RHAEGAR
The grain finally arrived.
From where he stood on the jutting stone balcony, Rhaegar Targaryen looked down, observing the scene laid out on the streets of King's Landing on that scorching afternoon. The sea breeze blowing from Blackwater Bay seemed to carry a different scent.
The convoy of grain transport carts from the Westerlands stretched long, looking like a giant wooden snake creeping in through the gates. The carts, pulled by heavily muscled and exhausted draft horses, creaked heavily under the loads they carried. There were so many transports ordered. Thousands of sacks of rough wheat stacked high, ready to be placed in giant granaries.
Rhaegar rested both hands on the balcony railing, his dark purple eyes sweeping over the sea of humanity gathered along the main street. The people came out of their hovels. The sight became a spectacle for several full minutes. Tens of thousands of starving eyes stared at those sacks with a mixture of relief and disbelief.
The royal guards, keeping a strict watch, formed a living barricade with spears at the ready. These grains were planned to be sold at a quite cheap price, subsidized directly by the royal treasury. The goal was to forcefully normalize market prices, so that the lords who were currently hoarding would not be able to exploit the situation unfairly.
Then, for the sales themselves, Rhaegar had set strict rules. Sales would be limited to keep the stock maintained and prevent someone from buying everything up. Families in the capital would only be able to buy a maximum of two sacks of grain per week.
In that period, economic logic would strangle the hoarders. If the hoarders were still stubborn and refused to lower prices, then they would certainly get no income at all. The people would buy from the Crown. The lords' coin influx would freeze, and their grain would rot in the warehouses. Like it or not, they would be forced to follow the set market price.
Rhaegar took a long breath, then turned from the balcony and stepped back into his cool solar.
Inside the room, Lord Wyman Manderly was already waiting. The massive man stood near the table, wearing a sea-blue tunic with silver embroidery.
"Is everything prepared?" Rhaegar, who was standing near the balcony doorway, asked Lord Manderly in front of him.
Wyman smiled, a wide smile that made his folded cheeks lift.
"Yes, Your Grace. Everything is running exactly as we planned," reported Manderly, his deep voice rumbling in the room. "We have spoken with several main local merchants on the Street of Flour and other market areas to cooperate as distribution points. They were also very happy when they found out they were getting grain much cheaper to resell with a fair margin."
Wyman took a pause, his smile turning a little sly. "But of course, for the leech merchants and petty lords who still possess and already bought grain at high prices before our operation started... they feel very betrayed. I have heard their complaints in the taverns. They feel we are robbing them of their potential wealth. Although, of course, they dare not show it directly to you, Your Grace. They know who holds the reins now."
Rhaegar nodded slowly, walking closer to his desk.
"It is indeed difficult when faced with the reality that they have to lose more gold coins they had already imagined in their coffers," said Rhaegar firmly. "But the welfare of the people is far more important than thinking of oneself. A kingdom will not survive if its foundation is starving. Be thankful if they finally accept this as a lesson."
"True, Your Grace," Wyman agreed with a heavy nod. "It would be very difficult for you to rule if chaos continues due to hungry stomachs. From the start, those lords should not have used such deceitful methods just to get more money. Especially when they actually have other, more honorable ways to do it."
Rhaegar snorted softly, shaking his head bitterly. He touched the edge of the map of Westeros spread on his desk.
"That is the root problem of our realm, Lord Manderly. Most lords in Westeros do not have the ability to trade, and worse, they consider it a weakness."
Rhaegar looked out the window for a moment. "All of us, since childhood, were only educated to use swords, ride warhorses in tournaments, and how to rule the people with strength. Knightly pride, they say. But matters of counting coins? Managing harvests? Building something? They always say: 'Let the people beneath us do that.'"
Wyman chuckled, a laugh laden with experience.
"And the Lords like that, who try to change things," Rhaegar continued, "most will be labeled strange. They will be given the demeaning moniker of 'copper counters'. They will be mocked and scorned at feasts for being considered not true Lords. This has been common in the Westerosi mindset since ancient times."
Because of that toxic prestige, rarely did nobles utilize their lands as they should. They let potential pass by just to maintain the image of a warrior.
"We must open their eyes, then, Your Grace," Wyman smiled, his eyes glinting with conviction. "We must show that the future is not won only with swords, but with production."
"To do that, we need undeniable examples," Rhaegar chuckled softly, crossing his arms over his chest. "And coincidentally, this time we have more real examples. You, with the ever-growing port in White Harbor... and of course, Lord Tywin, my good-father is one of them."
Hearing that name, Wyman nodded with unconcealed respect.
"Ah, yes. Lord Tywin Lannister," muttered Wyman in awe. "Time flies so fast that it seems, in the eyes of the world today, Lord Tywin is already very famous for it now. Innovator. Builder."
"Very much so. No one expected that this would happen," Rhaegar agreed.
Lord Tywin, before all these changes rolled out, was the most feared man in the entire land. He was famously cruel for what he did to House Reyne and Tarbeck. He was a man who scorched his enemies without mercy. Even though that memory still clung tightly to him, because the stain of the Castamere massacre could never be erased from history, the reputation currently beginning to form around him was something completely different.
No longer just war, but paper, quality cloth, concrete, and schools. Tywin had become the architect of progress, driven by the miraculous ideas of his son, Jaime.
Strange enough for anyone who heard it, right? The difference was so contrasting and unbelievable. The bloodthirsty Lion had now become an industrial pioneer. However, it was real. And if the proudest man in Westeros was willing to be a 'copper counter', other lords had no more reason to feel too prestigious.
"Because of all that has happened, and this building reputation, I have sent ravens to various great and minor Houses, Your Grace," Wyman leaned forward, bringing the conversation back to their future plans.
Wyman pointed to several spots on the map. "These past few days we have seen and surveyed several suitable places to establish new manufactories as you ordered. All of them are quite good and the foundations have been prepared. We are just waiting for the time to get everything running."
"Has anyone replied to those ravens?" Rhaegar was curious. "Are there any lords willing to throw away their pride and invest their gold?"
"We can expect that soon," Wyman looked very confident, his chest puffed out. "I myself, on behalf of House Manderly, am ready to invest fully in this. It is an effortless thing to think about for someone who knows how to read trade currents. And I am also sure, even the least clever among those Lords will see that this is an opportunity not to be missed, Your Grace. They will not let others eat all the profits alone."
"Good," Rhaegar nodded, feeling the heavy burden on his shoulders feel much lighter. "Your words truly calm me, Lord Manderly. Continue your work. Ensure the grain distribution today runs flawlessly."
After chatting about a few more things regarding tax schedules and port security, they parted ways. Wyman bowed and left the room to return to his solar.
Rhaegar tidied up some papers on his desk, then decided he had dealt with numbers enough for one morning. The air inside this solar felt stuffy again, and he needed an escape.
He stepped out of his room. The air in the Maegor's Holdfast corridor felt cooler, illuminated by pillars of sunlight sneaking in through the arched windows. As he walked through the corridor towards the royal private wing, his eyes caught a sight that instantly erased all burdens.
There, standing near one of the windows overlooking the garden, was his wife, Cersei Lannister.
She wore a maroon silk gown that fell perfectly, her golden hair left loose. Her beauty always made Rhaegar's breath catch a little, but what made him smile broadly right now was the small figure in the woman's arms.
Cersei was holding Aegon.
The months-old baby was squirming a little cheerfully, his chubby hands trying to pull the ends of his mother's hair. Cersei didn't scold him, instead, she smiled with a gentleness she very rarely showed to others.
Rhaegar's footsteps made Cersei turn. Her smile widened seeing her husband approach.
"What are you two doing in this hallway?" Rhaegar laughed lightly, approaching them. He reached out his large hand and touched his son's chubby cheek affectionately. Aegon responded with happy babbles and showed off a smile with a few teeth.
"I was thinking of taking a walk," Cersei said, her voice melodious. She shifted Aegon's heavy weight in her arms so Rhaegar could see his son's face more clearly. "The air today is very pleasant. And Aegon needs a new view. We cannot let him stay silent in his room constantly staring at the ceiling, can we? He needs to see the outside world."
"Yes, you are very right," Rhaegar nodded in agreement. His mind drifted to his own past, mostly spent among the dust of books rather than under the sun. "Don't be like me who always stays silent in the solar. Confined among suffocating papers."
Rhaegar couldn't resist anymore. He opened both his hands. "Let me hold him."
Cersei handed the baby over carefully. Rhaegar received the warm weight with increasingly practiced skill. He supported Aegon comfortably against his chest.
"He must be better than me," said Rhaegar to his son, his nose touching Aegon's small nose. "He needs to interact with nature, feel the wind, and see the colors of flowers to stay healthy and keep his mind sharp."
Cersei stepped closer, standing by Rhaegar's side until their shoulders almost touched. The scent of rose and lemon from her perfume smelled very refreshing.
"If nature and fresh air are good for him, then you should also do the same now, Husband," Cersei said with a teasing yet attentive tone. Her green eyes looked at Rhaegar with warmth. "You look too pale. And I know you just finished a heavy meeting with Lord Manderly. Want to walk with us? To the lower gardens?"
Rhaegar momentarily remembered the stacks of documents still waiting for him. But seeing his wife's face, and feeling Aegon's tiny hand now gripping his tunic tightly, he knew those documents could wait. And from the start, he indeed wanted to take a walk.
Rhaegar had nothing urgent to do, so he nodded.
"Alright, let's go," Rhaegar smiled in relief. Because his arms still felt a bit stiff, he handed Aegon to Cersei again. "Lead the way, my Queen."
Cersei received Aegon back, slipped her free arm into Rhaegar's arm, and the two of them began walking down the hallway towards the exit. As they stepped out, the warm afternoon wind greeted them, bringing the scent of blooming flowers. The white gravel path crunched beneath their steps.
"Guess what Jaime told me yesterday when he visited," Cersei started the conversation, her laugh bubbling softly. "He complained that Catelyn forces him to eat wheat bread every morning. He said he was a bit bored with it, but Catelyn said it is good for breakfast."
Rhaegar laughed freely. "I heard from Ser Arthur, Jaime's sword has been getting sharper lately in the training yard. Maybe that wheat bread from Lady Catelyn indeed has good magical properties to start the day."
"Or maybe he is just afraid his wife will nag." replied Cersei with a mischievous smile. "Catelyn can be very... firm, if she wants to be. I think she is suited to discipline my brother who is sometimes too reckless."
"A good marriage complements each other," Rhaegar agreed, looking at Cersei meaningfully. Cersei looked down slightly, her cheeks blushing slightly, before looking back at Aegon who was now staring at a blue butterfly flying past him.
"Look at him, Rhaegar," whispered Cersei, her voice filled with a mother's admiration. "His eyes are very focused. He pays attention to everything. When he grows up, I want Ser Arthur to try training him to use a sword. He must become the greatest knight in the Seven Kingdoms, as tough as a dragon."
"Arthur is a very good choice for a sword master," Rhaegar nodded, gently stroking his son's silver hair. "But a sword is not a King's only weapon. I will also teach him to play the harp, so he knows how to feel harmony. And of course, Lord Manderly and Jaime might have to teach him about numbers. Aegon will live in a world very different from the world we inhabited when we were little, Cersei."
"A world filled with printing presses and clean sewers?" Cersei teased.
"Something like that, which certainly won't smell." Rhaegar replied.
Cersei rested her head for a moment on Rhaegar's shoulder as they walked.
"You think too much for other people, my Husband. Sometimes you have to stop and enjoy what you have around you."
"I am enjoying it now," said Rhaegar sincerely. He inhaled the scent of garden flowers and his wife's perfume. "Right now. Here with you and Aegon. I feel... very peaceful."
It was the truth Rhaegar spoke, he felt very peaceful, and he just hoped this would last for a very long time.
...
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