Chapter 182: Rebuilding the Kingsroad
The banks of the Blackwater Rush remained brightly lit deep into the night.
The rich aroma of roasted meats and the constant clinking of wine cups drove away any sense of fatigue or unease.
The entire riverside encampment had become a grand gathering—part feast, part bonding event—for the Dragon Guards and the lords of the Crownlands. Even the members of the Kingswood Brotherhood, seated at the far end of the tables like rustic outsiders, were now eating their fill. Still, the rigid hierarchy of Westeros hung over them like invisible chains, keeping them quiet and cautious, not daring to overstep their place.
The lords and landed knights had already guessed who these ragged youths were. Their clothing, speech, and manners made it obvious. Yet since they had been invited by Prince Rhaegar, no one openly challenged their presence.
Rhaegar observed the arrangement of the feast.
The gathered guests naturally divided into three groups: landed knights (soldiers), noble lords, and common-born fighters—the Kingswood Brotherhood. Knights and lords still held dominance. For the Iron Throne to remain stable, none of these groups could be neglected.
The wine flowed freely, and spirits were high.
At the center of the feast was the highlight of the night—the massive wild boar hunted by Prince Rhaegar himself. Though roasted and carved, its enormous size still inspired awe. Praises rang out for the prince's strength and prowess, some even claiming he could face a thousand men alone.
The meat was distributed according to rank.
Rhaegar, as the highest in status, received the finest cut. Yet he personally instructed his attendants to send a generous portion to Ser Barristan Selmy—after all, the hunt had not been his alone.
The lords and knights seated closest received the choicest cuts, followed by the Dragon Guards, then servants, and finally the Kingswood Brotherhood. The poorest cuts and offal went to the lowest servants and kitchen boys.
Rhaegar watched this carefully.
Ruling a realm is like cooking a small fish, he thought. It requires balance—too heavy-handed, and everything falls apart.
"Gentlemen!" Ser Joffrey Arryn suddenly rose, raising his cup.
"Let us thank the wise rule of King Jaehaerys, Crown Prince Aerys, and Prince Rhaegar! The prince not only hunted this great beast but honors us all tonight! Long live the Targaryens! Long live King's Landing!"
"Long live the Targaryens!"
"Long live King's Landing!"
Hundreds of voices echoed, cups raised high.
Rhaegar took a bite of the roasted meat.
The only discordant note came from the persistent coughing of Lord Gyles Rosby. Even dressed in fine garments, the frail lord looked as though he might collapse at any moment.
Rhaegar frowned slightly.
"As you can see, Your Highness… this cough has always plagued me," Lord Gyles said apologetically, rising with difficulty. "I only hope it does not disturb the feast."
"May the Seven grant you many more years," Rhaegar replied, gesturing for him to sit.
Despite his condition, Rhaegar knew Lord Gyles Rosby would live longer than expected—such men often did.
"You will recover, my lord," Lady Tanda Stokeworth said kindly. She was kin to Gyles by marriage.
Rhaegar offered them both words of comfort.
These Crownlands houses—Rosby and Stokeworth—were not powerful militarily, but they were vital. They supplied King's Landing with grain and wealth. Gyles, in particular, had a reputation for managing money well—his horses alone were better adorned than many knights.
The atmosphere remained lively.
Rhaegar turned the conversation toward matters of governance.
"You both reside north of King's Landing," he said. "Tell me—what is the current condition of the Kingsroad?"
This was what truly concerned him.
The Kingsroad, built under King Jaehaerys I Targaryen—the Conciliator—stretched nearly two thousand miles, from Castle Black at the Wall to Storm's End in the south. It had once been a marvel.
But time had taken its toll.
"Many sections are in poor condition," Lord Gyles admitted. "Narrow, winding… in some places, barely more than ruts. In fair weather, it is manageable. But in rain or snow, travel becomes dangerous."
Rhaegar nodded.
He knew the problem well. Technology and resources had limited even great kings. But now, with new construction methods—what he called Valyrian-style roads—he could do better.
If the main roads were improved, trade would flourish, and armies could move swiftly.
He asked further questions, gathering details.
The Kingsroad, the defenses of King's Landing, the Blackwater Rush, even the fortifications of the Stepstones—these were all part of a larger vision.
Only through great works could the Iron Throne truly unify the realm.
Rhaegar reflected on the nature of royal authority.
At times, the Iron Throne seemed supreme—controlling King's Landing, the Crownlands, and key trade routes like Gulltown and White Harbor. Yet it was never absolute. Rebellions still happened. Power depended on the ruler.
His gaze swept over the feasting crowd.
To build something lasting, he needed more than force—he needed structure, vision, and cooperation.
He thought of past kings:
Aegon the Conqueror.
Jaehaerys the Conciliator.
Daeron the Young Dragon.
Even Aegon III, the Dragonbane.
Of them all, Jaehaerys I stood above the rest—not just a conqueror, but a reformer.
If the Targaryens were to rise again, they must follow his path.
Roads, laws, and careful governance—these were the true foundations of power.
Rhaegar felt his resolve strengthen.
But there were still challenges.
Labor was limited. Resources were not infinite. Such massive projects could not be rushed.
His immediate plan was clear:
Expand and rebuild the Kingsroad—starting with the Crownlands, where the terrain was favorable.
To accomplish this, however, he would need something new.
A new office. A new authority.
And for that… he would need the king's approval.
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