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One Man to Rule them
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298 AC
"We have at least two hundred thousand crossbow bolts, my lord, and the arrows number around six hundred and seventy thousand. We are still running the presses every day no matter the circumstances as ordered and the bloomeries have not faltered in its pace over these past few years," reported Master Orlon as he walked beside Domeric through the vast factory.
"Good, good. We may need to see these numbers doubled in the next four years perhaps," Domeric replied as he toured the place eyes sweeping everywhere across the foundry floor.
The weapons building was among the largest of its kind in the Seven Kingdoms, perhaps the largest. Weapons, armor, and every manner of war-forged metal were shaped and assembled here. The army's one-handed blades were fashioned at these forges; the lamellar and plate harness was hammered into being beneath these roofs. Spearheads, helmets, gauntlets, and even the bolts used by their scorpions were made here as well.
Once, a few years ago, the workshops had also processed agricultural tools and domestics like sickles, nails, pots, hinges, knives and the like. But that duty had since been shifted to a smaller factory downriver, leaving this hall dedicated wholly to war.
This was the bolton's permanent principal workshop of conquest. Two others, not too far off, also closely mirrored it on a lesser scale.
"We must maintain ample reserves," Domeric continued. "For the foreseeable future Master Orlon I am depending on you to see my men fully armed and armored. The wars to come demand no less."
"I live to serve my lord Bolton!" Master Orlon bowed deeply.
"Away with the formalities, my friend," Domeric said, patting him on the shoulder. "There is still much to do and precious little time."
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Back at the Dreadfort
"Our neighbors to the north grow restless," Drako observed, reading from a paper before passing it to his lord. "It seems they have noticed the tightening of security along our borders. The other 20 new watchtowers are fully manned now, and it has not gone unseen."
Domeric read the paper, unperturbed by what he read. When finished, he crushed the paper in his fist and tossed it on the table.
"Lords Umber and Karstark are merely posturing," he said. "Let them bluster and fret as they please. We have other things of importance to focus on that being said , the time has finally come, the days of reckoning are almost upon us. The army is ready, and our banners can be summoned at a moment's notice."
"Its surprising," Caro muttered, "that the king's bastards are more legitimate than his so-called heirs. Fate shows little mercy in its jokes."
"One can only imagine what other things the Queen does to busy herself behind closed doors," Coleman added, earning several dark nods.
"Well , what ever it may be its no longer of priority anymore."
"It is inevitable that the continent would descend into war," Domeric said.
"The pieces were laid long before any of us were aware. Secret hands, even across the Narrow Sea, have invested in this outcome. Petyr Baelish has wagered more on this than most would guess. Others like him too are watching and waiting. Now it falls to us to seize the opportunity from this chaos. House Stark will fall. The North will come under my full rule, and then…"
He left the rest unspoken, letting the ambition linger in the air.
Caro cleared his throat. "My lord… if we are indeed marching to war, and the gods forbid anything should happen to you your family line would….. end. You are the last living Bolton. It is only sensible to ask when you intend to marry. We speak of legacy, of insurance for the future and concern for you and your household ."
To their surprise, Domeric chuckled, not mockingly, but genuinely amused.
"Fear not. I shall not die, not before I am old and grey. Yet I concede the point. Marriage has crossed my thoughts. I have my eyes on a few though their is one who might strengthen our cause, one who could legitimize what would be ultimate ambition"
Coleman hesitated. "Would she accept a Bolton husband?"
"Who knows, but I shall make it that she does," Domeric said, confidence unwavering. "In time." He added.
He turned to Drako. "Lord Drako, your spies among the khalasar, how fares they?"
"Well, my lord. Though it seems the riders make slow progress to their holy city further east nothing of note has taken place as yet, though distance has decreased communications."
"I see, so be it, as long as you keep eyes on them at all times then it would lay my mind to ease" Domeric says to the spy lord.
He stood, pressing his palms against the table. The afternoon light slanted through the window, casting long shadows across maps and ledgers. Tiny wooden figurines…painted crowns, wolves, ships, and flames…marked the board of Westeros.
"The age of the wolf, stag, dragon and lion is over. Now the age of the dawn is here and you my valued council will gain power immeasurably. We will rewrite the course of history. And I think I 'll need a new banner" Domeric declared.
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One Man to Rule them
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