The Tenfold Lord
Chapter 5: Learning the Land
The books were a revelation. Not for their content, which was largely a chaotic jumble of pious histories, questionable science, and architectural principles that would have been condemned in his old world, but for what they represented: a gateway. They were the key that unlocked the mind of his most valuable, if unwitting, asset: Maester Aethan.
In the weeks following Eamon's successful trade mission, a new routine settled over Stonecreek. Kaelan was no longer the spectral lord, recovering from a fever. He was a constant, driving presence. [1, 2] His days were a relentless cycle of administration and oversight. He would walk the perimeter of the newly cleared western fields, observing the smallfolk as they prepared the soil according to his strict three-field rotation, their movements no longer sluggish with hunger but driven by purpose. He would spend hours in the smoky smithy, watching Torbert and his new apprentice—a boy Kaelan had personally selected for his steady hands—hafting the duplicated steel axe heads he provided each morning. He held court, settling disputes with a cold, logical finality that left no room for argument. [3, 4, 5] His word was law, and the tangible results—fuller bellies, better tools, a sense of order—were cementing that law into the very bedrock of Stonecreek.
But his nights belonged to the books.
He would sit in his chamber, the door barred, a single tallow candle fighting against the oppressive stone-and-mortar gloom. With him was always Maester Aethan. The old man, initially bewildered by his lord's sudden scholarly obsession, had come to relish these sessions. For Aethan, it was a chance to exercise his intellect, to discuss the finer points of history and philosophy that had lain dormant for years in this remote, uncultured corner of the North.
For Kaelan, it was corporate intelligence gathering on an unprecedented scale.
"This account of King Aegon the Fifth's reign is… fascinating, Maester," Kaelan began one evening, tapping a finger on a heavy, leather-bound tome titled The Line of the Dragon. "The fever, it seems, has clouded my memory of my lessons. Remind me, why was he called 'the Unlikely'?"
Aethan's old eyes lit up. "A most astute question, my lord. It is because he was the fourth son of a fourth son, Prince Maekar. He was never expected to rule. He spent his youth squiring for a hedge knight, Ser Duncan the Tall, wandering the Seven Kingdoms under the name 'Egg'. He saw the life of the smallfolk firsthand, a perspective few kings have ever possessed." [6, 7]
Kaelan nodded, feigning a dawning recollection. He knew the story, of course. He'd read the novellas. But he needed Aethan's perspective, the establishment view. "Ah, yes. And he was a good king, was he not? A champion of the common man."
"He was," Aethan agreed, though a shadow of caution crossed his features. "He enacted many reforms intended to grant rights and protections to the smallfolk. He shipped grain from the royal stores to feed the North during a harsh winter, a gesture of goodwill that is still remembered. [7] But… his reign was troubled, my lord. Deeply troubled."
"Troubled how?" Kaelan pressed, leaning forward. This was the core of the analysis. Why did a CEO with a popular product—justice for the masses—fail so spectacularly?
"The great lords did not appreciate his reforms," Aethan explained, his voice dropping. "They saw them as an infringement on their ancient rights and privileges. A lord's power to rule his own lands and people as he sees fit is the foundation of the realm. [3] King Aegon sought to place the king's law above the lord's. It led to unrest. Rebellions. He spent much of his reign putting down uprisings." [8, 7]
Kaelan's mind processed this with cold clarity. Aegon tried to alter the franchise agreements without the consent of the franchise owners. A fatal business error. He had bypassed the established power structure instead of co-opting it or crushing it.
"And his own family…" Kaelan prompted. "The book speaks of sorrows."
Aethan sighed, a weary, rattling sound. "Indeed. To strengthen his position and bind the great houses to his reforms, King Aegon betrothed his children to the heirs of the great lords. His eldest, Prince Duncan, to the daughter of Lord Lyonel Baratheon. His heir, Jaehaerys, to the daughter of Lord Tully of Riverrun. His daughter, Shaera, to the heir of Highgarden." [9, 10]
"A sound strategy," Kaelan observed. Strategic alliances through mergers and acquisitions.
"It would have been," Aethan lamented. "But all three children defied him. They broke their betrothals to marry for love. Prince Duncan married a common girl, a strange waif from the woods named Jenny of Oldstones. Jaehaerys and Shaera married each other, following the old Targaryen custom. The lords were insulted. Lord Baratheon rose in open rebellion, which had to be put down by force. The other houses were only appeased with great difficulty. It was a great shame upon the king. How can a man rule the Seven Kingdoms if he cannot rule his own house?" [9, 10]
Kaelan stared into the candle flame, his face a stony mask. He saw it with perfect clarity. Aegon V had a vision, a noble one perhaps, but he lacked the leverage to enforce it. His power was theoretical, based on a crown and a title. When the lords pushed back, he had no real weapon. He tried to use marriage pacts, but his own children, his key executives, scuttled the deals. In the end, his desperation drove him to the tragedy at Summerhall, an attempt to hatch dragon eggs to forge the power he could not win through politics. [11] He tried to bring back dragons because he had no other leverage. It was a Hail Mary pass by a failing CEO, and it had bankrupted the company and killed the board of directors.
The lesson was brutal and absolute. Never attempt reform from a position of weakness. Secure absolute, undeniable power first. Make your subordinates dependent on you for their own prosperity before you ask them to change. His own strategy at Stonecreek—providing food, tools, and security before demanding they adopt new farming methods—was a microcosm of this principle. He would not make Aegon's mistake.
"A tragic tale," Kaelan said, his voice devoid of emotion. He closed the book. "Let us speak of our own lands, Maester. This book on Northern houses is frustratingly vague." He gestured to another volume, a thin, poorly illustrated guide. "It lists the great houses: Stark, of course. Bolton. Karstark. Umber. Manderly." [12, 13, 14]
"The pillars of the North, my lord," Aethan affirmed.
"The Boltons of the Dreadfort," Kaelan mused, tracing the flayed man sigil. "It says here they were once kings, rivals to the Starks." [13]
"Aye, the Red Kings," Aethan said with a shiver. "An ancient and cruel line. They bent the knee thousands of years ago, but some say the old rivalry has never truly died. They are a house to be wary of."
A competitor with a history of hostile takeover attempts. Note them as a primary threat.
"And the Manderlys of White Harbor?"
"A different story entirely!" the maester's mood brightened. "They are not of the First Men, you see. They were a house of the Reach, exiled from their lands a thousand years ago. The Starks of that era gave them shelter and granted them the Wolf's Den, which they built into the great city of White Harbor. They are fiercely loyal to House Stark because of it. And very, very rich. White Harbor is the only true city in the North. All trade of any worth flows through it."
A successful enterprise built on a strategic partnership. Their model is worth studying. Their control of trade makes them a gatekeeper. A potential partner or a future obstacle.
"And us?" Kaelan asked, his voice flat. "House Coldwater. We are not even mentioned in this book."
Aethan looked uncomfortable. "We are an old house, my lord. Of the First Men, like the Starks. [15] But our lands are… remote. Tucked away here in the western foothills of the Northern Mountains. [16, 17] The soil is thin, the winters harsh. We are sworn to House Stark, of course, but our direct liege is House Royce of the Vale."
This was a piece of data Kaelan had not possessed. The book canon had House Coldwater in the Vale, sworn to Royce. [15, 18] Here, it seemed, the history was muddled. A Northern house, of First Men stock, but with feudal ties to a Valeman house. It was an anomaly. A loose thread.
"Explain," Kaelan commanded.
"It is a quirk of history, my lord. Long ago, before the Andals conquered the Vale, the Royces were Bronze Kings, and their influence stretched further. Some say a Coldwater lord swore an oath to a Royce king for aid against the ironborn raiders on the Stony Shore. The oath was never formally broken, even after the Arryns came and the Starks solidified their rule over the whole of the North. It is… an oddity. We pay our taxes to Winterfell, but in matters of high honor, the Royces could, in theory, call upon us. It has not happened in centuries."
A messy corporate structure. Conflicting reporting lines. A potential vulnerability, or a future opportunity. An entry point into the politics of the Vale, perhaps.
He steered the conversation back to economics. "The Manderlys are rich from trade. What does the North trade? What are our primary exports?"
"Timber, my lord," Aethan said without hesitation. "The wolfswood is vast, and the forests along the White Knife. The lumber is shipped down to White Harbor and sold all across Westeros, and even to the Free Cities. Braavos, in particular, pays well for good wood to build its fleets. Beyond that… some silver from the Manderlys' own mines, wool, hides. But timber is the foundation of the Northern economy."
Kaelan's mind lit up. Timber. It was a bulk commodity. Low margin, high volume. Stonecreek was surrounded by the wolfswood. His new steel axes were felling trees at an unprecedented rate. He was sitting on a massive, untapped supply of the North's primary export. But getting it to market was the problem. White Harbor was hundreds of leagues away, across difficult terrain. [17, 19] He needed to think about logistics, supply chains.
"And our faith, Maester," Kaelan said, shifting topics again, picking up a small, smooth stone from his desk. "The Old Gods."
"The gods of our ancestors," Aethan said, his voice taking on a quiet reverence. "The gods of the forest, the stream, the stone."
"They have no temples. No priests. No holy books," Kaelan stated. It was a system of belief utterly alien to the organized, hierarchical religions he knew from his past life.
"The gods are everywhere," Aethan corrected gently. "We do not need a roof to speak to them. We have the godswoods. The heart trees with their carved faces, they are the eyes of the gods. They watch us. They listen. It is said no man can tell a lie before a heart tree."
Kaelan looked at the old maester. Aethan was a man of science, a member of an order dedicated to logic and reason, yet he spoke of this animistic faith with genuine belief. To Kaelan, it was fascinatingly primitive, yet powerful. It was a decentralized system of control. There was no High Septon to challenge a king, no Faith Militant to raise arms. The gods were a personal, internal matter. The only tenets were a shared cultural background and a few sacred, unwritten laws: kinslaying is anathema, and the laws of hospitality are absolute.
It's not a religion, Kaelan thought. It's a social contract with a supernatural enforcement clause. It fosters a culture of fierce independence and personal honor, which makes the Northerners difficult to rule from afar, but fiercely loyal to a lord who upholds the same code. He could use this. The belief that the gods watched through the trees could be leveraged. The sacredness of hospitality could be a tool in diplomacy.
He stood and walked to the arrow-slit window, looking out into the blackness. The wind howled, a lonely sound against the stone. The conversations with Aethan had filled in the gaps, colored in the map of his new world. He saw the landscape now not as a king or a lord, but as a portfolio manager assessing a new market.
The North was an emerging market, rich in natural resources (timber) but crippled by poor infrastructure, a harsh operating environment (winter), and an inefficient workforce. Its political landscape was dominated by a few major players (Stark, Bolton, Manderly) and a host of minor, underperforming assets like his own House Coldwater. [20, 12, 13] The reigning monarch in the south, Aegon V, had attempted a market-wide reform but failed due to a lack of capital and leverage, alienating his key stakeholders.
The path forward was becoming clearer. He could not simply create wealth within Stonecreek's walls. He had to project power outwards. He had to enter the market.
He had the raw material: a virtually infinite supply of timber thanks to his duplicated axes. He had a hungry market: Braavos and the rest of Westeros. The bottleneck was logistics. Transportation. He couldn't drag thousands of logs hundreds of miles to White Harbor. It was too slow, too expensive. He needed to move up the value chain.
He turned from the window, his eyes falling on the smoldering embers in the hearth. Charcoal.
The idea struck him with the force of a physical blow. Charcoal was processed timber. It was lighter, more energy-dense, and more valuable per unit of weight than raw wood. Braavos, a city of smiths and forges, would need fuel as much as it needed lumber. [21] He could build kilns here, in the heart of the forest. He could process the wood on-site, dramatically reducing his transportation costs. He could turn a low-margin bulk commodity into a higher-margin industrial product.
He had the knowledge from his old life—basic principles of combustion and kiln design. He had the books on architecture to help with the construction. He had the workforce. He had the raw materials.
A slow, cold smile spread across his face. He had found his first product line. He would not just sell wood. He would sell fire. He would sell industrial power. He would turn the endless, dark forests of the North into an engine of wealth that would fuel the rise of House Coldwater.
"Maester," he said, turning back to the old man, his voice humming with a new, predatory energy. "Tomorrow, I want you to find me every passage you can on the construction of ovens and kilns. We are going into manufacturing."