My hands rested on the polished marble surface, warm from the early morning sun. The monument was bigger than me, standing tall above a dark stone plinth. On it, four names were carved in small, neat letters that had been filled with brass leaf so they'd catch the light:
Simon, Coren, Mikal, Lenn
The four Companions who'd died at the Weeping Tower.
Four of my father's men who'd come with us had also perished in that hellish rescue, but House Tarth had its own book of the fallen. A leather-bound tome kept in Evenfall Hall's sept, where every man who'd died in service to our house had his name recorded for posterity.
Here, only the boys I'd taken in would be remembered. Only the Companions.
And likely, this would be the only way they'd be remembered. A good half of them had no family to speak of. No one to light candles on their nameday or tell stories about who they'd been before they picked up a sword in my name.
We were in the back of the Companions' estate, in a clearing carved out of a small wooded area. The trees formed a natural amphitheater around us, oak and beech creating a canopy overhead. Birdsong filled the air, peaceful and at odds with the solemnity of the moment.
Behind me stood Jace, Jack, and Grey. I could hear their breathing, quiet and measured. I turned to face them.
Jace's half-empty sleeve swayed in the wind. The man had almost died at the Weeping Town, his arm cut off cleanly by Lenora's pirate at the elbow. Pate had brought him and Arianne nearly dead back to the town after my sister saw we had already taken the castle, and I held the Whitehead's maester at sword point while he worked to cauterize the wound and stop the bleeding.
Now, much like Jaime after he had his hand cut off, Jace was pretty much useless in combat. He still showed up to training in the mornings, his brother had told me, awkwardly sparring against straw dummies with his left arm, but his focus was mostly elsewhere now. A spymaster needed a good mind more than a good sword arm to be useful.
Jack stood beside him, looking solemnly at the monument. His face was unreadable, but I could see the way his jaw worked. He'd known all four of the fallen better than any of us. Had trained them, eaten with them, shared quarters. He'd taken the role of commander of my forces seriously, and that came with more burden than glory.
"It's exactly what I wanted," I said, running my fingers over the carved names one more time.
Grey nodded. "The mason does good work. We had it brought over yesterday when we heard you were coming back."
House Tarth was known for its marble. The quarries along the western face of the mountains produced some of the finest stone in the whole of Westeros. We'd been selling more and more of it recently, to the Lannisters, to King's Landing, even to the Free Cities across the Narrow Sea.
"How many new boys are there?" I asked, turning to face them.
Jack answered first. "Another twenty since the last moon. Eighty-four under me now."
They'd been recruiting fiercely since we'd returned two months ago, almost doubling our numbers. Still not enough. Not nearly enough for what was coming. But rushing would only fill our ranks with quantity when quality was the name of the game here.
"Eleven," Jace said quietly. The eyes and ears for the Companions. Smaller numbers, higher skill requirements.
"Eight now," Grey said. He ran the smallest group with all the Samwell Tarlys we'd found. Not every man was meant for fighting and warring. "But one of them, m'lord..." He smiled slightly. "Brightest mind I've ever seen. Soaks up whatever we teach him like a sponge."
"Good," I said. "I'll want to meet with him later." I looked back at the monument. "And from now on, the new boys will take their oaths of loyalty here. Before the monument of their fallen brothers. Every Companion who dies in battle shall have his name carved in this stone."
Jack's face lit up. "The boys will love it, m'lord."
I knew they would. It was partly the reason I was doing it anyway.
These things mattered. Unit cohesion. Shared history. Symbols and rituals that bound men together stronger than any contract or oath.
I'd read enough military history in my old life to know the power of it. How Roman legionnaires would throw themselves by the dozens into certain death to recover their eagle standards lost in battle. How medieval knights would fight to the last man to protect their lord's banner. How modern soldiers bonded over shared ceremonies and traditions that made them more than just individuals with weapons.
The Companions needed that. Needed something that made them feel like they belonged to something greater than themselves.
But that alone wouldn't keep them alive on the battlefield. In the end, training was all that mattered. True preparation. Experience. The muscle memory that came from repeating the same movements ten thousand times until they became instinct. And how do you prepare for war before you ever fight one?
"Remember that training exercise we'd talked about a few months back?" I asked.
All three nodded. Jack looked particularly excited, his eyes brightening.
"We're doing it."
Jack punched the air, actually jumping slightly. "Yes!"
I couldn't help but smile at his enthusiasm. "I'll write down exactly what I want from it so you can prepare the terrain ahead. Some of the men will have to serve as enemies, but they'll learn too. We'll head inland first, through the mountains." I paused. "Most of the land between here and the eastern coast is directly under House Tarth, so we won't need to bother the bannermen. I want this to be as close to a real campaign as we can get. Make sense?"
"Aye, m'lord," Grey said.
"We can leave in a few weeks from now," I continued. "A month if we need more time to prepare."
Grey and Jace nodded seriously, already thinking through logistics. But Jack just grinned wider.
"Oh, I have so many ideas, m'lord," he said. "So many ideas. Ambushes in the narrow passes. Night raids. Forced marches through difficult terrain. We could set up supply caches that they'd have to find. Make them forage and live off the land."
I shook my head ruefully. "Just remember they're still boys. We're training them, not killing them."
"Of course, m'lord," Jack said, though his grin suggested he was already planning something particularly devious.
As we walked back toward the main building, I cast one last look at the monument. Four names. Four boys who'd never grow old. Never marry or have children or see peace again.
But they wouldn't be forgotten. That much I could promise them.
xxx
I looked out the window of my new solar in Dawnrest, taking in the view.
The manse sat on a small hill overlooking the bay. It had belonged to House Tarth for generations, originally built as a residence for when the lords wanted to spend time in town rather than at Evenfall Hall. I'd converted the top floor into a proper working space.
Below, Dawnrest spread out like one of those colorful mockups in a museum. What had been a small port town just a few years ago was transforming before my eyes. New buildings rose along every street. The docks had been expanded twice already and were still crowded with ships—merchant vessels from King's Landing and the Free Cities, fishing boats from up and down the island, war galleys flying the quartered sun and moon sigil of House Tarth, and, as I was starting to notice more and more, the small cog-boats from the coastal Stormlands houses that could no longer sail to the Weeping Town to sell their goods.
Along the main thoroughfares, the inns and shops buzzed with activity at all hours. Dockside taverns overflowed with sailors and merchants. Lots of coin changing hands. The sound of hammers and saws was a constant background noise as construction continued on a dozen projects at once.
It was growth. Real, sustainable economic growth. And I was going to fuel it further.
A knock at the door interrupted my thoughts.
"Come in," I called.
My steward—a thin, efficient man named Corren who I'd pouched from my father's household—opened the door and ushered in the first petitioners.
A short, massively wide man with shoulders like a bodybuilder stepped through. He didn't come alone. His wife accompanied him, a bit taller than him and carrying a bound book under her arms.
I raised an eyebrow at that. Not many common folk owned books, much less brought them to business meetings.
"Please, sit," I said, gesturing to the chairs across from my desk.
They settled in, the man looking nonplussed, the woman clearly nervous and alert, eyes flickering across the room.
"M'lord," the man started. "Me name's Ned, m'lord. Big Ned, they call me, a builder by trade and a damn good one besides. Been living in Dawnrest me whole life too." He had a deep voice that matched his frame. "I'm here for the loan talk that's been going around."
I nodded. "You've come to the right place, then. Go on."
To my surprise, it wasn't Big Ned who continued. His wife opened the book and began speaking.
"My name is Mira, m'lord." She fidgeted a bit. "We… we need fifty gold dragons to build a new inn on the land we purchased on the eastern edge of town some three years back."
Three years ago when it was three times as cheap, I thought, though I kept quiet as she continued speaking, growing more confident as she went on. And the more she spoke, the more I felt my eyebrows rise along with her confidence.
The proposal she laid out was remarkable in its details. Everything from the cost breakdown for timber and stone, labor estimates, how much they might go over budget if something went wrong—and what specifically might go wrong and what they'd do in case of those contingencies. Expected revenue based on the booming business in other similar inns. A projected timeline for turning a profit.
"You know your numbers," I said when she finished.
She smiled slightly. "I'm a merchant's daughter, m'lord. Learned my letters and figures young. My family trades in wool and dyes out of Kellington." Her expression hardened just a bit. "They all but threw me out when I chose to marry my Ned instead of the fat old lordling's bastard they'd picked for me."
Big Ned reached over and took her hand. The gesture was tender despite his massive paws.
"So you plan to go from builders to innkeepers?" I asked.
"No, m'lord." Mira shook her head. "Our plan is to build it and then sell it. Use the profit to buy more land and build more properties as the town grows. Big Ned knows construction. I know numbers. Together we can turn good coin if given the opportunity."
I could only smile. This was exactly what I'd hoped for when I announced the loan program.
"I'll have my steward draw up the papers," I said. "Fifty dragons at five percent annual interest, due in full within three years or in installments as you prefer."
Mira's eyes went wide. "Five percent? M'lord, erm, the moneylenders we spoke to asked for more than double."
"I'm not a moneylender," I told her. "I'm investing in Dawnrest. In its people. Five percent covers my risk and nothing more."
Big Ned looked like he might cry. "Thank you, m'lord. Thank you. We won't let you down."
"See that you don't," I said, but I smiled as I said it.
After they left, I saw more petitioners.
Two brothers who'd perfected a new technique for smoking fish that kept it fresh for months instead of weeks. They wanted to build a proper smokehouse and expand their operation beyond the small shed they currently used.
An old chandler who'd moved to Dawnrest three years past, looking to open a shop with his son. He'd been working out of their home but the demand had grown beyond what they could handle in such cramped quarters.
A weaver from King's Landing who'd heard about Dawnrest's growth and wanted to set up a workshop. She specialized in fine fabrics and had brought samples that were genuinely impressive. I made a note to ask my mother to check the woman's work.
A cobbler and his apprentice who wanted to expand from repair work to actually crafting new shoes. They'd identified a genuine gap in the market—most of the sailors and workers in town had to make do with poorly fitted footwear from traveling merchants.
By the end of the day, after seeing some twenty hopefuls, I expected less than half would turn out to be good investments. But this was only the first day. Before we left for the training exercise, I expected to see similar numbers almost daily.
I'd set aside almost a thousand gold dragons for this venture. Not a huge amount for a lord's son with profitable trade operations and a recently-won purse of fifteen thousand gold, but enough to make a real difference. More craftsmen opening up shop meant more trade. More merchants stopping by. More coin flowing through the local economy.
And more tax revenue for House Tarth, though I tried not to think about it in such mercenary terms. Tried. The cold reality was that gold won wars as much as soldiers.
The next person to knock on my door wasn't another hopeful entrepreneur.
Grey came inside, bowing slightly. "M'lord."
He brought a man and a boy with him. They carried a small copper contraption between them, handling it carefully.
My eyes widened. An alembic. They'd actually built one.
They set it on a side table and I immediately moved closer to inspect it.
The coppersmith, a graying man with permanently stained hands, explained how he'd constructed it. "Followed your drawings as best I could, m'lord. The copper's good and thick here at the base. The head fits snug with a paste of rye flour and water to seal the gaps."
Grey nodded. "It's not perfect, but we've tried it already. The spirit comes out clean. Clearer than any drink I've seen before."
I ran my hands over the copper, checking the joints, the thickness of the metal, the way the head fit onto the pot. It was crude compared to what I remembered from my old world, but it was a start. A real, functional start.
The boy beside the smith was bouncing on the balls of his feet, barely containing his excitement.
Grey turned to him with a fond sigh. "Ah yes, this is the boy I told you about, m'lord. His name's Lenny. He's got a good head for this. Better than mine, to be sure."
I raised an eyebrow. The boy couldn't be older than fifteen. Small and scrawny, but with these big bright brown eyes that seemed to dance with manic energy.
"M'lord Tarth," Lenny started, then caught himself. "I mean, ser." He bowed low, nearly knocking into the alembic. "The drawings you made, they're brilliant. And I was thinking, if we make the copper pipe even longer and coil it, like a serpent, the vapors would cool better."
He gestured rapidly, his hands moving in excited spirals.
"And if it cools better, we lose less. And if we lose less, it grows stronger. And if we draw it twice—" He caught himself, glancing at Grey. "—as was written, it should improve further still."
The smith sighed but nodded. "A coil can be done. Hard work, that. Bending copper so it don't crumple. But not beyond me."
My heartbeat picked up. The boy had figured out the basic principle of a coil condenser on his own. Just from looking at my crude drawings and thinking about how to improve them.
"That's it," I breathed. Or close enough.
A lot of it was probably so inefficient we'd never make truly good spirits for years still. The shape of the head, the length and thickness of the pipe, the tightness of the seals, the steadiness of the fire, knowing when to cut away the first and last portions of a distillation run.
I'd had to guess at all of it based on half-remembered documentaries and more than one brewery tour that explained the distillation process in detail. Still, most of my guesses were probably wrong.
But it was a start. And this boy had already identified one of the key improvements.
"Good work," I told the smith. "Start on the coiled pipe for the head. Hire more apprentices if you must. I want it ready within the month."
The smith bowed and backed toward the door, clearly eager to get started.
I turned to Lenny. "Do you like this kind of work? Figuring out how things work? How to make them better?"
The boy nodded so aggressively I worried he'd hurt his neck. "Yes, m'lord! I mean, yes ser! I love it. It's like... like everything fits together if you just think about it right. Like a puzzle that wants to be solved."
I glanced at Grey, who just shrugged.
"From now on," I said, making a decision, "you can work on your education and this project only. You don't need to spend time in the yard with the rest of the Companions."
Lenny's eyes filled with tears. Actual tears. "Really? I can just... just work on this?" At my nod, the boy exploded. "I'll start right now!" Lenny grabbed the smith's arm. "Come on, we need to talk about the measurements for the coil. And the thickness of the copper. And—"
They practically ran out of the room, the boy's excited chatter fading down the corridor.
"He's certainly something," I said to Grey.
"Aye, m'lord. Smarter than ten men put together."
"Oldtown would only stifle him," I said, thinking out loud. "The Citadel has its place, but they don't take kindly to inventors and new experiments. They'll try to fit him into their mold. Make him memorize their texts instead of letting him think for himself."
Grey nodded. "I thought the same, m'lord."
Rubbing at my chin, I considered how to go about this.
"I leave for Essos some four months from now. You'll leave as well, to the Citadel, and you'll take the other promising boys with you. But Lenny stays. I'll have Rowen teach him personally if needs must." I met Grey's eyes. "In a few years' time, he'll have built something those bent old men in robes have never managed in a thousand years."
Grey saluted. "It shall be done, m'lord."
I watched him leave, a plan forming in my mind. The maesters were useful. Knowledge needed to be preserved, studied, passed down. But it also needed to grow. To evolve. And that required people who could think outside the rigid structures the maesters had built.
People like Lenny. And people like Lenny, with the right help, could make people like me very rich.
xxx
Later, close to dusk and after three more meetings about loans, my day still wasn't done.
Jace knocked on my door. "Ready, my lord?" He peeked inside.
I stood up from my chair and stretched, feeling my back crack. I'd been sitting too long.
"Aye," I said. "Let's go meet this smuggler you brought me."
Jace smiled slightly, a rare expression for him these days. "I think you'll find him useful, m'lord. Very useful indeed."
We headed down the stairs and out into the Dawnrest evening, where apparently my newest recruit was waiting.
xxx
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