295 AC
The tourney grounds were being torn down when Artys left the Gates of the Moon. The lists were trampled to mud, the pavilions half-packed, the singers already turning the Knight of the Crescent Moon into something larger than truth. His thirteenth name day had passed with feasts and flatteries, half the Vale calling him "Fighting Falcon" now. That was fine. Let them sing songs—better although it made what remained of his American sensibilities cringe he had to play the game of the gallant knight .
But songs did not feed smallfolk through winter. The summer they were experiencing was the longest in recorded history, The small folk believed that along summer meant an even longer winter. Artys wanted the Vale to be prepared.
Much of Artys' quiet work was already taking shape. Years ago, under the seal of Lord Jon Arryn, he had sent letters to Maester Gammon at the Gates of the Moon, arranging for ships to sail to Myr with a singular mission: to purchase glass panes for greenhouses. When the orders arrived, the merchants grumbled at first, but with no middlemen taking excessive cuts, the glass had been affordable enough to begin construction. Now, some of those greenhouses had already risen near the farms, their fragile panes glinting in the sun, creating sheltered beds for vegetables and seedlings that would feed Vale households for generations.
Steel plows, were far better than wooden ones but expensive, Artys had commissioned a few them quietly at Gulltown they were being rented to peasants. Farmers no longer needed to borrow oxen or rely solely on wooden plows; their fields turned faster and deeper. Small ponds were dug for fish, rabbits were being bred, and four-field crop rotation was introduced gradually, overseen by Alyn, a former acolyte-turned-agricultural aide Alyn was training to be a maester at the citadel but fled after being discovered abed with the mistress of an Archmaester. Alyn was still young and open to innovation and was grateful to be taken in to the service of a high lord. Septon Osric, who not only read and healed was very good gathering information from the small in the Vale because every village had a Sept . Osric provided Artys with knowledge of the small folk thought and their grievances all he needed in return was good wine and generous donations to The Seven. It also enabled Artys to dispense information across the Vale . Artys was trying build a cult of personality and slowly begin to Deify himself amongst the small folk. People in Westeros were not as busy as their mordern counter parts and spent the long leisure hours drinking fucking and most importantly gossip. It was Artys job to give them positive things to gossip about. If he could align himself with Legendary figures like The Falcon knight he would be venerated .. he did not want to end up on the chopping block like Marie Antoinette. The same way dictators in his old world did.
Artys himself had near-perfect memory, but limited knowledge beyond what he had learned in high school; still, the foundations of planning, construction, and logistics were things he could build, and he did. If there was a long night or one of those ice age level extinction events there is little Artys could do but pray the granaries would be enough.
Standing in the courtyard before leaving the Vale for Gulltown, Artys called Ser Steffon Storm aside. The young knight waited, hands folded on the pommel of his sword, eyes alert.
"You stay with Ser Brynden," Artys said. "Your task: gather five hundred men. You'll raid the mountain clans and cull their numbers. Make them pay. Move fast, hit hard, and remind them the power of the knights of the Vale. Ser Brynden will lead the men you will accompany and learn you will follow his orders. Discipline, efficiency, and mercy only where it serves the Vale."
Steffon's jaw tightened. "The clans know the mountains better than we do, my lord. They are hard to reach and harder to fight."
"I know," Artys said. "That's why Ser Brynden is with you. By the time I return, they'll remember who rules the Vale."
Steffon inclined his head. "It will be done, my lord."
Artys mounted Zeta and signaled his retinue. Behind him, the mountains rose gray and jagged. In his mind, he saw the farms, the greenhouses, the fish ponds, and the steel plows turning fields efficiently. It felt good to be productive Artys did not mind the paper work or the fighting, it was the endless political jockeying that vexed him greatly . There were conspiracies at play that he was ignorant off all he could do was strengthen Vale bide his time .
They rode for Gulltown, ships awaiting them with further orders for glass panes, greenhouse materials, and instructions for expanding his agricultural projects. The Vale's lords had left after the celebrations no doubt with many stories to tell and gossip to bring back to their fiefs. But Artys had impressed them . He had shown that the Vale was and always be in good hands. Now he will return to the Kings landing to resume his duties as a Squire to The King.