279 AD
Sunfire Valley, Castle Osgiliath
I stayed in the West for another week. Almost every day was devoted to my family and the associated chores.
I went hunting with my father and discovered that my archery skills had blunted considerably over the years. This was hinted at by the fact that out of eight rabbits I encountered, three escaped with arrows gleaming in their butts. My father laughed for a long time afterward, saying that my hands had begun to grow out of that very spot.
With my mother, I visited the enormous stables that occupied half the Cold family's property and, under her supervision, surveyed the fruits of my father's decades of labor. Crossbreeding horses purchased from the Ryswells, Merryweathers, and Quorgyls, with Dothraki mares I passed on through Tygett Lannister, he was attempting to preserve the best traits of all breeds. So far, it hadn't worked, but several bay beauties, known for their wild temperaments and obeying only their master's golden-maned wife, were awe-inspiring in their very appearance. As Aerys joked, later smacked across the forehead with a wooden spoon, everyone was already calling this "breed" henpecked, for their obedience to women alone, and my father had been struggling for a year to fix this.
I visited the grave of old Chloe, who died several years ago. Before her death, she asked to be buried deep in the forest, next to her unborn son. Later, my mother gave me a huge pile of notes and books, which turned out to be all the knowledge this old woman had accumulated throughout her life. A wonderful gift, which brought tears to my eyes once again.
I went with my brother to the construction site of the new castle. He'd chosen a very good spot—almost in the middle of his estate, on the steep banks of a small river, where one of the main branches of the River Road crosses it. In the future, the castle could become one of many trade routes for merchants from the Riverlands and Western Lands. The main thing is to build a proper bridge, replacing the old wooden ferry, which, according to locals, had seen the reign of the Kings of the West.
It wasn't without its troubles. The scandal that followed our arrival took almost three days to clean up. It turned out I knew the "maester" who oversaw the construction. Markos had studied with me back in the Citadel days and was a complete ignoramus whose main desires were tasty food and prostitutes. After quickly checking his chain and not finding the conclave seal on the links to prove they were genuine, I knew something was fishy.
I had to send a raven to the Citadel to find out "what the hell"? A letter that arrived two days later clarified the situation. It turned out that Markos, one of the lucky few who managed to escape the Hightower rangers, had escaped, stealing several hundred gold dragons, the Archmaester's seal, and several valuable treatises from the Citadel. Valefar and Walgrave insisted that he be apprehended and sent to Oldtown for trial and further punishment.
And so Marcos set off, his face, sides, and chest ablaze with boot marks, his broken legs, to his beloved university to get what he deserved. And as for an explanation for his injuries... he fell. From his horse. Under the feet of a whole crowd of people.
Good explanation.
I can't tell the archmaesters that when my brother and I figured out HOW MUCH of our money this faggot managed to drink and eat away at the nearest brothel owned by the Sarsfields, and WHAT would have happened to those who settled in the wreck he built, we couldn't restrain ourselves and started beating this non-domestic with all our free limbs.
Mostly with our feet. Thank goodness, Robin and the foresters were holding our hands at that moment, otherwise, in a noble impulse, my brother and I might have given Marcos an iron overload.
As a result, I had to slightly increase the amount of money I lent to my brother and begin developing a design for a castle worthy of becoming the new home of the Cold clan.
Although most of my time was spent with my sisters. These fourteen-year-old brats remembered me only as their older brother, who played with them as children, brought them sweets, invented new games, and bathed them until a certain time. At the mention of the latter, Thea and Elia would turn the color of ripe red apples and pounce on the source of the embarrassing memories with their fists.
Medieval upbringing and environment do have a strong influence on people. I remember my daughters well; at their age, they behaved disgustingly and often caused such a scene that only a belt would stop them. But here were two fourteen-year-old girls, despite having grown up without the need for heavy physical labor, who behaved quietly and calmly, not getting on their parents' nerves.
"Idyll," I thought then, as I left the small farmstead with my family, leaving it in Bern's care. The old northerner had agreed to become my brother's future castle blacksmith and even took on several more apprentices. "I wonder if my children with Ailis will be like that? I hope so."
Our journey took us to Lannisport, where the Pink Flamingo picked us up (though it would have been better if it had been a different ship—I was exhausted explaining to my family what a flamingo was and where to find one) and took us to my fiefdom. The journey, which took three weeks, ended in the harbor of a city under construction.
Osgiliath.
"I confess, I couldn't resist," I thought, standing on the bow of the ship as it sailed through the narrow gap of rocks connecting the bay with the rest of the sea. "I loved the professor's work too much, unlike, say, Game of Thrones, not to leave his mark on this world. And the name is a good one—the Citadel of Stars... The main thing is to live up to it."
"Woah-ah-ah..." The loud sighs behind me belonged to Thea and Elia, who were the first to change, having exchanged their "sea suit" for light, airy dresses, and came out to me. They looked simply magical. Their snow-white skin perfectly complemented their thick black hair and the cherry-colored silk flowing over their shoulders, clinging almost entirely to their figures and leaving their shoulders bare. Mother, of course, had been indignant that such clothing was too revealing and vulgar, but as soon as the "Pink Flamingo" approached the shores of the Dornish Desert, she immediately changed her mind.
"Yet despite the continent's autumn, Dorne is a land of eternal summer. The sun is as scorching as hell, and the temperature here is thirty to forty degrees Celsius year-round." I thought, dressed in light cotton trousers, a linen shirt, and an arafat hat to protect my head from sunstroke. Although my lands were located further north than the rest of Dorne and protected from the hot desert winds by the Red Mountains, they were only slightly cooler, causing even the same northerners to sweat completely within minutes.
"How beautiful!" Thea's voice brought me out of my reverie as she and Elia stood next to me, admiring the city under construction. "Brother, what is this?"
Following the long white finger with its neat nail (it's worth remembering the joyful squeal of the female half when Mara – one of the craftswomen I hired in Meereen to take care of VIP passengers – gave Cersei a manicure, my ears are starting to hurt) I just smiled, realizing that there would be many more such questions.
"These are dry docks, Thea. They build ships there."
But I agreed with her. My city really was beautiful.
Cities in Westeros or Esos typically emerge according to a single scenario: a castle or fortress is erected, a village grows around it, gradually developing into a city, and later, its rulers, realizing that allowing their territory to be plundered is unwise, enclose it within walls. This type of development has only one advantage: low costs.
But there are plenty of downsides: haphazard development that creates slums and crime, the impossibility of laying out sewers, the lack of a clear plan for their territory and the ability to properly defend the streets. And these are just the ones that immediately come to mind. A prime example is King's Landing. The capital of the Seven Kingdoms has been overcrowded for a century. It's drowning in its own shit and vices—it's no wonder it's home to the largest slums in Westeros and guilds of thieves and assassins. A really crappy place to live.
While Osgiliath was different.
First, I initially designed and ordered the digging of a sewer system capable of handling the waste of two hundred thousand people, although the maximum population planned for the city was 150. Second, there was the planned construction. I spent six months poring over the plans for the city and castle, sketching and calculating the location of every house, workshop, well, fountain, tree, and so on. So now the city was growing even faster than the castle—thanks to Joen's efforts, the iron mines located on the northern ridge were already operating, supplying ore for the smelters and forges on the northern outskirts of the city. Most of the manufactories, individual workshops, and guilds that would one day become the city's artisan quarter were also located there. A small number of them were already operating, supplying the builders with clothing, iron tools, furniture, and other small items.
In the future, this city, built from white dolomite and marble found in the nearby mountains, will become a pearl in the sands of Dorne. But for now, it's still under construction. The market, residential quarters, castle, and wells still need to be completed. Fruit trees and wild grapes need to be planted. Gardens need to be created on specially designed rooftops. There's a lot of work to do, and besides, the rest of the valley remains, with just as much work to do.
"Do I have enough strength and time?" I thought as I led the way down the gangplank onto one of the piers, to the welcoming delegation of highland guards, Joen and Piper. And the way the latter two looked at me with their tired eyes, their giant black bags, didn't please me at all.
"Greetings, Lord Temper," the red-haired man stepped forward and, with a perfect bow, continued. "We are glad to see you and your family in Osgiliath. Allow me to escort you."
"They're definitely up to something," I thought as I helped the others down the gangway. Short-term Earth sickness is the bane of any short-cruise lover. "We need to get away fast."
It didn't work.
The entire way to the castle and the already built guest quarters, I had to tell and show everything to my brother and sisters, who, unlike their parents, who kept their composure, constantly turned their heads and asked dozens of different questions, starting from "what are those hollow pieces of stone for", which are actually flower beds, ending with questions about the building without a roof, which is the future greenhouse.
The only question I heard from my parents was asked already in the corridor of the donjon, when our cheerful company had almost reached the guest rooms.
"Son, why are the corridors so wide here?" The father, gesturing around the surrounding area, responded to the others' puzzled looks. "I've traveled extensively throughout the Seven Kingdoms and visited many castles. The corridors there are so narrow and low that even two people can barely pass each other."
"The answer is quite simple—the servants' corridors," I replied, approaching the marble wall and tapping it with my finger. "All castles have hundreds of servants constantly working throughout the castle. Many lords don't like to look at unwashed and rag-clad servants, so their houses are like anthills, crisscrossed with hundreds of small, narrow passages, with unnoticeable or hidden entrances and exits. Because of this, other castles have rather narrow corridors."
"And you?" my brother asked as we made the final turn before the guest quarters.
"I followed the example of the I-Tian aristocrats. It's better to wash and dress your servants properly, so they're not just unsightly, but also pleasing to the eye." At that moment, three maids appeared in the corridor, carrying buckets and rags, passing us. Dressed in simple hemp dresses with short sleeves, light leather corsets, and white aprons, they were all pretty girls between fifteen and thirty years old, recruited from among the wives and daughters of the workers Alcaro had brought here.
"Whew-whew-whew..." Aerys whistled with a flourish, eyeing the rear of one of the handmaidens, though he quickly received a smack on the head from his mother, who was following him. Cersei had always had puritanical views on child rearing, so she kept a very strict eye on her playful older brother and looked at me disapprovingly, thinking I'd designed the castle layout so he could sleep with the handmaidens.
"Perhaps one of my descendants will do so, but certainly not me." Thoughts flashed through my mind as I settled my family into the newly furnished guest quarters and assigned them maids as permanent servants. Aerys had to be specially assigned Priscilla—the second-highest servant and a fervent believer in the Wife of Fire—one of the many goddesses of Essos. One of the most important traits of this religion was fidelity to one's husband, so its followers were renowned for their selectivity and constancy in their partners. She and several other girls were hired specifically for such cases as my brother or Oberyn. "But I needed it for safety. Such corridors, with access to any part of the castle, are a real boon for most assassins and thieves, who would cause far more damage than the meager fees for servants' clothing and their washing."
Long reflections proved my undoing. Just as I was about to retreat to my newly furnished quarters and get some sleep after the exhausting journey, two hands descended on my shoulders, squeezing them like steel pincers.
"Where are you going, my lord?" Joen's words at that moment reminded me of the roar of a devil freed from the bonds of Cocytus, though he didn't even raise his voice!
"You still have a lot of work to do." Piper's voice wasn't much different from his, letting me know something bad was about to happen.
My premonition was right - in my solarium, furnished like a small office in a pseudo-Oriental style, there was such a quantity of papers, ledgers, unread letters and scrolls lying on the table, chairs, cabinets and even sofas that my eyes almost popped out of my head.
"All this accumulated correspondence that couldn't be dealt with without your participation." Every word the red-haired man said plunged me deeper into despair and made me want to jump out the window. The only thing that stopped me was the fact that it was the fifth floor, and I certainly wouldn't survive the fall. "It needs to be sorted out as soon as possible. You have three days."
Only when these two demons incarnate left my office was I able to pull myself together and move to the large and comfortable chair standing at the head of the table.
"You signed up for this, Felix," I thought, picking up and scanning the first report I came across, regarding the number of workers caught stealing. I needed to decide what to do with them—cut off their hand, send them to the Wall, or come up with a third option. "It takes a lot of work to create your own Paradise."
The first decree was placed on the table: send all thieves to work as a warning at the deepest level of the iron mines, depending on the size of the stolen goods.
*
Ailis arrived a month and a half later on a massive Volantis navy battle dromon, the Sun of Valyria. This three-decked monster, barely able to squeeze into the harbor, carried within its depths nearly two hundred Unsullied guards, the promised chests of full-weight gold as a dowry, and an incredibly beautiful girl, recently declared the third daughter of the Volantis triarch Atraxes Belroy.
In a word—shock. That's what my parents, sisters, and brother experienced when they first saw the slightly battered battle dromon, which, according to those accompanying it, had single-handedly destroyed a small pirate squadron on the Stepstones, then an endless procession of chests filled with jewels, gold, and silver being carried to the pier, and finally my beautiful bride, accompanied by my little son, who could already walk.
Only the gods know how much strength it took me not to laugh at that moment—Aerys, who had demonstrated over the past month that he was not far behind Oberyn in seducing the fairer sex (at least he's 100% straight, otherwise I don't know what I would have done), and my father, who had never looked at any woman other than his mother, watched in shock as the girl descended the gangplank. Only the heels of the female half, who had noticed something was wrong, brought them out of their stupor.
Eilis has become even more beautiful over time.
Her waist-length, platinum hair swayed gently in the wind, clinging like a second skin to her perfect figure, concealed by airy silk clothing that left nothing to the imagination. Her stately and proud gait and her intelligent, cornflower-blue eyes immediately caught one's attention, making it clear that before you stood no mere pretty nothing, but an intelligent and noble lady.
"And how did she hide all this from me?" the thought flashed through my head as I, bending in a traditional bow, kissed the outstretched hand.
"Welcome to Osgiliath, my lady," I said, straightening up and trying to make my voice warm and caring. "I'm glad to see you arrived here without incident."
"The feeling is mutual, my lord," Ailis said with a sweet smile, performing the traditional Seven Kingdoms bow, demonstrating that she would have no problem with culture and etiquette. "Lyon, greet your father."
The words addressed to our son made him stick his head out from behind his mother's legs, where he had been hiding, and caused a wave of delight on the part of the female half of the welcoming delegation, consisting of me, my family, Joen, Piper, Robin and several dozen guards.
Lyon was handsome. Though his baby fat showed no signs of fading, it was already clear that he would resemble the male versions of Aelys and Cersei, whose golden hair he had inherited. In the future, he would be the terror of women's hearts, making others black with envy.
But now he is just a little boy who sailed to an unknown place and saw a huge scary man who turned out to be his dad.
"I need to fix this," I thought, and, breaking all rules of propriety, I picked up my son, who was already struggling. Lyon, even if he was scared, didn't show it. After twitching slightly and searching for a non-existent escape route, he stared fearlessly at me with his red eyes.
At that moment, it seemed to me that even the sea had ceased its usual roar. As if everyone in this world, realizing the significance of the moment, dared not disturb the giant two-meter-tall man and his little son as they battled gazes. I peered into every feature of that childish, restless face, watched every movement of his iris, and looked at myself in the reflection of those red lakes. And I saw his character—for the entire minute that our staring contest lasted, Lyon never took his eyes off me for a second.
The test I gave to all my children and grandchildren back on Earth, and this golden-haired fidget passed it.
"Do you know who I am?" I asked first, having learned everything I needed to know.
At his puzzled shake of the head, I simply laughed loudly, scaring away all the nearby seagulls. Quickly tossing Lyon into the air and adjusting his grip, eliciting excited cries from everyone present, I settled him more comfortably onto my shoulders and said:
— I'm your dad. And you're my son, Lyon Temper.
So, accompanied by the joyful laughter of my little son on my shoulders and the lamentations of my mother that she would rip my head off for treating my grandson like that, I moved towards the castle.
In two weeks, Eilis and I are getting married, and there was a lot to prepare for. After all, the guests will be special.