In the Gods Eye Alliance, building a relationship between the soldiers and the smallfolk that was as seamless as a hand in a glove was no easy task. While the recent expedition had successfully hammered the various houses into a military whole, the political fusion remained fragile. The people were not yet ready to follow, and the heavens—or so the skeptics whispered—had yet to fully bless the union.
The four newly integrated territories—Fisher Manor, Longwave Castle, Duckling Hall, and the Harding lands—required immense effort to bring under the Way of Light. Even the original lords of the Alliance remained set in their ancient ways.
Aldric knew that large-scale political reform was premature. Survival, however, was a universal language. To earn the trust of the masses, he focused on the Three Pillars: fair trials, fair taxes, and security. In this age, a ruler who provided these without interfering in a peasant's daily toil was hailed as a saint.
To bolster this image, Aldric ordered his garrisons to offer inexpensive, Light-infused medical care to the surrounding villages. He decreed that for the coming harvest, a flat tax of three-tenths would grant the smallfolk full protection, legal mediation, and agricultural guidance. He even folded religious rites—weddings, funerals, and infant blessings—into the public services provided by the Dawn.
However, implementation required men who could read and lead.
Westerosi lords preferred the sword to the quill. Their literacy was often limited to reading orders or identifying a rival's sigil. Civil administration was left to Maesters and Stewards, both of whom were in short supply. The only reliable pool of literate, trustworthy talent Aldric could tap into were the Friars of the Seven.
"John," Aldric said, finding his administrator in the monastery solar. "How goes Maester Brand's night-school? Do we have men ready for the field?"
"What kind of men?" John asked.
"I need four teams," Aldric explained. "Two Light-Friars and three assistants for each of the new manors. They will be our Friar-Steward Workgroups. Their task is to spread the Word and help the garrisons establish the New Order."
John rubbed his temples. "Twenty experienced men... I'll have to strip the monastery's own staff to manage it. But it must be done."
"I am sorry for the burden," Aldric admitted.
"We are one soul, Aldric. Do not apologize. Besides, while you were away, a dozen more seekers arrived. Some even brought their own Awakening Emblems. They are ready to commit."
That night, beneath the vault of the stars, Aldric gathered thirty-four candidates. He reiterated the core tenets of the Dawn and granted the Solar Seed. Twenty-eight succeeded in awakening their Light. With the successful practice of the Order at St. Maur's, the candidates' faith had grown more concrete, and their success rate was climbing.
As the lords returned to their manors to begin their own integrations, Aldric turned his attention to a different kind of power: gold.
The Alliance was solvent but poor. Selling Light-Forged Steel was a lucrative gamble, but the market was tiny and the risk of arming future enemies was high. To fund the revolution, he needed a product with a high turnover—something people would consume and crave.
He was a Master of the Forge, but not an Alchemist. Soap and glass were beyond his current grasp. But as he traveled the Riverlands, he noticed a humble vegetable in nearly every garden: the sugar-beet.
In Westeros, sweetness was the province of the wealthy, harvested by beekeepers from flowers that only bloomed in season. Honey was liquid gold. The commoners ate beets as a savory vegetable, unaware of the treasure locked in the fiber. Aldric, however, had spent his youth in another world watching videos on the very craft of extraction.
He took Gendry and a plump, cheerful boy named Hot Pie—an orphan sent by the Brotherhood who loved baking more than brawling—to a small workshop by the river.
The process was simple but tedious.
Sliced beets were boiled until the sugars dissolved.The pulp was pressed dry (and saved as high-energy fodder for the horses).Lime was added to the liquid to bind impurities, which were then skimmed away.The clarified nectar was boiled down, stirring constantly to prevent charring.The resulting brown crystals were crushed into a fine, pale yellow powder.
It wasn't the sparkling white sugar of the modern age, but to a Westerosi, it was a miracle.
"Taste it," Aldric commanded, placing a small box of the powder before the boys.
Hot Pie dipped a finger in and let out a soft moan of delight. "It's sweet! Like the best summer honey!" He paused, smacking his lips. "A little bitter at the end, maybe?"
The bitterness was betaine, impossible to remove with their current tools. But Gendry, tasting it next, just shook his head. "I don't taste the bitter. I just taste... wealth. I never thought anything could be sweeter than a honeycomb."
"Hot Pie," Aldric asked. "In the kitchens of the Great Lords, have you ever seen sugar like this?"
The boy shook his head nervously. "No, Lightbringer. We used red sugar-loaves from the south or honey. I've never seen powder as light as this. I wouldn't even know what to charge for it."
Aldric smiled. He knew exactly what to charge. In a world modeled on medieval Europe, sugar was a luxury that could fund an empire.
"Gendry," Aldric said, turning to his disciple. "You've seen the process. Do you know why a smith like you was brought here to help me boil vegetables?"
Gendry thought for a moment. "I'm good with the fires? I can keep the heat steady?"
"Aye. And?"
"I'm strong. I can stir the pot when it gets thick."
"Anyone can stir a pot, Gendry. Think deeper."
Gendry went quiet, then shook his head. "I don't know, Teacher."
Aldric held up the small box. "We've spent two days to make this handful. It is too slow. I want to turn this into the monastery's lifeblood. We sell the sweetness, we buy the iron, we arm the warriors. You've seen the drills—you know we need gold to survive."
"Yes, Teacher. More gold means more mail. More men coming home alive."
"Exactly. But more than that, a developed industry gives a soldier a trade when the war is over. I want you to work with Master Barlin. Use the water-wheel outside. I want you to build me machines.
First: a water-powered drum to scrub the beets.
Second: a water-powered shredder to grate them.
Third: a hydraulic press to squeeze the juice from the pulp.
Fourth: massive, wide copper vats for the boiling.
Can you do it?"
Gendry hesitated, looking at the complex request. "But Teacher—"
"Take whatever men and iron you need," Aldric interrupted. "I only ask: can you do it?"
Gendry's jaw set. He looked at the water-wheel and then back at the sugar. He nodded firmly. "I can do it."
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