After nearly three years of war, the drums of battle had finally grown quieter—if only for a moment. For Edward Grafton, Lord of Gulltown and de facto ruler of the eastern Vale, it was a rare pause in a relentless march of chaos. The war had ravaged the kingdoms, but Gulltown had risen. The harbor thrived, ships came and went with goods from across the Narrow Sea, and his new navy stood proudly on the tide.
With the major fronts of the war temporarily stabilized and little immediate threat to Gulltown, Edward decided it was time to step back from political intrigue and military logistics. For a few days, he would walk among the people—not as a schemer or commander, but as the man who had rebuilt Gulltown from a decaying harbor into a flourishing stronghold of trade and order.
The streets of Gulltown were bustling. Market stalls brimmed with spices from Lys, cloth from Myr, and steel from Tyrosh. The scent of sea salt mixed with roasting meats and fresh bread filled the air. Children ran through the alleyways shouting tales of far-off battles, while merchants bartered fiercely over crates of war goods. But what struck Edward most was the atmosphere—one of pride, of gratitude. The people did not merely tolerate their ruler; they admired him.
Edward walked through the main avenue without fanfare. His armor was left behind, replaced with a dark green cloak and a leather tunic bearing the silver falcon-and-moon insignia he had adopted as his own. Behind him trailed only two trusted guards, more as companions than protection.
He stopped at a bakery where a stout woman with flour on her cheeks offered him a honeyed roll without charge. "You're the reason my boy has shoes this winter, m'lord," she said. Edward accepted the pastry and gave her a silver stag in return. "Let him have two pairs then," he replied with a small smile.
At the shipyards, he watched new warships being constructed. The docks had grown threefold since the war began. The academy for captains—his personal project—was a beacon of learning. Young men and women trained under seasoned sailors, learning navigation, ship combat, and diplomacy. One of the instructors, a one-eyed Braavosi named Dorian Vask, greeted Edward and showed off the new charts they had acquired from Qarth. "Gulltown shall be a naval jewel, my lord," Dorian boasted.
"Make it a crown then," Edward replied. "One the world cannot ignore."
Further inland, Edward rode through the farms and outer villages of the Vale under his control. The mountain clans had been pushed back or absorbed. New infrastructure, watchtowers, and paved roads connected the hamlets. He stopped at a lumber mill rebuilt under his orders after a fire destroyed it last year. The millers bowed, offering him a carved figure of a falcon as thanks.
In a public square at one of Gulltown's higher terraces, Edward hosted an open forum—a tradition he had revived. Any citizen, noble or common, could voice their concerns. A young stonemason spoke of a shortage of tools. Edward promised shipments from Essos. A merchant asked about lower tariffs. Edward refused politely, prioritizing stability. A former knight, now a farmer, requested land expansion. Edward referred him to his steward but assured fairness.
That night, Edward walked through the streets alone, hooded but visible. He listened to laughter from taverns, songs from sailors, and whispers from alleyways. He passed murals painted by children—depictions of Gulltown as a shining city above the waves. He paused before one where a painted figure, tall and cloaked, stood above a fleet of ships, a sword held aloft in one hand, a quill in the other. Beneath it, a child had scrawled: "Lord Edward, our Watcher."
The following day, he journeyed through the outposts dotting the coast north of Gulltown. These watchtowers, some carved from ancient stone and others newly built with Essosi engineering techniques, served as beacons and sentries. They signaled with colored fire and smoke, connected to a network that could alert Gulltown of any seaborne threat within minutes.
In the port's administrative quarters, Edward reviewed new architectural plans. His engineers proposed deeper docks, drydocks for galleons, and storage silos for essential wartime goods. He approved each blueprint methodically, asking tough questions, calculating costs. Gulltown wasn't just a harbor; it was becoming a bastion.
Later, Edward visited the new quarter of town where artisans from the Free Cities had been welcomed. Blacksmiths from Norvos, alchemists from Lys, scribes from Pentos—all offered their crafts under strict loyalty oaths. In a courtyard of the quarter's academy, Edward watched a Lyseni glassblower create delicate lenses.
"Will it help us see farther on the sea?" Edward asked.
The artisan bowed. "Soon, my lord. Even ships across the horizon will have no secrets."
A rider from the Vale arrived with messages. Edward read them under the torchlight in his solar. Reports from his spies across Westeros, including whispers from King's Landing. Tensions were shifting. Aerys was unraveling. And Jon Arryn's patience was wearing thin. The moment to move decisively would come, but not yet.
For now, Edward concentrated on rooting out the last remnants of disloyalty in Gulltown. He held private councils with his captains and spymasters. Names were named. Some merchants were exiled, some rivals bribed or blackmailed, and others simply disappeared.
In return, Edward rewarded the loyal. Titles, trade permits, lands outside the city. He made promises sealed in ink and in blood. The merchants of Gulltown thrived under his rule—but only because they feared him as much as they respected him.
At twilight, Edward visited the temple district. Though not a pious man, he lit candles for appearances and spoke respectfully to the septon. The Faith of the Seven held less sway in Gulltown than gold, but he made sure both were satisfied.
Children laughed when he passed. Women offered him baked goods, prayers, or even shy glances. Men stood taller in his presence, proud to live under a lord who had brought safety and purpose to a city once forgotten.
Before retiring for the night, Edward ascended to the top of the citadel. The stars shone above the moonlit bay. His steward joined him briefly to update on trade yields, grain stocks, and the loyalty of mountain tribes.
"Soon, my lord," the steward said. "Soon, all of the Vale east of the Fingers shall answer only to Gulltown."
Edward looked northward, toward the distant peaks. "One day," he murmured. "But not yet. We build strong so we do not have to rebuild again."
And so, while Westeros burned, Gulltown prospered under a quiet storm of steel, stone, and strategy.