"

"They went as well as I expected."

That is a nonanswer. Does he not want to discuss it out in the open?

Before they made it to the solar they were met by Lady Stark, which struck Garth as odd since he knew she had taken part in the trip to Bear Island (or at least to Winterfell). Why did she come from that direction?

"Hello Garth. Things go well while we were gone?"

Fuck. Was hoping to frame this better but she asked. "With one rather large exception, yes."

Lady Stark seemed about to ask a question, likely requesting an explanation for what the exception was, but Lord von Carstein spoke, "You can tell us about it in my solar. I don't want to have the same conversation multiple times and Martyn isn't here."

Garth bowed his head in acknowledgement as they continued walking. It was only a short time before the door to his lord's solar was visible, with Martyn waiting in front of it, a stack of papers in his arms.

"Greetings my lord, Lady Stark. Did things go well on Bear Island?"

The lord of the Dreadfort growled softly. "That's the third time in ten minutes. Let's just go in, we have a lot to cover."

"Of course," Martyn said as he opened the door. Once the group had entered and found their seats he was the first to speak, "What would you like to start with?"

"Let's get the big one out of the way. The betrothal fell through, Dacey declined."

"Dacey declined?" Martyn repeated in surprise. "Why would her opinion matter?"

Garth was surprised at how Torrhen and Lyanna simultaneously turned to glare at Martyn. The disdain in their eyes was palpable.

"Because," Lord von Carstein said slowly. "If I'm going to marry a woman, I'd prefer it if she doesn't hate the sight of me."

Realizing his blunder, Martyn simply nodded.

Lady Stark quickly spoke, "Actually Torrhen, your looks weren't the deciding factor. Or that was my impression, at least."

"What do you mean?"

"You did tell her to come talk to me. Her main concern was your thirst for blood."

Thirst for WHAT!? Garth mentally shouted. He knew he hadn't kept his emotions off his face but no one was looking at him so he should be safe. Martyn didn't react to her words at all, does that mean he already knew?

She continued, "Dacey was worried about your self control and choice of targets. She didn't want to wake up in the middle of the night because you attempted to suck her dry. She also brought up whether or not you'd be able to resist drinking from children. . . which that might have been partially my fault since I told her what happened at Winterfell and she likely drew the wrong conclusions."

Lord von Carstein rubbed his eyes a bit before responding, "Anyway, while Lord Mormont was disappointed in how everything turned out he did like me and said there was no reason we couldn't still follow through with some of the deals we had negotiated. If nothing else he wants more moonshine. So expect a raven sometime soon with a request for several barrels."

"Um, about that. . ." Garth began.

"There was a fire," Martyn cut in. "Ruined the still and destroyed almost all of the stock. While I have suspicions as to the cause, the failure was ultimately mine, my lord. Whether through my inability to protect against sabotage or simply ensure Garth was doing things safely, it was my responsibility and no one else should be punished for it."

"Okay, back up a bit and start from the beginning," Lord von Carstein said. "What happened?"

What followed was a very detailed but still focused explanation for the events surrounding the fire. Martyn was an effective speaker and storyteller, leaving Garth very instantaneous where he felt the need to interject. At the end their lord was silent. Martyn had mentioned the possibility of someone from White Harbor intentionally causing the damage so it was possible Lord von Carstein was debating throwing the whole group out of the Dreadfort.

"I think we should move the distillery into one of the spare dungeons when we start back up," Torrhen finally said. "I don't want it outside just yet. That said, you're right Martyn, we will start storing the finished moonshine elsewhere so this doesn't happen again. As to whether this was sabotage, well, if someone had died that would, oddly, be helpful. But luckily and unluckily, no one did, so instead we will play nice and assume it was an accident."

Does he mean a death would give him justification to kick them out? I can understand not wanting to upset Lord Manderly without a good reason, the man controls the largest settlement in the entire North.

"Did they taste any of the moonshine prior to the fire?"

Martyn nodded so vigorously his beard was practically waving in the air. "Oh yes, reactions were mixed but those who liked it really liked it. I fully believe there will be plenty of people in White Harbor willing to buy it once we get everything back up and running my lord."

"Excellent. Always glad to have more sources of income. Anything else I need to know about the whole moonshine situation?"

"Possibly. Hoth, one of the men from White Harbor, has a goodsister who made rum on the Summer Isles. Apparently it's distilled like moonshine, but from sugar instead? He said she could maybe be convinced to come here and help with the process. I was waiting for your approval before inviting her."

Their lord seemed to have stopped listening to what Martyn was saying halfway through. He was tapping a thumb against his forehead and was staring straight ahead.

"Torrhen?" Lady Stark asked.

"Rum. Sugar. Sugar," Lord von Carstein said with the same sort of fervor Garth had seen in maesters back at the Citadel when they were on the verge of discovering something new during their experiments or reading. "HOLY SHIT! SUGAR!"

"My lord?" Martyn's voice was full of worry.

Torrhen slammed a fist down onto his desk with such force Garth saw cracks form at the impact point. "That's what was bugging me on Bear Island! You can get sugar from certain kinds of beets. I knew there was a reason I remembered a vegetable I hate."

How can you hate beets? They are good for one's health and quite delicious. Garth wasn't even remotely phased by his lord's declaration that sugar could be extracted from beets, at this point he just accepted that the man was oddly knowledgeable from his time in Essos.

"I'm sorry Torrhen," Lady Stark said. "I must have misheard you. Did you just say it's possible to get sugar from beets?"

"Not all kinds of beets obviously. But yes, it is totally possible, provided we have the correct breed."

"There are different breeds of beets? What are they called? Disgusting, Gross, Sewage, and Sugar?"

I see she doesn't like beets either, do people just not know how to cook them properly?

"I don't know what they're called. I don't make a habit of studying plant life, of all things."

"Why do I not believe that? Oh right, it's because apparently the North is just filled with all manner of exotic plants that only you know about and have never felt the urge to mention before. First maple trees, now beets. What's next, can poison ivy secretly be used to relieve cramps when a woman's moon blood is flowing?"

It's like watching siblings bicker. And Martyn wants me to believe they aren't fucking? It's not like there's a better explanation for how comfortable they are with each other.

"Okay first, gross. Second, I'm pretty sure aspirin was made from tree bark, not poison ivy."

"What the fuck is aspirin?"

"Mild painkiller good for relieving cramps."

That is a rather noticeable eye twitch. I'll ask her about it when we're alone, if she's not doing it intentionally that could be a symptom of a larger problem.

"Torrhen. You - you're not going to be able to walk when I'm done with you."

Wow. Alright, they are absolutly fucking.Though it's the woman that's supposed to not walk after a really good bedding. Do the Northerners not have sex like normal people? They're practically wildings some of the time, maybe they fight beforehand?

Their lord cleared his throat. "Right, um, back on topic, the White Harbor group. Anything else I should know?"

"Um, the Summer Islander?" Martyn asked.

"Oh, right right. Yeah, go ahead and invite her. Anything else?"

"They loved Carstein Syrup," Garth said. "We had to impose rations on the kitchens to prevent it from being requested in every meal."

"Carstein Syrup?"

"Apologies, my lord. I - uh, I changed the name," Garth said nervously. "It occurred to me that if it's called maple syrup, it would not be difficult for anyone to figure out the source of it and possibly start making their own, thereby eliminating the need to buy from you. By changing the name, I hope to ensure you a reliable stream of coin for years to come."

Torrhen snapped his fingers and pointed at Garth. "Brilliant, that would not have occurred to me. I forgot how nice monopolies are to the person holding them."

"I'm happy my services are appreciated, my lord."

"No problem. So, what next?"

Martyn tugged at his beard. "Well, given that a betrothal with House Mormont was not obtained, do you wish to broach the subject with our visitors? House Manderly does not have any available women but they have numerous houses sworn to them."

"Don't want to seem desperate after a rejection, let's hold off on that for now."

"Pardon me for saying so as I do not wish to give offense my lord," Garth said. "But. . . aren't you desperate? You are unmarried and childless, if you die your house dies with you."

Lord von Carstein chuckled. "I'm in good health, I'm not worried about dying anytime soon. It's not as though I can get sick."

While Garth tried to puzzle out the meaning of that statement, Lady Stark spoke, "Personally, I would love it if you got married. Especially since it would likely cut down on how often your hand smells."

What?

"What is that suppose- oh fuck you Lyanna. There is nothing wrong with me taking care of myself."

But he has Lyanna, why would he need to take care of himself? And why are they talking about it now? I realize she's from the North but must Lady Stark be so uncouth? Unless thed don't mean masturbation. . . but then what does they mean?

"I'm not saying there is but I've got a strong nose so I can tell every time you do it. It's not something I want to know but I don't have a choice in the matter."

"Ugh, fine. Garth, see about purchasing some soap from White Harbor. Oh! Sourleaf too, I want to do some experiments with sourleaf."

"Very well, my lord. I can do that." I am definitely missing something here.

Lord von Carstein made a show of straightening the stacks of paper on his desk but he didn't pick any up. He seemed to simply be stalling for time while he tried to decide what he wanted to discuss. "How are the other projects going?"

"The crop rotation continues along, the soil has not yet been depleted," Garth answered. Not that that is surprising, it's still early. It will take another two or three harvests before that happens, I think. "I've nearly finished the prototype of the 'printing press' we discussed but even if it works like you say, there are numerous problems with the concept my lord."

"Such as?"

"Putting aside that having a steady supply of ink and paper would be exceedingly difficult and bottleneck the process, there's the issue that the ink and paper we have isn't designed for that sort of use. The ink doesn't dry fast enough and the paper is too delicate."

"That - huh. I never thought about that. You're saying it's more complicated than just a stamp?"

"A bit, my lord."

"To be honest I was planning on selling the printing press to the Manderlys after we got it perfected. They are followers of the new gods so they can sell a bunch of copies of the Seven-Pointed Star, no way I could get away with that. Regardless of how accurate the book was, I'm sure I'd be accused of trying to pervert the faith or something like that."

"What makes you say that?" Garth asked.

"Because not only am I a heathen for not following the Seven, I also live in the North with a bunch of other heathens and I'm a foreigner. Also-" Torrhen pointed at his face "-you've seen me without the mask. I'm expecting superstitious smallfolk to be a problem at some point in my life, better to not provoke them."

Garth opened his mouth to respond but realized he had nothing to say. Lord von Carstein was right, if a Northern house became overly influential over the Faith, such as by mass producing copies of the Seven-Pointed Star, there would be repercussions. Garth didn't know what precisely they would be but he knew they would come. He had spent enough years in Oldtown at the Citadel, an group that was supposed to be outside of politics, to know how treacherous large organizations could be to those that refused to play the game. It's how I ended up here, after all. I may be the better scholar but Uther knows politicking. While he had not personally had much involvement in the Faith beyond regularly attending services, Garth had no doubt the Faith of the Seven was just as cutthroat and prone to backroom deals as the Citadel.

Garth closed his mouth as Torrhen continued speaking, "In that case let's knock the printing press's priority down a couple levels. You can still work on it when you have the time but it won't be quite the immediate influx of money I was hoping for if we have to create new ink and paper for it."

"We don't have to do that, my lord," Martyn said. "The Manderlys may purchase the printing press and then figure out the paper and ink themselves."

"They might or they might not. The device will have much more of an impact if we can present it ready to go, to print whatever they want." He paused. "Not to mention the money we could make if we are the only source of the ink and paper for it. . . though that might negate their interest. Hmmm."

"If it's lower on the list of priorities we can discuss the plan for selling it later, if you wish. After you've had time to think about it," Garth suggested.

"That's better than trying to build the boat while we're sailing it. Very well. Next?"

"I still have not yet started the census of your smallfolk, but I believe you said that wasn't a task I should really concern myself with until after I finished perfecting the moonshine process?"

Torrhen nodded. "That is correct. A census would be a nice thing to have but it is a luxury that can wait till after we have the money making methods up and running."

"That was everything you've had me doing, outside of my normal duties as a maester."

"Martyn, did I have you doing anything specific? I can't remember."

"You gave me no orders beyond acting as your castellan," Martyn replied in a neutral tone.

"Good, that means you should have the time to catch me up to speed on how to rule."

"My lord?" Martyn asked, his confusion obvious.

"While I was in Winterfell, Lord Stark had a conversation with me." Garth noticed that Lord von Carstein seemed to be giving Lady Stark a side eye while he spoke. "He explained that I've been piling most of my duties on you when I'm supposed to rely on you for assistance and advice only. He was pretty surprised that you were castellan considering you never received any training for it, I think he had assumed you'd be master-at-arms or captain of the guard."

"Oh, that's - uh, well," Martyn sputtered.

"So," Lord von Carstein continued. "While I made sure to observe court proceedings in Winterfell, Deepwood Motte, and Bear Island, that doesn't mean I will do a good job of it here so I want you to sit in on a few with me until you think I've gotten the hang of it."

"I can do that, my lord," Martyn said, finally getting control of himself.

Lady Stark was openly grinning and Garth found a smile working its way onto his own face. While Lord von Carstein had apparently angered Lord Stark with his lack of responsibility, it seemed Torrhen was now going to take being the Lord of the Dreadfort seriously.

"Speaking of being a better ruler, do I have any houses sworn to me? I don't recall meeting any when we did that tour of the borders but it wasn't as if we visited most of the towns."

"Houses Grim, Grisel, and Ricktus lived in the Dreadfort so they likely all died during the gray plague," Garth answered. "Houses Harrow, Carrow, and Furrow now owe allegiance to the Umbers due to Lord Stark's redistribution of the land. Similarly, Woodrow and Barret are now sworn to the Hornwoods. However, Clod, Hedge, and Heath are still sworn to the Dreadfort. They each are in charge of small towns, well hamlets really. The majority of your smallfolk live just outside the Dreadfort's walls."

"I wasn't expecting that quick a response, how'd you know all that, Garth?"

"The yearly taxes came in while you were gone, I wanted to make sure you weren't being cheated so I compared the income to each of the five years prior to the Rebellion. The Boltons were meticulous record keepers about not only how much was brought in but from where and by whom."

"Guess we'll have to make plans to go meet my bannermen at some point. I need to take a proper tour of my lands, observe what resources I have, get seen by my people, all that stuff."

"That will likely have to wait until after the visitors from White Harbor leave," Martyn said. "But I can begin planning out the route you'll take."

"And then after all that, I need to figure out how to handle the Sabbath," Lord von Carstein said, though his voice was much quieter, as if he hadn't meant to speak aloud.

~Robert Baratheon~

As his warhammer connected to Penrose's chest plate, Robert shouted, "Tell me how the grass tastes little man!"

The force of the blow sent the knight stumbled backwards and he tripped over the tree root that Robert had noticed, spinning and falling to land face first on the ground.

"HA! That's another win for me! Where's some ale?"

Cortnay slowly rose to his feet. "Never have I been more glad to be a loyal stormlander, Your Grace, then I am right now. If you hit that hard in a spar I can't imagine having to fight you in actual combat."

Robert grinned as a servant came rushing over with a tankard. He took a long draw of it before speaking, "At the Trident I smashed Rhaegar hard enough that I dislodged all the rubies that cunt had in his armor. You ever thought about how hard that is to do? Go ask a smith if you're curious, a proper smith that makes real armor, not one that repairs plowshares as a focus."

"I'll likely have to seek one out anyway to repair my armor," Cortnay said with a chuckle and pointed at his chest. "Might as well make conversation with him."

There was a noticeable dent from where Robert had hit him. Only reason I hit him that hard was because of the armor. I know spars need to be safe but it's more fun to make things just a bit dangerous. Better training that way too.

"Another round?" Robert asked once he had finished the ale and tossed the tankard back to the servant. "Granted, I've now beaten you six times in a row but that just means the gods will be with you on this one."

"As much as I'd love to do that, I'm afraid I must decline. I need to get out of this armor before I shit my breeches."

Robert guffawed. "As good a reason as any! Next time we spar, remind me tell you about how I pissed myself during the third battle at Summerhall because I drank too much wine after the second."

Cortnay gave a quick bow and then hurried off, pulling at the straps of his armor as he did so. Robert glanced around the clearing to see if anyone else was available. Everyone was still paired off it seemed. Granted, he could have made use of Mandon or the Blackfish, who were standing nearby doing their Kingsguard duties of looking intimidating, but Jon had yelled at him enough times over the past year about not distracting the men from their duties that Robert decided it wasn't worth the headache. Barristan and Jaime were both sparring against knights that Robert hadn't yet learned the names of.

Having gotten tired of the Red Keep and King's Landing, Robert had organized a group to go hunting in the Kingswood. However, because he was the king the group had grown and grown to the point that the chances of Robert actually catching anything was remarkably small. A procession this size made far too much noise for any animal worth a damn to still be around.

Nothing but rabbits and chipmunks hiding in their holes. No proper deer or boar around.

The women were doing well though. Since all the big animals were gone, that just made the surrounding area perfect for hawking. Granted, a few men had brought their birds but most had expected to hunt larger game so it was primarily women bringing back kills, something they made sure to brag about. Some of the men grumbled under their breath about it but Robert didn't mind, women that were having fun and in a good mood were more inclined to open their legs.

One set of legs that hadn't yet opened for him walked past. Godsdamn if that isn't the finest piece of arse this side of the Neck, Robert thought to himself as he watched Cersei Lannister move along in her riding leathers. The outfit was tight and hugged her curves. This was the closet Robert or anyone here had gotten to seeing Cersei naked. She was a proper noblewoman and therefore still a maid, despite many of the men trying to change that.

After another quick look around the clearing to confirm that there wasn't an available sparring partner, Robert decided to hurry after Cersei. "My lady," he called as he approached. "Was your hunt successful?"

Cersei gave a slight curtsey. "It was. My eagle, Loreon, caught a large hare. The servants are currently dressing it."

"There's nothing quite like eating a meal that you caught and killed yourself. Coney is usually a bit gamey to my taste but that's usually been because I'm a shite cook, someone that knows what they're doing can make it into a meal worthy of a king." Robert grinned. "And funny enough, there just happens to be a king around to make such a judgement."

Cersei's laughter was light but Robert noticed an undercurrent of harshness to it, like the biting wind at the Eyrie. Guess I'll have to work a bit harder on my jokes so that she doesn't feel the need to fake a reaction to be polite.

"How are you finding the Stormlands?" He asked. "Have you been here before?"

"I have not had the pleasure before now. As to my thoughts on our location, it reminds me of the Westerlands. The forest is quite verdant and the ground has many rolling hills. If there were mountains off in the distance, I would just as easily guess we were somewhere south of Lannisport."

Robert scratched at his beard. He normally kept it trimmed short but he hadn't bothered to have it cut while they were traveling. "You know, now you've got me thinking about it and I realize I've never been to the Westerlands. Acceptable for Lord Paramount of the Stormlands but now that I'm king that should really change, I ought to visit each of the seven kingdoms at least once." He gave her a look. "Of course, it would help if I had a guide to escort me to locations of note. I imagine you are quite familiar with the Westerlands."

Cersei stood taller and puffed out her chest, a rather masculine bit of behavior but Robert wasn't complaining, it was a very nice chest even if it was covered. "I would be happy to, Your Grace."

"Bah, no need to be so formal with me. Call me Robert."

"Very well, Robert."

I've never known a woman that can send a man to full mast just by saying his name yet she managed. I bet whores would pay quite a bit of coin to learn that trick. Is she truly a maid?

"Tell me about the Westerlands, what are they like?"

"Lannisport is the greatest city in Westeros. It is bigger than both White Harbor and Gulltown and doesn't smell like King's Landing."

"And Oldtown?" Robert prompted.

"I visited there when I was younger. It's a labyrinth of wynds, crisscrossing alleys, narrow crookback streets, and markets. The only reason the city is navigable at all is because the Hightower is always visible as a landmark. It is sloppy and the obvious result of poor planning."

"I've never been to the Reach so I will defer to your knowledge."

"Besides which, Lannisport is more effectively located in the middle of the Seven Kingdoms, allowing for more efficient trade and the faster exchange of information. For example, I learned of a very interesting story from the North recently that I doubt anyone in the Reach has heard."

Gods, not this again.

By this point everyone in Westeros, from the haughtiest nobles in Dorne to the men that clean the privies on the Wall, had learned that Robert had ended his betrothal to Lyanna. Everyone had different thoughts on why he had done it, and almost no one bothered to ask, most simply assumed their idea was correct when they walked up to Robert to talk about it. Most of the women hoping to be queen had the brains to keep their mouths shut about the subject when he was around but a few seemed to think Robert hated Lyanna and that was why he had ended it. Things had gotten worse shortly before Stannis' wedding, seemingly every noble in King's Landing had assumed they were the first ones to learn of the rumors claiming Lyanna had attacked someone in Winterfell and had made sure to tell Robert the version of the tale they had heard. Some of the stories had gotten truly outrageous, to the point where he had Pycelle send a raven to Winterfell asking what had happened.

The women had been the worst ones to listen to, they spoke with a vicious glee that Robert probably would have found attractive if it had been about anyone else. Instead, it was a constant reminder that the scores of lickspittles didn't care about Robert, didn't care about anything but themselves, and they were perfectly happy to constantly remind him that the woman he loved was beyond his grasp.

"And I'm not talking about the tales of Lyanna Stark attacking someone," Cersei continued. "Every person who tells that story seems eager to make a more outrageous version than the one told to them. I'm sure in a month I'll hear about how the entire population of Winterfell was slaughtered by a single woman in a rage."

Robert snorted. "If any woman could do it, it'd be her. But if you're not referring to that, what are you talking about?"

It may have been his imagination, but he could have sworn Cersei's eyes flashed with anger when he praised Lyanna. Regardless of whatever her feelings were however, she spoke calmly, "It does relate to Lady Stark's visit to her home but it has more to do with who accompanied her."

"Torrhen? What about the man?"

"Not Lord von Carstein, one of his men actually. A very large guard known as Krell."

Don't really care about some household guard but I need to seem interested if I want her to fuck me. "What's the story?"

"Krell isn't just tall, he is extremely tall, close to eight feet in height. There used to be only one man in the Seven Kingdoms that large."

"The Mountain That Rides," Robert supplied.

Cersei nodded. "One of the Westerland's most well known knights, who went missing at the same time Lord von Carstein spirited away part of the previous royal family to Dorne."

"What are you implying?"

"The Mountain's body was never found, Lord von Carstein may have been able to beat Ser Gregor in a fight, my brother Jaime certainly praises his skill enough to convince me of that, but I don't think he'd be able to lift the Mountain's armored corpse, so where did it go?"

"Alright, woman. You have my curiosity."

"My father questioned Sandor Clegane, who had nothing good to say about his older brother. He stated the Mountain had loyalty to no one and thought only of himself. What if Gregor wasn't killed in Maegor's Holdfast? What if his services were bought by a foriegn sellsword looking to advance his own position?"

"I grant you that it's suspicious." And that hurt to admit. Torrhen had given Robert the kite as a present, one of the most unique gifts he had ever received. Robert had personally knighted him for his rescue of Lyanna. Ned and Jaime both spoke highly of the man. Robert liked Torrhen. But as Varys, Jon, and now Cersei had brought up, there were aspects of the sellsword's story that didn't make sense. "But why would a landed knight with his own keep in the Westerlands decide to become a household guard in the North?"

"The North is nearly the size of all the other kingdoms combined. That leaves a lot of empty land that people can't traverse to investigate every little rumor. Such as a household guard that abuses smallfolk with unmatched violence."

"What?"

"The entire side of Sandor's face is covered in horrible scars, he got them from his brother shoving him into a fire and holding him there. Gregor is a horrible monster, Your Grace. He had to limit his behavior in the Westerlands but in the sparsely populated North, what is there to keep him in check?"

"You think Lord von Carstein bought the loyalty of the Mountain with the promise that he would get to brutalize Northern smallfolk?" Robert growled and for half a heartbeat he saw the flicker of a smile on Cersei's face, clearly mistaking the source of his anger. "Right under the nose of Lyanna Stark, who has been living at the Dreadfort for the past year?"

"As I said, the Nor-north is large," she stuttered. "She likely wouldn't know of it."

"You don't know the first thing about Lyanna," Robert thundered. "Fucking think before you open you mouth next time."

He stormed off before she could offer a retort, all thoughts of bedding the lioness having fled from his mind. Pycelle had better get a response from Ned soon or I'll make the grand maester ride a horse to Winterfell himself to get to the bottom of all this.