Game of Thrones: StormBorn

289AC

My mother declined to watch the fleet depart with me from the battlements, citing a mild cold she had contracted in the morning.

It wasn't a lie worth arguing about.

It was nice seeing Father at least, I had even made the effort to visit him on the Fury this morning, just to see him off. It was important that he feels appreciated, my Father was not yet so old and bitter about his life as he might become, and I would try to relieve his burden as much as I could without joining his expedition myself.

I was no social genius, but Stannis seemed the type to be greatly relieved knowing that someone he cared for did seriously appreciate his efforts. It was an appreciation my uncles were unhelpful in providing. So I would pick up the slack wherever I could.

I had slipped up yesterday, I didn't want to make anyone aware of my intent to conquer the stepstones later on just yet, but my father would likely know soon enough, and that would probably lead to a conversation that I didn't really want to have just yet.

I sighed as I walked down the stairs. Presently I had too little to show for my inventions, despite the rather lucrative trade in dragon-glass jewelry that was keeping them running. Sure I was probably making the highest quality steel outside of Qohor, but that didn't solve the issue with actually turning it into Cannons.

Handguns I had already done quite well with of course. The scale of them made it far more manageable, and no firing mechanism was so complicated that it wasn't workable. Hell, I'd even made a working bolt action. If Gerald Frey could make a contact explosive that wasn't wildfire I would be quite a bit ahead of the curve for small arms when news of gunpowder eventually leaked. For now, though we mostly made misfiring cannons and breechloading flintlocks.

Then again, I should thank my lucky stars I could even get this far. Westerosi and Essosi metalworking were far ahead of every other aspect of their society, social or technological, and it didn't take too long for an armorsmith to figure out how a gun worked.

Cannons were the goal though, and the blasted things continued to elude me.

Thinking on this line, I entered the workshop in a somewhat sour mood, waving over my ostensibly reformed alchemist.

"Ah, Arthur, how are you this morning."

"Tired, Grumpy, you?"

Gerald Frey was a twig of a man, something one wouldn't expect of the most fertile family in Westeros. But, something he did share with much of his kin was a strong desire to leave the Twins, and he had originally found an outlet for that desire in the Alchemist Guild. However, after Robert's Rebellion the guild had been left leaderless by a certain Lannister, and his noble blood saw him rise to the rank of Wisdom in the absence of oversight.

That was when his issues started as I understood. Gerald Frey was not very good at politics you see, and he had been on his way to being dead in a dark alley when my father had snatched him up and packaged him off to me as the most convenient available alchemist.

Thankfully too, a more savvy politician would be far less trustworthy.

Gerald had worked for me three years now, and with a genuine love for learning, we had gotten a long way up the tech tree, further than I had thought possible when we started.

"I'm doing quite well actually. Lord Stannis visited last night."

"Really?" Well, it was going to happen eventually. "What did he think of it?"

"Ah, he didn't say much, just asked me around the place and I demonstrated what we're trying to build. Oh, he did take one of the cannons and some shot and powder for it though, after I explained what it did."

"He did?" I brightened up considerably with that news. Hopefully, he wouldn't get his men killed untrained, but at least it meant he approved of them in some capacity.

"Yes, he said it might serve well as a signaling device that the whole fleet could hear."

I had to chuckle slightly at that, it would serve that purpose at least. "Well, let's hope it does what he wants it to, which one was it?"

"The thick bore. It at least shouldn't blow apart on the first shot."

"Good." I nodded towards the proper forge. "That one was decent looking, just a bit frail towards the front. Let's see if we can't get any even bore on the next cast shall we?"

"I'll have the smith's stoke up the fires at once."

"Good. I want a working one for father when he gets back."

Once I got the smiths and Gerald started, it was off to my own lessons. It wasn't as if I was much help in the workshop anyhow. No, instead my day was rather full of classes. I had riding lessons for two hours, then history and religion for around another two. In the afternoon when it was warmer and less damp I had swordplay and archery, which I enjoyed well enough, though archery would be redundant when I actually went to battle. Normally we would have dinner afterward, after which I would take a quick bath, and then I would go speak to my accountants and partners. After that I would retreat to my quarters for the evening, or, on nights like tonight, go talk to Maester Cressen.

Of all the people in Dragonstone while my father was away, the good old man was second only to my mother in terms of power, official and otherwise, and it was thus he who I relied on the most for the purposes of making sure my projects were working right.

"So, how many people are attending the night-classes now?" I sat across the table from the man, who smiled nicely as he pulled out his notes.

"A few more men than last week Arthur, these things take time as I have told you." The man said and I frowned a little. The lack of literacy was one thing, but a lack of desire for literacy was almost offensive.

"Is there no way to further promote it?"

"Are you going to start offering free drinks to pull the men away from the pubs?"

"No. Father wouldn't approve." I sat down, sighing. Whoever said it was only the nobility of Westeros who was stupid was lying to themselves.

"How many does that make now then?"

"Fifty-four, though some may well drop the classes, and more will likely join." the kind smile on his face softened the bad news to some extent. In many ways, Cressen reminded me of my own Santa Clause, albeit mostly by his appearance "Septa Dana is overjoyed with the number."

"She would be, it's a miracle anyone in Westeros can read at all given the lack of desire to do so," I grumbled, fishing out a pen from my jar and dipping it in the Inkwell. "I have enough coin left from the last shipment to spend some of it. Tell them every man who finishes the class able to read the Seven-Pointed Star will be given a week's worth of whatever he is paid."

"I doubt anyone has ever paid men to learn their letters before."

"Every literate man is a better resource for the state, and as men become literate their families will follow." I signed the writ, handing it to him to post on the noticeboard next to the class advertisement. The fact that illiterate men couldn't read it amused me, but they could ask a friend or something.

"Is there anything else pressing?" I asked calmly, and the Maester paused for a moment, nodding.

"There is one thing. You had mentioned previously your desire to search the lower levels of the Drum for the old Targaryen vaults."

"Aye. But I needed Father's permission since we'll be taking some walls down."

"Well, I brought it up with your father, and he agreed that you may do so as long as you keep an architect handy, I have his seal here." He handed me a letter with the Master of Ships insignia on it, and I grabbed it quickly, tearing it open and noting his signature.

"Excellent, may I have permission to skip History and Religion classes with you until I find it?" I asked, perhaps a tad too eagerly. Still, the possibility of Valerian Steel was too good to pass up as far as I was concerned.

"Every other day." He said, staring me down. "And no more than three days a week."

"Deal," I said, shooting to my feet, I needed to go collect helpers, and a good architect besides.

"Don't trip over yourself in haste Arthur." He called down the corridor behind me. I slowed my pace a tad and smiled at the old man's words.

I strolled into Shireen's room past a startled maid and quickly planted a kiss goodnight onto her forehead.

Searching for buried treasure could wait for the morning. Caution was a virtue after all.