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One Man to Rule them
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Year of 297
'Domeric Bolton, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, Emperor of Westeros, the Andals, and the First Men. How fitting such a title would be
The words lingered in my thoughts longer than I cared to admit. Titles meant everything here. It meant your past and future. Titles had power even among the dead. One could say they carved permanence into history long after bones turned to dust. All houses understood this whether big or small. The Starks understood this. So had the Targaryens, the Baratheons, Lannisters, Martells, Arryns, Tully and Tyrells, all of them knew this, but a few in question took inheritance for destiny.
Here I was. There they were .
Fuck them all
Fuck the ice and fire prophecy. The age of flame and steel had begun. Westeros rotted beneath tradition, decayed under banners held aloft by men too frightened to imagine something new. The time of magic would come again. The time of advancement and power was a foot and the world would either be dragged screaming or they would go quietly.
But before then I would continue to plan my rise with patience, caution and subtlety.
It was unfortunate to say but I knew what my ambition would cost. Houses would fall… some broken, others nearly erased. Dozens would die, perhaps hundreds, all in service of my ascent. History would weep for them perhaps, but history had always been written in blood. Sacrifices was the foundation upon which every lasting order had been built. And it wouldn't be different now.
Would it be a worthy sacrifice? One could only argue about that, the ends never truly justified the means. The question of morality on such a matter was all strung up. But it was morality that had caused him to reach as far as he did now. How could a man live on a continent like this and cling to purity? How could one walk through Westeros, through its lies and petty cruelties, without flinching at every turn? He could not ignore the elephant in the room. He would not.
It was a harsh world at that, and harsher yet were the people in it, and the fates of those the nobility deemed beneath their feet.
My lands were an example of what Westeros could be. My domain was now orderly, productive, and ever expanding. My firm hand guiding the people as a shepherd guided his flock, the land flourished.
Yet through it all I would be lying to myself if I said I didn't like the power behind ruling. I loved to rule, I loved to see those below me bow their heads in reverence, loyalty and fear before me. I was prideful and the good book says it was a sin to be as such, but deep down the feeling was insatiable.
The septons themselves even called it a Sin.
"What a coincidence. "
Power was a drug on its own but I had learned to curb my addiction, I maintained discipline along with clarity and calm. The foundational basis of being a leader.
And all in all, the people for the most part were more than content. Roads continued to span outwards of the lands like roots. Well drained and well patrolled. Even within Manderly lands, construction continued, funded jointly in the name of "mutual prosperity."
The Karstarks had relented to do business , where once there had been endless complaints and slights masked as honor. Now there was trade. Ores from their hills, lumber from their forests, resources far more useful than their wounded pride.
House Umber had followed soon after, stubborn as they were.
I had offered them an olive branch, not out of charity, but opportunity. Their furs fetched good coin in both essosi and westerosi markets, and their ice which we basically leveraged from them. They harvested and we sell it along with our own supply . They of course would get their share but we made them dependent on our ships and connections for sale. And after being carefully harvested and stored, they were shipped south and east in insulated holds.
The power of coin could never be underestimated , coin softened resentment faster than apologies ever could . And people said money couldn't buy everything.
'Hah'
Wood and steel however, remained the cornerstone of progress.
Every day it was needed, homes, taverns, storehouses, bridges, town halls. Stone might endure longer, but wood made it easier, things went up with speed and with better protection from the cold. I ordered stockpiles amassed across all storages, timber cured and sorted, stone quarried and measured, and lime burned for mortar.
All in preparation for something greater.
A major domestic housing/Urban and rural City project across the land for the peasantry and for the influx of new peoples. Apartments, small two bedroom houses with a outhouse, a kitchen area and a bathing room. With better chimneys and warmer floors. Perhaps it was a dream but everything I had accomplished up until now had began as one.
I had also envisioned a grand public bath house or Sauna, a place for gatherings, for congregations and social talks outside of taverns. Something suited for the cold of the north.
Just like it was in Rome. But with more privacy without you see a man's balls hanging down.
But this was a far stretch as steam on that scale required for a sauna with controlled pressure, proper containment, and its technology was far away from being realized. For now, it remained an idea, shelved but not abandoned.
In time though.
Everything came in time.
And even as my enemies shoved their noses wherever they could I continued to work.
Some called me a money counter, thief, heretic , slave lover along with the other dozen names I cant seem to remember.
The Starks continued to watch from high walled castle with thinly veiled concern, bound by tradition and haunted by ghosts of honor long dead. The Tully wench had been equally as unnerving over the past few years. She has been a thorn in his side.
Women no matter where and when, had the ability of digging shit up that they were not suppose to. She just couldn't sit easy and see us growing stronger "noo" That wasn't in her envious belief.
They shall all soon see.
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One Man to Rule them