ã€ŠFar Striderã€‹


 Chapter 1: A Whole New World

    AN:I have... a pretty big buffer on this. I was writing it as a speed challenge to myself, and did 100K words in 10.5 days. Or, about 30-40 print pages a day for ten days. Please, do note it was a speed writing challenge. Don¡¯t come here for quality, and don¡¯t complain if the quality was lacking; you¡¯ve been warned. It''s self indulgent crap; basically it is now a guilty pleasure to write, and certainly a guilty pleasure to read (the quality is just that bad), but it may entertain.

    The initial burst of writing took me up to chapter 38 ¨C as I post this I¡¯m mid-way through chapter 55. I plan on posting a chapter daily until I''ve run out of chapters.

    As a note, this mostly uses some very loosely interpreted MTG fluff for the magic mechanics. Protagonist has no knowledge of MTG (or any other setting, at least directly), and thus spell names or effects are not the same.

    Obviously, I don¡¯t own GoT, ASoIaF, MTG, SW, or any future crossover. Some canon events are reproduced fairly accurately, but events do tend to diverge a <u>lot</u> as the story continues, and the worlds aren¡¯t perfectly canonical in general. Age wise, I tended to split the difference between GoT and ASoIaF, picking ones I found reasonable for how the characters acted.

    <u>Chapter 1: A Whole New World</u>

    It had been a week since I last slept, and I was not doing well. I had long passed the point of exhaustion, and yet no matter what I did I couldn¡¯t sleep.

    I spent hours every night in meditation; I suspect that without that, I would have gone mad for lack of sleep days prior. As it was, I knew I was bordering on that gaping abyss of insanity; I was, after all, having a hallucination. I knew it was a hallucination because I was still together enough to know that even if all the desks in the lounge were on fire, the fire wouldn¡¯t be green.

    I was, in short, totally fucked. I decided then that I¡¯d go to the doctors in the morning, when they were open. Until then, I was going to meditate. I felt like doing so outside, that the nature might give an extra bit of calm and relaxation that I needed so desperately to keep myself together. So I walked down the flights of stairs from my dorm room on the fourth floor, the absence of an elevator an ever (non-)present annoyance, then opened a door into the dorm¡¯s courtyard.

    It was a cool October night in Massachusetts, but I was adequately warm with my thick, fleece-lined hoody, scarf, lined jeans and boots. I sat crosslegged on the grass, and began to breathe, subsuming myself under a mixture of self-hypnosis and meditation. I imagined myself sinking deeper, deeper, becoming one with land, one with the trees. I was in an ancient wood, near a spring, and as the water burbled and the leaves rustled I fell deeper, deeper, deeper¡­

    And then I felt it, a flood of power. It was Nature, the force of wild life and instinct, a spiritual connection to the woods and primordial, unfettered animal living. It swept through my body like a tidalwave over a city, washing away all the accumulated stress and exhaustion. I felt alive, awake, clear-headed for the first time in days. It was amazing.

    I opened my eyes, and realized I was totally screwed. I wasn¡¯t in my dorm¡¯s courtyard anymore. No, I was in an actual ancient forest. Right in front of me was a tree. It seemed unnatural, with baby-skin smooth bone white bark and blood red leaves. Most alarming was the face that seemed to have grown out of the bark, its red eyes seeming to stare at me fondly.

    Being a massive nerd, I had thought about what to do if I suddenly found myself transported through magic, accident or malice to Faerie or some other realm of fantasy. Specifically, attempt to recreate the phenomenon and get back to Earth as soon as possible. Because without narrative plot armor or some other ridiculously overpowered ability, anyone in one of those settings was likely to end up dead. Even if they didn¡¯t, living without the internet, massive libraries of science-fiction and fantasy, without my friends and family and pets¡­ If I didn¡¯t have to lose all of that, I didn¡¯t want to. And the best way not to have to lose my life, whether metaphorically or literally, was to get back home.

    So I sat back down, and meditated, focused on my dorm room. The smells, the colors, the sounds and feeling. It didn¡¯t work. Then I tried my mother, unsuccessfully. My family home was, again, a failure. My childhood home, likewise. The dojo and archery range where I practiced weren¡¯t viable. The woods I played in as a child, the stable I rode horses from, schools, Stonehenge where¡¯d I been several times while living in England, none of them worked. But even though I¡¯d been sat there for hours, even though the sun had risen, I wasn¡¯t giving up.

    ¡°Who are you, and what are you doing in the Godswood?¡± demanded a man authoritatively. He had a long face with grey eyes, a neat, short beard and chin-length dark brown hair. Beneath a thick fur cloak his clothes were embroidered, their quality denoting him a man of some importance if I was correct in guessing a medieval-equivalent society from the massive greatsword he carried.

    I thought quickly. Judging from my sudden transportation, magic was both real and potentially problematic; I didn¡¯t want to give my real name. ¡°Odysseus Gangari, but you can call me Odds¡± I answered. My last name in honor of Odin the Wayfarer, my first a promise to one day return home no matter how long the journey. Plus, the shortened form sounded at least somewhat similar to my own name, so I¡¯d react to it. ¡°And as for what I¡¯m doing here, I haven¡¯t the faintest idea.¡±

    He raised his eyebrows. ¡°You haven¡¯t the faintest idea?¡± he repeated. ¡°Considering I am Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, and it is my castle you have trespassed, my Godswood you are in, I expect a better answer than that.¡±

    Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck. ¡°No, I really have no idea. I was meditating in the courtyard of my school, and when I opened my eyes I was here,¡± I explained, telling the truth as I didn¡¯t have a better explanation.

    ¡°Your word on it?¡± he asked. ¡°And know that the weirwood will know if you lie, and if you do I will execute you.¡±

    ¡°You have my most solemn oath, Lord Stark,¡± I said. He seemed to wait a moment, for what I don¡¯t know, before he nodded cautiously.

    ¡°And do you have any proof of this?¡± he questioned.

    ¡°Beyond the weirwood not eating me or whatever?¡± I asked rhetorically. He smiled despite himself at that, so I guessed weirwoods didn¡¯t eat people for lying. ¡°Um. Let me think for a second.¡± And I did. What did I have that was totally foreign to the middle ages? ¡°Well, the stitching on my clothes is done by machine, it should be finer and more even than anything people can manage by hand. Oh! And my wallet, I have my ID and credit cards on me, those are made of plastic, I doubt you have that here. And my phone,¡± I patted my pockets, no phone, ¡°ah, I left my phone in my room. My shoes, they use rubber. And if you have a mathematician at hand, I can see if there¡¯s anything I know which is more advanced than what you¡¯ve previously discovered?¡±If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

    ¡°Very well. Throw me your items of plastic, and if they are unknown to me I will escort you to Maester Luwin to discuss mathematics,¡± the lord ordered. I struggled to get my wallet out of my jeans pocket without standing up and potentially seeming threatening, then tossed it to him. Of course my coordination, never the best at throwing, decided that was the perfect moment to go on the fritz, and the wallet landed several feet away from Lord Stark.

    I winced in shamed embarrassment. ¡°I, ah-, sorry?¡± I stammered. He took a step, bent over and picked it up without looking away from me. Then he flipped the wallet open and with an impressive degree of one handed dexterity managed to pull my driver¡¯s license out with one hand, the other fixed to the hilt of his belt-knife.

    After a few moments of inspection, he spoke. ¡°It seems that your plastic, at least, bears out your story so far; I have never seen the like. What plant or animal does it come from?¡±

    ¡°Um, thanks? Plastic doesn¡¯t really come from a plant or animal. Well, I guess the oil comes from the dinosaurs. But that was millions of years ago, so I don¡¯t think it counts the way you¡¯re thinking. Basically, some chemists a long time ago figured out how to use chemicals and heat and pressure and other chemicals to make plastic. I know that explanation isn¡¯t very good, sorry,¡± I said.

    ¡°Don¡¯t be,¡± he said. ¡°After all, I have paper and glass, but I couldn¡¯t tell you how to make them either.¡± Damn, that was unexpectedly clever of him. I¡¯d have to be careful not to confuse undeveloped for unintelligent. ¡°Rise, Odds, it seems we will be calling on my Maester this morning.¡±

    A few minutes of walking later, as Lord Stark pointed out different parts of his fortress, we came to a tower. He opened the door, and gestured for me to proceed. We went up a couple flights of stairs, coming to another door. He knocked.

    ¡°Please, enter,¡± an old man¡¯s voice called from inside. When Lord Stark opened the door I saw the owner of the voice, an old man in robes with a metal choker around his neck made from multiple links of different metals. Did they have slavery here?

    ¡°Maester Luwin, I hope we are not interrupting,¡± Lord Stark said politely. I was American, but I knew that when your liege lord came over he wasn¡¯t interrupting even if you were mid-coitus.

    ¡°Not at all, my lord, not at all,¡± Maester Luwin replied. Damn, it would be ironic as hell if they called their slaves Maester. But no way in hell was I going to broach the subject of slavery just yet. No good would come of picking fights.

    ¡°This is Oddyseus Gangari, an unexpected visitor to Winterfell. He claims to be something of a mathematician, and wanted to compare his knowledge with your own,¡± Lord Stark announced.

    ¡°A pleasure to meet you, Maester Luwin,¡± I said, stretching out my hand without thinking about it, my parents¡¯ conditioning on polite greetings coming to the fore. He grasped it around the wrist with a bit of bemusement; I guessed that manly warrior handshake equivalents were a thing, but most likely shared between warriors rather than with Maesters.

    What followed was a pretty comprehensive workup of mathematics. We used chalk on slate boards; I was glad to avoid the wax-tablets that Romans used for impermanent work, but sad that paper was clearly limited and expensive. That said, I doubted I¡¯d have done well with a quill or primitive pen, so perhaps it was for the best.

    As for the math, I quickly found that the locals, the Westerosi, used base ten notation with their own equivalent of Arabic numerals.

    And it was then that I had this massive moment of cognitive dissonance; I realized I¡¯d been flawlessly speaking in a foreign language, interpreting it as English. Once I figured it out I realized that I could, if I focused, hear the difference. Otherwise though it seemed I¡¯d gained some version of Allspeak, which was pretty awesome. Fairy magical adaptations for the win.

    The locals also had working knowledge of algebra and geometry. They knew of Pi and the Golden Ratio. That said, they had little use of graphing equations and none of calculus, so I was able to establish my bonafides. Lord Stark had been following what he could, but we had obviously left him behind at some point.

    ¡°My lord, how long will Odds be staying with us?¡± Maester Luwin asked. The man was clever enough to have figured out that my being there was strange, but interested enough in what I knew to want to keep me around.

    ¡°I intend to allow him to stay as my guest for as long as he likes, providing his stay remains agreeable to both him and myself,¡± Lord Stark replied. ¡°Should I take this to mean you¡¯d appreciate sharing knowledge between you?¡±

    ¡°Yes, my lord. His knowledge¡­ If he were part of the Citadel, he would doubtless have at least two or three links of yellow gold for mathematics. Assuming his knowledge in other fields is of a similar level, the improvement of our knowledge could be immense,¡± Luwin enthused.

    ¡°I was actually studying materials. Metallurgy, you¡¯d probably call it,¡± I said. Both of their eyes lit up. ¡°Ah, but, unlike mathematics, the gains I can provide there are more limited. Imagine if a smith were dropped off into absolute wilderness; he might know some of the theory behind finding the ores, refining them, and then processing the metal but it¡¯s a very difficult undertaking. My case is worse; there¡¯s a greater distance between what I studied and smithing than there is between smithing and wilderness. I¡¯m used to a level of infrastructure that just isn¡¯t likely to be present.¡±

    Part of my explanation was not wanting to do it. I knew, at least in theory, how to make a blast furnace and Bessemer converter. Between those, that was a good portion of the industrial revolution, though they really needed to be paired with gunpowder-expedited mining to get full impact. But I didn¡¯t want to work on those; I didn¡¯t want to spend all that time breathing in fumes from molten metals that might contain lead and other nastiness. I didn¡¯t want to spend all my time working, rather than figuring out how to use my magic and maybe return home. And until I felt they were honorable and moral enough to deserve it, though Stark was a good ways to showing that, I didn¡¯t want to give them such a massive leg up on their competition.

    I also knew how to make black powder, including how to manufacture saltpeter as recommended in LeConte¡¯s manual, but there was no way I was bringing that up until and unless I thought it appropriate. Beyond that, saltpeter production took at least a year of lead time, which was a lot on just my word. I sure as shit wasn¡¯t going to be the one turning over the manure pile, which meant I needed enough credit before I even think of it.

    The last popular part of uplift stories I¡¯d read, penicillin, was often achieved far too easily for the authors to be nearly good enough chemists and chemical engineers to actually manage it. Industrial penicillin production is miserably difficult, with yields so low as to make extraction exceptionally difficult, issues maintaining purity which is required for decent shelf-lives, and a high removal rate of penicillin from the body which meant large amounts were needed, or the penicillin needed to be modified for increased residency time. It took years of concentrated effort, a nationwide search for the best penicillin strain, and dedicated teams of chemical engineers to manage to produce enough penicillin to treat more than one or two people at a time within the entire US back in the 1940s. Even knowing the outline of their eventual solutions, I was a good enough chemist and engineer to know I could easily spend my entire life on the effort with nothing to show for it.

    So fuck penicillin. I was allergic to that shit anyways.

    Honestly, it was a good thing my math was enough to get me residency within Winterfell.

 Chapter 2: A New Man

    <u>Chapter 2: A New Man</u>

    Eight months later, and I was hardly recognizable as the weak-ass college student that I was on arrival.  I spent most of my days training, practicing my martial skills in the yard, exercising my body, honing my magic.  And it showed.

    I mostly collaborated with Luwin to earn my keep.  I introduced him to double entry book-keeping, explained statistical techniques, and found a few loopholes in the tax code that meant Winterfell could have afforded to house, feed and equip a hundred of me and still come out ahead.  That pretty much brought me up in status from ¡°free-loading but interesting foreign guest¡± to ¡°gentleman courtier¡±.  Introducing flush toilets, and the rapid and efficient plunger pump to pull water just cemented my position.

    They were less enthusiastic about my agricultural revelations, but were at least willing to try them out on fields owned by Lord Stark and worked by peasants as part of their taxes.  I had grown up in an agricultural area, and both history and biology classes had made us memorize numerous facts about farming both past and present.  I introduced the idea of four field Norfolk crop rotation, which alternated wheat, turnips, barley and clover and more than doubled production compared to a two field system where half the land was fallow at any given time.  It was one of the most efficient farming methods available to an unindustrialized agricultural sector, and helped the explosive English population growth that helped make it an empire.

    I also introduced the somewhat hardier three field system which could be applied over worse land than you found in England; that used autumn rye or winter wheat and then spring barley or oats in one field, nitrogen fixers like peas, lentils or legumes in the second, and left the third fallow.

    Lastly, I gave them the concept of companion planting, where rows of one plant like carrots are alternated with another like onions and the yields of both are improved.  I wrote down what I could from the half-remembered vegetable ¨C companion ¨C antagonist charts.  The yield from the experimental portion of greenhouse, or ¡°glass gardens¡± as they called it, had shown a distinct improvement, and Lord Stark had already sent messengers with written guides to inform his banner-men.

    My contributions meant that Lord Stark gifted me with a full set of armor, spear, sword, shield and mail.  After that I was no longer tooling about with borrowed gear when I trained in the mornings, and Lady Stark was a lot less frostily polite towards me.  Part of her warming up, I suspect, came from her childrens¡¯ affections too.  I helped Luwin tutor them in math and physics, taught them chess, and told them stories that I had read.

    Bran, her second son, was nine years old and as unfair as it was, he was my favorite.  He loved to climb, and made me tell and re-tell stories of Sun Wukong, King Arthur and Star Wars (the original trilogy, of course).  A weird mix, I know, but they were his favorites.

    His climbing though scared me to death.  Boy would go right up the walls and towers of Winterfell, no harness, no rope.  His mother kept trying to get him to stop, but it just didn¡¯t work.  Other than that, he was the sweetest, best behaved, nicest little brat there ever was, but when it came to climbing he couldn¡¯t help himself.  It was some sort of compulsion.  Personally, I was scared to death of heights, but my brother was a fiend for rock-climbing, went to compete in the US nationals and everything, so I knew a bit about it.

    So I talked to Lady Catelyn, and with her support got Mikken, the chief blacksmith, to make some carabiners up.  A few straps of leather with some heavy stitching for a harness, some good quality rope, and a bit of instruction and Bran was ready to go.  He wasn¡¯t willing to risk the punishment rather than take one of the preset routes with fixed belaying points, and proved to be almost creepily responsible when it came to looking after his gear.

    After that, well, I think if Lord Stark had tried to get rid of me Lady Catelyn would have had him sleeping by the hearth for a year.

    I got along well enough with the other kids.  Young Lord Robb was a fine man, friendly and kind, perhaps too much so for a future Lord Paramount of the North.  We practiced together, and he was always willing to patiently teach me a trick with the sword.  His half-brother, Jon Snow, was of an age with Robb.  A little cooler, more stoic and serious, and to be fair a bit broodier, Jon was still unfailing polite and helpful.

    As for the girls, Arya was a spitfire.  Recently turned ten, she was a total tomboy.  Lord Stark said she had a full measure of the wolf¡¯s blood, and he wasn¡¯t wrong.  More than anything, I felt bad for the girl.  She just wanted to learn to fight, to ride, joust and hunt like the boys.  On modern Earth, she¡¯d have likely represented the US in the Olympics for shooting or fencing, or spent a lifetime hunting.  In Westeros, with Lady Catelyn for her mother, she was in a constant war for whatever shreds of independence she could gather and keep.

    I was willing to entertain Arya, told her how the most badass archer and swordsman I ever met was a woman.  It wasn¡¯t a lie, either.  Even with a decade more training and magic, I¡¯d hesitate picking a fight with someone like Aya LaBrie; not only was she at the very top of the world when it came to skill, she had that mark of self-determination on her, that she¡¯d accept no future but what she chose.  After that, Arya liked me.  Still, she was a bit of a hellion, and displayed her affections with pranks and harassment as much as anything else.  Unlike Bran, whose only sin was liking high places from which I was all too often sent to fetch him, Arya was trouble.

    Sansa was my least favorite of the Starks.  It may have been a bit unfair; she was a product of her environment.  But since I was reserving judgement on little Rickon, still a toddler, and got on well with all the others, she kind of fell into it.  Not that I really disliked her; it was just that she was so willfully na?ve, blinded to the realities of life.  Hell, I was always faintly contemptuous of people in the US who didn¡¯t really get how bad life could be outside our little islands of civility, not just abroad but even in our own cities.

    This girl basically lived in the fucking middle ages.  Her aunt, Lyanna, was abducted by the previous dynasty¡¯s crown prince.  When asking for her return, her own grandfather had been burned to death, her uncle strangled as he tried desperately to free his father.  When the capital, King¡¯s Landing, was sacked the surviving royals suffered their babies skulls dashed against the walls and their women raped to death.  How she could buy into the fantasy of courtly knights was beyond me.  I guess her make-believe was nicer than the reality, but if her illusions were ever shattered it was likely to be ugly and I wasn¡¯t convinced Lord and Lady Stark could keep her sheltered forever.

    That said, my least favorite of the members of the Stark household was that shit, Greyjoy.  He just rubbed me in all the wrong ways, and reminded me of every character flaw I¡¯d seen as part of a frat rolled into one odious jackass.  In a nutshell, he was an arrogant, insecure, aggressive, sexist, classist, drunk, whoremongering, dishonest little shit, and proud of it.  It didn¡¯t help that he felt threatened by me and kept picking fights.  One time he even kicked my dog; I beat him bloody, then unconscious in the training yard, and warned him that if he fucked with me one more time I¡¯d leave him a permanent cripple.  He pissed blood for a month, and after that, we didn¡¯t interact much.  I preferred it that way.

    Although I spent a goodly amount of time with the Starks or Luwin, I spent most of it training.  When I arrived, I was a decent martial artist.  Technically, my skills were actually pretty good.  Physically, I had put on the freshman fifteen and was far from the shape I¡¯d been in when I was competing.  Other than fists, I could swing a pretty mean staff, and was beginning to hit the point of being a competitive archer.  In other words, compared to the local soldiery, I was fucking chaff to be thrashed.

    Ser Rodrik Cassel, the master-at-arms, had brought me up from that point to being an objectively good fighter.  My first and greatest focus was on the bow, which he couldn¡¯t help much with.  I knew though that archery was the best way to kill people in battle, or to feed myself in a forest, assassinate some fucker, basically any situation my first go-to was going to be my bow.  I already knew how to work on accuracy.  I knew how English archers used their back and front-arm to push, allowing them to use bows with higher pull weights.  I knew how Mongol master archers gripped the string with their thumbs, how they could hold more arrows between their fingers to allow for a faster reload.  All the rest was practice, and I spent enough time on the range to be among the best archers of the North.  Of course, my bow helped but more on that later.

    Apart from the bow though I needed a lot of teaching.  Teaching which Ser Rodrik was, thankfully, willing to provide.  By the end of the eight months and the approach of the Royal visit, I was about as good as an inexperienced knight with my spear.  I picked a spear to focus on since I was a firm believer that every inch of reach counted.  I could match experienced guardsmen with sword or sword and shield, and I was a decent rider, about as good as a common guardsman when fighting on horseback, and a proficient mounted archer.

    I knew my history, after all; a good mounted archer is always the most lethal soldier on the battlefield.

    Ser Rodrik thought I was some kind of prodigy for learning all of that so quickly.  Eight months, after all, was a very short time to turn someone from inexperienced into a match for the typical man-at-arms with years of training and experience.  Honestly, I was talented.  I already had a lot of the principles, the footwork, the reaction time from my karate background.  But that wouldn¡¯t have been nearly enough.

    No, I cheated like crazy with my magic.  And that was definitely the biggest change between my arrival and then.  I was a fantasy nerd suddenly given access to magic; of course I abused the hell out of it.

    First I ended up figuring out the general scheme behind my magic.  It worked by my bonding with the land.  Different types of land provided different types of magical energy, mana, which I classified by color.  They didn¡¯t actually have color, but felt like that color, if that makes sense?  It¡¯s hard to explain, like color to a blind man.  Nonetheless, there were five colors.Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

    Green, which I had bound on arrival, was the color of nature, wildlife, the inter-connectivity of life, spirituality.  It was good for improving living things, wood, animals, even myself.  It could be found in forests and other wilderness that was full of life.  I resonated very well with Green, which meant I could bind forests faster and use the mana more efficiently than otherwise.

    White, which was the most available in the settled regions near Winterfell, was the color of peace, law, structure, selflessness and society.  It was good for direct healing, protection, and imposing order and bonds.  It could be found in cities, towns, and castles like Winterfell as well as managed plains; basically anywhere that was full of order or humanity.  I resonated reasonably well with White.

    Blue, available in the Winterfell library and Maester Luwin¡¯s turret, was the color of knowledge, deceit, caution, deliberation, and perfection.  It was good for gaining knowledge, seeing the future, improving thought, and interacting with arcane energies.  So far I had only found it available in libraries and other places of scholarly pursuit, but I had hopes for sufficiently large bodies of water to provide it as well.  A devoted student and seeker of knowledge, it was unsurprising that I resonated best with Blue mana.

    Black, available in the Winterfell Crypts and Lichyard, was the color of raw power, self-interest, death, sacrifice, and uninhibited action.  It was good for aging things, curses, maledictions, and receiving gain from pain, whether that of others or yourself.  I resonated the least with this color, taking at least twice as long to make gains with it as I did with Green or Blue.

    Red, available in the Winterfell Hot-Springs and the Broken Tower which had been struck by lightning, was the color of freedom, emotion, activity, impulsiveness and destruction.  It was good for raw power, speed and destructiveness.  I resonated fairly well with it, my massive love for my own freedom overcoming my reservations to causing senseless destruction while in an emotional fit.

    Mana seemed to be fairly discretized as well.  When riding in the Wolfswood, I had practiced bonding to the land and found that there was a certain minimum area of land that would be bound at a time.  I decided to standardize the output of one minimum region of standard land as one mana.  Certain special locations, such as the Godswood, provided a higher energy density.

    In all, I had bound four green mana, six white, two blue, two black, and two red.  It sufficed for most any spell I had developed, especially since many spells required a specific amount of colored mana only to define the spell-structure.  The remainder could then be powered by taking a different mana and removing the overlay of color, turning it into raw magical energy which could be fed into the spell.

    The first spell I developed was accidental, the regeneration effect that came when I first arrived on Westeros and bound the Godswood.  Within a short time I could recreate the effect at will.  The second was not a proper spell at all, but rather an application of magical energy.  I spent a lot of time practicing karate, and that included meditation techniques.  I didn¡¯t know on earth whether ki was a thing or not.  But real or not, those who practiced those techniques ended up with greater body control.  There were dozens of possible explanations for that, most of which I didn¡¯t care about; it worked after all, and that slight edge when you¡¯re competing was the difference between victory and defeat, so I practiced it.

    On Westeros, with magical energies, it wasn¡¯t surprising that the first thing I¡¯d really think to try would be to use those self-same techniques to slowly bind mystical energies to myself.  I tried to be somewhat balanced in my application, though did end up favoring Green twice as much and Blue one and a half times as much as I did Red, White and Black.

    From Green, I developed a stronger, faster, tougher body with improved regeneration.  By working out and repairing myself with magic, I had grown my natural physique to match veteran knights.  With my cultivation technique, that was boosted to the point that I was one of the strongest men in Westeros.  Maybe not as strong as the Mountain, but I was likely a fair match for his brother, the Hound.

    I improved my thoughts to be faster, slightly precognitive, and with an improved sense for mana by cultivating Blue.  With Red, I gained faster reactions and a slightly explosive increase in power when hitting someone.  White gave me a small store of healing energy that would automatically activate to heal crippling wounds.  Black, ironically, was used to keep me healthy, its energies primed to attack foreign diseases and toxins.

    For my spells, I used my small set of healing magics the most frequently.  I could mend wounds with White energy, imbue life-force with either White or a mixture of White and Green, and give myself an energizer better than a half-dozen shots of coffee with either White or Green.

    That said, the greatest number of my spells were buffs.  Regeneration and bark-skin saw a lot of use, and used Green.  Destined Shot, a type of fated reversion of causality allowed for ¡°the target is hit¡± to causally precede ¡°the arrow is shot¡±.  Like Combat Precognition, it used Blue Mana.  Out of combat, Blue also helped me Improve Recall and perform Thought Acceleration.

    With White added to Blue I could manage Mage-Sight, which so far had only been useful to see the magical energy of my own spells but might prove useful in the future.  Another White/Blue spell was Temporary Photographic Memory, which was great to memorize Luwin¡¯s texts on heraldry, plants, animals, and maps. With Green added in, I could do a Temporary Permanent Muscle Memory, which massively sped up my training.  My most complicated spell to date combined White for protection and structure, Blue for analysis, and Red for energy to create an anti-Arrow Ward which could then be sustained with colorless mana.  With Red mana I had a single spell, Haste, which improved reaction and movement speed.

    Black had no buffs as yet, but did provide for my sole curse, which I called Wither.  Red provided all of my evocation or combat spells, including Burning Touch (which was also good for lighting campfires) and Shock, which was basically a taser bolt.  Combined with Blue, I could manage the iconic Magic Missile, a homing bolt of reasonably destructive anti-personnel blasting, but the damage and single shot was too limited for my desires of dakka.  I¡¯d been fairly limited with my evocations, since I didn¡¯t want to obviously and impossibly out myself as a mage to the Starks, so I only practiced what I could manage safely.

    I also had some utility spells.  Grow Straight Arrow used Green and White to get a tree to grow a perfect arrow shaft.  Process Arrow used Black and Red to age the arrow-wood.  But the utility spell I used most was definitely Hygiene.  A mix of White and Red, it cleaned dirt, restored clothes, brushed teeth, and generally allowed me to maintain the level of cleanliness I had come to expect from the twenty-first century Earth.  Other than that, I also used a White-Red spell to gather water moisture from the air, making clean water for me to drink.

    But for my true masterpieces of magic, I had to point to my pets.  Companions, really, by that point.

    Togo was my dog, a local breed that resembled a husky.  I named him after the famous sled-dog that was the lead for the longest leg of an emergency medicine delivery to Alaska.  I love dogs.  We always had at least one when I was growing up, often two or three.  I was homesick, and I wanted a friend who¡¯d have my back whatever happened; dogs are great for that.  But I didn¡¯t just want a dog; I had magic.  I wanted a super-dog.

    So I got Togo as a young puppy, and began experimenting with him, adding Green mana to improve him physically, Blue to improve him mentally, White to create a familiar bond, Red to sheathe his claws and fangs in destructive energies that allowed them to tear through steel armor.  Something about the Green mana, especially how it interacted with him as a puppy, made Togo develop gigantism.  I¡¯ll admit to a bit of culpability myself; my favorite dogs at home had both been around a hundred and twenty pounds, little of it fat.

    Northern Mountain Dogs, the type of breed that Togo belonged too, only grew up to sixty to eighty pounds, and I guess my desire for a slightly larger dog affected the magic.  Togo was already closing in on five hundred pounds, about the size of a large-ish tiger, and he wasn¡¯t done growing yet.  By the time he was, he was probably going to come in at around six hundred pounds, maybe a bit more.  Luckily the Mana seemed to have modified his biology, optimizing it and improving it to support his now massive frame.  It also made him even stronger, faster and most importantly tougher than any natural creature, even one his size, had a right to be.

    At some point during his modification, something had clicked and since then Togo was nearly totally reactive to my will; that was definitely a good thing, considering I¡¯d seen him take down a bear neat as you please.  I was still figuring out how to give him the ability to communicate with me, beyond his expressive body language.

    I also had a horse, Aethon.  He was a tawny gelding who I¡¯d named after some divine horses from Greek mythology.  Aethon was already an adult when I was given him.  Like Togo, I slowly and repetitively channeled Green, Blue, White and Red mana into him.  However, where Togo was about three Green to one Blue to one White to one Red, Aethon was about two Green to one Blue to two White to one Red.  The White made Aethon calmer, which was definitely necessary considering he too had near-human intelligence, but unlike Togo couldn¡¯t follow me about for entertainment.

    Ridiculously swift and surefooted, he could canter all day at twenty five miles per hour, and could reach speeds in excess of sixty miles per hour in a sprint.  He was a beautiful, glossy creature, and was kept that way without any effort on my part after I figured out how to enchant him to have an ever-clean coat.  Every single member of the castle who had seen me riding on him, practicing my horse archery or just racing Togo for the joy of it, was deeply jealous.

    I had already gotten requests for me to ¡°see to¡± other peoples¡¯ horses, which I¡¯d so far brushed off, but I was just waiting until Arya, or Robb, or hell, Lord Stark, decided that they¡¯d really appreciate my treating their mounts to the same process.  Honestly, Togo and his gigantism had kind of fucked things up for me staying subtle, and appearing non-magical, but once I¡¯d started I just didn¡¯t have the heart to stop until he was the best dog he could be.  I even got a little attached to Togo being ridiculously oversized compared to, well, everything.  So when the kids got direwolf puppies (because that was going to end well) I decided to pump Togo up a little more.  He didn¡¯t get much larger, but he did get more muscular, stronger, faster.  I had no doubt who the top dog of Winterfell was, and nor did anyone else.

    Between Togo, Aethon, and the fact I was always clean, there were persistent rumors that I was a wizard, a warg, a child of the forest (despite my being over six foot two, practically a giant in a middle-ages society), the child of an Old-God, and so on and so forth.  The last of those rumors hadn¡¯t been helped when I went into the Godswood and came out with a legendary-quality weirwood bow.

    I had been meditating near the Heart tree, as I was wont to do, and thinking about what my perfect bow would be like.  Heavily recurved to allow me to shoot from horseback, a hundred and sixty pound draw weight to take advantage of my new strength, when I wanted it to the bow¡¯s flexion increased by Green mana and the arrow given an extra push with Red for maximum penetration, the bow guiding the hand of the archer by a Blue enchantment bound into the bow.

    I didn¡¯t realize it until I was nearly done, but I had been channeling those mana while thinking about the bow, and when I was done if fell off the weirwood fully formed.  I called it the Wyrdwood bow, and I had been unable to recreate the phenomenon of its creation.  That said, it was the most amazing piece of archery equipment I¡¯d ever seen or heard of, capable of lofting an arrow into a man-sized target at over five hundred yards.  Between it and my mobility atop Aethon, I had little fear for most fights I was likely to end up in.

    And then my first eight months on Westeros came to a close as the King came visiting to Winterfell.

 Chapter 3: Royal Visit pt. 1

    <u>Chapter 3: Royal Visit pt. 1</u>

    The arrival of the royal party was quite the sight.  Hundreds of riders came through Winterfell¡¯s gates in a panoply of color and noise.  Steel clad knights and riders in plate and mail and leather, tabards of Lannister red and gold and Baratheon yellow and black popping among more subdued blues, blacks, greys and greens.

    Among the riders some stood out.  One, arrogant but in incredibly  fine armor with golden hair and a white cloak must have been Ser Jaime Lannister.  Another, one of the largest men I¡¯d seen since my arrival and with a horrifically burnt face could only be Sandor Clegane, the Hound.  And at the very front, a massive middle aged man rode.  He had obviously gone to seed in his later years, fattened by food and drink and a lack of exercise, but he carried his bulk with an ease that spoke to the muscles hidden by his fat.  He was like a middle aged construction worker, heavyset but still strong and capable of smacking some young such-and-such about if needed.

    Honestly, to my eyes the procession looked gaudy as hell, and reminded me of nothing more than when I was a child, vacationing in a town in France when a motorcycle gang rolled through.  I knew, academically, what a motorcycle gang was, what they had done in previous decades, but hadn¡¯t realized that such gangs existed into modern times.  I thought it was a historical reenactment, a hobby group taking themselves far too seriously.  Luckily, as everyone around me fell silent I held my laughter until they had passed.  These Westerosi reminded me of that.  Taking themselves far too seriously for how ridiculous their pageantry was, but lethally serious if crossed.

    I was stood off to the side with a collection of Northern Lords and their families and retainers who had journeyed to Winterfell to take part in the celebrations surrounding the King¡¯s visit. Winterfell was about fifteen hundred miles from the capital, and it was rare for a Northern Lord to make that journey.  The king¡¯s visit represented the greatest Northern access to the Royal Court ever in the Seven Kingdoms¡¯ history, and hundreds of Northerners had flocked to the fortress bearing gifts of food and wine so as to ease Winterfell¡¯s burden.

    King Robert came to a stop near Lord Stark and his family, then leapt off his force and picked the smaller man up in a bear hug.  Looking at him next to Stark he must have been at least a couple inches taller than me.

    ¡°Ned!  It is so good to see that frozen face of yours!¡± he boomed with a laugh.  ¡°You have not changed one bit.¡±

    Lord Stark, ever serious, simply replied, ¡°Your Grace.  Winterfell is yours.¡±

    I waited bored as the queen descended from her monstrosity of a wheelhouse, and graciously allowed Lord Stark to kneel and kiss her ring.  I was faintly pissed off by her adherence to custom when her husband treated my benefactor like a brother.  In fact, with my read on Westerosi culture, the queen should have taken her husband¡¯s lead.  If Robert felt Ned was his brother, then she should have done so too.

    Clearly the antagonism between the Starks and Lannisters was more than rumors.  And that made me nervous.  Robert wasn¡¯t just here for a visit; his previous Hand, a sort of Prime Minister who was a father figure to both Robert and Ned, had died.  And unless I missed my guess, Robert was here to get Lord Stark to fill those shoes.

    I knew enough history to understand how risky court could be, especially if the Lannisters had been even slightly intelligent with how they used their legendary wealth.  Given Lord Tywin Lannister¡¯s reputation, I doubted that the man had been anything less than fully intelligent.  It was obvious from the body language that the prince, Joffrey, favored his mother, and that could put the Starks in a very awkward situation.

    The greeting party broke up as the king and Lord Stark left for the crypts to pay their respects to Lyanna, Eddard¡¯s younger sister, the king¡¯s betrothed, and the woman whose abduction launched a revolution.  I went to the stables to fetch Togo and Aethon, already saddled and with bow and arrow in their holsters; the castle had nearly quadrupled in population with the arrival of the king¡¯s party and the Northmen come to pay court to him, and the larders needed filling.

    ===================================

    That night there was a true medieval feast for the king¡¯s arrival.  Dozens of courses, dancers, singers and other entertainment.  It lasted for hours, and for all that the Lannister aligned knights spoke that the queen or Tywin had organized better, it was the most extravagant event I¡¯d ever been part of.  That said, I kept my wine consumption reasonable, used magic to keep a clear head, and paid attention.

    I owed the Starks a lot, their lord in particular.  He¡¯d taken me in, allowed me to gain position, a modicum of wealth and knowledge.  But as much as I respected him as a man and a lord, he was gods-awful when it came to subterfuge and politics.  Spoiled by his distance from the king¡¯s court, and paramount within his own territory, Stark had allowed whatever sense he¡¯d ever had for intrigue to atrophy.  I could at the very least stay sober enough to have his back in whatever way possible.

    Most of the way through the meal I saw Jon storm out of the hall after talking with Benjen Stark, Eddard¡¯s brother and a Ranger with the Night¡¯s Watch.  Jon was sat at the lower tables with landless knights, squires of middling rank and the like, and had been drinking heavily.  I laughed heartily at a neighbor¡¯s joke, patted my stomach and stood up.

    ¡°On that note, my good sers, I need a piss.  If you¡¯ll excuse me,¡± I announced, pretending to be more in my cups than I was.  I then walked out of the hall and looked for Jon outside.

    The damned fool had probably been trying to convince Benjen to help him argue on his behalf in Jon¡¯s half-witted desire to freeze his balls off with the Night¡¯s Watch, half of whom were convicts and all of whom swore vows of poverty and chastity.  The boy was fifteen still, and even if he was almost sixteen it was still far too early to take life-long oaths.  But like all youths, he knew best and had likely reacted poorly to something Benjen said.Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

    I found Jon talking with Tyrion Lannister, the dwarfish brother to Cersei and Jaime Lannister and at least in theory the heir to the Lannister seat.  That was, if his father couldn¡¯t get Jaime released from his vows as a Kingsguard, yet another order with vows of chastity.  Honestly, the Westerosi seemed all too fond of those.

    Tyrion was playing with Ghost, Jon¡¯s direwolf puppy that he¡¯d rescued some two months prior, and trying to get Jon to see how unreasonable his brooding was.  I knew better than to bother with something like that; he was a drunk teenager, after all.  Even if he didn¡¯t have legitimate gripes, he¡¯d certainly feel like he did, and to be fair his life was difficult with Catelyn¡¯s hostility.  Being a bastard in Westeros was hard, even a lord¡¯s bastard, with the Blackfyres and their rebellion having tainted the concept throughout the Seven Kingdoms.

    That was the main reason I¡¯d abstained from sex, after all.  I didn¡¯t want my children to have to face that kind of onus, and I wasn¡¯t going to marry and stay there forever.  One day, somehow, I¡¯d return home.  Marriage would get in the way of that.

    After Tyrion left, I approached.

    ¡°What¡¯s up, Jon,¡± I said, patting him on the shoulder and giving him a boost of regeneration to sober him up.  I¡¯d been slowly getting them used to my modern expressions.  Generally the kids found it amusing, but I didn¡¯t get a response.  ¡°Well, if nothing¡¯s up then what¡¯s down?¡±

    Jon snorted.  ¡°You¡¯re not funny, you know,¡± he said, sitting on the ground and ruffling Ghost¡¯s ears.

    ¡°And yet I amuse myself,¡± I said.  ¡°Which, in the end, is all that really matters.¡±

    He shot me a dark look.  ¡°Come to give me advice too?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± I said bluntly.  He looked a bit taken aback.  ¡°My advice is valuable, and you¡¯re in no mood to listen.¡±

    ¡°I suppose I¡¯m not,¡± Jon admitted.  He was a good kid, if a bit full of himself.

    ¡°Instead, I came to give you an alternative.  Unless I miss my guess, we¡¯re headed to King¡¯s Landing after the king convinces your father to take on the duties of the Hand.  And it¡¯s likely I¡¯ll follow your father there.  Enter into my service, and come with me as my companion.  I¡¯ve enough money to pay you decently, with the stipend your father gave me.¡±

    ¡°I do not need your pity, Oddyseus,¡± he said despondently.

    ¡°Pity?¡± I repeated.  ¡°No, Jon.  It¡¯s not pity, or charity.  You¡¯re a hard worker, clever, and already better with a sword than most of the fighters here.  Most of all, you¡¯re loyal and I know that so long as I remain true to your family, something I have every intention of doing, that you¡¯ll be a true friend to me.¡±

    ¡°If I¡¯m so great, why won¡¯t Uncle Benjen take me with him to the Watch?¡± he griped.

    ¡°Because for all your good qualities, you¡¯re a moody teen and the Wall is full enough of the grim and dour,¡± I said sarcastically.  ¡°You Uncle is doubtless hoping that someone will teach you humor before you end up there.  Ah, there we go, I saw your lips twitch.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re still not funny, Odds,¡± he said.

    ¡°Well maybe you can help me with that too then.  So what do you say?¡± I extended my arm.

    After a moment¡¯s consideration he took it.  ¡°But this isn¡¯t forever,¡± he said.  ¡°If in a year or two, I still want to join the Watch, you¡¯ll let me.¡±

    ¡°Of course,¡± I replied with a grin.  ¡°If after a couple of years I can¡¯t convince you that it would be better to stay part of civilization, that your family can use you better here than there, then you can join the Watch with my blessing.  Though I¡¯ll follow you the whole way there trying to convince you otherwise.¡±

    Jon laughed softly.  ¡°Thank you, Odds.¡±

    ¡°No, Jon.  Thank you.¡±

    ===================================

    The next afternoon I went in search of Lord Stark to give him the news.  I found him in his solar with King Robert, drinking and chatting.

    ¡°Ah, my lord, Your Grace, I hope I¡¯m not interrupting,¡± I said after entering.

    ¡°No, no, I¡¯m monopolizing Ned¡¯s time enough as it is.  He still has a keep to run, after all,¡± Robert said boisterously.  ¡°And who might you be?¡±

    ¡°This is Odysseus Gangari, Robert,¡± Lord Stark said.

    ¡°Ah, the traveler who found his way to the Godswood!¡± the king boomed.  He¡¯d obviously never gotten the trick to the inside voice.  ¡°Eddard¡¯s told me all about you.  Apparently you¡¯re the one who figured out how to reduce Winterfell¡¯s taxes?¡±

    Ah, shit.  Hopefully he wasn¡¯t upset about that.  ¡°Yes, Your Grace.¡±

    ¡°Good, good.  Ned¡¯s always been too honorable for that sort of thing, but when everyone else does it then it just means he ends up getting taken advantage of.  Hell, I barely pay attention to my Master of Coin, and I still know at least that much.¡±

    ¡°May I say that is quite an enlightened attitude, Your Grace,¡± I said smiling.

    ¡°Ha!  Enlightened, he says.  I like that,¡± he laughed, smiling.  ¡°No, you keep serving your Lord faithfully and you will be just fine as far as I¡¯m concerned, Odysseus.  Gods know he spends enough time looking after everyone else that he needs more people to look after him.¡±

    I couldn¡¯t help myself, and burst into laughter.  He might not be a good king, but I was definitely liking Robert as a man.  ¡°Indeed, Your Grace.  You clearly know our Lord well.¡±

    ¡°This is entirely unfair, Robert.  I can¡¯t have you turning my own men against me,¡± Eddard stated dryly.

    ¡°No, no.  I wouldn¡¯t dare, Ned.  But come, Odysseus.  Have a seat.  I hear you¡¯re quite the rider, the fastest in the North Ned tells me.¡±

    ¡°Thank you, Your Grace.  But I¡¯m not that good a rider.  Rather it¡¯s my horse, Aethon.  He¡¯s a wonder.  I¡¯d bet every coin I have on him in a race.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ll have to show him off when we go hunting then.  That monster of a dog is yours as well, isn¡¯t it?¡±

    ¡°Yes, Your Grace.¡±

    ¡°An incredible animal.  When I first heard of it I wondered if someone had managed to tame the father of the direwolf pups that the children have.¡±

    ¡°No, Your Grace, Togo¡¯s a Northern Mountain Dog, just one that seems to have grown beyond the bounds of normal dogs in much the same way I suspect that the Mountain grew beyond the bounds of normal men,¡± I dissembled.  ¡°That, or he¡¯s been blessed by the Old Gods,¡± I said in a somewhat joking tone.

    ¡°Still, a most impressive beast.  Well, I¡¯ve taken up enough of your time.  You had some business with Ned?¡±

    ¡°Yes, thank you Your Grace.  My lord,¡± I said, turning to the Stark, ¡°I¡¯m not sure if Jon¡¯s told you, but he¡¯s agreed to enter my service as my companion for a time.  Assuming, of course, that it meets with your approval.¡±

    He looked me in the eyes for a moment, then nodded.  ¡°I hadn¡¯t heard yet, but Benjen did tell me that he seemed overly keen to join the Watch.  Thank you, Odysseus.¡±

    ¡°No, my lord, you shouldn¡¯t thank me.  Jon¡¯s a good lad, and I¡¯m sure I¡¯ll get more work out of him than he does me.¡±

    ¡°Nonetheless.  For all that he is not trueborn, he is my son, and I didn¡¯t want him joining the Watch before he was truly an adult.  If that was all?¡±

    ¡°Yes, my lord.  Your Grace, it was truly a pleasure to meet you,¡± I said as I rose and bowed.

    ¡°Likewise, likewise.  And I expect you up bright and early the day after tomorrow, Odysseus.  I want to see you, your horse and dog in action for myself.¡±

    ¡°Of course, Your Grace,¡± I said with a smile.  ¡°I wouldn¡¯t miss it.¡±

 Chapter 4: Royal Visit pt. 2

    <u>Chapter 4: Royal Visit pt. 2</u>

    The next day when I finished with my archery practice and moved to the yard where Ser Rodrick taught the guardsmen and boys, I came just in time to catch a scene between Robb and Joffrey.

    Ser Rodrick was trying to get them to have another practice bout.  Apparently Robb had won the last one, and Joffrey, a spoiled little shit in general and a poor loser to boot, decided to fight with his words rather than a blade.  Objectively, it was actually a bit cunning.  Within the social context, it was weasel-y.  Knowing that Ser Rodrick would never allow the heir to the Iron Throne and the heir to the North to fight with live steel, Joffrey asked for just that.

    I saw the flash of fear in his eyes when Ser Rodrick allowed them to use tourney swords, with blunted edges, rather than the weighted wood they¡¯d used previously.  Taken aback, the scarred Hound came to his rescue.

    ¡°This is your prince!¡± he said.  ¡°Who are you to say he cannot have a sword with an edge, ser?¡±  His tone was derisive, combative.

    ¡°I¡¯m Winterfell¡¯s master-at-arms, Clegane,¡± Ser Rodrick said.  He had spent time in southern courts, and knew how biting that address wass, the pointed emphasis on how Clegane was no knight.  ¡°You would do well to remember it.¡±

    Honestly, Ser Rodrick was in the right.  He was in charge of the training grounds, and brooking his authority was incredibly rude.  Lord Stark would think twice before doing so, let alone some unblooded blonde shit who wasn¡¯t even fifteen yet, or said shit¡¯s sworn shield.  Clegane knew better, but of course that was the point.

    ¡°Are you training men here, or women?¡± he demanded.  I watched on in interest, prepared to intervene if Ser Rodrick seemed to be losing.  It wouldn¡¯t do for the Starks to be walked over in their own castle.

    ¡°I am training knights,¡± Rodrick said, again pointing out Clegane¡¯s lack of title.  ¡°They can use live steel once they¡¯re of age and ready for it.¡±

    Realizing that he was losing against Rodrick, Clegane turned to Robb.  ¡°How old are you, boy?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯d do well to keep a civil tongue in your head, Clegane,¡± I interrupted loudly.  I had my bow to hand, my other hand hovering above my quiver.  I was some thirty yards away, and a bit of magic to speed myself could have a half dozen arrows in Clegane before he crossed half that distance.  Togo, my massively oversized wolf-like dog stood next to me, his hackles raised.

    Clegane realized things were going poorly, but didn¡¯t want to back down.  He had his pride.  ¡°Bah.  I killed a man at twelve, and here the future Lord Stark hides behind some archer and his pet wolf.¡±

    I wasn¡¯t about to let Robb get drawn in.  ¡°Togo¡¯s a Northern Mountain Dog, actually, and clearly cleverer than the other pet hound in this yard,¡± I goaded.  ¡°But since you have such disdain for the tourney blade, I propose a bout, Clegane.  I¡¯ll have a tourney blade.  You can use whatever weapon you like.  We start off in the most realistic conditions possible for being off of the battlefield; eight feet apart, with our weapons sheathed.  Unless you can only bark, that is?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ll wish you hadn¡¯t said that,¡± he warned me.

    ¡°I hope you know what you¡¯re doing,¡± Ser Rodrick warned me as I approached.  He knew I was planning something, that strong and fast as I was I wouldn¡¯t be facing Clegane with a sword if I didn¡¯t have some sort of plan.  I smiled at him

    ¡°Jon, come here,¡± I called out.  I handed him my bow and arrows, my knife, and my sword.  Then I went over to the weapons rack and picked out a tourney blade.  I went over to Ser Rodrick, who was overseeing the bout.

    The Hound was in a brigandine with plate protecting his neck, shoulders and arms.  His helmet, fashioned as a snarling dog, was actually quite imposing.  I took up a wide-legged stance, sheathe in my left hand, right hand hovering over the blade, ready to draw while lunging forward.  Clegane braced himself, shield forward, hand ready to draw his arming sword.

    ¡°This bout, between Odysseus Gangari and Sandor Clegane, will end on my signal, on a surrender, or when one of the competitors is unconscious,¡± Ser Rodrick announced.  There were a four Winterfell guardsmen waiting to help him pull us off of each other if necessary.  I will count to three, then drop this stone.  When it hits the ground, the match has begun.  Do you understand?¡±

    ¡°I do,¡± I answered clearly.  My blood was up, my adrenaline pumping.  I prepared the links to my mana.

    ¡°I do,¡± Clegane growled darkly.

    ¡°Very well.  One,¡± Ser Rodrick announced.

    I pumped myself with a temporary strengthening of Green, toughened my defenses with Bark-skin.

    ¡°Two.¡± I channeled Blue, accelerating my thoughts and giving myself an edge of combat precognition.

    ¡°Three.¡±  Now it was Red, hastening myself to move faster, react just that fraction of a second before my foe.

    Rodrick dropped the stone.  I saw it hit the ground.  Clegane¡¯s muscles tensed as he began to draw the sword.

    It was too slow.  I dropped my blade as I lunged.  He hadn¡¯t been expecting that, and I covered the gap too fast for him to react before I had gripped the bottom of his shield.  I yanked up, exposing his legs.  Then I stepped to the side of his body with my right leg, drove my right arm forwards under the shield into the chest while my left dropped, pulling on his left leg.  It was a textbook perfect karate technique, and Clegane was totally unprepared for it.

    He fell onto his back, slightly stunned, sword still half drawn.  I didn¡¯t give him any time to react, gripping onto his lower left leg with both hands and rotating it to flip him onto his stomach.  I twisted viciously and pulled, dislocating his knee.

    ¡°Ssstttt-¡° I heard Ser Rodrick begin to shout.A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

    As he pushed his head up in agony, drawing breath to scream I stood up, drew my leg back, and smashed the armored toe of my boot into his helmet strong enough to cave in the side of the metal plates.

    ¡°oooppp!¡± Ser Rodrick finished as Clegane fell limp to the yard¡¯s sand.  ¡°Odysseus Gangari wins.  You there, fetch Maester Luwin.¡±

    ¡°Thank you, Ser Rodrick,¡± I said, backing away.  The Lannisters and other sycophants around the prince seemed stunned.  ¡°And I hope everyone has learned a valuable lesson.  That every weapon, whether the sharpest steel or the bluntest fist, is capable of defeating your foes if used with skill.  Were this a true fight, Clegane would be dead.¡±

    I took back my equipment from Jon, fastening it to my belts and straps as they processed.

    ¡°You cheated.  You cheated!  What kind of swordsman doesn¡¯t fight with a sword!¡± Joffrey shouted out.

    ¡°Ser Rodrick, did I break the rules?¡± I asked the knight.

    ¡°No, Odysseus, you didn¡¯t,¡± he replied, a wide smile beneath his mustache.

    ¡°So I didn¡¯t cheat.  And Clegane said it in the beginning, Prince Joffrey.  I¡¯m an archer.  Had I actually been fighting, I¡¯d have put a half dozen arrows through him before you could blink.  That is, after all, the best way to put down any dog that thinks to bite the hands that I protect.  Come on, Jon, Togo.  I think that was enough excitement for the day.¡±

    We left as the crowd broke into excited murmuring.

    Once we were far enough away, I turned to Jon.

    ¡°You know, that was my first real life-and-death fight?¡±

    I¡¯m not sure why, but we both burst into laughter.

    ===================================

    The next day found Clegane still unconscious, and dozens of riders prepared to go out on a hunt.  I was atop Aethon, Togo on my side, my bow and a few dozen arrows on the saddle.  The king, also mounted, spotted me and called me over.

    ¡°Odysseus, come, ride with us!¡±  He was accompanied by his son, Joffrey, Lord Stark, Robb, Jaime Lannister and Ser Barristan, the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, and a handful of other nobles and knights I didn¡¯t recognize.  Joffrey greeted me with a sneer, and not for the first time I wondered how the hell he was such a blond, pretty-boy shit when his father was such an exuberant bear of a man.

    Aethon trotted over, and then the king noticed something strange.

    ¡°By the Gods, you don¡¯t have any reins!¡± he exclaimed.

    I smiled.  ¡°No, Aethon is too clever for me to subject him to those,¡± I said.  Aethon snorted and tossed his head in agreement.

    ¡°Amazing.  And he just knows where you want to go?¡±

    ¡°Yes, Your Grace.  In my homeland, the pinnacle of cavalry has long been considered the horse archer.  The mobility combined with the ranged power, and the extra arrows a mounted archer can carry make them worth more than an entire lance of armored knights.  But the bow requires both hands to use, so the horses have to be trained to fight without the reins.¡±  That was all true, and all bullshit.  Aethon didn¡¯t need reins because he was my familiar, and he was clever enough to do the actual steering part of riding for me.  As a note, a lance was a combat section of knight, mounted men-at-arms, squire, etc.  Sort of like a squad.

    ¡°An entire lance?  Surely not,¡± one of the knights questioned.

    I pointed to some trees about four hundred meters distant.  ¡°See those trees?  Your Grace, would you care to give me a count of the seconds after I begin to draw my first arrow, to see how quickly I can shoot ten of them off?¡±

    ¡°Alright,¡± he said somewhat confused.  Then I took out the bow and unlatched one of my arrow bags.  I stood up in the stirrups, placed a handful of arrows in my hand, nocked the first, and took a deep breath.  A true expert archer, without supernatural assistance, could fire twenty arrows a minute, or one every three seconds.  Lars Anderson from Earth, a lunatic Dane who spent far too much time on archery, could do ten arrows in just under five seconds.  I wasn¡¯t that good, though I was training with some of the concepts he proposed in mind.  But with Haste and all my other combat boosts to help me, I thought as I activated them, I didn¡¯t need to be.

    With the energy from the temporary buffs running through my veins I started.  One, two, three, four, five arrows.  I knew without looking they were hits, reached forwards to the take the arrows held ready in my bow hand, transferring them to my draw hand, then continued.  Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten.

    ¡°Time!¡± I called out.

    ¡°Five seconds.  Gods be good that was fast,¡± Robert said, stunned.  ¡°I want to see how many you hit, but even if they missed that would be brutal to a formation.  And you can manage that at a canter?¡± the king asked.

    ¡°Not quite as quickly.  It would take me six or seven seconds at a canter, and my accuracy suffers slightly.  Only two in three arrows would hit a man sized target at that range were I cantering across their front,¡± I replied.

    ¡°Ha!¡± the bulky man scoffed.  ¡°Only two in three would hit a man, he says.  Ser Barristan, how far do you make that?¡±

    ¡°A shade over four hundred paces, Your Grace,¡± the knight replied.

    ¡°If one in three arrows could hit at four hundred yards I¡¯d be impressed, Odysseus.  I can see how your people would value horse archers so highly.  Unless they were pinned, they¡¯d be absolutely murderous on open terrain.  Even sending light cavalry to chase them wouldn¡¯t work, the horses would just be shot out from under them.  I¡¯d guess they were worth what, twenty to fifty times their number in infantry?¡±

    ¡°If used against infantry in the simplest fashion, yes Your Grace.  But commanders would often send a company of the horse archers forward first.  As they got to be close to the enemy, but still outside of the range of thrown weapons, the company would split, breaking left and right before turning back, shooting all the while.  Then as the infantry¡¯s formation was damaged, the lancers positioned a few dozen paces behind the horse archers would finish their charge, breaking the enemy.  The archers could draw their spears, and join the pursuit as light cavalry or continue on to break another formation.  Used that way, properly supported by other cavalry, they were worth twice what they were alone.¡±

    ¡°Amazing.  I suppose I should be glad your home is so far away; if your siegecraft is half as good as your field armies then I worry we wouldn¡¯t be able to win a war!¡±  He was smiling, but it was a true sentiment.  The Westerosi weren¡¯t exactly the most sophisticated combatants, with more in common with medieval France or the Holy Roman Empire than a truly efficient military.

    Then we came up to my targets.  I¡¯d missed one of the arrows, but the other nine had hit trees next to each other, one by one.  I grinned while the king whistled at how deep the arrows had penetrated.

    ¡°Damn.  I think you may have lost these arrows,¡± he said.

    ¡°It¡¯s no matter, Your Grace.  I¡¯m glad my demonstration interested you.¡±

    ¡°Interested me?  I have half a mind to give you a commission to raise a company of your horse archers, but Ned¡¯s already made me agree not to poach you without both your agreement and his.  Hells, I thought I was tempted to take you into my service after I heard how you beat Clegane; not many could manage that.¡±

    Robert was obviously hinting that if I wanted to, I could petition Lord Stark to allow me to enter the king¡¯s service.  If I was truly a local, or didn¡¯t have my magic, I¡¯d be tempted.  But in the end, I owed the Starks, and my place was not in this land.

    ¡°Sadly, Your Grace, Lord Stark found me first,¡± I deadpanned.  Robert burst out into laughter, and Lord Stark even cracked a bit of a smile.

    ¡°Well, I think everyone¡¯s had enough time to get themselves sorted.  Shall we be off?¡± Robert asked.  As the rest of our party agreed, he motioned to his squire, another Lannister, who brought up a horn to his lips and blew the beginning of the hunt.

    ¡°What would you like to hunt, Your Grace?¡± Eddard questioned.  ¡°My huntsmen reported signs for both deer and boar in the area.¡±

    ¡°Hmm.  It would be excellent to have a nice roast boar,¡± the king mused.  ¡°I think that, if we can find it.¡±

    ¡°I have full faith in Odysseus¡¯ abilities, Your Grace.  Or at least in Togo¡¯s nose,¡± Ned replied.

    ¡°Oh, that¡¯s not fair.  Now you¡¯re just teasing me,¡± Robert complained.

    ¡°Go on then, Togo.  Find us some nice boar.¡±

    We had just killed and butchered the first boar, a large male, when the riders found us.

    Bran had fallen from the Broken Tower.

 Chapter 5: Royal Visit pt. 3

    <u>Chapter 5: Royal Visit pt. 3</u>

    ¡°Your Grace, if you will excuse us,¡± I said quickly.  ¡°Lord Stark, Aethon can make it back faster than any other, even with a second rider.¡±

    ¡°Your Grace¡­¡± Eddard started to say, the worry obvious in his voice.

    ¡°Go Ned, go!¡± the king shouted.  ¡°We¡¯ll be right behind you.¡±

    ¡°Hold on tight, my lord,¡± I instructed.  ¡°Aethon, back to Winterfell, fast as you can.¡±

    And that was fast.  Twenty plus miles per hour in relatively dense forest was fucking terrifying, and I knew I¡¯d likely survive the impact long enough to heal.  Lord Stark though paid it no mind, all his focus on returning as quickly as possible to see to his son.  Twenty some minutes later we reached Winterfell and thundered through the gates.

    ¡°Guardsman, where¡¯s my son!¡± Ned shouted as we came in.

    ¡°The Maester is seeing him in your son¡¯s room, milord,¡± the man answered.

    Eddard literally ran to Bran¡¯s room.  Togo and I followed on his heels.  As we came to the room itself, I told Togo to wait outside then followed Ned in.  I wanted to try healing Bran.  It might make my magic public, but I was willing to risk it if it meant saving his life.  The Starks were crowded around the bed, Maester Luwin still seeing to Bran.

    ¡°Maester, how is he?¡± Lord Stark asked.

    ¡°As I was just telling Lady Stark, not well.  His legs and lower spine are shattered, and the blow to the head has caused significant swelling.  Even if he survives, and wakes, he may never be the same.  It will be a miracle if he walks again.¡±

    Damn.  That was bad; if there was bleeding inside his brain¡­ I needed to act immediately.

    ¡°If you¡¯re not doing something useful, clear the room,¡± I ordered.  A few servants left, but that still meant that there were a couple assisting Maester Luwin and the Starks themselves left over.  ¡°Maester Luwin, a word if you please.¡±  He looked up from treating Bran, incredulous that I would interrupt him.  Then he considered my sometimes superior knowledge, and came over.

    ¡°I think I can help,¡± I said softly.  ¡°But I won¡¯t be using physical knowledge, if you grasp my meaning.¡±

    ¡°Magic, you mean?  I don¡¯t know of any that still works in this age.¡±

    I grimaced.  I hated blowing away even the fig-leaf that I wasn¡¯t a mage.

    ¡°I can.  You¡¯ve seen Togo, and Aethon.  I can attempt to use similar techniques to heal Bran,¡± I offered.

    He frowned.  ¡°What would you say the odds were?¡± he asked.

    ¡°Honestly? Sixty to eighty percent.  I can¡¯t tell before I inspect him, and I¡¯ve never tried to fix something so badly damaged,¡± I replied.

    He sighed.  ¡°It¡¯s better than anything I can manage,¡± he admitted.  Then, he clapped his hands and spoke louder.  ¡°Everyone except for Odysseus, Lord and Lady Stark, please leave.¡±  When people seemed to be waiting for something else, he spoke again, harder this time.  ¡°Now, please.¡±

    Lord Stark looked at us, then nodded.  ¡°Do as he says.  Don¡¯t argue,¡± he said to his children.  Below the window I could hear Bran¡¯s wolf, still unnamed, howling and howling.

    After the room emptied, I turned to Lord Stark.  ¡°I suspect that you are aware I am more capable than I admit,¡± I said.

    He nodded.  ¡°You didn¡¯t make much effort to hide it from us.¡±

    ¡°No, I didn¡¯t.  With your permission, I¡¯ll use my skills to try to heal Bran,¡± I said.

    ¡°Why do you need our permission? Why can¡¯t Maester Luwin fix him?¡± Catelyn questioned.

    ¡°The fact of the matter is, my Lady, that Odysseus represents the best chance for Bran, but it¡¯s not a sure thing,¡± Luwin explained.

    ¡°You have my permission,¡± Lord Stark said as Catelyn broke down into sobs.

    I walked over to Bran, putting my hands over his stomach and head.  I used a small amount of Blue mana to scan his body.  It was in bad shape.  The brain was swollen and heavily concussed; there had already been some permanent damage in what I thought was short term memory.  The bones in his legs and spine had partially splintered.  I couldn¡¯t simply add regeneration and mend the injuries.  Instead, I had to put him back together.

    I wasn¡¯t sure whether I should start on the brain, or the legs.  The brain might mean he¡¯d wake up, and given the damage if he flailed about in pain it could kill him.  On the other hand, if untreated, the brain could kill him first.

    After thinking about it for a minute, I bit my lip.  I needed to start with the brain, but I could hit him with a sleep spell.  I¡¯d never tested one before, since magic affecting the brain seemed risky, but needs must when the devil drives.  I channeled up a mixture of Blue and White, forming into the shape of sleep/slumber/peaceful dreams, then poked it into Bran¡¯s head.  I watched it take hold in relief; it didn¡¯t fuck anything up, and it looked to be stable enough to last a day or until I took it down.

    Then I took a White Mend Wounds, mixed it with a Life-force Imbuement, added a healthy dosage of Green Regeneration and a twist of temporal rewind from Blue, and stirred to get what I decided to call a Recover Damage.  I pushed that into his brain and relaxed as I saw the swelling immediately recede, broken blood vessels fixing themselves as I watched.  But that did mean I was temporarily tapped out on Blue, and at half-strength in Green and White.

    I hoped it would be enough for the next bit.  Using White, I restored the bones to their proper places, then used a dosage of localized regeneration to fix it up.  As I finished the spine, I ran out of mana and was left sweating.  I stood up, and went to get a drink from the water pitcher.

    I chugged the water down, then gasped for air.  The exhaustion was more in my mind and soul than body, but there was a degree of psychosomatic bleed-over.  The Starks and Luwin were looking at me worriedly.

    ¡°So, good news.  His brain¡¯s fine now, he¡¯s just sleeping.  I¡¯ve fixed up his spine, and in a few minutes when I¡¯ve recharged a bit can get started on the legs,¡± I explained.This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    ¡°Oh, thank the Gods,¡± Catelyn said.

    ¡°Thank you, Odysseus.  I don¡¯t know how I¡¯ll ever repay this debt,¡± Lord Stark added.

    ¡°There¡¯s no debt, Lord Stark.  After you took me in, I¡¯d do this for any of your family, but I¡¯ll admit to having a particular soft spot for Bran.¡±

    ¡°Please,¡± he said.  ¡°Anyone who saves my son¡¯s life, and further his ability to walk and ride, can call me Ned or Eddard.¡±

    ¡°Very well, then, Ned,¡± I said with a faint smile.  ¡°Wow, that feels weird.¡±

    He snorted, then chuckled.  It wasn¡¯t really that funny, more a reaction to the release of stress from knowing his son would be alright.

    I felt my mana bonds coming back online, so I stood up, stretched, and went back to sitting by Bran¡¯s side.  I continued to re-align his bones, healing them as much as I could as I went along.  Finally nearly an hour later I was done.

    ¡°Alright, all done,¡± I said.  ¡°He should be fine, but may have lost some of his short term memories from just before he fell.  Shall I wake him now?¡±

    ¡°Please,¡± Lord Stark said so I removed the magic keeping him in a peaceful slumber, then poked his cheek while Catelyn looked on vaguely disapprovingly until he stirred.

    ¡°Oh Bran, you had us so worried!¡± Lady Catelyn exclaimed as she hurled herself to his side and enveloped him in a hug.  Ned bent over, and rested a hand on Bran¡¯s shoulder.

    ¡°Do you remember what happened?¡± he asked his son.

    Bran seemed lost in thought for a moment, then answered.  ¡°I was¡­ climbing the broken tower?  Then I heard voices.  I was just going closer to find out what they were saying, then I woke up here.¡±

    Damn.  Well, it seemed likely this wasn¡¯t an accident.  As the Starks caught him up, I went over to the corner where Brans clothes were piled.  Maester Luwin had cut them off the boy to better treat him.  Tangled in his harness was a length of rope.  It had been cut on the end that should have led to the belaying equipment.

    ¡°Alright, two things.  First off, for Bran.  He needs to spend the next two weeks in bed, putting as little stress as possible on his body.  His bones are currently held together with a wish and a prayer, and I don¡¯t know if I can heal them if they break again.  After those two weeks, he can get up but for two more weeks only to do some physical recovery, which I or Maester Luwin will oversee, or to go to the chamber-pot.¡±  Bran didn¡¯t seem very happy about that.  ¡°I¡¯m sure Maester Luwin can find some good story books, and that your mother would be happy to read them to you, Bran.¡±  Now he was a bit happier.

    ¡°Second,¡± I continued.  ¡°Bran¡¯s rope was cut.  His fall was no accident.¡±  Lord Stark was literally growling in rage.  I think I¡¯d seen more emotion from him in the past hour than the previous eight months.  ¡°With your permission, Lord Stark, I¡¯ll investigate the Tower.  Togo may be able to catch a scent, and there are some techniques my home uses to identify criminals that might be effective.¡±

    Eddard¡¯s jaw worked for a bit.  ¡°Go.  Tell Jory to assign four guards to the room, and four to help you, with the rest to go to full readiness.  You can request anything I have that might help you.¡±

    I shook my head.  ¡°That should be enough, if Maester Luwin would be willing to lend me a bottle of talcum powder and a fine brush.¡±

    I could tell that Stark was curious, but he just nodded.  Maester Luwin stuck his head out of the room, and sent his servant-assistant off to fetch the materials.  He called Jory in, who received his orders with cool competency.  A few minutes later, I had my talcum powder, my guards, and I was off to the Broken Tower.

    After all, I had to figure out who was responsible for Bran¡¯s fall before I could wreak my bloody vengeance on them.

    ===================================

    As I approached the Broken Tower, I saw a Stark man guarding the place where Bran had fallen.

    ¡°Guardsman,¡± I said, not recognizing him.  He straightened himself respectfully.  ¡°Did you see anyone enter or exit the tower after Bran fell from it?¡±

    ¡°Yes, sir.  Ser Lannister and a half-dozen of their red-cloaks searched it to see if anyone was inside; they didn¡¯t find anything,¡± he replied.

    Damn.  Well, hopefully they hadn¡¯t contaminated the crime scene in any significant way.  It wasn¡¯t like I had high fidelity tools or any experience in forensics though, so hopefully the clues were obvious enough I could find them in the first place.

    Four hours later, and all I knew was that someone had been having sex somewhere in the tower.  My crude technique couldn¡¯t get anything better than a partial print, which I had no hope of matching without statistical analysis.  I couldn¡¯t figure out a spell to scan for DNA, and when I tried in my rage to sympathetically curse whoever was responsible for the semen traces Togo found, it merely disintegrated my link.  I was pretty sure the curse didn¡¯t work.

    Scent wise, it was a wash ¨C literally.  The scent they wore was extremely expensive, and thus used by nearly half of all the higher court ladies as well as whichever servants could get away with filching it.  I even tried developing psychometry or post-cognition, but couldn¡¯t get more than faint impressions of passion from the one or a few minutes of my searching the room for the other.

    In short, I had didly squat and hundreds of potential suspects to whom keeping their affair secret might be worth killing over.  Short of using Bran to set a trap, something I wasn¡¯t willing to do and his parents would likely reinstate flaying just for me for suggesting, I saw no solution.

    I reported as much to Lord Stark, who wasn¡¯t happy but decided to spread the word that Bran was awake, likely to make a full recovery in time, but couldn¡¯t remember the minutes leading up to his fall.  Meanwhile he was under heavy guard, and the loyal Stark servants were warned to beware attempts to poison him or other guests.

    Eddard did reveal to me Lady Catelyn¡¯s sister, Lysa Arryn¡¯s theory that a Lannister was behind her husband, the previous Hand¡¯s death.  I warned him that given the Southern court, it was entirely possible that the death of Lord Arryn and the attempted murder of Bran were unrelated, just as it was possible the incidents did have some conspiracy in common.

    The next few weeks were tense.  The king was incredibly upset that someone would try and kill his best friend¡¯s nine year old son.  Frustrated at his inability to do anything constructive, he spent the time in something of a frustrated funk and snapped at those who caught his attention.  Three weeks after Bran fell the main party left for the capital, and the servants breathed a little easier.

    For my part in saving Bran¡¯s life, beating Clegane, and showing off my archery skills, Lord Stark felt justified in knighting me.  I swore my oaths at dawn in front of the Heart tree, as was accepted practice for what few Northmen decided to become knights.  I picked a black silhouette of a horse archer performing a Parthian shot on a light grey background for my heraldry.

    Lord Stark had further wanted to make me a noble, but I had no interest in administering a fief.  Instead he wrote a warrant for me, allowing me to act as his emissary when I felt it necessary.  That was a huge amount of trust; as his emissary, I basically spoke with his voice and authority as the Lord Paramount and Warden of the North.  Considering he was about to be Hand¡­ well, it was a lot of authority.

    I spent most of those weeks camped out with Bran, keeping him amused so he wouldn¡¯t go on a walkabout and ruin all my hard work.  Also, between Togo and myself it would take a small army to get to Bran.  I started to work on Summer, Bran¡¯s newly named direwolf, making it grow faster, stronger, tougher, smarter.  Basically the same upgrades I¡¯d worked on Togo, though forgoing the gigantism due to lack of time and need.

    By the time Bran¡¯s month of recovery had passed, Summer was nearly three hundred pounds and could shred a handful of armored knights without issue.  I made Bran promise to keep Summer nearby, follow his lead when it came to trusting people, and have the animal check all the food and drink before he ate it.  Bran was just happy to have an excuse to get his mother to allow him to keep his pet in his room.

    When Jon saw Summer¡¯s developing physique, he quirked an eyebrow.

    ¡°What?¡± I asked somewhat defensively.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t say anything,¡± he said overly innocently.  ¡°And I won¡¯t, so long as Ghost gets the same treatment next.¡±

    I just laughed, then agreed.

    I still needed to figure out some way to give our furry friends a ranged attack though, because that would be fucking awesome.  The only thing better than a massive, horse-sized, wolf-like companion that could easily shred knights was that same companion with a breath attack.  Sadly I couldn¡¯t get it to work in the time allotted, though I thought I might manage to give them a stunning bark or roar in the near future.  Togo seemed excited at the possibility, and kept pushing me to the corner of Bran¡¯s room where his desk was; I¡¯d appropriated it for my own work on spells while I was staying with him.

 Chapter 6: On the Road

    <u>Chapter 6: On the Road</u>

    Ten days after the royal party left, I was finally confident in Bran¡¯s survival and safety.

    Jon and I set out, Togo and Ghost in tow.  On our breaks I worked on improving Ghost and Shadowfax, a grey gelding I was given by Hullen at Lord Stark¡¯s order so that Jon might have something to ride.  I had named him after Gandalf¡¯s steed.  Geeky, I know, but the coloring was right and by the time I was done with him Shadowfax would be every bit worthy of his name.

    We had been on the road for some seven weeks, the royal party closer to two months when we finally met up with them again.  Travelling with a full supply chain, servants, wheelhouse and with guests riding to pay court to the king at every stop the Royal party was averaging a fairly respectable fifteen to twenty miles a day.  Jon and I could easily do double that, but took our time seeing the local sights, stopping for a couple days a week so that we could rest, hunt for more supplies, practice our combat, and so that I could bond with the land.

    I picked up a lot of lands on our journey.  Two Greens, in the woods near the Barrowlands and the Neck.  Two Whites, from Moat Cailin and the Kingsroad.  A Black, also from Moat Cailin.  But the biggest gains were in Blue; one from the White Knife River, two from the Bite which was a bay near to Greywater Watch, and two more while travelling along the Green Fork of the Trident.  The extra power was useful to speed Ghost and Shadowfax¡¯ transformations; I was thinking of offering similar services to Jon himself when I finished with his mount and companion.

    While working on Ghost I had noticed something interesting; a mystical bond between him and Jon.  I found out from Jon that he often dreamed of being Ghost, and concluded that it was the beginning of a Warg bond.  As interesting as the local magic was though I had no desire to risk myself with such a linking, and cautioned Jon not to throw himself into magical experimentation willy-nilly.

    Finally, after all that time travelling, we were approaching the royal party.  After talking to some merchants headed north, we found out that the king, accompanied by Lord Stark and the two Stark girls, was likely at the Crossroads Inn and would cross over to continue south towards King¡¯s Landing the next day.

    Before we met them at the inn, however, I wanted to check the Ruby Ford.  Hopefully the resonance there of revolution and battle and the death of a tyrant prince would mean that the site would be a source of Red mana, something I was finding to be rarer than I would like considering it was my primary fuel for blasting type spells.  Beyond that, the Ford was a historical site, and worth visiting as a tourist.  Given our relative closeness and the fact that travel took so much time, it would be a shame to miss it only to spend more time with the travelling circus that was the king¡¯s court while on the road.

    As we approached, we heard screaming then a boy with blood on his face ran out from the brush followed by a richly outfitted horse.

    ¡°On, Aethon!¡± I cried as the horse lurched forward, covering the distance in a sprint.  We arrived just in time to see Joffrey approaching Arya with his sword in hand.  She had been forced back, pinned to a tree without the ability to run.  Sansa was in the background, screaming like a useless twit.  I reached for my bow, knowing I couldn¡¯t cover the distance quickly enough even with Aethon, fearful that I¡¯d be too slow.

    Joffrey¡¯s sword came up, winding back for a mighty blow.

    My arrow was nocked as I drew.

    Then Nymeria, Arya¡¯s direwolf, was there, her jaws tearing at his arm as she bowled the golden turd over and knocked his sword flying.  I held up my hand to stop Jon from interfering as Arya called off her wolf and picked up Joffrey¡¯s sword.  She looked at it, at him laying on the ground.If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

    ¡°Don¡¯t touch me!¡± Joffrey yelled, sobbing.  ¡°I¡¯ll, I¡¯ll tell my mother!¡±

    Wow.  What a fucking brat.  I remember when I was fourteen, and I was far tougher even coming from a soft, modern background.

    ¡°Stop it, Arya!  Leave him alone!¡± Sansa yelled.

    I could see the disgust in Arya¡¯s eyes, and couldn¡¯t tell if it was aimed at that pile of excrement called Joffrey, or at Sansa for defending him.  Arya spun, tossing the sword with the full force of her body behind it.  It spun, glistening through the air before it landed in the river.  I felt like laughing at the symbolism, another tyrant of a prince meeting defeat at the Ruby Ford.

    Arya stormed over to her horse, mounted up and left in a huff with her Nymeria following.

    ¡°Jon, go after her.  See that she makes her way to Lord Stark immediately, and make sure she eats something,¡± I instructed.  According to Mom, pissed off kids just lacked sufficiently frequent snacks and naps; as silly as it was, her tactics worked and I thought it would be better if Arya¡¯s blood sugar was topped off before any continuing conflict.  ¡°Togo, go with them and see them safe.¡±

    Jon nodded and took off, Ghost following.  Riding Shadowfax he¡¯d have no issues catching her.  Togo looked up at me.

    ¡°Yes, I¡¯m sure I can deal with the brats on my own.  I¡¯m more worried for Arya,¡± I said.

    Togo snorted in agreement, then took off after Arya and Jon.

    I went along at a walk as Sansa tried to comfort Joffrey.               ¡°Oh Joffrey,¡± she wept.  ¡°Oh, look what they did to you, look what they did!  My sweet prince, I¡¯ll be off right away to bring help.¡±

    What was that girl thinking.  Obviously the prideful turd wouldn¡¯t want people to see him in that state.  The little psycho, like many of his breed, had a strong desire for control and domination.  I wouldn¡¯t be surprised if he ended up working his way through everyone that saw him in this state; Sansa was certainly on the list from how he was looking at her.

    He glared at her with poisonous, wicked intent.

    ¡°Go,¡± he spit at her.  ¡°But don¡¯t touch me.¡±

    ¡°That won¡¯t be necessary,¡± I called out.  They hadn¡¯t noticed my approach, too preoccupied with their own bullshit, and started.

    ¡°Ser Odysseus,¡± Sansa greeted, stammering.

    ¡°Gods¡¯ sakes, girl.  You can call me Odysseus, or just Odds like always,¡± I said.  She didn¡¯t seem to know what to say to that.  ¡°And you, Prince Joffrey.  Would you rather an escort back to your parents?  Or should I treat the injury myself?¡±

    ¡°I am quite well enough to get back to the King and Queen myself,¡± he said, suddenly haughty and arrogant once more.  ¡°Simply give me your horse and I¡¯ll be on my way.¡±

    I looked down at Aethon, then up at Joffrey and just shook my head.  ¡°You can try approaching him, but Aethon¡¯s a willful and dangerous fellow.  If he doesn¡¯t take to you and you try to ride him he¡¯s liable to take your head off.  And that¡¯s the last damned thing I need today.  I guess it¡¯s maybe seven or eight miles as the crow flies back to your parents; you could walk it in two-three hours.  Or ride with Lady Sansa.¡±

    ¡°The last thing I want to do is ride next to one of you northern Stark savages,¡± he hissed.  ¡°Can¡¯t you see what that beast did to me!¡±

    It really wasn¡¯t that bad.  Some scratches, a few shallow scraping bites.  Nymeria was harsh, but not savage.  My dogs back on earth had once gotten into it after the larger got sick of the smaller one bullying him.  The fight lasted all of a few seconds, and smaller needed something like a hundred fucking stitches after.  Joffrey was fine, and a damned sight better than he¡¯d be with one of my arrows through his chest.

    ¡°Don¡¯t you want to be a warrior like your father someday?  Believe me, if you¡¯re the sort to make any kind of success of yourself at fighting then you¡¯ll end up looking back at these scratches and laughing,¡± I said.

    ¡°Sansa, ride with him.  I¡¯ll take the other horse,¡± the prick stated, changing the subject and ignoring that the ¡°other¡± horse was Sansa¡¯s.

    He was really an amazing piece of work.

    ¡°Of course, my Prince,¡± Sansa simpered.  Seriously, the girl was basically a walking, talking example as to what feminists hated.  Hell, even Aethon was rolling his eyes at her, and for all his intelligence he was a fucking horse.

    But with Joffrey on Sansa¡¯s horse, and Sansa behind me, we set off.  I set a slow pace through the forest, leaving plenty of time for Jon to get Arya and find Lord Stark before we arrived.

    Fucking Joffrey.  I never got to bind the Ford.

 Chapter 7: Court at the Crossroads

    <u>Chapter 7: Court at the Crossroads</u>

    A few hours later found Robert holding court inside the common room of the Crossroads Inn. The room was split into three factions.

    On the Lannister side was the fuming queen, her brat of a son, her swordsman brother and a gaggle of courtiers and supporters.

    On the Stark side, Lord Stark, Arya, myself, Jon and off to the side a bit Sansa, with all of our massive pets in attendance. A number of lesser lords aligned with the new Hand, likely due to being shut out of court by the Lannisters in the past.

    The third faction were basically there for the entertainment. The most prominent members were Robert¡¯s youngest brother Lord Paramount of the Stormlands Renly Baratheon, and Lord Commander Barristan.

    Sitting in the middle of this clusterfuck and looking mighty unhappy about that fact was King Robert.

    ¡°Let¡¯s get this mess done with quickly,¡± Robert stated.

    ¡°And what mess is that exactly?¡± Eddard asked icily.

    ¡°What mess? What mess, Lord Stark?¡± the queen hissed. I¡¯d never heard a title used a swear-word quite that well before. Bitch had skills. ¡°How about the mess that girl of yours made of my son¡¯s arm! She and her beast, trying to cripple my Joffrey!¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not true,¡± Arya spoke up. Her voice was loud for such a tiny thing, carrying over the entire gathering. She was too young to understand that calling the queen a liar in front of the court, reduced as it was for travelling, wasn¡¯t likely to help in this situation. I barely avoided laughing. ¡°That¡¯s not true,¡± she repeated. ¡°Nymeria only bit Joffrey because he was going to hit me with his sword!¡± There was a long moment of silence after that.

    ¡°So that¡¯s why Ser Rodrick waits until the kids are older to give them live steel,¡± I said sotto voce. ¡°They get too excited and try and poke little girls.¡±

    It sounded quiet, but was perfectly pitched to carry, and I saw at least half a dozen people struggle not to laugh. Robert himself was shaking his head and trying to maintain a kingly demeanor without much success. The queen shot me a poisonous glare, but I wasn¡¯t going to make it easy for her to present this as anything but youthful idiocy precipitated by the jackass prince.

    ¡°You hit me first!¡± Joffrey yelled. ¡°With that stick!¡± I could see the moment that the queen realized she¡¯d lost control of the situation with Joffrey going off script.

    ¡°You were cutting Mycah¡¯s face!¡± Arya retorted.

    ¡°He hit you with a stick!¡± Joffrey shouted, spittle flying from his red face. Honestly, this was hilarious.

    ¡°We were training, you idiot!¡± You tell him, Arya.

    Joffrey paused a moment to gape at her astounding logic. I could see the queen gathering breath but beat her to it.

    ¡°Are we sure it¡¯s Sansa that¡¯s marrying Joffrey, and not Arya? Because they already sound like an old married couple,¡± I said in the gap of sound again. At least a third of the adults were coughing into their hands to hide their laughter, while Robert had face-palmed.

    ¡°And then you set that beast on me!¡± Joffrey argued, changing the subject when he was losing. This time it was Arya¡¯s turn to be taken aback.

    ¡°Poor show, Prince Joffrey. You can¡¯t just ignore her point like that,¡± a lord in green-enamel with a Baratheon stag ¨C Renly, perhaps - said, getting in on the fun. I could actually see the queen¡¯s blood pressure rising.

    ¡°And now we go back to the beginning of the argument,¡± I added. Arya needed the help; she was only ten.

    ¡°Ya! I already told you, Nymeria was just protecting me. It¡¯s your fault for trying to hit me with the sword!¡± Arya rallied.

    ¡°Shut up! It¡¯s your fault! It¡¯s all your fault! And you threw Lion¡¯s Tooth in the river!¡± Joffrey yelled.

    ¡°Enough!¡± Robert boomed out, silencing both of the children.

    ¡°Lion¡¯s Tooth,¡± I heard Renly mutter to himself, cracking up. Everyone was looking at him as he laughed. ¡°Lion¡¯s Tooth. That¡¯s just, too funny.¡±

    Robert looked at him. ¡°Really, Renly? Do you need to excuse yourself?¡±

    ¡°And miss this fine entertainment? No, I¡¯ll try to control myself,¡± he said, getting a hold on his laughter. ¡°Pray, brother, continue.¡±

    ¡°So. Without interruptions I want to hear what happened. Remember that lying to me, your king, is a terrible crime before Gods and men. Arya, you go first,¡± Robert instructed.

    And so Arya relayed her story. How she and Mycah were ¡°training¡± or play-fighting, when that great bully Joffrey rolled up and slashed the unarmed Mycah¡¯s face. Then Arya, wanting to save her friend and whack the bully, did just that, smashing her stick on the back of Joffrey¡¯s head. Then they fought, and the horse ran away, and Nymeria saved her, and she took that sword and threw it in the river, and Ser Rodrick says Joffrey shouldn¡¯t have sharp steel anyways so there. And maybe he¡¯d think better of hurting her or her friends next time.

    It was objectively a hilarious recounting, made so much better by the ridiculously serious court being held inside an Inn¡¯s common room.

    Then it was Joffrey¡¯s turn, and he told a story that his mother had obviously concocted for him. It cast him in a great light, and had no relation to the truth whatsoever that I could tell. After he finished, he looked at his mother for approval. I could tell that she was torn, between praising him for being a mama¡¯s boy, and face-palming since his account directly contradicted some of the things he¡¯d said in the earlier exchange with Arya. He was just too wound up and discombobulated to realize it at the time.

    This, of course, put the king in a difficult situation. The prince was injured, which was bad. He was adamantly lying, which was worse since it was next to impossible for Robert to call him on it. Partially because his mother had obviously put him up to it, and partially because a dishonest untrustworthy prince was a legitimate issue for succession in a medieval society.

    ¡°And what am I supposed to do with this? She says one thing, he something else entirely,¡± Robert sighed.

    And then Ned went in for the kill.

    ¡°They weren¡¯t the only ones there,¡± Lord Stark said. ¡°Sansa, come forward.¡±Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.

    Oh, mistake there Stark. Sansa¡¯s the useless sort. Give her half a chance and she¡¯ll just make things worse, totally unwilling to face facts and side with her family against that festering boil called Joffrey. It was obvious that Sansa was torn between the two sides, not seeing it as truth versus lies, but as Joffrey versus Arya.

    So I decided to help her out, and stepped forwards. ¡°Perhaps it¡¯s unfair to expect Lady Sansa to disprove her future betrothed¡¯s little story,¡± I said. ¡°She¡¯s of an age to be blinded by the lustre of love, after all, and the Lannisters are very pretty.¡± I had forgotten how satisfying it was to tear people apart with my words. Pity the Lannisters that had reminded me.

    ¡°But I can with absolute certainty that Nymeria saved the prince¡¯s life,¡± I continued, stunning the room.

    ¡°How did it do that!¡± Cersei shrieked. ¡°That beast nearly took off his arm!¡±

    ¡°Well, let me tell you a story. There I was riding over to the Ruby Ford, to see where the previous tyrant prince who thought he could abuse a Stark lady met his end,¡± I said. She blanched, then reddened with anger. ¡°Then what do I hear but yells and screaming of children. A panicked boy ran out of the bushes, a cut along his cheek, soon followed by an expensively caparisoned horse. I rushed forwards, and saw some fifty paces distant a certain blond-haired boy holding my lord¡¯s daughter at sword-point. I was too far away to block his blow, but had arrow to string and was about to make my shot when a wolf protected my charge, tackled the boy, and disarmed him.

    ¡°So I tell it true, Your Grace.¡± My voice was as cool as ice as I pronounced the iron, bloody reality. ¡°You should be laying down offerings to the gods Old and New for ¡°that beast¡±. For if it hadn¡¯t acted, you¡¯d be burying your son.¡±

    Her face was white with rage. ¡°How dare you. How DARE YOU!¡± she hissed. I lost it a bit after that.

    ¡°How dare I? I? How dare YOU!¡± I shouted her down as everyone stared. ¡°Let us put aside for a moment the fact that you obviously coached him on that transparently false story to present to the king, an act that is itself a crime.

    ¡°You are risking setting the Crown and its greatest supporter at odds, and over what ¨C jealousy for a dead woman, or how well your husband and my lord get along? A few scars, marks on the skin that most every boy gains during his play? Yours are acts that even a charitable man might consider treason.¡±

    Recovering from his shock, Jaime Lannister took a step forwards, drawing his sword. ¡°I am not a generous man, and I do call your insults to the queen and prince treason. Surrender of I¡¯ll cut you down where you stand.¡±

    I channeled my mana, cast my spells and prepared to move as Togo lifted his bulk off the ground with a rumbling growl.

    ¡°Cease!¡± Robert boomed, his voice now full of furious command. ¡°I can call treason within my own presence, Lannister! Sheathe that blade before I make you eat it. And you, Odysseus, will apologize for your words.¡±

    I bowed. ¡°Of course, Your Grace. I apologize. I thought I had calmed down, but I was obviously still overwrought by seeing my lord¡¯s ten year old daughter threatened for playing with sticks.¡±

    ¡°I said enough, damn you!¡±

    The queen¡¯s eyes were wide as saucers, her face a rictus of hate. ¡°Robert, I want him punished,¡± she hissed. ¡°I want them all punished.¡±

    ¡°Seven hells,¡± he swore. ¡°And what then. Should I also punish you for conspiring to lie to me? And how should I punish the girl, a child, while I¡¯m at it? Whip her through the streets? No harm was done beyond some hasty words, let us leave it at that.¡±

    ¡°So he can simply insult me like that, in front of the whole court? What kind of a man are you!¡± she seethed.

    ¡°What kind of man am I? I am the king!¡± he barked, his fat finger pointed at her face. ¡°And I warn you, if you cannot keep your tongue civil, then keep it still. Your rash and womanly actions have caused me enough grief today.¡±

    Her face twisted in hate, and then she got a gleam in her eye. ¡°What of the direwolf,¡± she called out. ¡°What of that monster that savaged your son.¡±

    Damn. Well, hopefully Robert wasn¡¯t about to give Cersei a consolation wolf. And I clearly needed to increase the time spent trying to figure out a proper remote curse spell; I wouldn¡¯t be safe until I killed off that bitch queen and her psychotic shit of a son.

    ¡°I¡¯d forgotten about that,¡± Robert said, settling into his seat. ¡°A direwolf is a savage animal.¡± He paused to consider things. ¡°Very well. Have Ser Ilyn take care of it.¡±

    Arya looked like she was about to cry, while the queens eyes gleamed with wicked victory and sadistic joy.

    ¡°Robert, you cannot mean to do this,¡± Lord Stark protested.

    ¡°Enough, I do not wish to hear anything else on the matter. It is closed,¡± Robert said. ¡°Get her a dog, she¡¯ll be happier for it.¡±

    I bent down to Arya¡¯s ear, and whispered in it.

    Ned was starting to droop in defeat when the little spitfire spoke out, shocking the court.

    ¡°I demand a trial by combat! I refuse to lose my pet without due progress,¡± her clear voice rang out. It¡¯s due process Arya, but nicely repeated otherwise.

    I bent down to whisper in her ear again.

    ¡°Ahem. I meant process. I refuse to lose my pet without due process,¡± she clarified blushing.

    ¡°You can¡¯t ask for a trial by combat for a wolf,¡± Cersei scoffed.

    ¡°Actually, Your Grace, I believe you¡¯ll find she can. The wolf is her property, and as killing it is removing her property from her, she has every right to trial by combat,¡± I interjected.

    ¡°Then she should simply be paid a sum equal to her losses,¡± the bitch queen argued. ¡°Given the rarity of direwolves, and taking into account its wild behavior, I think a single silver stag appropriate.¡±

    ¡°On the contrary, Your Grace. Those of us capable of emotion judge our pets, our companions, by how much we love them. I suspect that Lady Arya values her love more than a million gold dragons,¡± I retorted.

    ¡°Ten million!¡± Arya piped up.

    I smiled. Good girl.

    ¡°A trial by combat for the wolf,¡± Robert said incredulously. ¡°Why not. The day¡¯s been ridiculous enough already. Very well. Cersei, I assume you¡¯ll be championed by your brother? Arya, by Odysseus?¡±

    Ser Jaime nodded and stepped forwards, but I shook my head. ¡°Given the circumstances, Your Grace, I thought it might be more fitting if Togo were to champion Arya. If that meets with your approval, little lady?¡± I asked.

    It wasn¡¯t that I was scared of Jaime; I knew I could hit him with three arrows at fifteen paces before he reached me. But this day, when the Kingslayer died, was going to be famous. It made for a much better and more damaging story if he fell to my dog, and the Lannisters needed taking down a few pegs.

    ¡°It does,¡± she replied, trying and failing to channel Sansa¡¯s serious nature.

    Robert just sighed. ¡°Very well. Championed by a dog. Of course. We¡¯ll have it outside, then.¡±

    We trooped outside into the inn¡¯s courtyard. Other members of the travelling party were gathered about, waiting to hear the gossip from the evening¡¯s entertainment.

    I bent down next to Togo, activating Haste, Regeneration, Oak-skin, Thought Acceleration and a Physical Buff on him.

    ¡°Alright, buddy. You know what to do. Nothing fancy. Just tear his fucking throat out,¡± I told Togo.

    He looked at me like of course, you idiot, and huffed.

    ¡°In the sight of gods and men we are gathered to determine the innocence or guilt of this girl, Arya Stark. May the Mother grant her Mercy, may the Father give such Justice as is deserved, and may the Warrior guide the hand of our champion,¡± Robert intoned, ritual words of a trial by combat flowing out of his mouth. ¡°Begin!¡±

    And like an arrow, Togo was off, charging at Lannister. He seemed taken aback by my dog¡¯s speed. Knowing that he couldn¡¯t face Togo¡¯s charge head on, he tried to sidestep while bringing his sword down on Togo¡¯s neck. But Togo reacted faster than that, springing forward diagonally with an extra burst of speed.

    The sword, swung skillfully by Lannister¡¯s strong arm, proved ineffective against Togo¡¯s literally oak-tough flesh, and only penetrated an inch or so into Togo¡¯s flank. Togo bowled him over, and in a screaming moment of flashing claws and fangs had caught Jaime¡¯s throat and lower face in his massive jaws. With a crunch Togo tore it off, blood spraying in the evening sun.

    He swallowed, and howled his victory.

    ¡°No! Jaime!¡± the queen screamed, hurling herself forward over her dead brother. ¡°Jaime, Jaime! Jaime, don¡¯t die Jaime, please, please, don¡¯t leave me!¡± she cried.

    Robert shook his head bitterly. ¡°Well now, it¡¯s done. The wolf lives. I hope this was all worth it,¡± he spoke, his tone dark and heavy.

    The queen turned to him, lost in her rage. ¡°You!¡± she screamed, then she just kept screaming, her hands held like claws as she scratched at Robert, trying to catch his eyes and face, to cause damage that would do nothing to assuage the hurt in her heart.

    He caught her after a moment, held her in a bear hug. ¡°Ser Barristan. The queen is distraught. Show her to her wheelhouse and keep her there until she is calm,¡± he grunted. Then after the knight had taken her he said something else. ¡°Gods be good. What a fucking mess. And knowing Tywin, it¡¯s just starting.¡± He was mumbling to himself, but I heard every word.

    That night I went into the yard, and gathered a jar of the blood-stained sand, sealing it with wax. With any luck, I¡¯d figure out a sympathetic curse soon and wipe the Lannisters out root and branch. They were vipers, and I had no desire to leave them hiding in the grass and waiting to strike me.

 Chapter 8: On the Road Again

    <u>Chapter 8: On the Road Again</u>

    The rest of the ride to the capital was decidedly tense, the queen¡¯s men both wanting to pick a fight with me and knowing that they¡¯d likely die for it. I had set Jon and Ghost to guarding Arya and Nymeria, and started giving Arya¡¯s Nymeria and Sansa¡¯s Lady the mana treatments to increase their growth and strength so they could better protect their mistresses.

    Other than that, a lot of people wanted to talk with me. The first was, somewhat understandably, Robert who summoned me to ride with him the next day. He was escorted by Ser Barristan and a score of mounted men at arms and knights in Baratheon colors. After ordering his men to patrol at a distance so we could talk, he stayed silent for several minutes, visibly thinking about what he wanted to say.

    ¡°You¡¯ve put me in a damned hard position, Odysseus,¡± he began. ¡°Trial by combat or not, you¡¯ve killed my wife¡¯s twin, Tywin Lannister¡¯s eldest son. They¡¯ll come for you for that.¡±

    ¡°Thank you for the warning. I have faith that between myself and Togo we can see ourselves safe, Your Grace,¡± I replied.

    He snorted, shook his head. ¡°Of course you do. And I suppose we¡¯ll see what happens when they eventually send the Faceless after you, or the Sorrowful Men.¡±

    Again, there was a silence.

    ¡°What the hell were you thinking?¡± he burst out.

    I paused a moment to consider, to organize my thoughts. ¡°Well, Your Grace, that¡¯s a complicated question. May I speak freely?¡±

    ¡°Do you know any other way of speaking?¡± he grumbled angrily.

    ¡°A good point. But I¡¯m not sure where to start. In fact, can I tell you a story?¡±

    ¡°Why not,¡± he sighed and rolled his eyes.

    ¡°This is a story from my homeland, about a scorpion and a fox. One day, a fox comes to a river and sees a scorpion waiting to cross it.

    ¡°Fox!¡± says the scorpion. ¡°Please, I have to cross this river. Won¡¯t you help me?¡±

    ¡°No, you¡¯ll sting me,¡± says the fox.

    ¡°I¡¯d have to be crazy to sting you,¡± argues the scorpion. ¡°We¡¯d both drown!¡±

    The fox thinks about that for a moment, then agrees with that logic. Halfway across the river, the scorpion stings the fox.

    As the poison courses through his veins, the fox looks up to the scorpion riding on his back. He only has the strength for a single word. ¡°Why?¡± he gasps.

    The scorpion looked sad for a moment, then answered him. ¡°I couldn¡¯t help myself. It¡¯s in my nature.¡±¡±

    The king thought about it for a moment and nodded. ¡°A good story. What is the point you wanted me to draw from it?¡±

    ¡°There were two, Your Grace. First, just as the scorpion cannot help his nature, I cannot help my own. I owe Ned, and I will serve him as best I can. That includes protecting his daughter, whether from a bully with a steel sword, or a woman¡¯s sharp, cutting words. No matter their station.¡±

    His face worked for a moment, then he just sighed. ¡°I don¡¯t think any true man could do otherwise,¡± he admitted. ¡°You said there were two points though.¡±

    ¡°The second, is about the queen. The woman is a scorpion. She just can¡¯t help but sting. She made this issue far greater than it should have been, fanned the flames of a campfire until it engulfed a whole forest. Consider the image. A boy nearly a man attacks a girl five years his junior. He has live steel, she a wooden stick. Then consider that the boy is the prince, the girl the daughter of Lord Stark. And this happens not one mile from the Ruby Ford. Further, a royal calls for the girl to be punished when the prince¡¯s wicked assault is rebuffed by her loyal pet.¡±

    Robert grimaced, his face flashing with rage as he remembered his own youth. ¡°I hadn¡¯t thought of it like that.¡±

    ¡°Perhaps not, Your Grace. But I can tell you, other Lords did, and that word will spread. No one wants to have a madman on the throne. Not again,¡± I warned.

    ¡°And do you think the prince truly as bad as that fucker, Rhaegar?¡± he asked with a dark tone in his voice.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know him well enough to judge truly,¡± I replied honestly. ¡°But I can tell you, he meant to murder Arya. If Nymeria hadn¡¯t been there, if I¡¯d arrived later, you might have been explaining to Ned how his daughter died. As for Joffrey being as bad as Rhaegar¡­ well, Rhaegar certainly did worse. Lyanna likely suffered greatly before her death. But Rhaegar didn¡¯t start at nearly so young an age either. It¡¯s presumptuous of me to ask, but has Joffrey been known to torture and kill animals? To trick servants into being punished, or give them cruel penalties?¡±

    I saw the thoughts in Roberts eyes at that. It seemed that Joffrey truly was psychotic, at least a little.

    ¡°Why?¡± Robert asked.

    ¡°It¡¯s a sign of a mental illness my people call psychopathy,¡± I answered. ¡°Those afflicted have reduced empathy, and don¡¯t see others as truly human, more objects for them to play with. They typically have a superficial charm and glibness, inflated sense of self-worth, lie and manipulate pathologically, have poor control over their behavior, issues with impulsiveness, blame others for their faults, and are in general blackguards. They often commit murder, and some enjoy the sorts of things that Aerys is told to. And they tend to escalate as they age.¡±If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

    Robert closed his eyes, wincing. ¡°Joffrey killed a cat and cut open its belly to see the kittens inside once,¡± he admitted. ¡°And I had heard that servants considered him particularly harsh. Is there any treatment you could recommend?¡±

    ¡°The causes of psychopathy are debated, Your Grace,¡± I explained. ¡°The best medical minds in the subject agree that it is typically caused by a combination of hereditary traits and upbringing. There are ways to help reduce the symptoms, but those are only really effective on people who exhibit just a few negative traits and want to change themselves, fearful of sliding into the abyss. I would not expect them to help much, save to teach him how to better hide his traits.¡±

    ¡°A hell of a thing to tell a man, that his son is a monster,¡± Robert said. ¡°What would you do in my position?¡±

    ¡°As a man, I would likely debate the issue, turning it over and over in my mind, trying to protect my son until he did something truly unforgivable,¡± I replied. ¡°As a king, I would have him sent to the Wall or the Citadel. I would have him gelded so that he could not have any progeny with ambitions. And I would send away the boy¡¯s mother so that the other children were not subject to her poisonous affections.¡±

    Robert looked at me, his eyebrows raised. ¡°That¡¯s a bit extreme, don¡¯t you think?¡±

    ¡°Given the circumstances, the potential harm to the country, I would say that it was proper.¡± I could see he didn¡¯t like the idea much, but it was planted, and Robert spent much of his time drunk. With a bit of luck, sometime he was deep in his cups Joffrey or Cersei would infuriate him and lead him to remember this conversation.

    ¡°But if you wanted a stop-gap,¡± I continued, ¡°I would send the boy to someone tough but fair, who I could trust to either reshape the prince¡¯s personality, or break him. And I would give documents to my most loyal supporters, including the man responsible for the prince, stating that unless he had that man¡¯s approval he was disinherited and to be sent to the Wall on either his coming of age or the king¡¯s death. Your brother, Lord Stannis, sounds like a likely candidate.¡±

    The king was deep in thought. ¡°You certainly spoke your mind.¡±

    ¡°I hope I didn¡¯t offend, Your Grace.¡±

    He just looked at me. ¡°No, you didn¡¯t. You felt certain things needed to be said, and said them, and didn¡¯t pay one thought to offence.¡±

    He was right. I was never the most socially adroit of individuals, and tended to a certain blunt, analytical, utilitarian pragmatism that many found difficult to stomach.

    ¡°That too, Your Grace,¡± I replied.

    He shook his head. ¡°I can understand why Ned likes you,¡± he said. ¡°Just the same way of speaking your mind, the two of you.¡±

    We rode back to the camp in silence. As we came close, he turned to me again.

    ¡°This wasn¡¯t how I thought our talk would go. I didn¡¯t like what you said, but I¡¯ll think on it. Now, off with you. I need a bloody drink. And a woman who isn¡¯t my wife.¡±

    The king crawled into a bottle, fell to debauchery, and didn¡¯t stop for the rest of the journey.

    ===================================

    The king wasn¡¯t the last to speak to me. Powerful Lords sought me out, whether to find out more about where I stood, or to draw me into their factions, or the first steps of forming a faction around the new Hand.

    For all that I had added to his difficulties, and fanned the flames of the Stark-Lannister interactions, I had massively strengthened Lord Stark¡¯s position. The Hound, one of the Lannister¡¯s most feared attack dogs, had lost his eye to my blow and the brain damage left him crippled with poor muscle control on one side of his body. He was barely able to walk, let alone fight. And now Jaime Lannister was dead, the ¡°Yellow Prince¡± as he was being called shamed in front of the whole court.

    It seemed as if the momentum was against the queen¡¯s faction, that the Starks were coming to court and smashing anyone who stood in their way. Politics are largely about perception. Win, and seem strong, and keep winning and seeming strong, and people will fall in line.

    Renly had approached both Lord Stark and myself to offer his support and gain our aid for his positions. He really formed the nucleus of the counter-Lannister faction at court. He was a young man, twenty one just like me, and to my modern eye obviously a homosexual. Hell, he even wore gold and green, the colors of his ¡°special friend¡± Ser Loras Tyrell. Loras, meanwhile, was known as the Knight of Flowers. I mean, come on guys. Are you even trying to be subtle? But I never heard any rumors about them, and never started any either.

    I had found three minstrels willing to compose songs about the fight between Togo and the Kingslayer, and the preceding fight between Arya and Joffrey. They were all part of Renly¡¯s faction, which made sense as the king¡¯s brother was aligned with us against the queen.

    My favorite song was The Toothless Lion, a simple but catchy and comedic song. It had some great lines about the loss of Lion¡¯s Tooth, the ¡°most heroic blade ever made, sized for a boy¡¯s hands¡± and Togo, ¡°the great Kingslayer-slayer.¡± I cracked up every time I heard that. It was already spreading through the villages we passed, brought back to keeps as lords and ladies joined and left the procession.

    That kind of propaganda was easily worth the handful of gold dragons I paid for it.

    Lord Stark didn¡¯t really approve, but even he could see that the feud with the Lannisters was irreconcilable.

    For a week I spent every moment I could that we were stopped working on my curse. I just couldn¡¯t get it to work. The sympathetic bond wouldn¡¯t take. I knew I was missing something, some basic trick, and that if I could just see a working example I could manage it too, but I couldn¡¯t.

    The best I managed was a Connected Mark spell, which allowed me to create a sympathetic bond on two very similar materials but had to be cast on both materials at the same time. In other words, for it to work I¡¯d have to be touching the queen or prince, and the bloody sand, and cast a spell. No way were they letting me that close, and no way was that going to work.

    After that, I threw my hands up in disgust and gave up. I spent the rest of the time figuring out how to make the Oak-skin spell into a permanent, deeper Oak-flesh. After I figured that out, I applied it to all of the pets and myself. With my experience turning a buff into an enchantment, I managed to figure out how to do the same with the Combat Precognition; I basically became, much to my glee, a budget jedi knight at that point.

    In the remaining time I got to work on a White enchantment, a conceptual imposition of order and being protected. It wasn¡¯t strong, but it helped reduce and spread impacts, and every little bit helped. With time to reinforce it I would become tougher and tougher to harm. In the future I was hoping to turn it into a more general Superman style inviolate invulnerability, though I could tell that the enchantment fell short of that mark and would need to be substantially improved in general, qualitative ways before I could use it in that fashion.

    Other than that I sparred daily with Jon and the Winterfell guardsmen, improving my skills with sword, shield and spear. I needed to be ready to see off the attacks that could be coming. I trained them in how to fight unarmed as well; as bodyguards they¡¯d often have their weapons sheathed when they came under attack. I focused on how to fight against armed enemies, my own skills in such growing as I taught and practiced.

    Socially, things were really weird. People didn¡¯t react the way I expected to Jaime¡¯s death. He was an incredibly important person, but he died in a trial by combat and most people basically just shrugged and got on with it. The antipathy from the queen¡¯s faction was equal parts a reflection of her rage and the growing Stark-Lannister conflict in general, with only a small bit due to Jaime¡¯s death and even that from the more hot-tempered and younger persons.

    I guessed that when life was cheap, and easily taken by disease or lost in war or tourneys that death became less impactful too. So long as it happened in a way that everyone had basically decided was legally and socially acceptable.

    And then we were at the capital.

 Chapter 9: Arrival

    <u>Chapter 9: Arrival</u>

    As our now much divided procession arrived back in King¡¯s Landing, my senses were assaulted. Medieval life smells; that was an inescapable truth. Animals shit in roads. Sewers were often open to the air. Washing and hygiene was considered strange. But holy shit did that city stink. The largest city in Westeros with somewhere between four and five hundred thousand inhabitants, the concentrated smell of humans living so close to each other, the piss and shit and rot and fish¡­ it was fucking awful.

    Togo looked up at me, whining, pleading for me to fix it with a spell. I couldn¡¯t just block the scent, that would remove one of his most important senses. After a few moments, I figured out how to use a bit of Blue, White and Green to normalize the scent signal against the background. Patting Togo, I applied it to him, then gave it to Aethon too. I¡¯d have to figure out how to make it into a permanent feature later; Ghost, Nymeria and Lady were all looking pretty miserable.

    The crowds watching from the sides of the street shied away from our massive pets, the direwolves and Togo not pleased with the sound and chaos, growling and snapping at anyone who approached too close. As it sun sank and evening set in, we arrived at the huge bronze doors of the Red Keep. It had been a damned long journey, and I was glad it was over. Smaller than Winterfell, the Keep was still impressively tall and imposing.

    We had just arrived when a well dressed servant came up to Lord Stark; apparently the Grand Maester had called a sudden meeting of the small council. As the Hand, Stark was requested to attend as soon as convenient.

    ¡°It would be convenient in the morning,¡± Ned growled, exhausted.

    ¡°Of course, my lord,¡± the servant replied, bowing. ¡°I will convey your regrets.¡±

    ¡°Damn it. No. I will see them,¡± Lord Stark reconsidered. ¡°I just need to change into something more suitable first.¡±

    ¡°Yes, my lord. You have Lord Arryn¡¯s former rooms in the Tower of the Hand, if that¡¯s acceptable. I will have your things brought there.¡±

    ¡°Thank you,¡± Ned replied, taking off his riding gloves. ¡°It seems I¡¯m needed urgently by the council,¡± he called out to Poole, his steward. ¡°See my daughters find their rooms, and have Jory keep them there. Under no circumstances is Arya to go wandering about and getting up to mischief.¡± Poole bowed in response.

    ¡°Jon, why don¡¯t you go with them, and see that your sisters don¡¯t face any trouble,¡± I said. My packs held my two spare sets of rough and two sets of finer clothing.

    Lord Stark wasn¡¯t so lucky. ¡°My wagons are still making their way through the city,¡± he admitted to the royal servant. ¡°I will need appropriate clothing.¡±

    ¡°Of course, my lord,¡± the servant replied. I grabbed one of the servants, found my room, got changed, and was waiting for Ned at the bottom of the stairs with Togo. I decided to leave my bow behind, and immediately decided that I needed to prioritize figuring out some sort of Inventory spell. That would be awesome.

    ¡°Did you decide to be my escort then?¡± Ned asked me when he came down looking dog-tired. I patted him on the back, giving a burst of magically rejuvenating energy and he stood up straighter.

    ¡°Given the circumstances, my lord, I thought it wise for Togo and I to keep you company,¡± I answered.

    ¡°What a mess,¡± he said.

    We got to the council chambers, and I took up a post by the wall. The people present seemed somewhat stunned by Togo, who was best described as holy fuck don¡¯t eat me sized. As the meeting began, I got to put names to faces for the councilors. Renly, the Master of Laws, I knew already. The same for the absent Ser Barristan.

    Varys, a fat, bald eunuch dressed in silks was the Master of Whisperers; I trusted him about as far as Arya could throw him, and his high voice was creepy as fuck.

    Pycelle, the Grand Maester was an old man with a bald, spotted head. He had a long robe. Unlike Luwin¡¯s choker, Pycelle¡¯s chain of office was made of heavy links of chain speckled with jewels; it went down to his breast. His robe was red velvet with gold fastenings, denoting his support for the Lannisters.

    Lord Peyr Baelish, a slight, middle aged man was the Master of Coin. He was a notorious whoremonger known as Littlefinger. Supposedly he had been friends once with Lady Catelyn, but had basically been kicked out after he fell in love with her and foolishly challenged Brandon Stark for her hand. Considering he had chosen a mockingbird for his sigil, a bird renowned for laying eggs in others nests, I didn¡¯t trust him either.

    He was, in fact, my prime suspect in Lord Arryn¡¯s death outside of the Lannisters that Lysa Arryn had pointed the finger at. Between calling himself the mockingbird, his rumored relations with Lysa, and the fact that the Arryn¡¯s seat was called the Eyrie, it was just too much coincidence not to investigate. But I would have to be careful; he had a reputation for being clever, and anyone who could build himself a financial empire backed by vice would be someone dangerous.

    Lord Stannis Baratheon, the Master of ships was likewise not present, and after the councilors assured Lord Stark that it was common for the king to skip the sessions they began. Robert, it appeared, was most noted for his absence in ruling.

    The orders they received had obviously been written by Robert while he was drunk. He ordered a Tourney, with prizes of forty thousand dragons to the champion of the joust, twenty thousand to the runner up, twenty thousand to the champion of the melee, and ten thousand to the winner of the archery.

    Those prizes were nuts. A dragon was worth two hundred and ten silver stags, each of which was at the time worth fifty six copper pennies so a dragon was worth eleven thousand seven hundred and sixty pennies. The currency value was based partially on the value of the metal, so it varied, hence those obnoxious numbers.

    A copper penny, for perspective, had about the same purchasing power as eighty US cents in 2017. You could get a loaf of hearty bread for three pennies. A knight¡¯s horse was in the low single digit dragons. A lord¡¯s ransom might be a hundred dragons. The prizes that Robert was offering was the equivalent to offering three hundred and seventy five million dollars to the jousting victor alone, with nearly a billion dollars of prizes all told.

    I did a quick estimate as to how much the tournament could expect to earn the crown. Assuming an average of one hundred thousand people showed up for a month, and spent an average of one-hundred-fifty pennies a day on food, lodging, entertainment and services, that would bring about thirty-eight thousand dragons worth of coin into King¡¯s Landing. The crown might be able to get a quarter of that in special taxes and fees, or nine and a half thousand dragons back.

    I was drawn out of my thoughts of economics by what Baelish said next.

    ¡°I shall have to borrow the money. Normally I would go to the Lannisters; we owe the Lannisters some three million dragons already, after all, what matter another hundred thousand? But I doubt Lord Tywin would be so accommodating, given the recent circumstances.¡±

    I could see Ned was just as stunned as I. ¡°Are you claiming the Crown is three million gold in debt!?¡± Ned blurted out.

    ¡°The Crown is more than six million gold pieces in debt, Lord Stark. The Lannisters are our biggest creditor, but the Iron Bank of Braavos, Lord Tyrell, and a number of Tyroshi cartels have lent significant sums as well. Recently I¡¯ve had to turn to the Faith,¡± Baelish explained.

    That was really bad. Westeros had a population of something like forty to sixty million; split the difference at fifty million. The typical farming family of five or six likely made something like a half-dragon to a dragon over the poverty line. Call it a dragon to be generous. Between the local lord taking his cut for protection, stored food for the crazy-long Winter years, the over-lord taking his cut for more protection, and the general graft and corruption, I¡¯d be surprised if the Crown saw a tenth of a dragon from that family. At an average family size of five between the fifty million citizens, and that works out to a yearly income of about a million dragons.

    Robert probably saw about as many dragons again from his own, personally held lands as was normal under feudalism, for a grand total Crown income of two million dragons. Given the levels of interest common in medieval societies which could range from ten to twenty percent, and that the Crown actually had necessary expenditures, the Seven Kingdoms were in danger of just the interest on the debt eating up every spare copper. It also meant that Robert had managed to overspend by something like a quarter of his income every year he was in power.

    Ned was flabbergasted. ¡°Aerys Targaryen left a treasury overflowing with gold. How could you let this happen?¡±

    Baelish gave a little Gallic shrug. ¡°The Master of Coin finds the money. The Hand and the King spend it.¡±

    ¡°Are you serious!¡± I burst out at his attitude as the Kingdoms slid towards insolvency. Everyone turned to look at me, and I flushed. ¡°My apologies, my lords.¡±The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

    ¡°No, Ser Odysseus, I¡¯m interested in what you were thinking to burst out like that,¡± Ned said, amused and likely hoping I had some clever insight to the situation.

    ¡°Thank you, my lord Hand,¡± I said. ¡°Lord Baelish, may I ask how many dragons the Crown receives in income each year? On average?¡±

    Baelish looked at me as if I was something he scraped off a shoe. ¡°Well, that is difficult to say exactly, Ser Odysseus. The financial system is quite complicated and ¨C¡°

    ¡°So would I be wildly incorrect in assuming that it¡¯s on the order of two million dragons a year?¡± I interrupted.

    Now I had everyone¡¯s interest. ¡°Not wildly so, no,¡± Baelish replied cautiously. ¡°It¡¯s closer to three million during Summer, one million during Winter.¡±

    ¡°And of that, the Crown has how much to spare after necessary expenses? A half million dragons? Less?¡±

    ¡°A little less, yes. About four hundred thousand dragons,¡± Baelish answered. He could sense the trap closing now, but my guesses were close enough after reading and talking to Luwin and going over the North¡¯s tax situation that he couldn¡¯t escape it.

    ¡°And the interest on the debt. What is it on average. One part in ten? Three in twenty?¡± I questioned.

    ¡°On average, closer to one part in eight,¡± he allowed. Twelve and a half percent of 6 million was¡­

    ¡°So you mean to tell me that the Crown already owes nearly seven hundred and fifty thousand dragons a year, just as interest on the debt? Is that counted in those necessary expenditures?¡± I asked. Everyone watching had dawning looks of horror.

    ¡°It does,¡± Baelish admitted. ¡°And no, those expenses are not counted in the necessary expenditures. Typically Lord Lannister forgives the interest in return for certain political considerations, so it is difficult to predict.¡±

    ¡°Regardless,¡± I stated coldly. ¡°Give that the Crown is currently facing the prospect of borrowing ever increasing sums just to meet the demands of the debt it already possesses, and considering that you, my lord, are the Master of Coin, did you not think to bring this to the King¡¯s attention? Are you a traitor, corrupt or merely incompetent!?¡± I shouted.

    ¡°How dare you! Have a mind to whom you speak, Ser!¡± Baelish shouted, rising out of his seat then sitting down very quickly with a white face when Togo growled at him.

    ¡°I too am interested in hearing the answer to that question, Littlefinger,¡± Lord Stark ground out. Few things infuriated him more than this sort of obviously shady failure of a man¡¯s duty. Given that this duty was to his friend and king, it was even worse.

    ¡°If you think it¡¯s so easy, then let¡¯s hear your solution, Ser Odysseus,¡± Baelish hissed.

    ¡°Once again changing the subject, my lord? That is suspicious,¡± I drawled.

    ¡°Damn you, Odysseus. And damn you too, Stark. I had thought to help you for the affection I bear your wife, but then you spit on my honor like this. I am neither a traitor, nor corrupt, nor incompetent, merely faced with an impossible task! You can try and fix this situation, get Robert to moderate his spending, and see how it goes. And then you can apologize to me, or you can find a new Master of Coin. Now, if you¡¯ll excuse me, I have better places to be with more pleasant company,¡± he snarled, then stood and stalked towards the door.

    ¡°Should I¡­¡± I offered, prepared to take the man into custody on the spot.

    ¡°No, let him go,¡± Lord Stark ordered as Baelish stormed out.

    ¡°I had heard you had a way with people, Ser Odysseus,¡± Varys twittered and clapped his hands. ¡°Bravo, bravo.¡±

    ¡°Well, now that you¡¯ve succesfully chased our Master of Coin away, do you have any solutions, Ser Odysseus?¡± Pycelle asked sarcastically.

    ¡°The tournament, yes,¡± I announced. ¡°The state of the Crown¡¯s finances may be a more complicated matter, though I¡¯m willing to give it a shot.¡±

    ¡°And for those who don¡¯t know, Ser Odysseus is quite the shot. In fact, I think today may be the first time I¡¯ve seen him without his bow to hand,¡± Renly added. ¡°You know, if you¡¯d just held your tongue and let things be I suspect that you could have won those ten thousand dragons.¡±

    ¡°Thank you, my lord,¡± I replied with a short bow. He had nicely implied that my actions were motivated by duty, not self-interest.

    ¡°You¡¯re quite welcome,¡± Renly said with a grin.

    ¡°What is this plan of yours to fix the tournament, Ser?¡± Varys questioned.

    ¡°Well, the first part is to reduce the prize money to at most a tenth of what Robert initially wanted, a twentieth or less if he¡¯ll go for it. I suspect he wants to have a grand tournament though, one that draws the most famous and skilled, and that takes grand prizes. Instead of money though he could offer land; I heard that the Whispers and Summerhall are without lords, and I am sure there are half a dozen other such keeps besides. The reduced prize money would suffice to hire workers to repair the lordly seats and attract people to work the land. That would reduce expenditure on the tournament to about ten thousand dragons.

    ¡°Then, we need but increase the income from the tournament. I would guess that given, say, sixty days for the word of the tourney to spread and attract competitors, and with a bit of management, we could attract as many as a hundred thousand visitors to the city. They¡¯ll likely spend something around a half-silver a day on average, and if we¡¯re clever about having a number of smaller melees, duels, wrestling bouts, races, competitions with staves and the like while dragging out the actual jousting and main events, we could likely drag things out for a month with a week in the middle for a grand fair.

    ¡°Special taxes of a fifth of the income from inns, brothels, and specially available booths for merchants and tradesmen near the campgrounds, fairgrounds and tourney grounds would likely allow us to actually receive a quarter to a third of the true profit. Add in a small fee to use designated campgrounds, another to enter the tourney, a tax on the ransom paid by the tourney losers to regain their arms, armor and horse, a tax on the gambling¡­ The Crown may actually come out ahead, and should certainly recoup the majority of its expenses.¡±

    Everyone was looking at me in awe. It wasn¡¯t very complicated; I knew that event organizers did all of those things already in the modern era, but Westeros was less saturated with commercialization.

    ¡°By the Gods,¡± Renly laughed. ¡°Perhaps he should be our Master of Coin!¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m afraid I¡¯m too unfamiliar with the way things are done here, my lord,¡± I replied. That and I wanted to work on magic and fighting, not become an economics advisor. ¡°Though I¡¯ll give what advice I can.¡±

    Varys leaned forwards. ¡°And what advice would that be?¡±

    ¡°Without having looked at the situation, it¡¯s hard to say,¡± I replied. ¡°Though the first thing I¡¯d focus on was trimming the fat, the unnecessary expenditures, and reducing the debt burden. I¡¯d try and refinance the loans, requesting lower interest levels. I¡¯d also consider issuing public treasury bills and bonds.¡±

    ¡°And what are those?¡± Ned asked.

    ¡°They¡¯re a type of government debt. The government might sell a bill, a document basically, that is worth a hundred silver starting a year from now, but it is sold for only ninety nine silver. It¡¯s common for them to be auctioned publicly, so the interest rate is naturally competitive and as low as people are willing to accept,¡± I explained. ¡°Bonds, on the other hand, pay an interest but a low one.¡±

    ¡°So, much the same as any other debt,¡± Varys asked frowning. ¡°How would that help?¡±

    ¡°Well, not quite. Let¡¯s say I want to borrow money from the Iron Bank. I get on a ship, sail to Braavos, and meet with a representative. They evaluate the risk I present, the amount that they think they can get out of me, and maximize their profit by charging an interest rate which is affected by both the perceived risk, my own need for the money, and other interest rates available elsewhere. Correct?¡±

    ¡°Yes, that is the way these things work,¡± Varys said dryly.

    ¡°Right. Bills and bonds reverse that order,¡± I replied. ¡°Instead of my going to the Bank to borrow, the Crown invites representatives from all the banks to come and bid, and invites people from the noble houses and commons to do so as well. That keeps the interest rate as low as possible; with sufficient competition, it will be the smallest difference in value that anyone in that crowd can make a profit at. If we set the initial bid price so that the resulting interest is smaller than what we currently pay, and immediately use that money to pay our debt, we cannot lose.

    ¡°Similarly for the bond, instead of saying, ¡°we need this money, we want the best interest you are willing to give,¡± we say ¡°we are selling up to so many millions of dragons of debt at this interest rate, and you may take it or leave it.¡± If we begin by selling debt at a low interest and gradually raise it, with some maximum interest still lower than what we currently pay, again, we cannot lose money doing so.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s to stop people from doing this in general?¡± Renly asked bemused.

    ¡°Well, nothing. In my home, it was common for merchant companies to use such techniques to raise funds. But people tend to believe in a government, a country, much more than a company, so governments tend to get the best rates.¡±

    ¡°And how do you prevent someone from forging one of these documents?¡± Pycelle asked.

    ¡°A combination of methods,¡± I answered. ¡°You can embed specific complex designs into the paper, watermarks, seals, fancy inks and signatures to start off. Then you can have each document be named and numbered. When the document holder comes to redeem it, it can be checked against a master list of names, numbers and associated values. Depending on if the bond-holder wants it to be transferrable or not, you can even require that their finger-prints match.¡±

    ¡°I can see how this would be useful,¡± Lord Stark said. ¡°We already have some documents allowing the bearer to draw on monies without having to transport them, but they are rare and unique to each person that issues it. Something like this, backed by the Crown, could aid merchants even if there¡¯s no interest at all.¡±

    ¡°Right,¡± I agreed. ¡°That¡¯s not unusual either, and would be a commodity or representative money. Basically, saying that if you took the note to the treasury they would exchange it for some defined amount of gold or silver or whatever. We actually used fiat money, which is basically state-issued money with no real value or conversion.¡±

    ¡°Wait, do you mean to tell me that people valued, what, pieces of parchment as if they were real gold?¡± Renly asked incredulously.

    I laughed. ¡°I had a hard time getting my head around it too. But if you think about what gold really represents, it isn¡¯t that odd. After all, gold is pretty, but so are many things. Beyond that, it¡¯s soft, heavy to carry, and rare. The reason gold is truly valuable is most of all that last part, its rarity. Combined with the fact it doesn¡¯t tarnish, doesn¡¯t rust away like iron, its rarity means that it¡¯s a perfect item to denote value. But, if a set amount of a currency was circulated, and it was difficult to damage or lose as well, with a small amount added each year to replace that which was lost or destroyed, wouldn¡¯t that serve the same purpose? That¡¯s the logic, at least.¡±

    ¡°Still, I think I will keep to things with true value,¡± Renly replied.

    ¡°There can be problems with that though,¡± I warned. ¡°About, oh, five hundred years ago or so there was a country, Spain, which was near my homeland. They, like everyone of that time, used the gold standard for their currency. Then, they found an unclaimed wilderness full of gold, nuggets the size of your fist in riverbeds for your taking. They brought it back home, and for a time Spain was rich! But then, the prices for things began to rise. With so much more gold available, it became worth so much less. And those sorts of economic shocks can be incredibly damaging. In Spain¡¯s case, they went from the strongest kingdom in the region to one of the weakest over the course of a couple generations. And that is but one case of many I can think of.¡±

    ¡°How very interesting,¡± the Spider said in his high pitched voice. I restrained a shudder, it just creeped me out so much.

    ¡°Well. It is late, and I am weary from the road. I will speak to the king and relay Ser Odysseus¡¯ plan in the morning, and we can reconvene in the afternoon to discuss the tourney. Is that agreeable?¡±

    And with a chorus of assent, the first meeting of the small council under Ned¡¯s leadership came to an end.

    AN: Every time I wrote dragons for the coins I had to stop myself from using galleons. Clearly I have been reading too much HP fanfiction.

 Chapter 10: Scorpions

    <u>Chapter 10: Scorpions.</u>

    Togo and I followed Ned to his tower and rooms.

    ¡°Well, that was a more interesting meeting than I had envisioned, Odysseus.  What do you truly believe about Littlefinger?¡± Ned asked after a minute or two.

    We were crossing the outer yard on our way to the Tower of the Hand.  ¡°Perhaps, my lord, that is a discussion better held away from prying ears,¡± I replied, glancing about at all the nearby knights, guardsmen and servants who were ill concealing their interest.

    He nodded, and we finished getting to the tower in silence.  The guards at the door straightened to attention and greeted us as we passed.  We trooped upstairs, passing my room and standing outside Ned¡¯s.

    He chuckled.  ¡°You have seen me safe to my room, Odysseus,¡± he said.  ¡°I hardly need you to tuck me into bed.¡±

    I shook my head seriously.  ¡°Actually, I wanted to do a sweep of your rooms first.  Considering that your servants are from Winterfell, and unlikely to be suborned, this is actually the moment of greatest vulnerability,¡± I warned.

    He frowned.  ¡°How?  I hardly think my men would have missed an assassin hiding under the bed.¡±

    I was deadly serious though.  ¡°Poisoned needles placed in the sheets, or sticking up from the floor.  A poison that can absorb through the skin soaked into the cloth.  Candles made from a wax impregnated with a powder which, when burned, is poisonous.  I could go on, my lord.¡±

    His eyes widened.  ¡°You have a deeper understanding of such dark deeds than I expected.  Just what was your background that that was necessary?¡±

    I grinned.  ¡°Such plots were vanishingly uncommon, my lord.  I simply used to read, a lot.  A few thousand books over my lifetime, I estimate.  Many that were fiction and some that were fact included such plots.¡±

    He shook his head.  ¡°I doubt anyone will have done so, but if it makes you more comfortable, check away.¡±

    Togo and I looked through everything in the room.  He smelled about to ensure there wasn¡¯t anything strange, licking candles and such, while I ran my hand over the sheets, checked the mattress and chairs, and flowed a bit of blue mana through the walls to make sure there weren¡¯t any surprises.

    ¡°As best as I can tell, it¡¯s clear,¡± I reported.

    ¡°Come then.  I¡¯ll have the servants bring us up some food, and you can tell me about what you think of Littlefinger.¡±

    As we ate, I told him how I suspected the man of more than the standard corruption and a degree of incompetence to boot.

    ¡°So what would you recommend?¡± Ned asked.

    ¡°Audit his books using the accounting technique I showed,¡± I answered.  ¡°If he was clever, and hid his theft in the accounts, it should find them.  But it will take a few weeks.  I just hope he¡¯s arrogant enough not to destroy them overnight.  As for Baelish himself, he should be kept under guard inside the castle, and insulated from speaking directly to anyone not loyal to you, my lord.¡±

    ¡°I will ask Robert, but I do not know that he will agree.¡±

    ¡°Very well.  I¡¯ll need to find a dozen assistants who know their numbers.  Merchant¡¯s children, or those studying their numbers under septons, perhaps.¡±

    ¡°Begin to do so in the morning,¡± he ordered.

    ¡°Yes, my lord,¡± I replied.

    ¡°If Baelish does prove to be dishonest, would you replace him?¡± he asked.

    I was shocked.  I hadn¡¯t really considered it.  After thinking for a moment, I decided against it.  While it might seem like my progress to return home was slow, and it was, dimensional techniques and magic in general were both things to be approached with care.  I needed to train in fighting and surviving; the middle ages were hardly safe, and Westeros had had two major wars in less than twenty years.  Beyond that, I didn¡¯t want to become monomaniacal, my mental health suffering under the drive to be back home immediately.  But serving as the Master of Coin didn¡¯t help my objectives, and was more than my own honor and ethics demanded.  I was willing to help, to advise, but not to take on the position permanently.

    I shook my head.  ¡°I¡¯d prefer not to, my lord.  Perhaps Lord Manderly, or one of his sons?¡±  The Manderlys controlled White Harbor, one of the greatest ports in Westeros and the largest city in the North.  They were adept traders, and most importantly, loyal to Ned.

    Ned considered it for a moment, then nodded.  ¡°I can see the advantages.  Well, it is late.  I will see you at breakfast.¡±

    ¡°I hope you have a pleasant rest.  If you don¡¯t mind, do you think Togo could stay in your entryway?¡±

    Ned stretched, yawned.  ¡°Ever the cautious one.  If it will make you feel more secure with the situation, then fine.  Goodnight, Odysseus.¡±

    ===================================

    The next day was busy.  Jon and I had to visit half a dozen septons, mostly from the mercantile areas, and a few of the bannermen loyal to the Tullys and Starks that had holdings in the city.  Togo was left to guard Lord Stark, which was a shame as the crowds were much more willing to crowd a mounted knight than a pony-sized husky look-a-like.  Still, by the afternoon I had acquired the service of fourteen young men and boys who could write and add well enough.

    While Aethon and I were gone, Ned convinced Robert to go along with my plan for the tournament.  The king also agreed to ¡°keep Baelish close¡± until I could finish the audit.  The moments of serious work must have driven the king over the cliff though; that night at the welcoming feast he got even drunker than usual and was groping one of the serving maids in full sight of the hall.

    Cersei, suffering from the loss of her brother and living under only the faintest veneer of calm, had finally had enough and started screaming at Robert in full view of the entire court.  They really got into it.  By the end of the night, Cersei was banished back to Casterly Rock, the seat of House Lannister.

    Joffrey, who had drunk more than he should, unwisely took her side when complaining about his uncle¡¯s death and the lack of response from the king.  Robert decided that he should be someone else¡¯s problem for a change, and announced that Joffrey would be sent on the next ship to Dragonstone to foster with Stannis.

    Dragonstone was reportedly a hard, bleak fortress, and its lord was rumored to be one of the dourest, most dutiful and lawful men in the realm.  It seemed that my advice had sat in the king¡¯s mind until he was angered enough to use it.  Stannis would either fix or break Joffrey, and either way the little shit would be out of my hair for a while.

    Sat far down in a hall filled with powerful lords and landed knights, I smiled.  Things were going my way.This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

    ===================================

    The sun two days later dawned, and the queen and her son were sent away.  The majority of Lannister guardsmen went with them.  It wasn¡¯t enough to fix the city and court, but at least the most pestilent of the boils had been lanced.

    Not that I had much time to appreciate it.  I was busy getting my new assistants prepared.  I put Jon as their general manager, and trained them all on double-entry bookkeeping.

    Then I had the disorganized and dusty boxes of loose parchment, books and scrolls which recorded the previous years¡¯ tax records and financial statements brought in, and I turned them loose.  It was more work, and more disorganized, than I had expected; in my head I increased the likelihood of Baelish using the position solely for his own benefit.

    No one actually uses such a disorganized system if they don¡¯t have to; it just adds more work.  Baelish wasn¡¯t stupid. So if he was using a system where things could be easily lost, it was likely because there were things he wanted to hide.

    Then a few days after the queen and prince left, the king fell ill.  At first it was just an upset stomach, a bit of diarrhea and vomiting.  Then the next day it got worse.  He was throwing up, had stomach pains, and was quickly losing his health.  I visited him with Lord Stark; I was highly suspicious of the circumstances, but it could have been Cholera or something like it.

    Grand Maester Pycelle and a gaggle of servants were present along with Ser Barristan.  The room was hot and smoky with incense and stank of shit and puke.

    ¡°Ah, Ned, look at me now,¡± Robert rasped.  ¡°Laid so low by fucking illness,¡± he spat bitterly.

    Stark was concerned but tried to put a good face on it.  ¡°I¡¯m sure you¡¯ll be up drinking and hunting in no time, Your Grace.¡±

    ¡°Ha!¡± the king barked.  ¡°I doubt it.  Pycelle tells me I may die.¡±

    ¡°If I may ask, what are the symptoms Your Grace?¡± I interjected.

    Pycelle shot me a dirty look and answered for him.  ¡°His Grace has a chill on the stomach, likely from too much iced wine,¡± he said.

    I looked at Pycelle.  ¡°And have your treatments been effective?¡± I asked.  ¡°Is the king able to keep broth down?¡±

    He sneered at me.  ¡°So your expertise extends to medicine also, does it?¡±

    My gaze hardened.  ¡°I know a bit, and might be able to relieve the king of some of his suffering,¡± I offered.  Really, I didn¡¯t.  But I did know how to give a decent massage, and those always make people feel better.  Further, it would give me enough time and contact to use my magic to figure out what was going on.

    ¡°If you think I¡¯m going to let some unknown savage treat the king,¡± Pycelle began to bluster.

    Robert interrupted him.  ¡°Let him try.  Gods know I couldn¡¯t feel any worse.¡±

    I nodded, and stepped forwards.  ¡°Very well, Your Grace,¡± I said, drawing back the blankets.  ¡°I will be using a medical pressure-point massage.  I am sure you have experienced in training that certain points on the body can cause immense pain when poked even lightly?¡±

    He nodded weakly.  ¡°Yes.¡±

    ¡°Much in the same way, other points can aid in healing when used correctly,¡± I continued with my line of bullshit; even if others could do so, I had no fucking idea how Chinese medical massage worked.  ¡°Further, the swellings, pressures, rhythm of the blood, color; all of these may be used in diagnosing where the issues are, and what can be done to treat them.  May I have your hand?¡±

    He lifted his hand up, and I felt his pulse.  Despite his fat, the muscles of his arms were strong and corded.  I sent my magic into his body, a trickle of Blue for sensing woven with Green and White to see what might be naturally or unnaturally damaging his health.  I felt specks of dark, reddish grey in his blood.  I had experimented earlier with sensing poisons and toxins, even done live tests with rats; this was a relatively strong one.

    I nodded, then moved my hands to his chest and began the massage, loosening his muscles as I fed White mana to sequester the poison and move it to his bladder, Green to regenerate the damage left behind.  I didn¡¯t want to go too far, and return the King to perfect health, but nor did I want to leave his system truly weakened.  Already, the king¡¯s color was better, his breathing easier without the pain.

    I left a few lightly woven strands of White and Green behind as I finished the massage.  Over the next few days they¡¯d unravel, seeping into his system and returning him to his original health.  Likely better, actually; I hadn¡¯t been sure how much of the damage to his liver, heart and organs was from his lifestyle or the poison, and so I cleared it all up as best I could.  Robert would likely feel a decade younger when he recovered.

    All in all it had taken me about forty-five minutes before I finished.  ¡°Very well, Your Grace.  You¡¯ll likely feel the need to take a piss; please do, and drink at least a flask of clean water over the next hour.  You should have soup and broth, something light on the stomach like chicken, and avoid alcohol for at least two days,¡± I recommended.

    He laughed, moving much more quickly than before.  ¡°By the Gods, Ser, you¡¯ve worked a miracle!¡±

    Barristan nodded.  ¡°You¡¯ve certainly done a great deed in curing the King¡¯s illness, Ser.¡±

    I could see Pycelle seething in the background.  ¡°I did nothing to cure his Grace¡¯s illness, Lord Commander,¡± I replied.

    Pycelle nodded happily.  ¡°Indeed, it is well that you recognize the importance of my medicines, Ser Odysseus.  Still, your techniques were quite impressive for one so young.¡±

    Oh, that fucker.  I had little doubt who was responsible for the poison, but watched his eyes closely as I spoke.

    ¡°I did not cure the king¡¯s illness because the king was not ill.  He was poisoned.¡±  And there it was, as everyone else recoiled in shock, anger and horror there was that flicker of hidden fear in Pycelle¡¯s eyes.  ¡°But then again, you knew that, didn¡¯t you?¡± I challenged.

    His hands flick over to a pocket his robes, but too slowly as I leapt the distance between us and smashed my fists into his shoulders hard enough to break the bones of even a young, fit man; Pycelle¡¯s frail, birdlike limbs were shattered.

    He fell back screaming.  I stepped over to him, rolled him onto his front, and without a care for his injuries secured his hands behind his back with some thin rope I habitually carried as he screamed in agony.  Ser Barristan had Pycelle¡¯s servant-slash-assistant, a relatively young girl just into her teens, backed up against the wall quietly crying with his sword at her throat.

    Robert was fucking furious.  I wouldn¡¯t have been surprised if he caught on fire from the sheer extent of his rage.

    ¡°You rat fucking traitor!¡± he roared.  ¡°How dare you.  To poison me, your king!¡± He drew back his leg, prepared to stomp on the old man.

    ¡°Your Grace!¡± I shouted loudly over the sounds of Pycelle¡¯s cries, drawing his attention.  ¡°We should question him as to who was responsible before we kill him, and what other crimes he might have committed.¡±

    Roberts teeth ground, his desire for vengeance warring against his common sense.  ¡°Very well.  See to it.  Ned, you can witness.  But I want his fucking head on my gate by morning.¡±

    ¡°Ser Barristan, Ser Odysseus, may I suggest that Togo stays to help ensure no other poisoning attempts are successful?¡± Ned added.

    I nodded.  ¡°Togo should be fine with that, so long as the room is cleaned and shutters opened to let in some air.  The stench, you know.¡±

    ¡°Y-you can¡¯t!  You can¡¯t!¡± Pycelle sobbed.  ¡°I¡¯m innocent!  You can¡¯t torture me without a trial!¡±

    Lord Stark looked uncomfortable now.  ¡°That is the law, Your Grace.  Even for treason,¡± he said.

    ¡°Damn the law!¡± Robert roared.

    I shook my head.  ¡°Not necessary, in this case, Your Grace,¡± I said.  Everyone looked at me.  ¡°After all, first Pycelle must be searched, and stripped in case he¡¯s carrying any other assassin¡¯s tricks.  Then I need to see to his shoulders ¨C giving medical care to prisoners is, while not required, encouraged after all.  But there¡¯s also nothing requiring me to give him any milk of the poppy if he¡¯s uncooperative.¡±  I jerked him a little, jostling his shoulders and making him scream in agony again.  ¡°Why, then we might need to move him about a few times, here and there.  I imagine after a day or so of being jerked about on these arms he¡¯ll be ready to talk.  If not, the damage would require a whole new round of healing.  I bet if we¡¯re careful he lasts days before the rot sets in and kills him.  Or, Pycelle, you could cooperate.¡±

    Pycelle was openly sobbing now, horrified at the prospect of torture.  ¡°I¡¯m sorry, I¡¯m sorry,¡± he cried.  ¡°It was Jeremy Renos, one of the servants.  He said he needed the arsenic for the rats, that they were getting to the wine.  But when I saw the king, I knew.  I knew,¡± he wailed, ¡°but I was afraid to say anything!  I did my best, but I couldn¡¯t heal Your Grace, and I was scared!  Please, please, forgive this old man, please!¡±

    It was a believable story, and he was convincing.  I didn¡¯t trust a word of it.

    ¡°Whose man is this Renos?¡± I asked.

    ¡°I believe he was the queen¡¯s,¡± replied Barristan after a while.

    ¡°Do you remember the story of the scorpion, Your Grace?¡± I asked.

    He paused a moment, searching his memory then his face darkened as he understood what I was implying.  ¡°I do.¡±

    ¡°I believe you were just stung, and the Grand Maester wears red and gold.¡±

    ¡°Indeed he does,¡± the king said, his rage controlled and leashed.  ¡°In my name, Robert the First, King of the Seven Kingdoms, I pass sentence.  Grand Maester Pycelle of the small council, your position is stripped of you.  Pycelle, as a traitor your sentence is death, to be carried out immediately.¡±

    Then the king reached over, picked up a stool, and smashed in Pycelle¡¯s skull.  As I looked at the corpse, splattered across the floor, I was just thankful that I didn¡¯t have to clean up the physical mess that went along with cleaning up the political one.

 Chapter 11: Audits

    <u>Chapter 11: Audits</u>

    The next months passed quickly as I was kept busy.  The tournament had a hundred and one details that needed my input, apparently.  The people in charge of it were too afraid to risk my ire, and after my actions I had quite the reputation for violence and perfectionism; I didn¡¯t blame them, but it was annoying.

    Jon did what he could to manage the audit, but even then I had to review the books, gaining familiarity as they went.  They had just finished the book-keeping for the last two years of accounts, so I was going through those.  There were dozens of irregularities and issues that they had marked for me, and then I had to determine why those irregularities existed.  Some were from mistakes by my detachment of newly trained accountants, but others showed a disturbingly pervasive trend of corruption.

    Littlefinger was undoubtedly a financial genius, and a genius at profiting in his own right as well.  He traded, invested, lended on the Crown¡¯s behalf, borrowing the money when needed to pay for it.  There was a fine game afoot, as he beautifully balanced the Crown¡¯s expenditures and incomes, always showing an increasing level of each.  Hell, at the first level of deeper analysis the Crown and realm were actually more stable financially despite the immense debt.

    But the reality showed that the balance was too beautiful.  Over the dozen plus years of his being Master of Coin, Baelish had cleverly taken over nearly the entire financial apparatus.  The four men who kept the keys to the treasury were his.  So were the two men responsible for keeping the Seven Kingdoms using a standardized set of weights, measures and counting.  All three mints were led by men he appointed.  Within the Crownlands his rule was nearly total, harbormasters, tax-men, customs officers, toll-men, and the semi-nationalized factors who sold wool, ship¡¯s supplies and wine to Essos ¨C they were, in the main, Baelish¡¯s men.

    And at a deeper look, it was obvious that the businesses that got loans, the investments Baelish made, were largely his properties.  Management fees, false losses, a dozen other tricks that would make a Wall-Street Banker blush in envy were used to fleece the Crown for every dragon over a certain bare minimum profit.

    In other words, Baelish had invested the Crown¡¯s money wisely, then channeled the profits to his own pockets.  He kept the Seven Kingdoms just solvent enough to keep the golden-egg laying goose healthy.  I had no idea just how many businesses and properties he was a silent partner or secret owner of, and I suspected that a number of his holdings had been diversified to Braavos, Pentos and the other cities of Essos.

    I honestly had no idea what to do about it.  Dismantling his organization and seizing his properties was certainly necessary, but much like banks being too big to fail, I was worried that too great a disruption in Baelish¡¯s businesses could spark a financial collapse.  The man was just that pervasive.  It would literally be the work of years to undo what he did to subsume the governmental organizations.

    The most likely scenario included using a number of stewards and other business and financially trained servants from the larger lords to provide a stop-gap of trained individuals.  That was, however, a solution fraught with peril.  If the King, or more likely Lord Stark, mismanaged it then they could easily end up giving some lords far too great an ability to reduce their own taxes or repeat Baelish¡¯s actions in miniature.

    I sighed and sat back.  I hated writing with those fucking quills.  Fountain pens, that was yet another thing to add to a list that just grew longer.  But I was nearly done with my report, the careful documentation of the trickery that Baelish had used and some possible recommendations to fix it.  On my advice, Ned had asked Lord Manderly to come down to King¡¯s Landing; as far as I was concerned, he couldn¡¯t arrive soon enough to start taking this mess out of my hands.

    In my copious spare time from helping organize the largest tourney in at least twenty years and uncovering decades of financial malfeasance there were a hundred and one things to take care of, and more every day.

    Little Arya was homesick, and still feuding with Sansa over the older girl¡¯s failure to support her in that trial near the crossroads.  Luckily Ned had found her a ¡°dancing-master¡± to keep her busy, so over time I needed to spend less time supporting her.  Of course, Arya normally hated dancing.  This type of dancing though was much more to her liking; the man taught Braavosi water-dancing, a sort of Renaissance-ish fencing that used a weapon much more similar to a rapier.  Syrio Forel, her instructor, was the former First Sword of Braavos, and perhaps the single most skilled swordsman I had ever met.  I would have paid good money to see him go up against Ser Barristan, and if I¡¯d had any time to spare would have asked him for lessons myself.

    Sadly, I didn¡¯t.  While Arya had her own issues, her sister Sansa was also quite needy.  In her case she had fallen into something of a depression.  The South was not proving to be the bastion of chivalry and honor that she had hoped, her perfect golden shit of a prince was sent away, her sister was hardly talking to her, her father had been obviously disappointed, the young ladies of the court could be cruel¡­ and she was a fairly stereotypical teenage girl.  I had no idea how to handle that; I didn¡¯t even have sisters growing up, just brothers.

    On the other hand, I did know how to have quiet talks with those who looked to take advantage of her, stalking around the room so that Togo waited behind them just a little too close, his hot breath felt on the back of their neck.  I rarely had to make a second visit.  When I did though I¡¯d time it for when they were practicing in the yard, as most every male of station did from time to time.  An easy drubbing and a whisper in the ear when I picked them off the dirt did for most of the repeat offenders, while a smashed face and a few broken limbs waited for those that couldn¡¯t learn.  If it was a girl who was reported to have been bothering Sansa I did much the same, just to their brother or father.  It was brutal, but it was a language that the people of that time and society understood and even respected.

    Jon Snow, at least of all Ned¡¯s children, I kept too busy to have any of these issues.  Some may have snubbed him for a bastard, but he knew I had his back and I had quickly become one of the most feared members of court.  He knew I was willing to support his position and take action on his behalf, which made him feel much stronger and more secure and thus, as was often the way for those who aren¡¯t totally assholes, meant he didn¡¯t actually need me to act to feel content.  Just knowing that he could have those assholes crushed meant that Jon felt better than he had when Lady Catelyn was looking over his shoulder to find fault.

    Other than being the kids¡¯ friend, protector and backup as respectively needed, I spent a fair bit of time assisting Ned¡¯s investigation into Lord Arryn¡¯s death.  It wasn¡¯t going anywhere fast, and I wasn¡¯t able to help out much with the time I had.  The problem was that we were trying to find out something the man had been investigating over half a year after the fact.  Naturally, as he was the Hand, Arryn had a large number of things he was doing at any point, a good portion of them things he wanted to keep confidential or secret.  So we weren¡¯t just looking for a needle in a haystack, we were looking for a specific needle in a haystack partially full of other needles.

    So far, Ned had mostly figured out that Arryn had been up to something with Stannis, and had been (uncharacteristically) visiting some brothel.  Of course, Stannis was a few hundred miles away on his island, while the guards that had accompanied Arryn to the brothel had gone back to the Vale, so we didn¡¯t know which brothel. Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

    Beyond that, they had both been to visit one of the king¡¯s bastards, a boy named Gendry, who was apprenticing under an armorer.  Again, the underlying reason escaped us.  Perhaps he was just checking up on the king¡¯s blood?  Perhaps he was starting to evaluate whether it might be better to put someone other than Joffrey onto the throne?  We just didn¡¯t know.  Basically, the whole thing was a giant heap of frustration.

    Still, it was sometimes a nice break from what I was doing otherwise.  Like when that one puffed up shit of a knight, Ser Hugh, who had been Lord Arryn¡¯s squire, got uppity.  When Jory, Ned¡¯s captain of the guard had gone to question him he was told that while Hugh would be glad to receive the Hand, he had no interest in being asked questions by a mere captain of guards.  Shit like this was why when they offered me a knighthood I accepted, but some Northerners were so traditional, and against Andal practices, that they refused to become knights even if they could swear to a heart tree rather than the Seven.

    When I heard about the disrespect I¡¯ll admit to having been somewhat frustrated in general.  I had never wanted to be an accountant, and none of the people at court had done anything to justify some stress relieving (for me, at least) ¡°behavioral correction¡± in over a week.  After the first month the assassins had stopped trying to stab or shoot me too, and detecting and avoiding or overcoming poison and the like was much more tedious than invigorating.

    That was one thing I was finding about Westeros.  I kind of liked it.  The danger and everything.  I had known that I liked to spar before whatever I did, or whatever was done to me, to put me in Winterfell.  But what I hadn¡¯t expected was to like the feeling of danger.  I think that, without the magic, I would have hated it.  The risk would have been way too high, the possibility of permanent death or impairment unacceptable.  But with the magic to unbalance the playing field, well, even the danger was pretty fun.  And although I was a bit of a bully, I justified that since it was mostly to other bullies and in protection of the Starks that my actions were acceptable.

    Anyways, Hugh had been uncooperative with Jory, so I paid him a visit.  He knew better than to refuse me, and few people are mouthy when a quarter ton of fanged beast is looking at them like they might taste good.  Hugh was staying in an inn on the Hook, a street off of Aegon¡¯s High Hill where a number of nobles and courtiers had properties.  The inn catered to smaller nobles and knights; they knew who I was when I entered, not that there were many people my height wandering about the place, let alone ones followed by fuck-huge dogs.

    I was lucky enough to catch Hugh as he sat down for dinner, and took a seat on the bench next to him.  When he saw me I could see the realization in his eyes that he had fucked up.

    It might have been my smile.  It was not a kind smile.

    His face was wan. ¡°S-ser Odysseus,¡± he stammered.  ¡°What an u-unexpected pleasure.¡±

    I grabbed him by the hair, pulled his head so that his ear was inches from my mouth.  ¡°IT IS GOOD TO MEET YOU, SER HUGH!¡± I shouted, absolutely bellowed into his ear.

    ¡°Argh!¡± he cried out, winced, tried to bring his hand up to cover his ear.  I slapped it away.

    ¡°CAN YOU HEAR ME?  IS THIS LOUD ENOUGH FOR YOU?¡± I continued to yell at a literally deafening level as if it were normal.  The whole room was looking at us.  Out of the corner of my eye I could see one of the serving girls over-filling a man¡¯s drink; he flinched when the wine spilled into his lap, but kept silent rather than risk drawing my attention.

    ¡°Yes, yes!  I can hear you, I¡¯m not deaf, stop shouting, please!¡± he begged.

    I tossed his head away.  ¡°Really?  Because you seemed to be pretty damned hard of hearing when my friend, Jory Cassel, visited earlier,¡± I said.  He paled even further.  ¡°Now, I¡¯m a busy man Hugh.  The Hand¡¯s a busier one.  There¡¯s the Seven Kingdoms, tens of thousands of nobles, hundreds of thousands of knights, forty million commoners, and just one Hand to keep that all together.  So let me make something clear, in case it wasn¡¯t before.  You should count it a great honor if the Hand pays any attention to you.  If he sends his servant who empties his chamber pots to ask you questions you should be respectful and helpful. When he sends the captain of his guard, I expect you to go above and beyond, to be fucking obsequious!  CAN YOU FUCKING HEAR ME, HUGH!¡± I screamed into his face.

    ¡°Yes, yes!¡± he cried.

    ¡°Good.  Now, Jory would like a word with you,¡± I said, standing up and lifting him by the back of his collar.  I dragged him outside.  ¡°Now, what do you say to Captain Cassel for taking the time to visit you?¡±

    He was just too fucking clueless to answer.  ¡°I, I¡­ sorry?¡±

    ¡°Is that a fucking question, Hugh?¡± I shouted in my best drill instructor impersonation.  ¡°You had best unfuck yourself, or I will unscrew your head and shit in that empty fucking space where your brain should be!  Now, thank the captain, you dumb shit!¡±  I could barely stop myself from bursting into laughter.  This sort of entertainment was really as good as it got in Westeros.

    ¡°T-thank you, Captain,¡± he stammered as Jory looked on in amusement.

    ¡°Well done, Hugh, you can learn!¡± I said exuberantly, grinning and clapping him on the shoulder hard enough to buckle his knees.  ¡°Just see to it you don¡¯t forget.  I¡¯d hate to have wasted my time, and would be forced to take some more extreme measures to make sure the next lesson really sticks.¡±

    He was panickily shaking his head.  ¡°No, no, Ser, that won¡¯t be necessary.¡±

    ¡°Excellent!¡± I said, then left.  When we were a few yards away, Togo started to do this huffing thing that passed for laughter.  I turned to him.  ¡°Yes, that was hilarious.¡±

    And really, it was.  I still laugh thinking back on it, Hugh¡¯s confused face.  Poor kid.  I was so hard on him partially as an object lesson; Lord Stark¡¯s men had been getting a bit of pushback here and there and I wanted to nip that shit in the bud.  Word of our little chat quickly spread and suddenly people were much more cooperative.

    That society was big on public honor, kind of like how the Japanese and Chinese cared about having ¡°face¡±.  No one wanted to be called out in front of their peers and humiliated like that.  It wasn¡¯t quite the end of their life, but it could be a life-long black mark on their reputation, affecting everything from positions they might want in the future, their prospects for military command or marriage, everything really.  For example, after answering Jory¡¯s questions Hugh pretty much had to leave the capital and return home in disgrace.

    So, all of those things kept me busy.  But I did have some time for personal pursuits.  I made sure to work out every day for at least an hour to stay in shape, and sparred a few hours a week.  Purely on my technical skill I was about as good as a standard knight, a little above average with the spear while below average with the sword and shield.  But between my size, fitness, and the advantages my magical cultivation had given me I was a lot stronger and faster, even before applying more temporary buffs.

    I hadn¡¯t had time to develop any new spells, and my continued messing about with sympathetic curses wasn¡¯t successful.  I did however manage to bond just about all the available mana within the Red Keep.  The Godswood gave a single Green.  The keep itself, the sept and the throne room gave a combined three White, while the Library and shoreline gave a pair of Blue.  The Dungeons were good for two Black mana, while the hill everything was built on finally gave me my third Red mana.

    As soon as I finished with writing my report on Baelish and seeing him questioned and dead I planned to start collecting the mana available in the rest of the city, then go on a trip to the Kingswood to fill up on Green before returning along the Blackwater Bay shore to grow my stores of Blue.  I didn¡¯t really have a need for that level of mana, but it could come in useful in an emergency.  Beyond that, I thought I might be able to develop more spells if I used mana senses and mage sight to analyze particularly dense concentrations of mana, but that meant I needed to make the dense concentration in the first place.

    I also wanted to visit the Alchemists Guild and see what they could teach me; wildfire, a particularly nasty substance they could make, sounded like it might have a bit of the supernatural to it.  Even if it didn¡¯t, true Greek fire had been lost to history so it would be interesting to see how the local analogue actually performed.  Beyond that, the Alchemists were known to have been interested in magic in Westeros before the dragons died and magic faded.  Even basic knowledge might prove useful to me.

    Basically, I was like most hard working persons; I wanted a vacation.

    And then, finally, I finished the preliminary report on Littlefinger¡¯s malfeasance.  I got Ned, who summoned Robert, and we went to go question Baelish.

    When we got to the room where he was being held all we found were the cooling corpses of the two Stark guardsmen laying in pools of their own blood.

    The mockingbird had flown away.

    Not ten minutes later I received the report that on his way out, he¡¯d seen to the burning of the building where we were analyzing the records.

 Chapter 12: Tourney pt. 1

    <u>Chapter 12: Tourney pt. 1</u>

    A month later, and Baelish was still in the wind.  Robert had put a princely bounty on his head, a full thousand dragons and a lordship, with five hundred more if Littlefinger was brought in alive.  But despite being hunted by every sell-sword on two continents, and despite Varys¡¯ best efforts, the man couldn¡¯t be found.

    We¡¯d had more luck with his financial empire at least.  The king had sent out a proclamation that those who were Baelish¡¯s partners could come forward, explain their dealings with the man, and receive a full pardon.  He¡¯d even give them two tenths of whatever part of their business Baelish owned, with a tenth going to their local lord, another tenth to their lord paramount, and the remaining six tenths to the Crown.  Suffice to say, there was broad general support for the measure.

    By my best estimates we¡¯d gotten over three quarters of his holdings processed, and most of the remainder were semi-illegal businesses that would go fully illegal or vanish into the wind without Baelish¡¯s patronage.  His overseas holdings were harder to seize, but diplomatic envoys had been sent to petition the local leaders.

    All in all, during his tenure Baelish had managed to take the treasury¡¯s reserve, some two million dragons, and turn it into six million of debt and about eight and a half of property in the Crown¡¯s name.  Another three and a half million dragons worth of coin and property were funneled into his own pockets.  After paying out the rewards for coming forward, Robert¡¯s holdings increased by approximately one and a half million dragons, just under half of what Baelish had taken.

    The only problem that remained was that the ten million dragons worth of businesses and holdings weren¡¯t paying enough profit to cover the interest on the six million dragons of debt.  Not when Tywin Lannister, his son dead and daughter disgraced, was no longer interested in ¡°temporarily forgiving the interest for the sake of good familial relations¡± as he had before.

    One bit of good news was that Lord Manderly had arrived.  He was quickly instated as the Master of Coin, and had prepared to hold an auction for treasury bills and bonds during the Hand¡¯s Tourney.  Apart from entertaining tourists and competitors, the tournament represented one of the greatest concentrations of nobility since Robert had come to power and taken their oaths of fealty, and would be full of diplomatic, dynastic and economic wheeling and dealing.

    I was hoping that we¡¯d raise at least enough to pay off the Iron Bank; not only were their interest rates relatively high, but they and their Faceless Men represented the greatest threat to the Seven Kingdoms should Robert default on his loan.  Unlike Tywin, the Bank owed no fealty to Robert and would be much harder to bring to heel in the event of any hostilities.  The shorter term bills could be repaid with some of this year¡¯s tax income.

    Assuming Ned managed to keep Robert from any truly profligate spending, the Crown would be more financially secure in a year or two than it had ever been.  If I was still around then, I might even see about starting a truly professional, standardized army with the spare money.  Robert would love having one of those to play with, and a Royal Army would help the Kingdoms¡¯ stability greatly.

    ===================================

    Three days until the Tournament begun, and I was already ready for it to be over.  The first wave of competitors and spectators were showing up in ever increasing numbers.  The commoners and merchants weren¡¯t so bad; they were used to being pushed around and following instructions, and knew better than to make trouble.

    The lords and ladies that came to watch though were just needy.  This wasn¡¯t right, that wasn¡¯t right, so-and-so¡¯s pavilion was better positioned, I can¡¯t possibly be next to him ¨C don¡¯t you know that his great granduncle stole away my great aunt¡¯s cousin¡­ It just went on, and on, and on.  An unending litany of bullshit.  The problem was that they were all so used to being the absolute masters of their little slices of the world.  Oh, they behaved fine when feasting in the Red Keep as the king¡¯s guests, but the second they were out in the city and dealing with people who weren¡¯t the king or their lord paramount they became an absolute nightmare.  And the saw no issue in escalating to higher authority.

    Basically, they were the medieval equivalent of those jackass customers for whom nothing was right and they needed to see the manager right now, dammit!  Considering I was the Hand¡¯s assistant, all too often that meant they ¡°needed¡± to see me.  It started about a week before the Tournament as those who had the furthest to travel or least to do arrived, and it just got worse from there.

    My patience lasted two days, and then they started learning just why I had such a bad reputation.  People that complained about their tent¡¯s positions were suddenly relocated next to the latrines, or the bottom of hills where the water would collect when it rained, or horror-of-horrors right next to the rich commoners!

    One person, a fat fuck from the Reach, didn¡¯t quite get the message.

    Fed up, I finally decided to be really clear.  ¡°Of course, my lord,¡± I said, my voice saccharine.  ¡°In fact, I¡¯ll put my best assistant, Togo, onto getting your situation resolved right away.¡±

    Then I called Togo over.  Fatty paled when he saw my ¡°assistant.¡±

    ¡°Togo, this man has some complaints,¡± I said.  ¡°Why don¡¯t you help him resolve them?¡±  Then I walked around the corner and burst into a silent fit of laughter as every time the lump of lard began to speak, Togo just growled so loudly the words couldn¡¯t be heard.  Every time he tried to leave the tent, Togo snarled.  Soon enough, fatty got the message.If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    It was effective, but the problem remained that the new visitors hadn¡¯t heard the rumors, or didn¡¯t believe them, and people were showing up in greater and greater numbers.  So two days after drafting Togo as the final arbiter of complaints, I gathered the servants and other workers together.

    ¡°Alright, I¡¯m getting far too many complaints,¡± I said.  ¡°I don¡¯t like it.  So here¡¯s what we¡¯re going to do.  If there¡¯s a legitimate problem, and you can fix it, do so.  Show a bit of initiative.

    ¡°If it¡¯s not a legitimate issue, I want you to warn them away.  First, tell them how I¡¯ve dealt with annoyances that you¡¯ve witnessed over the past few days.  If that doesn¡¯t work, tell them some rumor ¨C that the last person to come to me with a complaint I didn¡¯t feel warranted was thrown into the latrine pit, or lost a hand to Togo here.  Remind them that I left the Hound crippled using only my hands, that the Kingslayer¡¯s face was eaten by my dog.¡±  By their paling faces, I could tell that those facts had been temporarily forgotten on their parts as well.  I was sure that I¡¯d have a rededicated staff after this, driven by fear if nothing else.

    ¡°Lastly, if it¡¯s a legitimate issue you can¡¯t fix, think about who could fix it, and so long as it isn¡¯t me, try them first.  Likewise, if someone junior to you comes up and wants your help fixing a problem, just ask yourself: is telling them no, and thus their bothering Ser Odysseus, really worth it?

    ¡°Because here¡¯s the promise I¡¯ll make you right now: if you¡¯ve made a true effort, and the reason for bothering me when the city¡¯s dealing with a hundred thousand extra people is truly fair, I won¡¯t be upset.  At least not at you.  But if I¡¯m getting my time wasted because of some idiot reason, everyone involved will be at least as unhappy as I am.  Clear?¡±

    And suddenly my workers were very motivated to see to it that I wasn¡¯t bothered by petty bullshit.

    ===================================

    Of course, that just meant that I had more time to focus on the real problems.  Namely, the massive fucking horde of hedge-knights and young, carefree heirs, sell-swords, free-riders, and assorted others who had descended on the capital.  Unlike the lords, who were typically somewhat older, more decorous, and more insulated by their people when they were off their rockers, the more martially focused and younger crowd were far more exuberant in their celebrations and quicker to get into fights.  Knowing that they wouldn¡¯t be in King¡¯s Landing forever, their men-at-arms were quick to rob and rape, especially when they were drunk.

    In short, lawlessness had descended on the city.  The city watch, called gold cloaks, were ill equipped to prevent it.  Only four thousand strong, they were legitimately out-numbered by the visiting knights and their men.  Even if the gold cloaks had the numbers though I doubted that they¡¯d have been very effective.  Their commander, Janos Slynt, was bent as a fucking spring.  The man had half the officers of the watch paying him bribes for their positions, and in the poorer areas of the city where the commoners wouldn¡¯t be able to complain he was running more of a protection racket than a police force.  Under Slynt¡¯s leadership, the average gold cloak was no better trained or more lawful than the average thug.

    Replacing him was yet another thing that Ned or I needed to get around to, but didn¡¯t have time for.  Nor did we have a good candidate to take charge instead, since so many of their officers were corrupt.  I sure as hell had no desire to take on those duties.  Ser Jacelyn Bywater, a senior gold cloak officer, had a good reputation for honesty, and had fought well at Pyke during the Greyjoy Rebellion.  But he was a Crown-lander, and that region had both one of the higher concentrations of Targaryen loyalists and some of the most politically oriented families.  Varys, who creeped me out as a person and who I distrusted in general as a spymaster backed him, which meant I was pretty much automatically wary.

    The problem with bringing in an outsider was that far too few had experience running a large city watch, and the challenges were different from being a traditional captain of the guard or household knight.  Lannisport had an effective city watch, but everyone there was disqualified for being loyal to the Lannisters.  Gulltown in the Vale was likewise disqualified for being too riddled with Baelish¡¯s men.

    We already had Lord Manderly as Master of Coin for the North, and could hardly put another Stark loyalist in the position so White Harbor was out too.  Oldtown might have provided a good recruiting ground, but it was largely influenced by the Citadel and though they had disavowed Pycelle we were still concerned.  Highgarden was a possibility that Renly liked, but the king was still salty that they backed the Targaryen¡¯s during Robert¡¯s rebellion.

    I actually thought about having Syrio Forel take the job; he had been First Sword of Braavos, and that included overseeing their watch.  But it was seen as too critical a job for a foreigner.  The newly instated Grand Maester Erreck, Pycelle¡¯s replacement, suggested Ser Bonifer Hasty who led a hundred-strong band of soldiers sworn to the Faith of the Seven known as the Holy Hundred.  Neither Stark nor I liked that idea, because it would increase the Faith¡¯s power too much, he might be prejudiced against the Old God followers of the North, and because the man was far too close to breaking the law banning a militant arm of the Faith for someone who¡¯s meant to enforce the law.

    Dorne was out as a source for a new Watch Commander for reasons similar to that of the Westerlands; they were still furious over the deaths their family suffered when King¡¯s Landing was sacked.  The Riverlands didn¡¯t have any cities, just a number of smaller towns.  Ser Brynden Tully, the Blackfish, would have been a great candidate; he was a well-known knight, and had a reputation for tactical flexibility and creativity that spoke to the sort of mind that would do well running the gold cloaks.  Unfortunately, he was protecting his niece, Lysa Arryn nee Tully.  Considering she had recently lost her husband and feared assassins, it was unlikely he would leave her.

    At the end of the day though, Slynt was just too fucking criminal.  It was like having Al Capone as chief of police.  So he was relieved, tried, and sentenced to the Wall.  At least until we found a better option, Ser Jacelyn Bywater was put in charge, and told to clean up the gold cloaks as best he could, getting rid of the hopelessly corrupt and criminal while expanding their ranks from four thousand men to five thousand strong.

    But the gold cloaks, not having had time to reform properly yet, were still totally insufficient for the task at hand.

    Luckily, the solution lied in the cause of the problem; namely, the massive crowds of visiting warriors.  With Robert¡¯s agreement, Ned went about requisitioning support from the lords and knights.  Picking primarily from those hailing from the North, the Riverlands, and the Stormlands, but with some from the Reach, Crownlands and Vale, he asked the lords and knights to lend some of their guards, men-at-arms and other armed men that they had brought who weren¡¯t competing in the Tournament.

    The men got a bit of money in their pockets, their masters got a bit of a reputation boost with the Hand and King, and Ned got a city that was once again under control.

 Chapter 13: Tourney pt. 2

    <u>Chapter 13: Tourney, pt. 2</u>

    Things were still pretty tense though.  The Lannisters had shown up in force.  Hell, they practically brought an army; it was light on infantry, but they must have had at least half the knights of the Westerlands with them.  Considering most knights had a squire and up to six other fighters with them, one and half thousand Westerlander knights were entered, and a worryingly large number of knights had come to watch rather than fight, I estimated that Tywin had a little over twelve thousand fighting men camped near to the city or staying inside it.

    No other part of the Seven Kingdoms had shown up quite so aggressively; most others were more weighted towards competitors rather than heavily armed, grim faced, war-ready ¡°spectators¡±.  Still, there were easily another eight thousand knights and nobles from all over the Seven Kingdoms there to compete, and they had brought some twenty four thousand armed squires and other retainers with them.

    All in all, and counting people who weren¡¯t gentlemen but had shown up for the archery or melee or what have you, a few hundred competitors from Essos, and all the guards for the merchants looking to make a profit, that made for a combined total of more than fifty thousand fighting men in the area.

    That would be bad enough even if they got along; these men were accustomed to war and brutal oppression of the commons, after all.  But given the current tensions between the Lannisters and the factions backing the king ¨C the North, the Riverlands, the Stormlands, and parts of the Crownlands ¨C it was perhaps unsurprising that a number of skirmishes, duels, knifings, and brawls occurred on a daily basis.  We did what we could to keep it contained, but it was hard to stop bands of knights looking for a fight from picking one.

    Ned was worried about his children.  Arya was always off chasing cats around the Keep, or balancing at the top of stairs; it was far too easy to imagine some Lannister lackey arranging an accident for her.  Sansa, meanwhile, was still far too na?ve for her own good, and completely enamored with the idea of meeting so many beautiful ladies and gallant knights.  Although Lady was nearly as large and powerful as Ghost or Nymeria, that direwolf shared the same peaceful demeanor of her mistress and I didn¡¯t trust her to protect Sansa.  I¡¯d have kept the kids together, but their ongoing feud meant it was far too likely that one of them, probably Arya, would run off.

    At least Arya listened to Jon, most of the time; I set him and Ghost to guarding her whenever she was out the of Hand¡¯s Tower, and warned her that if she left without him, or didn¡¯t listen to his safety instructions when with him, I¡¯d have to confine her and Nymeria to her room until the Tournament was over.  Mercifully, she knew better than to test me.

    Sansa was a different problem.  The threats for her direction were both subtle and overt, especially as she was still sort-of engaged to Joffrey.  The problem was that if I guarded her it would make her more of a target to Tywin and his minions.  After all, Togo was the one to kill Jaime.  Unlike Arya, who I thought at risk of attempted assassination, Sansa was much more likely to be kidnapped, kept as a ¡°guest¡± by the Lannisters until Joffrey returned and they could be ¡°happily¡± married.  That or she might unwittingly spill some secret, or be bamboozled by an enemy.

    I was too busy to guard her, and didn¡¯t have anyone else really suitable for the task of standing up to the Mountain Gregor Clegane, or standing up to the Lannister-aligned courtiers in witty exchanges.  I asked Renly and Ser Loras Tyrell if they might shepherd her around Court, guiding her through the tumultuous political dealings.  I suspected they were lovers, after all, and if Sansa wasn¡¯t going to marry Joffrey she could do well with a Tyrell.  I figured that the Lannisters wouldn¡¯t act against the Tyrells and push them into the king¡¯s camp without serious cause.

    That just left Lord Stark to guard.  I was too busy to do so; luckily, Togo was smart enough and deadly enough to do so on his own.  I did warn Ned that if anyone should think to try my dog for a crime that I would call a trial by combat if Togo didn¡¯t simply eat them first.

    Apart from the Lannisters though it was entirely possible for Baelish to target any of us as a final ¡°fuck you.¡±  It was all too likely he¡¯d suborned a servant or five, and poison and the like were easy to use, especially in such an unusually chaotic time as the Tourney when it was common for your usual servant to be temporarily requisitioned and replaced by someone else.

    Really, what the fuck was I thinking having the damned thing last a whole month?

    ===================================

    The tournament started off with the Squire¡¯s Melee and Joust, then continued on with wrestling, foot races, horse races, staff-fights and other, lower entertainments.  There were dueling circles where knights could challenge each other, each putting up some forfeit, and display bouts were fought between some of the best warriors in the kingdom.  Larger circles allowed for team battles.  There were challenges of strength and speed with ribbons for those that managed qualifying scores and small prizes for the winners.  Jugglers, puppet-plays, magic shows and other street entertainment abounded.  There was an air of festival, of celebration, of merry-making and money-making (by those wise enough to take advantage of the opportunities).

    But not so much for me.

    Apart from the aforementioned problems with fighting and other poor behavior, both semi-organized and merely drunk, there were a thousand little issues here and there, and I ended up dealing with far too many of them.  I woke before dawn, and kept going until well into the night.  If it weren¡¯t for Green and White energy boosts throughout the day, I¡¯d have collapsed a couple days into it.Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators!

    Most of those issues were petty.  One was distinctly less so.

    About a week after the tournament started, a servant came to me in a panic.  Apparently a pair of the Stark guardsmen who were off duty had gotten drunk and into a fight.  One of the men there had thought to send for me.  It was awkward for the Hand¡¯s men to be arrested by the gold cloaks, yet they had beaten some minor lordling for speaking ill of Lord Stark, and now said lordling was intent on pressing charges.  Ned was in a meeting with Robert, apparently, and the servant didn¡¯t dare interrupt.

    What a load of bullshit, I remember thinking, not knowing just how correct that thought was.

    So I saddled up Aethon, and requisitioned a horse for the servant, and ten minutes later we were off.  It was late in the evening, the shops already closed as we thundered down the Street of Steel.  I had no idea why any of the Stark Guardsmen would have been drinking out this far away from the Keep.  Perhaps they had been coming the tourney grounds?

    And then I saw the street ahead of me blocked off by mounted men.  A whistle blew and I heard the thumping of hooves all around.  A half dozen crossbowmen popped up on top of the surrounding roofs.  The soldiers weren¡¯t wearing colors, but there was only one man so massive as the one leading them ¨C Gregor Clegane, the Mountain that Rides.

    Some of the men were carrying nets; they meant to take me alive, or knew of my strength and speed and hoped to bring me down that way.  If I hadn¡¯t been able to burn my way through such things it would have been a clever tactic.

    ¡°His Lordship wants a word with you, boy,¡± the eight foot tall monster boomed, his voice deep and growling as I reached down, opening the flap of my arrow holster.  ¡°Best to come easy rather than make me angry.¡±

    I channeled White, Blue, Red and cast my Arrow-Ward, though I doubted how effective it would be.  The spell was designed to deflect a few arrows at a time at a longer range, or protect from two or three up close.  A half dozen heavy crossbow bolts at such a close range was another matter entirely.  I layered a second, then a third on top of that.

    ¡°Then he should have visited me at the Red Keep!¡± I shouted as Aethon wheeled about.  I didn¡¯t know if my arrows would kill a beast like Gregor, and could see that his shield was massive enough and plate was heavy enough that it might even stop them.  Nor did I want to stay still long enough to test my Arrow-Ward¡¯s efficacy.  But I had full faith in shooting down a handful or two of less monstrous foes left to block my rear.  As Aethon turned, I pumped him and myself full of Green, temporarily adding extra Regeneration and physical strength and toughness.

    I accelerated my thoughts, brought my bow up on the men forming up twenty meters behind me and began to fire.  I let loose three arrows in half a second, dropping three of the dozen men in the way.

    Then the crossbowmen fired, their heavy quarrels aimed at Aethon which mercifully made it easy for the Ward to send them into the stones of the street.  If it weren¡¯t for that, they might have broken through all three layers rather than just the outer two.  I winced in pain as some of the colorless mana I had been feeding the spell to keep it active rebounded and missed my fourth shot.

    Getting closer to the blocking force, I needed to make a gap between their spears so that I could punch through.  Grimacing, I fired another two arrows, taking down their horses and sending one side of their formation to the ground in a screaming mass of horses of men.

    ¡°Fly, Aethon!¡± I shouted, my legs holding tight against his sides as he leapt the tangled, tortured, mess.

    As soon as we were no longer in sight from the pursuers, I had Aethon turn down a side street, stopping fifteen meters after turning.  I stood up in the stirrups facing backwards, waiting arrow-nocked for them to come.  Tywin would not be happy with their failing, and so I doubted they would stop the attack at the first failure.

    More fool they; no warrior was so deadly on the retreat as the horse-archer.  The narrow streets made it easy to down a few of the horses at the front of their formation and slow the entire pursuit, which just gave me more time to fill them with my arrows.  Then there was the fact that Aethon was far more agile and faster on the acceleration, an unbeatable advantage since the tight turns precluded moving too quickly.

    As I heard them thundering up to the alley, I drew.  Then I shot the second rider to pass, and the third, fifth and sixth followed in the next second.  They realized I was down the alley, pulling themselves to stop, the now rider-less horses breaking their formation and confusing things greatly.  I kept shooting, a fifth, sixth, seventh, eighth arrow leaving my bow and entering their bodies in succession.

    Then with a roar the Mountain was riding through their formation, his massive bulk and oversized warhorse literally smashing a hole through the confused mess.  I fired two arrows at him, but only caught his thick steel shield.  I had no interest in killing his horse; not yet, not when the Lannister¡¯s chief enforcer was so full of rage and murderous intent that I could lead him through the city picking off his support until I could deal with the man himself.  Before he could catch up to me I was off again.

    The chase continued through the streets of King¡¯s Landing in the dim twilight.  I picked off a man or two each turn until finally it was just the two of us remaining.  ¡°Ser¡± Gregor Clegane, rapist, baby-killer, false knight, the nightmare hound of the Lannisters.  And myself, ¡°Ser¡± Odysseus Gangari, foreigner, mage, a knight unanointed by a Septon, the strong right fist of the Starks.  Had there been a band of witnesses, our clash would likely have been remembered in story and song.

    As it stood, I killed his horse, and put three arrows through his exposed leg before he could get clear.  Then I stood off and put arrow after arrow into each bit of exposed body that I could as he tried to stand.  I got his other leg, forcing the Mountain to lay there on the ground, helplessly trying to cover himself with his shield, to drag himself to cover.

    I just put a pair of arrows through his hand when he tried.

    The Mountain screamed then, and cried, and eventually begged.  And then he lost strength, and his shield fell to his side, and I put an arrow through his head.  Then another, and another, and another.

    Just to be safe.

    Then I patted Aethon, promised him a good rubbing and all the carrots and apples he could eat, and hopped down.  I turned to the saddle bags, reached in, and unfolded a large cloth sack.  I walked over to Clegane and drew my sword with a twisted smile.

    I had some heads to collect.

    After all, I heard a Lannister always pays his debts.  And I intended to collect in full.

 Chapter 14: Tourney pt. 3

    <u>Chapter 14: Tourney, pt. 3</u>

    It took me two hours to track down all the corpses and take all their heads.  A few of the footmen had fallen behind and stayed to guard the bodies; I made sure to kill them too.  Doubtless a handful of the Lannister men had escaped, but I wasn¡¯t worried.  It had been one man against forty and the Mountain besides, and the one had triumphed.

    I had two massive sacks full of heads tied to Aethon¡¯s saddle.  He wasn¡¯t much pleased with the blood leaking onto him.

    ¡°I know, boy, I know,¡± I soothed him.  ¡°We¡¯ll be back to the Keep in no time and it will all be over.  You did such a great job today.¡±

    Aethon tossed his head as if to say of course I did a great job, after all I¡¯m the best horse!

    ¡°Yes, yes you are the best,¡± I said, pandering to his ego.  We passed under the gatehouse to the Red Keep.  I flagged down one of the Stark stablehands and after passing on my orders picked up the two sacks and walked to the Grand Hall.  I could tell that the evening¡¯s feast was still ongoing; despite being on the outs, Tywin had attended each night, sat at one end of the High Table and obviously fuming that Lord Stark was positioned in a place of greater honor.

    I suspected tonight would be no different.

    One of the servants noticed the dripping red and came up to ask me about it.  Then he got close enough to smell the blood, and thought better of it.  He blanched, took a few steps back, turned and left, his body posture hunched and fearful.

    I smiled wryly.  Tonight would do my reputation among the servants no favors.  I suspected I¡¯d be one of the most feared men in Westeros, once my story spread.

    I walked through the doors of the Grand Hall, and into a riot of noise and laughter, the smell of food and wine heavy to my senses.  Jugglers and musicians performed, the guests told stories and argued.  And presiding over all of it, fat, drunk and happy, was Robert.

    ¡°Ah, there he is!¡± he boomed when he saw me.  ¡°Ser Odysseus!  The great Odysseus, whose ideas made my dear friend Ned¡¯s tournament so wonderful!¡±

    Robert was having a blast with the tournament.  He loved even the most common of entertainments, and was an avid fan of the wrestling, even competing himself against one of the champions.  When the man threw him, he laughed, said it would have been different were battle-hammers involved, and gave the man a dozen gold dragons.  The commons loved that sort of shit, and Robert loved being loved by the commons.

    The man was an overgrown child, and the fact that I¡¯d not only figured out how he could have a month of partying, but how he could do so without actually losing much money in the process meant that I was among his favorites at the moment.  He also partially credited me with helping to convince him to send away his wife, and was far happier without her to nag and snipe at him; he preferred his whores anyways.

    ¡°Your Grace,¡± I acknowledged with a bow.  Then I turned to Tywin.  ¡°Tywin Lannister.  You seemed to have misplaced some of your dogs.  I¡¯m returning them to you.¡±

    Then I reached down, pulled out Gregor¡¯s mangled head, and tossed it into Tywin¡¯s chest.  As people began to look on in horror I reached down and upended the sacks.  Dozens of heads fell out and rolled onto the floor.

    The room, once so boisterous, had fallen silent.

    ¡°Now, I don¡¯t know about you,¡± I said loudly, my voice carrying to all present.  ¡°But when a man sends out two score men to ambush one of the Hand¡¯s men, while staying as guest in the Red Keep no less, I call him no man at all.  I call him a traitor, an oath-breaker, a man who violates guest-right.  I call him a coward, gutless for not even being present.  I call him the lowest form of honor-less scum.¡±

    Then I took off one of my gloves, and threw it into Tywin¡¯s face hard enough to break his nose.  ¡°I¡¯m calling you gutless, honor-less, treacherous scum, Tywin.  And unless you¡¯re totally craven, I¡¯ll meet you on the field of honor to settle our differences in the morning.¡±

    And then the hall erupted into pandemonium, the Lannister bannermen trying to push their way forward to their liege lord, women screaming in horror, men shouting in shock.

    Robert stood up.  ¡°HOLD!¡± his voice thundered over the din.  ¡°THAT MEANS SHUT THE FUCK UP, AND GET YOUR ASS BACK IN YOUR SEAT!¡± he swore as his initial order was only partially effective.

    I hadn¡¯t taken my eyes off of Tywin.  The man was shaking in fury.

    Robert looked at me.  ¡°Now, Odysseus, tell me what in all the hells happened.  And then I want you to explain to me why it meant tossing two score heads about my feast.¡±

    Ah.  That might have been a bit hasty, but honestly I was living my life in Westeros partially by the rule of cool.  In other words, if it was ostentatious, ridiculous, overblown and cinematic, basically if it would just make a fucking badass story, I did it.  To be fair, it had worked out for me so far.

    ¡°Yes, Your Grace,¡± I replied.  ¡°A few hours ago, a servant came to tell me that some Stark guardsmen had beaten a lordling for insulting Lord Stark.  This was a ruse.  On my way to the location, the servant darted off down an alley and I found myself faced with the Mountain backed by some two score men.  They had surrounded me and had crossbowmen on the roofs.¡±  A lot of the more martially competent men were looking at me, incredulous that I had escaped such an encirclement.

    ¡°They weren¡¯t wearing colors, of course, but the Mountain¡¯s stature is rather recognizable,¡± I said sarcastically.  Then I corrected myself with a sharp smile.  ¡°Was rather recognizable, I should say.¡±

    I paused a moment to let that fact sink in.  The Mountain, the most dread warrior in all of Westeros, was dead.  ¡°I had my bow and arrows at hand, as per usual, and so shot the horses of some of the men blocking my retreat.  Aethon, my horse, managed to jump over the mess that left.  And then it was a chase through the city where I shot down my pursuers one by one until only the Mountain was left.¡±  People were listening intently.

    ¡°And then I killed him,¡± I said simply, a wide and wolfish smile on my face.  ¡°And then I went and I chopped off his head, and went back and hacked off the heads of every other man that tried to kill me tonight.  And I brought them to the man responsible, so that he could know what outcome his actions wrought.  And so that I could take the price of the debt he now owes me in full.

    ¡°Forty times he tried to kill me tonight.  Forty times he failed.  But unlike Tywin, I¡¯m not incompetent.  When I go against him, I¡¯ll only need the once.¡±

    A man sitting among a group of Westerland lords spoke up.  ¡°There is no proof that Lord Lannister sent Gregor Clegane after you!¡±

    I laughed.  ¡°Please.  We all know he wouldn¡¯t have moved without his master¡¯s order.  Or are you really that weak, Tywin?  I crippled your Hound.  My dog killed your son.  Do you mean to tell me you¡¯re so weak, so pathetic and toothless that you didn¡¯t even try and get vengeance?¡±  I saw it, the moment he snapped.

    ¡°So what if I did!¡± he shouted.  ¡°You were the one that made us enemies, Odysseus.  Without cause, you crippled Sandor Clegane, the Prince¡¯s Sworn Shield.  After a wolf savaged Prince Joffrey, my grandson, you used it as an excuse to kill my son Jaime.  Since then you have seen my daughter removed from court, the prince sent to foster not with me, a former Hand, but with Stannis Baratheon.  So if anyone here is a traitor it¡¯s you.  So what if I sent my men against you?  I¡¯d do it again.  But I won¡¯t need to.  I¡¯ll meet you tomorrow, and I¡¯ll show you the difference between a true warrior and some horse-archer.¡±

    I shook my head.  ¡°You Lannisters are so used to ruling over others, pushing them around, you can¡¯t even recognize reality.  Your Hound insulted the Starks in their own castle.  Your grandson had thought to cut down Arya Stark, an eleven year old girl, for the great crime of fighting with sticks.  If you want to blame someone for that, and for the fight that ended in Ser Jaime¡¯s death, look to your bitch of a daughter.  It was her poisonous words that made Prince Joffrey think that was acceptable, her twisted desire for vengeance that saw Jaime fight a trial by combat over killing a wolf guilty of nothing but protecting her mistress.

    ¡°No,¡± I corrected myself. ¡°Blame yourself.  Blame yourself for whatever broken mentality you have, the mentality you infected your children with, that as Lannisters you are somehow above the rest of the Kingdom.  But blame yourself quickly, because by this time tomorrow you¡¯ll be burning in the hells where you belong.¡±

    The next morning, we met for the last time.

    ===================================

    ¡°You¡¯re a fucking madman, you know,¡± Jon Snow told me as he helped me finish getting my armor on.   He had really been loosening up under my guidance.  ¡°No one else would think to bring down one of the Great Houses by themselves like this.¡±The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    I shook my head.  ¡°It¡¯s not a question of thinking to do something.  It¡¯s a question of is this necessary, and then how do I do it?  The queen hated the Starks.  I could see it the moment she came to Winterfell.  The Lannisters were too powerful at court, too set against your father.  So I had to break them.  And so I did.  It¡¯s as simple as that.¡±

    He looked at me askance.  ¡°Easy for you to say.  A normal man wouldn¡¯t find it so possible.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s where you¡¯re wrong,¡± I replied.  ¡°Even without my special advantages I could have done it.  It just would have been harder, taken longer.  Humans are weaker than animals.  Our health is less robust, our bodies weaker and slower, our senses duller.  But we can think.  And a single thinking man can achieve anything.  Granted, that doesn¡¯t mean they will.  But it means that they can try, that they can take the shot.  That¡¯s all there is to it, Jon.  You need to recognize that you intend to do something.  Then you have to figure out a way how to do it.  Then you just need to get off your ass and carry out the plan.¡±

    He laughed.  ¡°You make it sound so simple.¡±

    I chuckled as well.  ¡°The hardest things always are.  But in half an hour, Tywin will be dead.  The king will fine them millions of dragons, wiping out the majority of the national debt, and burden them with enough taxes that they¡¯ll be hard pressed to maintain their influence in the Westerlands, let alone make more trouble for us in King¡¯s Landing.  I¡¯ll have won.¡±

    ¡°Have I mentioned how glad I am that you¡¯re loyal to my father?¡± he asked, only half joking.

    I smiled.  ¡°Lord Stark is worthy of my loyalty,¡± I said simply.  ¡°Now come on.  Time to show the rest of the world that even the great Tywin Lannister bleeds red.¡±

    I left the tent where I had been preparing.  Jon followed behind me as I walked out onto the Tourney Field.  The stands were full of spectators as the word of the upcoming fight had spread.  It wasn¡¯t every day they saw the Mountainslayer go up against a Lord Paramount.

    I stood twenty meters away from Tywin as Robert announced the fight.  I channeled Blue, and cast Thought Acceleration and improved my combat precognition.  I channeled Green, improving my strength.  And I channeled Red, boosting my speed.

    Tywin and I closed the distance between us.  I was moving slowly, normally, my spear pointed towards him.

    Then he was close enough, and I lunged.  I batted away his too-slow block and with a shriek of cut metal, crunch of shattered bone and squelch of torn flesh drove my spear through his helmet, his skull and out the other side.

    I stepped forwards, braced my foot against his body, and with a twist of my hands and push of the foot freed my spear.

    Tywin¡¯s corpse fell onto the sand, and the crowd went wild.

    ===================================

    That afternoon Tyrion Lannister searched me out.  He was accompanied by a half-dozen men who bristled at my presence.

    Tyrion laughed at them.  ¡°Go on, give us time to talk,¡± he ordered.  ¡°I doubt you¡¯d accomplish much if Ser Odysseus wanted me dead anyways.¡±

    After they moved back a bit he looked up at me seriously.  ¡°I doubt you were expecting to see another Lannister so soon, Ser Odysseus,¡± he said with a self-mocking smile.  ¡°But before I go back to Casterly Rock, I just wanted to say you¡¯ll have no trouble from me.  It¡¯s no secret that I hated my father, and I don¡¯t blame you for his death.  But for all his faults, my brother was always kind to me, so neither will you have any friendship.¡±

    I looked down at him, then nodded.  ¡°That¡¯s fair.  Keep to your lands, Lord Lannister, leave the Starks be, and you¡¯ll have no trouble from me.¡±

    ¡°A truce, then?¡± he asked.

    ¡°A truce,¡± I replied.  I stretched out my hand, and he shook it.

    ¡°I bet my father is rolling in his grave,¡± he muttered as he left, his vigilant guards once more surrounding him.

    ===================================

    Halfway through the tournament was the Great Fair.  And the event deserved the capitalization.  Thousands of foreign and local merchants, tens of thousands of craftsmen, all hawking their wares.  Back in the middle ages, it was hard to find items from far away.  A single long trading loop might take more than a year, and lose one in three ships to bad luck, bad weather, and bad men.  The Great Fair brought all that, all the wondrous animals and foods and plants, the fabrics and clothing, the toys and curios, to one place.

    Then there were the areas less concerned with individual extravagances, and more concerned with general business.  Wool, timber, iron, and dozens of other commodities factors were all in one place with the greatest concentration of other powerful merchants and lords that they did business with.  Massive supply contracts were signed, bets made that could make or break fortunes depending on how different products would perform.

    Of course, it wasn¡¯t just for the wealthier merchants to profit.  The greatest part of the fair was for employment.  Tens of thousands of craftsmen, armorers, skilled laborers, farmers and servants tried to attract the attention of lords or wealthy knights.  The land-owners, for their part, went about with lists of what their territories lacked, picking up a scribe here, a smith there, a dozen unlucky farmers to help expand the fields.

    And all of it, all of it, paying money to the Crown.  Daily fees for merchants that ranged from silvers to golds depending on location and size of the plot.  Some even owed a part of their income.  Even those who were just part of the employment fair had to pay a fee once they were hired.

    And in the middle of this fair was my most profitable undertaking yet; the sale of treasury bills and bonds.  It happened on the third day.  At the same time that Lord Manderly was organizing the auction for the most powerful and wealthy, smaller bills and bonds were available in other locations for those of more meagre means.

    I loved watching the face of the Iron Bank representative, the dawning realization that no longer would the Seven Kingdoms be paying so much when borrowing money.  I was surprised at how popular the 20-year bonds turned out to be, considering that all too many of the visitors wouldn¡¯t live to see the money.  I guess the nobles were used to thinking in long term for things like that, with most of their increases in profits coming from agricultural development.  We offered a 2x payout on the twenty year term if they let the interest ride; that may sound like a lot, until you realize that it¡¯s only a little over 3.5% annual interest.  Compared to the 12.5% the treasury was paying previously, it was a massive improvement.

    All in all, we sold about three million nine hundred thousand dragons of bills and bonds.  There was enough of a surplus after paying back all its outstanding debt for the Iron Throne to open its own bank.  On my advice, it would be focused on small business loans and agricultural credit.

    Not only would the Iron Throne be making more money, but it would be improving the economy in the process.  It would also be a tool to help well-behaving lords and punish ill-behaving ones.  The bank paid out at a higher interest rate than the average for the Crown¡¯s debt: 5% a year including losses compared to the 2.75% that the Crown ended up owing once all of the different debt obligations were tallied.

    Between everything, the Crown went from an expected gain, before extraordinary expenses (ie, Robert), of about a half a million dragons to a much-improved eight-hundred thousand dragons in Summer years.  For Winter years, the expected year-end profit went from losses of about a hundred thousand dragons to gains of about two hundred thousand.

    It was a nice feeling to live in a financially stable country for once.

    ===================================

    The rest of the tournament was less exciting.  I bonded with the grounds, picking up a White and a Red, the latter likely coming from the chaos, martial and festival spirit of the place.

    I also ended up developing a contraception spell.  Nymeria Sand was the second daughter of Prince Oberyn Martell.  She was twenty-five, slim and slender with dark eyes, pronounced cheekbones and olive skin.  Tyene Sand was her half-sister, twenty-three years old with golden hair and blue eyes.  Both shared their father¡¯s hatred for the Lannisters, and decided to show their appreciation for my successes.  We shared a fortnight of wild nights together.

    I knew they were trying to get their hooks into me; they even dosed me with aphrodisiacs and the like.  But I was young, and they were fun and skilled at pillow-sports.  I suspect I surprised them a bit, and not just in resisting their tonics.  My magic gave me literally supernatural stamina and my background in the modern world and all of its vices meant I was rather more creative than most that they¡¯d experienced.  It was great while it lasted, and honestly I was twenty-one; there was just no way I was going to ignore the opportunity.

    Finally, the tournament progressed to the headline events.  Ser Loras Tyrell won the joust, with Ser Barristan coming in second.  Loras was impressive, and still only sixteen.  He chose Summerhall as his prize.  It was a former Targaryen summer home located about halfway between Highgarden and Storm¡¯s End.  It was a good position for his family to have, but I noted that it also left him a lot closer to Renly¡¯s seat.  Further, it wouldn¡¯t be unusual for the Lord Paramount to spend a lot of time visiting his friend and new bannerman...  I had to applaud the move.

    In an incredibly smooth PR move Loras gave a woman a flower every time he won a bout.  Typically, they were white, but the one he gave Sansa was red.  It was a brilliant political move.  The odds were good that Sansa was going to marry someone other than Joffrey.  If Loras, the youngest of the four Tyrell children, could end up married to the eldest daughter of the Lord Paramount of the North and Hand of the King, it would be a massive coup for Highgarden.

    I actually favored having Sansa marry Loras¡¯ older brother, Willas.  The alliance would help the Starks greatly, especially since the Reach was rich in food which could help the North in Winter years.  The Reach as a whole was extremely fertile in both Summer and Winter, and their high productivity and population meant that they could field the largest army of all the regions of Westeros.  That said, their lands were softer than any of the other regions too, save perhaps the Riverlands, and their troops tended not to show the same grit and persistence of other, harsher lands.

    As a note about that; regular years had winter and summer.  Capital-W-S Winter and Summer were something different.  I wasn¡¯t sure if it was magic, a weird orbit, volcanic activity, or something else but Westeros, and indeed Planetos as a whole, experienced these multi-year long mini hot-ages or ice-ages.  So far, they¡¯d been having a particularly long Summer, which meant that the North had a climate similar to Southern England.  During a Winter though things could get much cooler, more akin to Northern Scotland or Moscow.  Famine was not uncommon in Winter, especially in the North.

    Thoros of Myr, a red priest who used a flaming sword, managed to win the melee.   I wanted to talk to him about his god, R¡¯hllor, and religion; the red priests were rumored to be capable of magic, and I was interested in what I could learn from him.

    When competing in the archery I barely managed to come first, narrowly edging out Anguy of the Dornish Marshes.  To be fair, his skill, at least for accuracy, was better than mine.  At war, the range and power of my bow would have been more telling than on the more limited competition field.  Still, I cast my spells as needed, and with the time available could use Destined Shot to ensure perfect placement of every arrow.

    I walked away with the thousand dragons of prize money, not that I really had any need for more money or things I wanted to buy.  Still, if I had a sudden need for five hundred horses or the like I could afford it.  Maybe I¡¯d invest it; start up a paper mill and printing press.  There were worse things to spend the money on.

    With that, the Hand¡¯s Tourney came to a close.  And I could finally relax and work on my own projects.

 Chapter 15: Stannis Visits

    <u>Chapter 15: Stannis Visits</u>

    If the Mountain¡¯s ambush had taught me anything, it was that I needed to improve my capacity to block archers.  Developing a new shield spell and better survivability enchantments moved up in importance.  But those were difficult; something easy was going around King¡¯s Landing and bonding every source of Red Mana I could find.

    Rhaenys¡¯ Hill, Visenya¡¯s Hill, and two from the Dragonpit gave me a total of eight Red bonds, double what I had started the week with.  Then I took a few days to visit the Alchemists Guild.  They were more than happy to have me visit; Robert was not a fan, and they needed every bit of help they could get at court.

    Although they weren¡¯t willing to teach me how to make what the called the substance, known to the rest of Westeros as wildfire, they did let me use a small amount of it.  I even got them to show me a comparison, one teaspoon of recently created substance versus one of the older, aged stuff.  I used Blue to accelerate my thoughts and activated Mage-sight to look deeply into the structure of the wildfire.  It was more than just chemical; the rites and spells they used to make it gave it a subtly woven pattern of Red.  That pattern was weak in the newer liquid, but grew thicker and stronger with age as it slowly fed on available ambient mana.

    It was clear that the Alchemists had some knowledge of true magic, and I wanted it.  Just that small glimpse, a few minutes of flame, had taught me how to create a much more efficient and deadly evocation, a wildfire bolt that only needed a single Red mana and a Colorless to kill.  I could even pump more colorless mana into it, turning into a massive fireball.  Or, with a slight twist, I could make a wildfire flamethrower, again with only a single Red needed to spark the flames then make them hotter, larger, with more Colorless mana to back it up.  In short, a teaspoon of their knowledge was enough to make me a dangerous if crude pyromancer.

    I had no idea what gains my spellcraft would make if I could get more of their knowledge, but I wanted to find out.  Unfortunately, while they were happy to share the lesser mysteries, really just antiquated but quite clever methods of chemistry, especially after I proved my own reasonably advanced knowledge on the subject, they kept the knowledge of their magic locked up tight.  I bonded their Guildhall while I was there, gaining another Red and a Blue mana source, and began to plan how to gain access to their knowledge.

    And then it came to me.  It seemed that as soon as I was properly free, rather than taking a vacation, that I¡¯d be starting to make paper and print books after all.  And the Alchemists, with their ability to make small industrial scale amounts of acids, alkalis, and other chemical substances, were just the people to help me.

    I continued to do the tourist thing though as printing and paper were for the future, paying a visit to the Great Sept.  I visited and bound the library there, for a Blue mana, and the Sept itself was enough of an object of veneration to grant me a pair of Whites.

    I was preparing for my trip to the Kingswood, where I planned to pick up some more Green mana before performing another series of personal cultivation upgrades and experiment with my magic, when I was given some worrying news by Arya.

    Her first recounting of events was hurried, confused, even a little panicked.  But I got her some water, hit her with a bit of White for calm, some Blue for memory, and went through everything with her until I had all the details.

    During one of her escapades, something involving searching for a cat, but then running from the prince and princess, then being lost in the tunnels, she heard a pair of people speaking.  She didn¡¯t recognize them, not even when I helped her recollection with a bit of Blue, but one of them was somewhat familiar, likely from within the Keep.  The other sounded foreign, though Arya was too young and inexperienced to tell from where.

    The fat foreigner was trying to get the familiar one who at the very least looked like a guard to delay Lord Stark¡¯s investigation of Lord Arryn¡¯s death, preferably by killing Ned.  Apparently he was getting close to some truth, something that they hoped to use but that might be lost if Ned uncovered the secret.  The bastard boy and a book, both within Ned¡¯s knowledge, were defined as essential clues.

    They talked about a princess and a khal, and how they would not move until their child was born; from that I understood they meant Daenerys, who had recently married or was about to marry Khal Drogo.  They were worried about Renly bringing Margaery Tyrell to court and helping her seduce Robert.  I could see why; this would firmly bind the Tyrells to the Crown, and leave the Targaryen pretender with only Dorne¡¯s support in the event of an invasion.

    What Arya had heard about this plot was both good and bad news.  The existence of the plot, the reach of it; that was bad.  But the fact that apparently the conspirators were looking at an ever-more precariously balanced tower of cards, that they feared being defeated by the actions we were already taking; that was good.  Until the conspiracy was vanquished though we needed to take certain measures.

    Arya and I spoke to Ned, and we improved the security again.  All laundry was done only by Winterfell servants, food prepared and served by Winterfell servants.  All non-Winterfell servants were forbidden from the Hand¡¯s Tower, and Togo and I went along looking for and locking off any secret passages.  At all times outside of the Hand¡¯s Tower either Togo or I escorted Ned, and Arya and Sansa were only allowed out in the presence of their direwolves and at least a pair of armed guards.  Similar measures were taken for the king, but with Baratheon loyalists substituted for Starks.

    Then two days later, Stannis Baratheon decided to finally come back to King¡¯s Landing.  Though he had a seat on the small council as the Master of Ships, I hadn¡¯t yet met the man, not in the three or so months that we¡¯d been in King¡¯s Landing.  His ship was sighted in the morning, and he was on time to make the afternoon meeting of the council.

    It was mostly business as usual except for three things.

    First, Robert was present.  After I cured him of his poison and restored some of his vitality, he had been spending less time drinking.  After seeing the tournament his martial spirit had been kindled and he spent much more time in the yard training.  Far less unfit and more energetic, he had started to attend the small council meetings at least semi-regularly.  I think that the fact that things were going well with the realm, and that his terrible fucking shrew of a wife wasn¡¯t there to bother him helped.

    Second, Varys smelled of fear to Togo¡¯s senses.Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.

    Third, Stannis asked Lord Stark, Renly and Robert for a talk afterwards.

    I looked to Ned, to see whether I should come inside a smaller study with them or guard the door.

    Robert rolled his eyes at me.  ¡°You may as well come, Odysseus,¡± he said.  ¡°I think that if you weren¡¯t loyal I¡¯d be fucked anyways, and I know how you worry these days when Ned¡¯s out of your sight!¡± He laughed a bit, to show that there were no hard feelings with the mockery.

    Stannis gave me a considering look, then nodded himself.  ¡°Yes.  And it was his actions more than any¡¯s which gave me the freedom to broach this subject,¡± he stated.

    Stannis was a bit of an odd duck.  He was tall and strong, the sort of man that might be seen as handsome in the Seven Kingdoms if it weren¡¯t for the fact that his face was locked into a permanently dour and grim visage.  He was obviously uncomfortable in social situations, even more so if they involved women.  Honestly, I thought he might be a bit Asperger¡¯s.  That or he had a negative charisma score.

    Robert had the Lord Commander as his kingsguard for the day, so he joined us too.

    The six of us went to a room that the king was relatively sure was secure.  Togo and I checked to make sure, then I left him outside to ensure there weren¡¯t any eavesdroppers.

    Stannis looked somewhat faltering, as if he wasn¡¯t quite sure how to say what he wanted to.  ¡°There¡¯s no easy way to say this.  I know why Lord Arryn was killed, what secret he died to protect,¡± Stannis stated.

    Robert was suddenly immensely serious.  Arryn had been like a father to him.  ¡°Well, speak then,¡± he ordered.

    ¡°It was Cersei Lannister,¡± Stannis spat out finally.  ¡°She was unfaithful, Robert.  None of the children are yours.¡±

    And suddenly it all clicked.  Genetics.  I hadn¡¯t been thinking of fucking genetics, too happy trundling along through this fantasy land to stop and analyze the way I should.  What were the odds that the children of a blonde woman and a man with black hair are blonde?  Not just once but three times?

    Robert¡¯s face was white with rage.

    ¡°This is the secret,¡± I said as everyone turned to me.  ¡°Arya overhead someone talking in the tunnels beneath the dungeon the other day.  About how Lord Stark had the book and the bastard, and would soon figure things out.  That it would have things falling apart much too soon, too soon for Daenerys or some future child with her husband Khal Drogo to press a Targaryen claim.  If this had come out at just the wrong time, if Joffrey and Tommen had already been married into great houses, allied with them, if the king was too old to have more children¡­ the realm would have burned in the fires of war.¡±

    ¡°Who,¡± Robert growled.  ¡°Which traitor slept with my slattern of a wife!¡±

    Stannis looked him straight in the eye.  ¡°Her brother.  Jaime Lannister.¡±

    I dodged out of the way as Robert stood up, heaved and flipped the massive solid oak table over in his rage.  The thing must have weighed four hundred pounds.  He stood there panting for a moment.

    ¡°Incest,¡± he snarled.  ¡°That fucking bitch was going to put the product of incest on my throne!  Ned, draw up a proclamation.  I want her here with all haste to stand trial for her crimes.¡±

    Renly decided that then was a good time to stoke the flames a bit.  ¡°And what of the children?¡± he asked slyly.  I interrupted.  I may have been a cruel bastard sometimes, and put more blood on my hands since coming to this land than I had ever expected, but I wanted no part of sentencing children to die.

    ¡°Joffrey¡¯s a little shit, but the other two are pleasant enough,¡± I said.  ¡°As Your Grace may recall, I have some small achievements in medicine.  I could make it so that your future heirs need never fear a pretender from those three, and we could announce that fact; unlike one of the surgeons they wouldn¡¯t even need to feel any pain.  Joffrey should take the Black, while Tommen may join either the Citadel or the Faith.  Myrcella might join the Faith as well, or retire to Lannister lands if Lord Tyrion will have her.¡±

    Ned nodded.  ¡°That would be an honorable solution, Your Grace.¡±

    Robert had sunk back into his chair, exhausted.  ¡°Very well.  Make it so.  Was there anything else?  Because I find myself in a sudden need to get drunk and fuck a whore who doesn¡¯t claim to be my wife.¡±

    Renly and I both nodded, so I gestured at him.  ¡°Please, my lord, proceed,¡± I offered.

    ¡°Thank you.  I don¡¯t know if it¡¯s too soon, but we might want to consider who you might take next to wife.  Margaery Tyrell is young, beautiful, pleasant, and likely able to have a number of children.  Furthermore, she would weld Highgarden close to the throne which can only help our cause against any future Targaryen pretenders.¡±

    Robert looked at his brother as if Renly were mad.  ¡°I haven¡¯t even executed the last one yet, and you¡¯re already trying to marry me off again, brother?¡± he asked incredulously.

    Ser Barristan interjected.  ¡°I¡¯ve heard the same of her, and it¡¯s worth at least bearing in mind.  Still, there¡¯s no need to make such a decision today, and in fact any agreement should have the wedding at least five or six months after Cersei¡¯s execution for propriety.¡±

    Robert turned to me.  ¡°Odysseus.  Please, tell me you¡¯re not trying to get me married off too.¡±

    I grinned.  ¡°No, Your Grace.  I¡¯ll leave that in the capable hands of your brother,¡± I joked.  ¡°I was more worried about the identity of the conspirator within our walls.¡±

    Robert nodded.  ¡°I had forgotten about that.  Do you have a suspect?¡±

    I grimaced.  ¡°I do, but little evidence.¡±

    Robert¡¯s eyebrows raised.  ¡°Well, out with it.¡±

    ¡°Varys, Your Grace.  He isn¡¯t far enough off of the physical description of the guard that Arya gave to remove him from suspicion, and there are precious few who are well placed enough and have enough contacts to know so much about what is going on.  He has numerous foreign contacts, and supported the Targaryens despite Aerys¡¯ madness.  We have only his own word that he is true now.  Either he is a leader in this conspiracy, or he has turned a blind eye to it, or his whisperers have no word of it.  Of those possibilities, I do not believe in his ignorance.¡±

    Robert mulled it over for a bit.  ¡°I find I agree with your arguments.  Does anyone disagree?¡± he asked.  No one spoke up.  ¡°Very well.  Then, Ser Odysseus, I charge you to hunt him down.  Bring him in alive if you can, but better dead than supporting the fucking madmen who believe themselves dragons.¡±

    I nodded, and with that our meeting ended.

    ===================================

    Immediately after, Togo and I left to track down Varys.  His scent trail didn¡¯t leave in the direction of his quarters.  It seemed that he had decided the game was up, or at least that he would absent himself on ¡°important business¡± until he knew which way the wind blew.  He was good; he switched clothing, added different layers of scent, moved through secret passages and tunnels.  It might have worked against a normal hunting hound.

    It was totally ineffective against Togo.

    Togo trotted after Varys, and I jogged after Togo, and soon enough we came to him.  He had taken a secret passage out of the Keep, and was on a narrow path that went by the water.

    He heard me, and looked up in resignation.  ¡°Ah, Ser Odysseus.  You know, I thought that if anyone would catch me it would be you.¡±

    ¡°Surrender, Varys,¡± I offered.  ¡°Don¡¯t make this harder on yourself than it has to be.¡±

    He smiled bitterly at me.  ¡°Really?  That¡¯s the best you can do?  You and I both know how this ends, Odysseus.  With me screaming and screaming as my secrets are torn from me one-by-one.¡±

    I shook my head.  ¡°I know better ways of questioning a man than that, Varys.  It needn¡¯t hurt.¡±

    His face was full of hatred then.  ¡°What, you¡¯ll use your magics on me?  I¡¯d rather the torture.¡±  I was surprised, and he could tell.  ¡°Did you really think that your magic was a secret?  With that animal of yours at your side?  I am not such a fool, and I know well the dark acts practiced by your sort,¡± he spat.

    I shook my head.  ¡°I very much doubt you have ever met anyone who practices magic the way I do, Varys.  But you have my word, on my honor and my lord Stark¡¯s, I will not use magics on you to question, compel, or torture.¡±

    He looked conflicted for a moment, then resolved.  ¡°I wish I could believe you.  Everything I did, I did for the realm.¡±  And then he jumped, head first, and dashed his skull against the rocks.

 Chapter 16: Kingswood Vacation

    <u>Chapter 16: Kingswood Vacation</u>

    After I brought back Varys¡¯ body as proof of his death, I took care of Tommen and Myrcella that night.  It was a cruel thing to do to a child who¡¯s only sin was having the wrong father, but civil war would have been crueler.  Tommen was sent off to the Citadel under guard, while Myrcella went to the Faith, both in tears, their worlds shattered.

    I couldn¡¯t stand to watch.

    The next two weeks passed with me taut with stress as I waited for Joffrey to arrive.  Security was extremely high as groups of Baratheon and Stark guards explored through the tunnels and masons were brought in to seal them up.  There was the fear that Varys had passed on his knowledge to the other conspirators and that a band of assassins or infiltrators could enter from below.

    Finally Joffrey arrived, swearing and fighting his fate.  Another application of Red mana and he was sterile, a bit of Green to make sure it healed in a way to be permanent.  And then he was off for the Wall.

    A week after that Cersei arrived and was executed, and I finally breathed easier.

    Robert had two strong brothers, and Stannis a child of his own.  There was no possibility that a civil war would break out on his death, and so less incentive to kill him.  Varys, likely the leader of the Westeros side of the Targaryen conspiracy, was also dead.  If someone were to just bring in Baelish¡¯s head I would be perfectly content.

    Robert wanted to make me the new Master of Whisperers, which I adamantly refused.  Fuck that.  I didn¡¯t want an unending, thankless job, and I sure as shit didn¡¯t want to become the Seven Kingdoms¡¯ Spymaster.  That just sounded miserable.

    No, I needed to get away for a bit.  So I absconded with a young raven from the Rookery, and fucked off to the Kingswood for a proper break.  It was time to work on my magic.

    I named my new raven Nevermore because I was a massive nerd and found it funny.  I had decided that I wanted an aerial scout, messenger and spy, and Nevermore was going to be it ¨C after I modified him, of course.  At first I was going to go for a bird of prey, the kill-iest I could find, because what red-blooded man-child doesn¡¯t want to have a massive golden eagle or gyrfalcon swoop down on his enemies?

    But then I thought about practicality, about how if I ended up in another world and got to bring my pets with me that I probably should have a peregrine falcon.  Golden Eagles were for emperors, after all, and gyrfalcons for kings, whereas peregrines could be for anyone from a knight to a duke.

    But practicality is like quicksand; after you get stuck in it, you can¡¯t get out.  I quickly realized that people might put together the peregrine I had as a pet, and the bird spying on them from the trees.  So I settled on a raven.  Of course, it was a Citadel raven, which meant it had been part of a centuries long breeding program for intelligence, loyalty, sense of direction, and flight speed.  But it was still a pretty common looking black bird that you could find in just about every environment on earth.

    Before I boosted Nevermore, I needed to get into the right frame of mind.  I settled into the Kingswood, meditated for a day while bonding a couple Green mana, and then I was ready.

    I was trying something new with Nevermore.  I had had a decent idea of how to boost myself, worked out over several months, and then applied similar principles to Togo.  In other words, slow, careful, controlled and purposeful improvements.  For Nevermore, I was going to go with more power, a bit of intent, and some prayer to lady luck.  Hopefully he¡¯d have some beneficial magical mutations which I could then reverse-engineer and apply to myself and my other furry friends.

    First, I gave Nevermore as much strengthening as I could without making him unusually large.  He was a very glossy, powerful example of a raven when I was done, and his frame hid magically powered muscles that should have made him stronger than pretty much anything within his weight class and faster than anything relying on natural biology to fly.

    As a side note, I really wanted to get my hands on a live dragon.  No way were those things natural flyers, and I wanted that magic.  The bones and scales I¡¯d collected were impressive and useful, but I wanted to fly like a real wizard, under my own power, unlike that eagle-riding has-been Gandalf.

    After that, I tried out a new enchantment I thought should work, called the Projectile Shield.  I wasn¡¯t willing to test it on Togo, of course, but I wasn¡¯t attached enough yet to Nevermore.  If it failed, there could always be a Nevermore II, III, IV, and so on, after all.

    This enchantment was an improved and permanent shield, much like the Arrow-Ward in effect.  Unlike the Arrow-Ward though, it was permanent.  Though it could be overwhelmed, it would siphon from ambient energies and the user¡¯s excess energy to recharge over time.  I got the inspiration for that part from the wildfire.

    I couldn¡¯t quite manage to fully optimize it yet, but in the future I wanted the shield to be able to share energy with other nearby Projectile Shields. Really, I just liked the image of a group of my enchanted animals charging through a concentrated hail of arrows or bullets to rip apart the enemy.

    The Projectile Shield was also a move towards a more finely defined conceptual application of the White ideal protection.  The earlier Arrow-Ward was a clunky thing of White to protect, directed by Blue to detect incoming energies, and Red to push them away.  It worked almost entirely on my physical understanding of the world, and though it used magical energies to do so, was really no different from a modern counter-rocket system you might find.  It had that same sort of detect-analyze-react procedure.

    The new Projectile Shield in contrast didn¡¯t use the Blue and Red parts.  Instead, it was more of a imposition of the concept of being defended from incoming projectiles.  I¡¯d decided to focus on projectiles because by doing so I could push the outer boundary of the shield further from the body.  That was good in case I ran into explosives in the future, but even dealing with arrows, stones, bullets or other simpler threats it allowed for a longer time to decelerate the projectile and bleed off the kinetic energy.  That made it more than twice as efficient against projectiles compared to a tighter body-hugging shield, and I figured that with my growing strength and speed I had less and less to fear from someone in close quarters.

    I wove the structure of the enchantment, and began tying it to Nevermore¡¯s essence.  It was easily the most complicated enchantment I had to date, mostly because all my previous ones were more in line with enhancing things that were already there or working within the crudest form of that color of Mana.  But eventually I managed it, and Nevermore was arrowproof.

    Well, at least for one arrow, even if it was a ballista bolt or something, though a heavy trebuchet rock or cannon shell might break through.  After that, depending on how much it strained the spell, the shield could go down.  For normal arrows, it would take three to five at the same time to totally take down the shield, or half a dozen within about five to ten seconds.  I wasn¡¯t able to test it that easily, and the spell was designed to work on living creatures so it was somewhat cruel to experiment with.

    I realized after putting the first Projectile Shield on Nevermore that I could, at least in theory, add a second, even a third.  Unfortunately, that took more skill than I could manage for such a small creature.  I decided to leave Nevermore for a day or two in case there was an adverse reaction, and continue to ride east towards the Wendwater River, bonding another three Green Mana as I went.

    Once I felt confident Nevermore wasn¡¯t going to spontaneously explode or catch cancer or something, I applied the same Projectile shield to Togo and Aethon.  Being much larger, and with my growing familiarity with the spell, I managed to stack it onto them three times each.  Basically, as one shield went down, the next would cycle in making it much, much harder to take my precious pets down with ranged weapons.  I even managed to get it on myself twice.

    Next I wanted to see if I could induce beneficial magical mutations or adaptations.

    I started pushing Blue into Nevermore, filling him up with it.  I was trying to meditate on the concept of air, of flight, while I did so.  I wanted something that would at least allow him to fly further, faster, longer.  Optimally, it would give him some controlled air magic, but I wasn¡¯t holding my breath.

    Eventually, as I somewhat predicted, he developed something, even if it wasn¡¯t the full-blown air magic that I¡¯d hoped for.  By careful observation, Nevermore always seemed to have favorable winds.  Whether an updraft when climbing or a tailwind when flying, it was just that little bit of assistance, but it made a big difference in speed and aerial agility.

    It wasn¡¯t amazing, but I applied it to Togo, Aethon and myself as well.  It helped our ground speed a bit, and if nothing else when we were hot a nice breeze would blow.Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    With the Blue evolution completed, I added in the final enchantments.  These were linked, allowing me to see out of Nevermore¡¯s eyes, and for him to hear my voice.  They were based on the sympathetic research I had been doing to try and kill all the Lannisters via the Kingslayer¡¯s blood.  That research hadn¡¯t succeeded, but I did manage to figure out how to cast a link between two creatures which I was touching, in this case myself and Nevermore.

    Then it was pretty easy to set that link to be specifically one way for visual or auditory information.  I put in a weak White ward which could be deactivated to activate the sending/receiving aspect of the link.  Nevermore got a Visual send only, and we both got audio send/receive.  That way I could close my eyes and see what he saw, and I could speak and relay new orders to him while he was in the field.  Similarly, if he was listening in on some conversation, he could relay it to me.

    I also boosted his memory and intelligence.  Ravens were actually already capable of speech, and that way he could remember conversations and relay them to me later.  I gave him an everclean feathers enchantment, and loaded his mind with a bit of extra White so he¡¯d be calm and patient when flying and spying.

    With Nevermore to fly backup, I wouldn¡¯t walk into another ambush like the Mountain¡¯s again.

    Since I managed to achieve the main pet upgrade of the trip, I had a bit of spare time to gather more Mana and practice some other spells.

    I had been avoiding evocation, or combat magic, for a few reasons.  First, I was originally pretty weak.  I didn¡¯t want to be burned as a witch.  Second, they were flashy as fuck, and I was avoiding being a really obvious, scary mage.  I much preferred being seen as a fairly obvious, scary warg-knight loyal to the Starks.  I fit in to Westeros¡¯ understandings of magic that way.  Third, I used to have only the smallest reserves of Red which introduced a limit to my ability to cast proper battle magics.

    But I was no longer so weak, and I had three times more Red mana than I did just after I arrived at the Red Keep.  It was enough to be a pretty respectable battlemage.  And while I didn¡¯t want to be too scary, I was soon approaching the point where I would be needlessly hampering myself not to develop truly effective combat magic.  My best spell before entering the Kingswood in that regard was a variable strength wildfire bolt, and I learned that almost by accident.

    I¡¯d done some reading on myths and legends.  Westeros had, apparently a long time in the past, been under assault by zombies and their ice-demon overlords in the North.  Those dudes hadn¡¯t been active in millennia, but I figured that extra-magically-destructive fire was just the thing to fuck them up if they decided to make trouble.

    On the other hand, dragons had been around as recently as a few centuries ago.  I figured the odds were higher of my getting into a fight with one of them.  Mostly because I intended to track down a dragon and get every single bit of magical knowledge out of its body I could.  Then I wanted to get a dragon for a pet.  Aethon was awesome, but Smaug was going to be even better.

    Unfortunately, wildfire was known to be ineffective against dragons.  It didn¡¯t always even work against the dragon-riders, since apparently some of those Targaryens were naturally fire-proof.  I should probably add tracking down Valyrians and seeing if I could find a fire-proof one to my projects, come to think of it.

    And no, not by setting them on fire and seeing if they lived.  I¡¯d have to develop good enough scanning magics to be able to detect the active or inactive magic in their body, blood, or whatever else it was attached to.

    Anyways, I decided that I wanted a different combat spell option than just killing it with (wild) fire.  Not that that was bad, I was as fire-loving as the next mage, but I felt it lacked a certain breadth.

    Also, I just couldn¡¯t call myself a proper battlemage until I could cast chain-lightning.  So obviously, I had to develop that.

    First I figured out a basic Lightning bolt spell.  It was a very fast spell, and it automatically hit the target since I was effectively designating them as a ground and then using magic to make a conductive path between my finger (where the bolt started) and their face/chest (which then exploded).  Better yet, it was efficient and scalable.  It cost a full Red and two Colorless to cast, and I could add as much Colorless as I wanted.  That was pretty expensive, but the damage was well worth it, capable of splitting fat oaks in half even at minimum charge.

    Then I was playing about with having the starting point be somewhere other than my hand.  This led me to develop what I jokingly termed Tribulation Lightning (because it came from the heavens on a clear day).  Unlike the previous Lightning bolt spell, this one called a lightning bolt down from the sky to strike the target.

    It was a little more subtle, and I figured I could easily use it on those perceived as wicked, liars, etc. to simulate heavenly wrath.  It did need a bit more energy than a standard bolt though, consuming an extra Red mana per casting without all that much extra power for the added cost.

    Then after a couple days of experimentation and wanting it really, really hard I figured out how to do Chain Lightning.  While I could make it look like Sith Lightning, that was really far less effective than having the Lightning bolt fly out and pinball between different targets.  It was as expensive as Tribulation Lightning, and easily the most effective targeted anti-personnel spell.

    As opposed to a big wildfire fireball, which basically just burnt the fuck out of everything, I could even have the chain lightning avoid jumping to specific targets in an area, perfect if I ever ended up in a hostage situation.  Well, I could do that about half the time if I concentrated hard; suffice to say, it was a proof of principle but needed more practice.

    After a few days of playing with Lightning, doubtless scaring the shit out of the local wildlife and any poachers or bandits, I decided to get a move on and finish up my Mana collection.  By the time I was back where I entered, I¡¯d picked up a total of seven Green Mana, doubling my supply of that resource, and three Blue mana, two from the Wendwater and the last from where it fed into Blackwater bay.

    I still had a couple days left before I had told Ned to expect me back, so I settled in to meditate a bit.  I was going to try something pretty risky, first on Nevermore, then on the rest of us if it worked.  I¡¯d taken a bit of dragon bone from the wings and skull of one of the skeletons hidden away inside the Red Keep.  The magic of it was dead, mostly, but I could sort of sense what it used to be, and even without magic the bones were a miracle of biological materials.

    Obviously, I wanted to use the bones to replace our own.  Dragon bones were a lot stronger, and I suspected that they¡¯d allow for greater saturation and conductivity of magic within the body.  If I could make my bones effectively indestructible while making them lighter it would be an advantage, making me tougher and faster at the same time.

    First I tried the most basic way of doing it that I could think of.  I took a bunch of Green and suffused it into both Nevermore and the bone.  The bone needed a bit of Red, probably because dragons connected to destructiveness, freedom (for the dragon) and fire, so I added some Red to the Green.  Then I basically thought really hard at the Green that if Nevermore¡¯s bones were like that it would be a better animal; faster, stronger, swifter, more attractive to mates.

    To my surprise, it actually worked.  When I scanned Nevermore¡¯s bones, they were distinctly Draconic.

    Then I started to think.  If that worked for regular dragon bones, what would happen if I improved them first?  Made them stronger, better, with Green and Red.  Gave them better arcane properties with Blue.  Infused them with White, adding to the bone structure¡¯s order so that they are stronger and can resist even conceptual damage, reinforce the dragon¡¯s conceptual protection against magic so that a small amount of that carries over to the person using the bones.

    I decided to try it out; I had a couple pieces of bone anyways, so if I accidentally destroyed one it was fine.

    Nevermore¡¯s transformation from dragon bone to improved dragon bone, or dragon bone mk. II, took a lot more energy than the original, as I had to supply the extra White, Blue, Red and Green, but it worked.

    Of course Togo, Aethon and myself were a different story.  The transformation was magically expensive, so I had to go slow, meditating for hours while I balanced out the transformation with my mana supply.  Luckily, despite my utter failure to repeat my dimensional transportation while meditating, I had kept up my practice in the art of sitting still and focusing, and was able to manage it.

    With my bones upgraded I went in for a whole new series of improvements in my body cultivation.  My bones had previously been a limiting factor in my strength, the Green taking to the muscles and tendons more efficiently than the supporting skeletal structure.  I also had a lot more mana available, and better control of it, so when I infused myself with those energies it was far more effective than before.

    In the process, I naturally upgraded the oakflesh enchantment.  Using a familiar fantasy naming convention, I wanted to call the new version ¡°ironwoodflesh,¡± but that sounded fucking awkward, so I decided to call it ¡°oakflesh II¡± until it was good enough to qualify as stoneflesh.

    I massively strengthened my body, gaining at least twice the bonus from the permanent magical effects than I had had before.  Previously, I might have been able to match the Mountain in a contest of physical strength; now, I could easily best him.  The excess of Green further developed my muscles, pushing my baseline closer to the limit of what I could achieve.  There was still room to improve, but I was at least on the level of a top physical athlete.

    The bones also served as a good conductor for Red, which meant that I was not just reacting faster, but able to move faster in general.  It was almost like a freedom from the restrictions of physics that limited my motion, a kind of conceptual speed and freedom of movement, rather than the simple improved physical performance that Green could achieve.  Likewise, with more Blue mana available, I could push my inherent precognition further, had a finer sense for mana, and gained even faster, clearer thoughts.

    The effects of the White also improved.  I gone from a mild, to moderate, to significant store of healing energy, ready to recover wounds automatically.  The skin-tight conceptual defense had improved with my finer understanding of the concepts of White¡¯s protection as well, providing a back-stop of resistance for anything that managed to penetrate the Projectile Shield.

    Even my Black¡¯s aggressive protection against foreign toxins and diseases seemed to be operating slightly more efficiently.

    I passed similar upgrades on to Togo, Aethon and Nevermore.  Then, with my time up, I decided to return to stinky, smelly, civilization.

    Another thing to add to the list.  Have Robert spend extra income on a proper sewage system.

    I hadn¡¯t managed to get everything I wanted to done.  The last item on the agenda was to try and figure out how to generate and implant graphene or carbon nanotube subdermal body armor.  I had high hopes for it, and believed that the absolutely ordered structure would make it easily reinforced by White.  Still, I didn¡¯t have time for it, so I was forced to leave it be until later.

    Honestly, I was pretty happy with the progress I had made.

    Then I got back to King¡¯s Landing and found out Robert had been poisoned.  Again.

 Chapter 17: Marriages

    <u>Chapter 17: Marriages</u>

    ¡°Your Grace, we really must stop meeting this way,¡± I drawled as I entered Robert¡¯s room.

    He laughed before wincing in pain.  ¡°Odysseus, you cruel bastard,¡± he gasped.  ¡°Everything hurts.  Don¡¯t make me laugh, I beg.¡±

    I sighed, shook my head.  ¡°Really, Your Grace.  What happened this time?¡± I asked as I began to treat him, once again pretending to use Chinese massage.  It went much faster with my improved reserves and greater finesse, but he had been in quite poor shape.  If it weren¡¯t for some upgrades I had made to his kidneys and liver the last time, he would likely have died before I made it back.

    ¡°Ah, one of the servants.  Had some debts.  Was told he could either put something in my food, or die.  The fool.  I would have paid him twice that to have a chance at these fucking traitors,¡± Robert grumbled.

    I hummed.  ¡°And there was no one found?  The man behind the servant escaped?¡±

    Robert nodded.  ¡°Aye.  And a fucking shame it is too,¡± he said darkly.  ¡°I swear, when I catch whoever¡¯s behind this, I¡¯ll shove my hammer up their throat.¡±

    ¡°Up their throat, Your Grace?¡±

    He smiled viciously.  ¡°That¡¯s right.  Up their throat.  Starting a good bit lower, of course, through a different hole entirely.¡±

    I chuckled at the imagery.

    ¡°I think it¡¯s clear, Your Grace, that we need to get a new Master of Whisperers sooner rather than later,¡± I suggested.  ¡°And perhaps have new servants brought in from men loyal to you and your brothers.¡±

    He grunted as I worked on a particularly tight spot.  ¡°You¡¯re not the first to suggest it.  Going to tell me who I should marry too?¡±

    ¡°Well, as you mention it, I still think Lady Margaery might make a good choice,¡± I said, pretending that his question had been serious.

    His eyes flashed.  ¡°They sided with the Mad King and Rhaegar,¡± he complained.

    I nodded.  ¡°They did.  But that was the previous generation.  Loras was but a babe then, and is a good friend of your brother¡¯s now.  Margaery wasn¡¯t even born.  And it¡¯s a good move politically.  If Dorne were to rise up, and Highgarden were to join them, it might even convince the Westerlands that they should cause some trouble in Tywin¡¯s memory.

    ¡°But if the Reach is loyal, then Dorne is surrounded on them on the one side and the Stormlands on the other.  Likewise, the Lannisters are flanked by the Reach and the Riverlands.  Of the remaining territories, you know that the North is loyal, and the Vale still remembers you.  The Riverlands will side with family, which means the North and the Vale, which means you, Your Grace.  The Ironborn are a bunch of opportunistic curs; they¡¯ll stay bottled up if there¡¯s no weakness.¡±

    Robert sighed.  ¡°I had thought of waiting a few years and wedding Sansa,¡± he admitted.  ¡°To be Ned¡¯s family in truth.  I feel like I have poorly rewarded the Starks for all they have done for me.¡±

    Pervy old man; you can have Margaery, but not Sansa.  No matter how annoying she can be, she was still partially my responsibility to protect. I would have suggested having Sansa marry Renly, if I didn¡¯t think he was gay and entirely too content and able to manipulate her to his own ends.  That wouldn¡¯t make for a happy marriage either.

    I shook my head.  ¡°Perhaps one of your children with your next wife, Your Grace, and one of Ned¡¯s.  Rickon and Bran are both young enough that if you have a daughter in the next few years they might make a good match.  Or one of his grandchildren, come to think of it; Robb¡¯s of an age to marry soon.  My lord will love you as a brother regardless, and needs no further honors to do so.  But the realm would do better if you were wed, and had some heirs, and the Reach has the best candidate for that.¡±

    Robert lay back with a sigh.  ¡°I suppose you are right,¡± he finally accepted.  ¡°Did you have thoughts for the Master of Whisperers?¡±

    In fact, I had.  Both Tyrion Lannister and Oberyn Martell were decent candidates, if it weren¡¯t for the fact that they¡¯re politically unreliable.  The Blackfish likely still wouldn¡¯t leave his niece, and was thus stuck in the Vale.  The North, Vale and Stormlands were generally less political, while the Riverlands used less subterfuge.  Or at least, I didn¡¯t know of anyone from there who was both suitable and wouldn¡¯t misuse the office.

    But I did have an idea.  Olenna Tyrell, the Queen of Thorns.  She was meant to be quite the character, and extremely cunning.  Granted she was pushing seventy, but I could make sure she had a few more good years in her, and it would be a way to give the Tyrell¡¯s influence at Court to match Margaery¡¯s new station without letting that bumbling oaf Lord Mace Tyrell get involved.

    I just wasn¡¯t sure how Robert would react to the suggestion.

    ¡°I have some ideas, Your Grace, but they are not firm ones.  I¡¯d prefer to raise them in the small council.  Anyways, I¡¯ve finished the treatment.  Same as last time; take a piss, drink some clean, unpoisoned water, and don¡¯t drink for a couple of days.¡±

    He nodded vigorously, springing out of bed.  ¡°By the Gods, Odysseus!  You are truly a miracle worker,¡± he boomed, then picked me up in a bear hug before putting me down.  ¡°I swear, a day or two after your treatments and I feel even better than before!¡±

    Well, that¡¯s because you are better than before, you great lummox.

    I grinned.  ¡°It¡¯s the contrast, Your Grace.  Your body is simply overjoyed not to be poisoned.  And the lower amounts of alcohol in your system helps too.¡±

    He frowned.  ¡°Bah, now you sound like Erreck.  Always going on about the benefits of boiled water strained through charcoal.¡±

    I raised my eyebrows.  ¡°The Grand Maester is entirely correct, Your Grace.  Pure, clean water is quite healthy, and using boiling filtered water to make healthy teas can be beneficial as well.¡±Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.

    He just looked at me and sighed.  ¡°But what¡¯s the pointing in living, if it¡¯s not to live well?  And who lives well if they don¡¯t drink?  I tell you truly, Odysseus, being dead inside your heart is just as terrible a fate as being dead in truth.  I¡¯ll help you with that; you¡¯ll sit alongside me at dinner, and we will be drunk and merry!¡± he announced with a wide grin.

    I laughed, shaking my head at his antics.  ¡°Very well, Your Grace.  But not tonight.  Two days from now, remember?¡±

    ¡°Bah.  I¡¯ll have to be more careful not to be poisoned again, if this is the sort of care I get,¡± he complained sarcastically as he opened the door to his room.

    Ser Barristan, who had been standing by the door and obviously heard everything spoke up.  ¡°If it will make you more careful, Your Grace, perhaps you should forebear from wine for three days.¡±

    We all laughed.

    ===================================

    Later, I reported back to Lord Stark about my return and the king¡¯s renewed good health.  I also introduced him to Nevermore.

    ¡°Say hello to Lord Stark,¡± I said, sounding like one of those idiot pet owner that think their animal is really no different from a young child.  Ned looked at me with a bit of confusion.

    Then Nevermore turned his too clever eyes to point at Ned.  ¡° ¡®Ello, Lord Stark,¡± he cawed.  ¡°I am Nevermore!¡±

    Ned¡¯s eyes were wide.  ¡°It talks,¡± he muttered in disbelief.

    Nevermore cawed in disagreement.  ¡°He talks!  I¡¯m a he, not an it,¡± he complained.

    Ned blinked a couple of times, still not quite believing his senses.  ¡°My apologies, Master Raven,¡± he said on autopilot.  But that was Ned; unfailingly honorable and proper.

    ¡°Of course, of course,¡± Nevermore replied.  ¡°We can¡¯t all have them fluffy dresses, or massive mounds of tender fat to tell apart girl from boy like you humans.¡±

    I facepalmed.  I should never have made the raven conversational.  And how he ended up with the local equivalent of a cockney accent was utterly beyond me.

    ¡°Ser Odysseus, why does the raven talk?¡± Ned asked, begging for the world to make sense.

    ¡°Because I¡¯ve got things to say!¡± chirped Nevermore / ¡°It seemed like a good idea at the time,¡± I replied.

    I still couldn¡¯t tell if the bird was always taking the piss, or the universe had decided I needed some insightful yet clueless comic relief.  Either way, I got a headache anytime the bird spoke for more than a minute.  At least Togo seemed to share my pain.  Then again, he seemed to be blaming me for the situation, so maybe that wasn¡¯t such a good thing¡­

    ¡°Ok, ok, enough for now, Nevermore,¡± I ordered.  ¡°Why don¡¯t you go for a fly.¡±  And in a flutter of wings Nevermore was off.

    Ned drew a deep breath, then another before he spoke.  ¡°You know, Odysseus,¡± he said with an artificial calm.  ¡°I really am not sure I was ready for a talking raven.¡±

    I nodded.  ¡°As it turns out, neither was I.¡±

    He opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again.  ¡°What were you thinking?  I mean, do you just go off into the woods, and get bored, and think I know, I¡¯ll make a raven able to speak?¡±

    I laughed.  That was actually pretty damned accurate, though the talking bit was more of a fortuitous accident.

    When I was doing the auditory link something must have interacted with the memory improvement and suddenly Nevermore could speak.  Come to think of it, I needed to fix that auditory link enchantment at some point, make it more of a telephone and less of a station-to-station telegraph so that I could add Togo and Aethon onto it without building up some tangled mess of enchantments right next to my brain.  Yet another thing for the list.

    And while I¡¯m thinking of the list, maybe I should add a Togo-like dog for Ned and Robert; it would certainly cut down on the poisonings.

    I shook my head and drew my focus back to the matter at hand, namely, why Nevermore speaks.  ¡°That¡¯s not entirely incorrect,¡± I admitted.  ¡°Really, Nevermore is meant to be a scout and carry messages.  I can see through his eyes and hear through his ears.  But I also made him able to remember conversations.  And then he just started speaking.¡±

    Ned sighed.  ¡°Of course,¡± he said, somewhat used to my antics.  Then again, I¡¯d never created a whole new obviously (semi) intelligent species before.

    ¡°So, not to change the topic or anything, but I¡¯m changing the topic.  I was speaking to Robert earlier; I think he¡¯ll go for marrying Margaery Tyrell.¡±

    Ned brightened up.  ¡°That¡¯s good to hear,¡± he said.  ¡°It would help the Realm¡¯s stability if the Reach were to brought in closer with the Crown.¡±

    I nodded.  ¡°I was thinking about that.  Given that Sansa isn¡¯t going to be marrying Joffrey,¡± I said, watching as Ned winced at that reminder, ¡°I was thinking that it might be a good idea for her to marry Willas Tyrell.¡±

    Ned looked a little shocked.  ¡°I hadn¡¯t really thought about it.  Willas Tyrell?¡± he questioned.

    ¡°Yes,¡± I answered.  ¡°It strengthens both the Stark and the Crown.  A second marriage alliance, to the heir of Highgarden especially, would even more firmly bring the Reach into the fold.  Beyond that, Sansa is the daughter to the Lord Paramount of the North, cousin to the Lord Paramount of the Vale, and the granddaughter to the Lord Paramount of the Riverlands.  If she marries Willas that would make four of the great houses with close familial ties to the Starks, and the Reach has a lot of food that could help during Winter.¡±

    ¡°And why not Renly?¡± Ned asked, wanting to hear my reasoning.

    ¡°Renly is firmly wedded to the Crown as is, he can hardly rebel against his brother,¡± I joked.  ¡°Beyond that, he has less to offer the North.  But perhaps most importantly, I believe Sansa will be happy with Willas.  He is by all accounts a good lord, a kind man, gentle with animals; the fact that he is like that after being crippled speaks to a strong character.  Sansa believes too strongly in storybook tales, in pious, true knights, dastardly villains, and the eventual and relatively painless triumph of good.  She lacks the teeth, physical or political, to truly protect herself.  I don¡¯t know that Renly, who is relatively untested, is the right man for her.  I think Willas might be.¡±

    I wasn¡¯t sure whether to say my suspicions of Renly and Loras, but decided that doing so was better than not, and so continued.  ¡°Beyond that¡­ I have seen the way that Loras looks at Renly, and Renly Loras.  I do not judge them for it if it is the case, and I am sure that each will do their respective duties with regards to fathering heirs either way, but I cannot help but suspect that there is more than simple friendship between them.¡±

    It took him a moment to catch on.  ¡°Ah.  Ah!  I see.  Yes, that could make for an unhappy marriage,¡± he mused, grimacing a bit at the thought.  ¡°I¡¯ll think on what you¡¯ve said, Odysseus, and speak to Sansa as well.¡±

    I nodded my head in an approximation of a bow.  ¡°Very good, my Lord.¡±

    ===================================

    Two days later, I allowed myself to get roaringly drunk with Robert.  We had a grand time.

    The next day in the small council he announced that he would be asking the Tyrells for Margaery¡¯s hand.  Renly seemed pleased.

    In the ensuing discussion about the Master of Whisperers, Stannis proposed Ser Davos Seaworth.  The man had extensive contacts among Braavos and the Free Cities, but was relatively weak on internal affairs, especially among the nobility.  I had initially proposed Olenna Tyrell.  She might have been female, a mark against her in that society, but she was wickedly intelligent and had a powerful grasp of the political movements within the Seven Kingdoms.  That said, she was far less connected outside of Westeros, and had few connections to the lower classes.

    I actually preferred the solution we came up with; a new position was added, the Director of Foreign Intelligence, who would serve to manage spying activities outside of the Seven Kingdoms, working closely with the Master of Ships, Master of Coins and Master of Whisperers as their interests intersected.  Ser Davos was made the first Director of Foreign Intelligence, and it was agreed that Lady Olenna would be offered the position of Mistress of Whisperers.

    The next morning, the ravens went out, and by the end of the week we had received their agreement.  In some five to seven weeks the Tyrells would be at court.  Three months after that Robert would wed Margaery.

    Meanwhile Davos, at Stannis¡¯ order, had already prepared the first foreign intelligence briefing for the small council.  The results of which meant another adventure for yours truly.

 Chapter 18: Over the Sea and Far Away pt. 1

    <u>Chapter 18: Over the Sea and Far Away pt. 1</u>

    Ser Davos brought much news.  The movement of pirates in the Stepstones.  Shifts in prices of goods and political changes in the Free Cities.  What certain large and dangerously competent mercenary companies were up to.

    And then he had to move the news onto Daenerys Targaryen.  She had married Khal Drogo, or was about to last we heard.  Robert might have sent assassins after her then, but the mess with Cersei¡¯s infidelity and Varys¡¯ treason distracted him and he allowed Ned to wait and see whether she would survive among the horse-lords, or even be capable of getting with child.

    Now word had trickled in from Ser Jorah Mormont, a former slaver and exile who was trying to spy his way to a pardon, that Daenerys was likely with child.  And Robert, still full of hatred for the Targaryens wanted her dead.  He didn¡¯t care that she was still truly a child, being about to turn sixteen.  That she might die in childbirth.  That the odds of the child surviving to adulthood were so low.  That the Dothraki, for all that they were excellent cavalry, would never come across the sea.

    No, Robert wanted Daenerys dead along with her brother.  And to be fair, I could understand where he was coming from.  On a national politics level, both Viserys and she and any of her future blood were a risk.  Whether a rallying point for a civil war that could kill tens of thousands, or a foreign invader with a nice justification, she was just too potent a symbol and too great a risk.

    On the other hand, Ned fucking <u>hated</u> the idea.  He fought the Targaryens to restore justice and honor to the realm, not to send poisoners after girls and unborn babes.  At least Viserys, an adult and known anti-Baratheon agitator, was seen as acceptable target (even if Ned generally disliked assassins).  But with Daenerys it was the exact same argument from sixteen years ago, when Robert refused to condemn the men responsible for killing the Targaryen children during the sack of King¡¯s Landing.  And much like that argument, both sides were sticking to their guns, getting louder and louder as they shouted at each other.

    ¡°I¡¯ll handle it,¡± I volunteered before they could say anything unforgivable.  Plus, maybe one of the Targaryens had that whole fireproof Valerian thing going on.  Either way, I¡¯d get to see a whole new continent and avoid any real work for a couple months.  Visit exciting places, kill the people trying to kill you, get some mana, what¡¯s not to love?

    Ned was looking at me suspiciously while Robert was happily assuming I was agreeing with him.

    ¡°See, Ned, Odysseus gets it!¡± he boomed.

    ¡°What exactly do you mean by ¡°handle it,¡± Odysseus?¡± Ned asked, a deep tone of warning in his voice.  For all I had done for him and his family, he would never truly forgive me if I were to go out intending to murder this troublesome girl.  That sort of honor was all too rare, sadly.

    ¡°You¡¯re both working under an incorrect assumption,¡± I stated, confusing both of them.  ¡°It¡¯s not Daenerys we need to worry about, it¡¯s Drogo.  Correct me if I¡¯m wrong, but when a Dothraki Khal dies doesn¡¯t his wife get sent to join the, what were they called?  The Dothraki crones who live in Vaes Dothrak?¡± I asked.

    ¡°The dosh khaleen, I believe,¡± answered Ser Davos.

    ¡°That¡¯s right.  The dosh khaleen.  I¡¯ll give Daenerys and any child she has, born or not, the same treatment I gave Joffrey, Tommen and Myrcella, and see to it they aren¡¯t in a position to cause any trouble.  And I¡¯ll either treat with Drogo, get him to give up Daenerys and bring her back here as a prisoner for Your Grace¡¯s disposition, or I¡¯ll kill him.  The Dothraki may fancy themselves horse-lords, but I bet any sum of money you care to name that Aethon can outrun the lot the them.¡±

    I looked at Ned and continued.  ¡°I believe my lord Stark that that satisfies honor.  Viserys is a man grown and outspoken about his desire to seize the throne, and deserves no special protections.  Drogo, a man that leads a slaving warband forty thousand strong, is hardly an innocent, nor an illegitimate target.  And Your Grace will be able to rest easy that there won¡¯t be any white-haired claimants to the throne coming from those quarters.¡±

    Robert pursed his lips then nodded slowly.  ¡°That works for me.  Ned?¡±

    ¡°Sir Odysseus¡¯ suggestion is honorable.  You¡¯re sure you can do it, and get away safely?¡± he asked, worried for my safety.

    ¡°I can and will,¡± I answered with a grin.

    Robert drew himself up.  ¡°Very well then.  Ser Odysseus, I charge you to go forth and end the threat of Viserys and Daenerys Targaryen.  Do you accept?¡±

    ¡°I do, Your Grace.¡±

    He smiled at me.  ¡°Good man.  Do you need any money, supplies or assistance?¡±

    I thought about it for a minute.  ¡°I¡¯ll use my own money, and provide an accounting afterwards.  I do need about five days to prepare,¡± I stated.  ¡°Other than that, if Ser Davos could find me a good ship headed to Pentos, that would be grand.¡±

    ¡°It may be faster to sail all the way to Volantis, or Meereen,¡± Davos suggested.

    I shook my head.  ¡°We¡¯ll make better time overland.¡±

    He raised his eyebrows at that but didn¡¯t say anything.  Ships could make a hundred miles a day; it was crazy to think of a horse making more than that, let alone the three or four hundred that Aethon could achieve fairly comfortably.  Plus I wanted to visit a number of the so called ¡°Free¡± Cities, and see if there was any truth to their rumored magics.

    ¡°Well, Your Grace, my lords, if there¡¯s nothing else that needs my attention, I have much to prepare,¡± I said.If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

    ¡°No, that was everything, go on Odysseus.  We¡¯ll have a feast for you before you go,¡± Robert said, still happy that the nuisance of Daenerys would be dealt with even if not how he¡¯d initially envisioned.  As far as Robert was concerned, feasts were awesome and thus he gifted them to people when he was particularly pleased with them.

    At least he wasn¡¯t throwing me a tourney.

    ===================================

    The next five days were spent memorizing maps and the customs from a travelogue of a man who had stayed with a Dothraki khalasar.  I acquired two more ravens, Mu and Hue, and transformed them into the same pattern as Nevermore.  I named them partially after Muninn and Huginn, Odin¡¯s ravens, but thought better of actually calling them Huginn and Muninn, just in case Odin was real, could tell, and might be upset.

    But their names were also a bit of a joke; Mu means nothing, and Hue means color.  So Mu Hue is no color, and their feathers were black.  It wasn¡¯t very funny, but it amused me a bit.  I spent a few days reworking the visual/auditory links, adding in a variable connection selector on the send side, and a link database on the receive side.  It still wasn¡¯t a phone, but it meant that I could have up to a dozen links before I needed a redesign.  That was more than enough for three ravens, Togo and Aethon.

    The reason I needed the extra ravens was because Nevermore was going to stay behind in King¡¯s landing.  If Aethon and I really pushed, and I used all my available Green Mana to reduce the physical strains of running quickly, we could make as many as a thousand miles in a day.  That meant that in the case of an emergency, we could be back within a fortnight even once I found Drogo¡¯s khalasar.  Nevermore would be able to keep an eye on things for me.

    Jon had insisted that he would come with me.  He argued that as my squire, it was his duty and I¡¯d be shaming him if I left him behind.  He could tell I still sort of wanted him to guard the girls, which he had gotten pretty sick of, so he used the ultimatum; if I left him behind, he¡¯d follow anyways.

    So he, Ghost and Shadowfax were going to be joining us.  I planned to upgrade him as much as I could on the ship to Pentos so he shouldn¡¯t slow me down much.  He was a good enough swordsman that he could be a real help if things went pear shaped and we had to fight our way out, keeping the enemy off of me while I shot them with arrows or blasted them with spells.

    Taking Jon and Ghost did however mean that Ned and Robert were less guarded than I would have liked, so I took two juvenile hunting dogs and gave them an upgrade package.  I didn¡¯t give them Togo¡¯s gigantism, but the rest of the upgrade package was put into place.  Then I gave them to Robert and Ned and told them I expected that the dogs would check all the food and people coming into their presence while I was gone.  I also spent some time with Lady and Nymeria making sure that they were fully up to date with their enchantments and upgrades.  Arya was desperately jealous I was getting to go on such an adventure.

    Lastly I spent a day in the godswood, stocking up on arrows. I had this terrible suspicion that we¡¯d end up in a running fight with forty thousand dothraki screamers, and I felt nervous about running out.  By day¡¯s end I¡¯d filled five bags, with six dozen arrows to a bag for a grand total of three-hundred sixty arrows.  It seemed an auspicious number, at least.

    Then the five days were up.  We feasted until late in the evening, and the morning found Jon and I on the ship to Pentos.

    ===================================

    The ship¡¯s journey was pretty boring, to be honest.  No pirates, no storms, just a regular crossing.  I did have time to give Jon as close of an approximation of my own upgrades as I could manage.

    They didn¡¯t quite connect as well.  He didn¡¯t get quite as large of a boost in his physical abilities, had more of a minor danger sense than true combat precognition, and so on.  I had suspected it when improving Togo and Aethon, and later the ravens, but there was something fundamentally different between their bodies and my own.

    Still, he was significantly stronger than when he started, his natural body streamlined and enhanced as if he¡¯d been working out hard for a year or two.  That was then further boosted by the magic in his system; he was easily among the strongest men in the world, more similar to the Mountain than the youth Jon appeared to be.  It didn¡¯t really matter that I was stronger and faster still; Jon was strong enough, and easily skilled enough with a sword, to cause some real damage.

    I added him to the communications link as well, so we¡¯d be able to coordinate if separated.  I had been careful upgrading Jon, doing it in small bursts so as to ensure I didn¡¯t do anything to harm him, but that did mean that the upgrades took up the rest of the journey.

    The impression I got of Pentos was a beautiful city full of shitty people.  The houses had tiled roofs, and were somewhat reminiscent of Spanish architecture.  The city itself was at least half again larger in population and footprint than King¡¯s Landing, and cleaner too.  Bazaars and marketplaces abounded, goods from the further parts of Essos available that you could rarely find in Westeros.  The powerful, ruling merchants, called magisters, kept gorgeous walled manses.  In the center of the city was the Great Marketplace, sort of like a miniature but permanent version of the fair that took place in the middle of the Hand¡¯s Tourney.  The faith of R¡¯hllor was practiced in that city, shrines dotting the neighborhoods while a large red temple served as the center of worship.

    But despite the fact that Pentos had lost a war against Braavos, and languished under a treaty that forbid them more than twenty warships, sellswords, contracts with free companies, a true army or to possess slaves, I passed many people who were collared, their faces branded.  ¡°Free bond servants,¡± they called them.  Debt slaves in all but name, their food, clothing and shelter counted more expensive than their service.  Considering their debts passed onto their children¡­ I saw no difference between it and true slavery whatever the legal definitions.

    That was not the only part of the treaty that the Pentoshi bent or broke.  Their ships were often easily converted between raiders and merchantmen, and would fly the flags of Lys or Myr when carrying slaves.  The city may not keep an army, but it had a strong watch and each of the magisters their own force of private guards, many of them Unsullied.  And in general the city had found it cheaper to buy off the Dothraki than to fight them.

    No, it was a pretty city, but a rotten one.  We stayed just long enough for me to bond with the temple, gaining a White and a Red before we were once again on the road.  I had been disappointed watching the service; it was clear that there was something to it, some spark of mystery, but it never caught fire and blossomed into true magic.  Perhaps a more senior priest, or a different temple would be able to aid me in my search for power.

    The road from Pentos went through Ghoyan Drohe to Norvos.  Along the way I picked up a pair of Red mana in the Velvet Hills.  Ghoyan Drohe itself was a ruin, a dead city cast down by dragonriders to rot.  The canals had filled in, the city turned to swamp.  It provided a pair of Black mana, and might have given more but it was unpleasant enough there that Jon asked we continue on.

    I picked up a pair of Blue mana when passing the Little and Upper branches of the river Rhoyne, then another at the Noyne.  Norvos was located in a valley in a hilly, somewhat mountainous area.  I managed two Red mana at our rest stops before we arrived at the city.

    Ruled by a theocracy of fanatic, flagellant bearded priests, I had no desire to stay in the city of Norvos and so we rode through.  I picked up a pair of Greens in the nearby forest as we rested a bit and hunted to increase our supplies, then another two Red mana as we left the Hills of Norvos on our way to Qohor.  I picked up a Blue crossing the Darkwash, and a Green from the forest just before entering Qohor.

 Chapter 19: Over the Sea and Far Away pt. 2

    <u>Chapter 19: Over the Sea and Far Away pt. 2</u>

    Qohor, a city of about a half a million, was surrounded by strong, stone walls.  The furthest east of the northern Free Cities, and along one of the main routes into that area, it was often visited by Dothraki khalasars.  Though it paid them tribute rather than fight, the city maintained their walls and a strong core of Unsullied to deter attacks and reduce the cost of tribute.

    The Unsullied were hard to describe.  Basically, the same principle of being an unflinching warrior that you¡¯d see from the Spartans, but rather than being trained for initiative the Unsullied slave-soldiers were trained to be ridiculously, suicidally obedient.  They were skilled yet disturbing to contemplate.

    Apart from being the gateway between western and eastern Essos, Qohor had one more claim to fame.  It was known as a city of sorcerers.  The greatest of Qohorik smiths could rework Valyrian steel, even if they couldn¡¯t make more of that fabled metal.  Divination, blood magic and necromancy were rumored practices.

    I was nervous of pursuing their magics without caution though.  They worshipped a dark god there, the Black Goat, and gave it daily sacrifices of blood and animals with condemned criminals for holy feast days.  And that was in good years.  In times of true crisis, the Qohorik nobles might sacrifice their own children.  Truly, their ¡°god¡± was more of a demon. They guarded the secrets of their magic jealously, and I had no desire for a city of half a million to chase me as a sacrifice.  But Valyrian steel¡­ that was a secret I wanted.

    Jon and I entered the city cautiously, my senses straining to catch any active magic, my eyes channeling an overlay of mage-sight.  I was disappointed.  None of the street wizards, or their more expensive kin available for consultation seemed to have true power.  But then I found it; a forge that glowed with true magic.  It was weak, yes, and old, but there were signs of more recent power as well.  The smell of the sacrifices they used to power their spells was distinct, the blood seeped into the earth.

    I found a master smith, and asked him about whether he could reforge Valyrian steel.

    He looked me up and down, the quality of my armor making him raise an eyebrow.  ¡°I can, but I doubt you have any,¡± he replied.

    I laughed, shaking my head.  ¡°I wish, I wish.  But no, I was hoping to see it done.  It is the greatest magic of the modern age, and I wanted to be able to bring the tale of watching a true master smith at work back to my home in Westeros.¡±

    His face became grim, his body posture aggressive.  ¡°You speak our language without accent, outsider, so you should know.  The secrets of the smiths are for Qohor alone.¡±

    Damn.  I was going to have to try it.  ¡°Of course, of course,¡± I said, deescalating the situation.  ¡°I would never dream of anything different.  But surely it would do no harm to just watch, just the once, and pay a hundred dragons for the privelege?¡± I argued, loosing the Blue spell that I hoped would act as a Jedi Mind Trick and help convince him.

    It seemed to work as he blinked, then nodded with slightly glazed eyes. ¡°Yes, yes, it would do no harm to just watch.  I will show you.¡±

    I had seen Ice before, of course, Ned¡¯s Valyrian greatsword, but the enchantment on it was like the edge of a fractal snowflake.  I just couldn¡¯t get enough resolution on it to properly understand it, and it was obvious that the application of the enchantment was as much part of the casting as the final shape.  I was hoping this would let me bridge the gap.

    The smith gathered his apprentices and journeymen, then began the task of re-forging the single small Valyrian dagger he kept for practice.  They were looking at Jon and I askance.  Poor Jon, of course, was following little of this.  His Valyrian was not conversational yet, and the local dialect had drifted far from what the classical Valyrian he had been taught by Luwin as a boy.

    Hours of heating, sacrifices, chanting, and working the blade followed.  I was engrossed, as were the smiths.  Too much so to notice one of the younger apprentices slipping out near the end.  I did notice when he returned, however, with a handful of officers, a priest, twenty Unsullied and forty common soldiers besides.  Or rather, Hue and Mu noticed while flying over-watch for just such an occasion, and they warned me.

    Jon and I fled, our horses turning off the street just as the band sent to arrest us turned onto it.  Ghost and Togo were outside the city; I knew that the odds of my getting into trouble there were high, and there were only a handful of people in the world who had canine companions like ours.  The Starks had enough enemies and assassins as it was.

    Aethon and Shadowfax pushed their way through the crowds and we had disappeared out the far gate before the alarm spread and sent the city into lockdown.

    But it had worked; I had the secret of Valyrian steel.  Oh, I¡¯d need to work with a smith to make the true version; the folded and refolded layers of a damascene blade were a necessary part of the enchanting process.  But that was the third level of the Valyrian enchanted blade.

    The first level, the basic enchantment to never dull or break, to be a fraction as heavy, and to cut slightly better because the edge was harder was easily in my grasp.  The only issue was that the lack of weight to the sword could make the blows have less momentum.

    The second level was for the edge to be extremely sharp.  That required being cast on the blade at forging as it had a naturally self-sharpening effect on the blade, or for me to figure out how to magically sharpen a blade¡¯s edge at the same time that I cast the enchantment.

    The third level was by far the best.  It included a sort of conceptual ideal of cutting, as well as what I thought might be a kind of guided strike effect to help the swordsman.  It had a higher level of the base enchantments too, and made it so that each strike carried the impact of what the sword should have weighed. If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

    Unfortunately, it would still need a conventional master blade smith to manage.  The conceptual effects in particular were partially a distillation of the concept of a fighting blade, and depended on the smith¡¯s ability to resonate with that ideal, their ability to push that purpose into the weapon.  It was really interesting from a magical point of view, and gave me insights into how I¡¯d be able to get enchantments to ¡°stick¡± for lack of a better term to inanimate objects.

    Suffice to say, learning how to smith was put on the list of things to do when I had time.  As a proper mage, I¡¯d likely find it much easier to impose the concepts, and wouldn¡¯t need to be a true master to manage the third level of the enchantment.  Though if I did become that good, I¡¯d likely be able to make something amazing.

    A vorpal sword.  That sounded like a lot of fun, and really damned unfair for anyone we went up against.

    Until then, Jon and I would have to content ourselves with our +1 blades, the metal shimmering slightly when caught in the light.

    ===================================

    After leaving Qohor we decided to cut through the forest rather than take the road south that passed through Ar Noy.  Unfortunately the river Qhoyne was too close to Qohor and any potential pursuit for my liking, so I had to forgo its Blue.

    The forest was old, ancient even, and the mana was dense and potent because of it.  I picked up another eight Green mana on the way, taking my time since I knew that after we entered the Dothraki Sea and its thousands of miles of plains and grasslands that I wouldn¡¯t have another easy source of Green Mana for a while.

    It was a heady thing, so much wild, natural magic.  Playing around with it I learned some more on how to manipulate plants, a bit of Green and colorless for growing food or shelter from roots and bushes, or how I could use some more power and cover an animal in entangling roots, trapping it.  I doubted I¡¯d use the spells much, but they were fun to play around with, even if the magic made Jon a bit nervous at first.

    Then we left the forest and entered the plains.  It was some fifteen or sixteen hundred miles from where we left the forest to Vaes Dothrak, the only Dothraki city, which sat in the middle of their grasslands.  I knew that Drogo and Daenerys had been headed there a few months ago, and hoped to find them, or at least news of where they were headed last, at Vaes Dothrak.  We would ride half the day, then stop to rest and for me to bond the plains.  They gave White mana, and over the journey from the forest of Qohor I bonded ten times.

    The journey was uneventful.  Hue and Mu would scout in turns, keeping an eye out for the Dothraki barbarians.  And they were truly barbarians; horse-riders and raiders one and all, they believed that farming, cutting the earth to till it was a sin.  They thought that the gods could not see unless the actions took place under an open sky, and so they eschewed cities.  They depended on their horses for transportation and sustenance, eating and drinking the milk, blood and flesh from their steeds.

    A man who did not ride was not a man; literally.  Only the crippled, very young, very old, very pregnant, eunuchs or more valuable slaves rode carts, while being forced to walk was an act of shame, fit only for slaves.  All others rode, which made the Dothraki amazing light cavalry.  But for all their similarities, in any comparison with the Mongols, the Mongols came out on top.

    The Mongols of Earth conquered and forged empires; bloody as their acts may have been, they adapted and assimilated the civilizations they ruled.  The Dothraki merely destroyed.  They were a scourge as far as I was concerned, hordes of man sized destructive cunning beasts rather than possessing any of the finer traits of humanity.

    I contented myself with the fact that someday, eventually, the civilized forces would grow and gain in population, technology, strength.  And then those fucking horse-lords would face the fangs of civilization: rifles and cannon.  And they would become a footnote of history.

    Until that day the Dothraki would continue as a human plague.

    ===================================

    A couple days ride away from Vaes Dothrak we stopped.  I had grown greatly in power during the journey: eleven Green, eleven White, four Blue, two Black, and seven Red extra compared to when I had started out from Westeros.  I¡¯d had a lot of nights to spend time thinking and tinkering with how to improve the spells, the upgrades and cultivated power I had gathered.

    The Green based Supernatural Physique, Oakflesh, and Regeneration had all improved.  Blue had been streamlined a bit, but hadn¡¯t had more than minor incremental gains.  In Red, the improved reactions, increased power when hitting, and the straight up conceptual bonus to speed that I called Haste had all improved significantly.

    With White, I had managed to get the stored healing energy to be denser and more efficient, while the skin-tight conceptual defense was actually getting useful, more like an inch of heavy padding in its effect against physical attacks with a similar performance against magical ones.  I also figured out how to not just improve the Projectile Shield, making it stronger and adding another layer, but also how to link them together with other, nearby Projectile Shields so that they could share power.

    The disadvantage to that was that if one person¡¯s shields went down, everyone¡¯s went down.  But the advantage was that to bring one shield down the attackers had to bring everyone¡¯s down.  For example, it was impossible to target the horse and ignore the rider, or vice versa.

    The linkage wasn¡¯t perfectly designed yet; optimally, I¡¯d have the shields being partially linked so if a heavier attack like a ballista bolt hit one person¡¯s shield, that shield would just pop, stopping the projectile but not over-drawing on the shield network.  Then their second shield layer would activate and cycle into the networked shield defense.  But the Dothraki didn¡¯t use ballista, so I figured it was a moot point at that moment.

    I even figured out how to us Black mana to get more nutrition from food.  It was a bit strange, but when I shifted my point of view I realized that digestion is really killing the food and taking its qualities for myself.  Black¡¯s death and greed fit well enough into that image.  It was minor, but I did notice my health slightly improving.  That was by far and away the most interesting Black-oriented effect I had managed to date; if properly developed, it might even let me steal more abstract powers and traits by eating them, sort of like the protagonist of Re:Monster.

    I took the time to clean up the upgrades, engineer them into more generally applicable enchantments, and give them to Jon, Togo, Ghost, Aethon, Shadowfax, Hue and Mu.

    Then with a bit of time to spare I reverse engineered the Valyrian steel spell enough that I could improve our armor.  The links of the chain shone and shimmered when exposed, would never suffer from rust, and would be far harder to penetrate.  It was only equivalent to the first level of the Valyrian steel, but it was already a great improvement.

    Honestly, given the stone-like oakflesh and all of the other upgrades I doubted we had much to worry about, but better safe than sorry.  Plus it was far subtler for an arrow or sword to fail to penetrate our armor than for it to merely cause a pin-prick in our skin.

    And I¡¯ll admit; my inner fantasy nerd was much happier to have bright, shiny mail compared to the slightly rusty, discolored mail I had had previously.  Plus enchanted gear is always better, right?

    Fully prepared, we set off for Vaes Dothrak.

 Chapter 20: Over the Seas and Far Away, pt. 3

    <u>Chapter 20: Over the Seas and Far Away, pt. 3</u>

    Vaes Dothrak was a city without walls or gates, defended by a thousand miles of grassland and the millions of Dothraki riders that would fall onto any army that thought to invade.  It was a city inhabited by slaves and ruled by the dosh khaleen, former khaleesis whose khal husbands had died.  The city was sacred to the Dothraki, and it was forbidden to draw a blade or shed a free man¡¯s blood within its borders.

    The city itself was massive, ten times the size of Pentos, supposedly with enough space in its halls to fit every Dothraki from every khalasar at the same time.  This had not been tested in centuries, however, not since the last time that the Dothraki had a great khal, a khal of khals, to command them in their destructive ways.

    Merchants were welcomed in the city and afforded safe passage by the khalasars so long they kept to the laws and gave gifts of salt, grain and silver to the dosh khaleen.  After all, the savages needed some way to trade loot they didn¡¯t want or need for things they did, and valued some of the fruits of the civilizations that they so disdained.

    We had heard of this, and passed over the tribute without issue.  Jon and I peace-tied our swords and spears into their holsters.  Our horses and canines drew admiring glances and comments as rode in, passing under two massive horse statues that framed the road.  After a bit over a month of travelling, we had arrived.

    The first thing to do was to find out if Drogo¡¯s khalasar had arrived yet or not, and so we made our way to the Western Market to enquire.  The Western Market was the great bazaar used by traders from the Free Cities to the west of the Dothraki Sea.  The Eastern Market which I planned to visit later was where traders from traders from the East came, even those as far away as Asshai, Yi Ti and the Shadow Lands.

    The books in Westeros were dismissive of claims of magic from the east, but it was rumored that in Yi Ti sorcerer-kings ruled provinces, that in Asshai shadowbinders, aeromancers, and fire mages conducted fell and powerful rites.  It was a known fact that Asshai was truly ancient, that the animals in the city died within days, that the river there was full of deformed fish and phosphorescent at night while a glistening black during the day.

    Even if only one part in ten of its reputation were true I would hesitate to go there.  The Shadowlands that it bordered, said to be the birthplace of dragons and demons alike, sounded like it might legitimately be inhabited by Sauron.  I was by no means prepared to venture into the magical equivalent of a nuclear fallout zone to gain magical knowledge, not yet.  One does not simply walk into Mordor, after all.

    But one day, when I was stronger, my magics more powerful and sophisticated, I would venture into that place.  I would even brave the Shadowlands if it was the only way getting a dragon as a pet.  But until then, I was happy to be able to talk to people with first-hand accounts of the place.  It was even possible that the Eastern Market would have some magical types present, though unlikely that anyone of true power would come to the Dothraki Sea.

    When Jon and I went to the Western Market we found that we had beaten Drogo to the city, so we settled in to wait.  We visited the Eastern Market, saw Zorses and Elephants; there was even a tiger that I thought about buying, but I didn¡¯t want to risk making Togo jealous.  Similarly, the Zorses looked fucking awesome.

    The Jogos Nhai were this race of horse nomads, smaller in stature than the Dothraki and with weirdly conical heads.  They lived east of the Dothraki Sea past the Bone Mountains in the plains north of Yi Ti and plagued that country with their raids.  Unlike the Dothraki, who were content to be bought off and spent as much effort fighting each other as they did the more civilized cities, the Jogos Nhai believed that to spill the blood of their brethren was a crime and so only made war on their civilized neighbors.

    They were a true blight, but their Zorses were amazing.  They had bred horses with zebras, then somehow instead of a race of sterile zebra-horse hybrids managed to make a true-breeding species, the Zorse.  Zorses could live on a bit of weeds and some completely non-nutritional devil grass for months, travel long distances without food or water, and were slightly larger, stronger, faster and more ferocious than any horse or horse-zebra hybrid had a right to be.

    I strongly suspected magic had been used sometime in the breed¡¯s past when I heard about their characteristics.  They were just too obviously engineered.  I scanned one of them, and found a particular structure that would allow them to drain a type of energy out of something; I suspected that was the ghost-grass eating adaptation.  There was another adaptation that let them substitute ambient mana for food.  Other than that, they weren¡¯t particularly interesting.  I did crib the adaptations though.

    If they¡¯d been available in Westeros I might have ridden one instead of a horse, but Aethon wasn¡¯t just a mount.  He was my friend, and I wasn¡¯t replacing him with some fancy black and white striped model no matter how cool they looked.

    Nor, sadly, was Aethon amenable to a cosmetic makeover, no matter how many apples I promised or how awesome he¡¯d look afterwards.

    Also sadly, I didn¡¯t find any magical practitioners in the Eastern Market, or any texts on magic.  I did bond both markets, getting a White and a Red from each, so it wasn¡¯t a total loss magically.

    Drogo still wasn¡¯t there, so Jon and I went on a trip around the Womb of the World, a large-ish lake next to Vaes Dothrak, and the Mother of Mountains, the nearby glorified hill range.  Neither really deserved their names, but the belief in those places had made the mana dense and powerful.  We weren¡¯t allowed to actually set foot on them as they were considered holy locations, but could get close enough for me to connect to them.  The lake was bound for two Blue mana.  The mountain, slightly larger, was bound two times for a total of four Red.

    Then Hue who was on patrol at the time saw in the distance a great dustcloud.  Drogo¡¯s khalasar approached, and it was ridiculously massive.  He had forty thousand riders, men capable of fighting.  But he also had at least sixty thousand women, children and slaves; I put the number at closer to eighty thousand extra at a guess.  And they had more than one horse per rider as well.  All in all it was truly worthy of the word horde.

    And it was up to me (and to a lesser extent Jon) to ensure that this group never managed to plunder Westeros.

    ===================================

    When Drogo and his party rode up to the Horse Gates they found Jon and I waiting for them atop our horses, fully armed and armored, Togo and Ghost on our flanks.

    ¡°I think this is the maddest thing I¡¯ve ever even heard of,¡± Jon muttered.

    Jon wasn¡¯t very happy about this plan.

    I snorted in amusement.  ¡°Quiet Jon, you¡¯re ruining the moment,¡± I said softly.

    He turned to me, mouth agape.  ¡°The moment?  What moment?  Two against twenty thousand isn¡¯t a moment, Odysseus, it¡¯s suicide!¡± he hissed quietly.  ¡°Even your magic can¡¯t win against these odds!¡±

    I smiled.  ¡°I told you, Jon.  I won¡¯t need any magic.¡±

    ¡°Yes, because why would you blast Drogo from a nice, safe distance?  That wouldn¡¯t make for a good enough story!¡± he practically growled.Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators!

    ¡°It wouldn¡¯t!¡± I defended, my voice soft but insistent.  ¡°Now shut up, it¡¯s almost time for everything to start.¡±

    ¡°Fine.  Fine.  But when this goes wrong, I¡¯ll be telling you I told you so until we¡¯re back safe in King¡¯s Landing.¡±  He was practically exuding an affronted aura.  I hadn¡¯t realized that was possible.

    ¡°If that makes you feel better.  Seriously though, hush,¡± I said.  The riders were about three hundred meters distant, and had sent out a small band of a half-dozen at a canter to find out what we were doing as the main party approached.  The smaller band stopped about forty meters away and called out.

    ¡°Who are you, to block the way of the mighty khal Drogo!¡± their leader shouted in the harsh Dothraki tongue.  Seriously, all-speech was definitely the way to go when travelling in foreign climes.  10/10, would be given by mystical accident again.  I mean, could you imagine having to give a challenge through an interpreter?  That just loses all the impact.

    ¡°I am Ser Odysseus, Knight of Winterfell of the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros!¡± I called back.  ¡°I am here to tell Drogo ¨C give up Viserys and Daenerys Targaryen, the enemies of my king, or face me in combat, or be known to all here as a coward!¡±

    That pissed them off.  One of the younger riders had to be restrained from charging us.  ¡°You are brave, Andal, but foolish,¡± their leader called.  ¡°Make your peace with your gods, for you will soon be dead.¡±  He turned and gave an order to one of his riders who then turned his horse about and raced back to the khal.

    For some reason, Dothraki believed that all Westerosi were Andals; I wasn¡¯t even from Westeros, but whatever.

    After the messenger reported to Drogo, their party continued forward at the same speed.  Jon was tense and nervous at my side, the standoff between us and the other riders uncomfortable.  Finally they came up and joined the original scouts who were only slightly distant.  I could see a silver-haired girl, Daenerys, and a large, armored figure who I guessed to be the disgraced knight and spy, Ser Jorah Mormont.  I couldn¡¯t see Viserys though.  Drogo was obviously the leader, mounted on a red horse at the front.

    Drogo asked Mormont a question.  Mormont shook his head then turned to face me.

    ¡°You claim to be a knight of Winterfell, but I know of few knights that serve the Starks, none of them with your sigil,¡± Jorah called out in Westerosi common.

    ¡°I was knighted half a year or so ago,¡± I replied easily with a wolfish smile.  ¡°I suppose I¡¯ll be taking your disgraced head back with me as well, Mormont.  It¡¯s truly a good day.¡±

    His fist tightened on his lance.  ¡°What deeds have you done then, that would make you worthy to face khal Drogo?¡±

    ¡°I crippled the Hound, Sandor Clegane, while I was unarmed and he with sword and shield,¡± I called out in Dothraki.  ¡°My dog, Togo, killed Jaime Lannister in a trial by combat.  The Mountain that Rode, Ser Gregor Clegane and forty of his men ambushed me, alone.  I killed them and took their heads to show to their Lord who had sent them while he feasted.  I killed Tywin Lannister in single combat the following morning.  I won the Hand¡¯s Tourney in archery, am a horse archer, and have both the most powerful bow ever made and the fastest horse; had I wanted to, I would have simply killed you and Drogo and whoever else I wanted to and left.  But I am a warrior, and as a warrior I challenge you, khal Drogo, who has made himself an enemy of my king by his choice of wife.¡±

    I could see the look of shock on Mormont¡¯s face.  It seemed that at least some of this news had not caught up with him yet, and unlike the Dothraki he knew how incredible those achievements were.  Drogo turned to him, and asked him what all of that meant.  Jorah didn¡¯t look like he wanted to answer, but he couldn¡¯t refuse either.

    ¡°You claim to have the fastest horse, and the best bow,¡± Drogo called out.  ¡°Prove it.  If it is true, then you will fight Jorah the Andal.  If you can beat him, you will be worth killing.  But we will not fight hidden behind iron like cowards; no, you will be allowed your horse, your saddle, your lower clothes, and your sword.  Nothing else.¡±

    ¡°Against Jorah as well?¡± I asked.

    Drogo shook his head, the bells in his braids faintly tinkling.  ¡°No, against him you may fight as an Andal.¡±  Again with the Andal thing, I would be feeling very microaggressed if I bought into that BS.

    I nodded, smiled.  The conditions weren¡¯t outside of expectations.  ¡°Very well.  We are in agreement, Khal Drogo.¡± Then I turned to Jon.  ¡°Jon, I¡¯ll ride off a few hundred paces, then signal for you to throw the shield into the air.  Do remember to give it a decent bit of height.¡±  We had bought an extra shield just for demonstration purposes if that proved necessary.  I wasn¡¯t damaging one of ours, after all, especially after I enchanted it.  That was just profligate.

    Aethon turned to the side so they could see just how fast he really was, then I bent down and grabbed hold of the special handle-straps I¡¯d had added to the saddle.  ¡°Show them what you can really do, Aethon!¡±

    And like a shot he was off.  I couldn¡¯t measure it with a great deal of accuracy, but I knew that Aethon could manage a top speed of over a hundred miles an hour.  Even he couldn¡¯t keep that sort of speed up for long, or on anything but good terrain, but it was damned impressive.   Six or seven seconds later, when we were a few hundred yards away from Jon, Aethon slowed and stopped.  I drew my bow and three arrows, and used all the temporary spell buffs to make myself even faster and more accurate, then burned Blue to warp destiny.  I would not, could not, miss.

    Literally.  With that much destiny manipulation, missing was quite literally impossible.

    I told Jon through the communication link to throw it.  The round shield went flying up into the sky, it¡¯s face towards me.  And then with a thwack, thwack, thwack the arrows were away.  A moment later they landed on the target, a crack, crack, crack audible all the way from where I¡¯d shot.

    It was an impossible target and they all knew it. The first arrow had slammed into the shield, moving it and giving it spin.  Then the second hit where the shield moved to, as did the third.  I moved back to Jon at an easy canter that was still faster than their horses could gallop.  I could see how impressed the Dothraki were by my stunt.

    When I rejoined Jon, I called out to Drogo again.  ¡°Was that proof enough, khal Drogo?¡± I asked.

    He nodded.  ¡°It was.  Rather than have such a man die, I would offer that you join my khalasar.  I will give you horses, women and riches.¡±

    I shook my head.  ¡°My apologies, khal, but I have a lord and king already.¡±  Plus, I don¡¯t want to be some slaving, looting, barbarian nomad, but I was diplomatic enough not to tell him that.

    ¡°Very well.  Jorah will face you, and if you beat him, I will,¡± he announced.  I took off the saddlebags for my arrows and the holster for my bow and passed them over to Jon on Shadowfax.

    The difference between Mormont and I was striking.  I was in a relatively open helmet designed not to obscure my vision, and wore chain mail over a leather and cloth gambeson.  My gauntlets were only half-plate.  Mormont, while not in full plate, did have a breastplate, a heavier helmet, and was in general equipped more like a proper knight than a rich man-at-arms.

    He took up his lance, got his shield in position.  I did the same.  Unlike in a joust, where there is a divider, and each party passes with their shield facing their opponent, in a true battle it wasn¡¯t unusual to charge straight at each other, playing a game of chicken where whoever balks first loses position.  Or, of course, the knights crash together and ¨C assuming no one¡¯s horse goes down in the impact and both riders stay in their seats ¨C try and smash the enemy apart as quickly as possible before he returns the favor.

    I was a good rider, good with a spear, and with all the practice I¡¯d gotten with Jon, actually good at fighting on a horse now too.  Skills wise, I was around the level of a veteran but not renowned knight, the kind of warrior that formed the backbone of Westeros¡¯ armies.  Jorah was a champion, the sort of man who could match and beat the best knights in Westeros in a fair competition.

    Unluckily for him, it wouldn¡¯t be fair.  I was far stronger, faster and tougher than Jorah, and Aethon was far stronger, faster and tougher than Jorah¡¯s horse.  Beyond that, Aethon was smart enough to learn how to fight, to overcome his instincts as a herbivore (though I had cheated a bit with magic for that part) and become absolutely lethal in a brawl.  Meanwhile I could, even one-handed, pull off tricks to parry his lance with my own that I shouldn¡¯t have had the leverage or strength or speed or timing to manage.  But I wasn¡¯t limited to human strength or senses, and could.

    Jorah began to trot then canter at me.  I did the same in return with Aethon on a collision course.

    We got closer and closer, faster and faster.

    I could see it in the other horse¡¯s eyes, the moment it decided to veer off slightly.

    ¡°Now, Aethon!¡± I shouted.  Aethon exploded forwards, his head lowered to ram into the other horse.  Jorah tried to hit me with his lance but I parried it to the right-side of my body.  Then Aethon hit and sent the other horse tumbling away, its stance and speed nothing against Aethon¡¯s power.  Jorah went tumbling, clattering along the dirt.

    Aethon came around and I hopped out of the saddle, drawing my sword.

    I kicked the groaning body over onto its back.  He had lost his helmet sometime in the fall and was too stunned to recover fast enough.

    In a bout of theatricality, I decided to go all into the absurd local chivalry.  ¡°In the name of Robert of the House Baratheon, the First of his Name, King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and the Protector of the Realm, by the sentence passed by the word of Eddard of the House Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, I carry out the sentence of death to the slaver and traitor Ser Jorah Mormont.¡±

    Then my sword swung down, and off came Jorah¡¯s head.

 Chapter 21: Over the Sea and Far Away, pt. 4

    <u>Chapter 21: Over the Sea and Far Away, pt. 4</u>

    I picked up Jorah¡¯s head by the hair and holding it away from Aethon rode back to Jon.  He helped me strip off my armor and upper clothing, and I left it with him when I turned to face Drogo.

    ¡°Are you ready, khal Drogo?¡± I asked.

    Daenerys reached towards him, begging him not to do this, and to his credit Drogo seemed conflicted.  Then he came to a resolution.

    ¡°Come then, blood of my blood.  As we are one, let us fight this Andal as one,¡± he called out.  Three other riders moved forwards with him.

    Oh, that fucking cheat.

    I shook my head.  ¡°Jon, it¡¯s fine!¡± I called out.  ¡°I¡¯ve got this.¡±

    Jon just looked at me.  ¡°I wasn¡¯t going to move in the first place,¡± he said dryly.  ¡°After all, I wouldn¡¯t want to ruin your grand story.¡±

    ¡°Gods, Jon, with that much saltiness are you sure you aren¡¯t Ironborn?¡± I replied.  Then, to make sure I got the last word, I urged Aethon forwards.

    The four dothraki had spread out in a tight arc, their horses moving at a steady walk.  They had seen what I had done to Jorah, and weren¡¯t going to risk closing so quickly.  One stayed at the back and drew a bow.  Seriously.  These guys really went all in when it came to stacking the deck.  Unluckily for them, there was no way a single archer was going to break through my shields.  But I didn¡¯t want to show that off unless necessary, so I urged Aethon to move faster.

    ¡°I thought you said we would fight with swords, khal Drogo?¡± I called out as I closed with them.

    ¡°And we are,¡± he replied.  ¡°But I said nothing of my bloodriders.  Of course, you could always join my khalasar instead.¡±

    I shook my head.  ¡°There won¡¯t be a khalasar when you¡¯re dead.¡±  And with that, we clashed.  Or rather, Aethon did, rearing up and dancing forwards while balanced on his hind legs, his front hooves lashing out and downing the two bloodriders¡¯ horses that were part of front line.  It was a thing of terrible beauty, watching Aethon fight.  The bloodriders were good, and didn¡¯t go out of the fight with their horses, but it gave Aethon the chance to charge the archer before he was ready.  We passed to the archer¡¯s side, and my blade flicked out in a wicked horizontal blow, taking off the archer¡¯s upraised hand.

    We wheeled around, then charged back at khal Drogo who was now far less good-tempered.  I heard Daenerys scream in the background as we clashed one, twice, three times as I battered his guard lower and lower.  Then his sword was totally out of position and I extended forwards, my sword passing in a straight lunge through the front of his neck and out the back.

    I withdrew the blade, and Drogo¡¯s hands came up to his throat, desperately trying to staunch the bleeding as his mouth filled with red blood and he choked on the air he would never breathe again. Then Aegon stepped forwards, putting Drogo closer to me, and my sword swung hard to the side, taking off his braid and part of his skull.  With a twist of the wrist I flicked his braid towards me and caught it.

    ¡°NO! NOOO!¡± I heard Daenerys shout, restrained from rushing to Drogo by the men he had once set to protect her.  I rode down the last of Drogo¡¯s bloodriders then turned to the rest who were looking on in shock and horror.  Drogo¡¯s party broke into a chaos of shouting as Jon, Togo and Ghost raced up behind me.  Jon tossed me my archery equipment which I quickly reattached to Aethon¡¯s tack.  I didn¡¯t, however, have time to get my armor back on.

    I turned to their party which was growing a bit more orderly and called out.  ¡°By my victory I claim Viserys and Daenerys Targaryen!  Does anyone here gainsay me?¡±

    My hand was full of arrows, the first already nocked and ready to be drawn.  I could already see the riders splitting up into two main groups, each headed by what I was guessing were some of Drogo¡¯s lieutenants.  In the middle were Daenerys and her protectors who looked far from pleased at their position.  Both leaders had seen me shoot, and neither wanted to die for some foreign girl or her piece of shit brother.

    ¡°You killed Drogo.  She is yours,¡± the one called.

    ¡°This is known,¡± agreed the other.

    One of Daenerys¡¯ protectors looked furious.  ¡°She is our khaleesi!¡± he shouted.  ¡°We must bring her into Vaes Dothrak so she can join the dosh khaleen!¡±

    I grinned.  I¡¯d had the time to talk to the merchants and some Dothraki about Dothraki customs, and knew their law well enough to answer that.  ¡°Wrong.  All khaleesi must be approved by the dosh khaleen first.  Khal Drogo never presented her.  So Daenerys Targaryen is not your khaleesi, but simply a girl your khal had at one point.  I imagine he¡¯s done the same to many girls,¡± I said somewhat crudely.

    I could see him wavering.  ¡°Or you could challenge me for her?¡± I offered.  And that did it.  The fight went out of his eyes, and he pulled back from her.

    Poor Daenerys.  She couldn¡¯t even speak Dothraki, couldn¡¯t follow the rapidly changing situation.  But she realized how bad things were for her when the last of her protectors pulled back and abandoned her.

    I looked at her, not unkindly.  She was just a girl, for all the death and misery she could have sparked, and never chose this for her life.  ¡°They¡¯ve abandoned you, Daenerys,¡± I explained.

    ¡°T-they can¡¯t,¡± she gasped.  ¡°I¡¯m their khaleesi!¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, girl, but you¡¯re not.  Dothraki khaleesi¡¯s have to be presented to the dosh khaleen, the widows of all the khals who died before their time.  That was going to happen after you got to Vaes Dothrak.  Now, they decided it would be easier to surrender you to me.¡±

    She was looking around, the panic and hysteria starting to set in.  I decided to nip that right in the bud. ¡°Hey!  Daenerys.  Look at me. Look at me.  It¡¯s going to be alright.  I won¡¯t harm you.  And if you go out into this crowd, you¡¯ll be nothing more than a rich prize, a toy that used to be Drogo¡¯s to boast about.  So take a deep breath, and calm down.¡±  She was doing so, thankfully, rather than panicking and running and make this situation into a whole mess.

    I had been closing with her then when I figured I was near enough hit her with a bolt of concentrated suggestion to sleep.  She passed out, slumping in the saddle.  Aethon raced forwards and I caught her, pulled her into the saddle in front of me, and her grabbed her horse¡¯s reins.  Her horse was a beautiful silver filly, and I figured Daenerys might want to keep her.  A couple minutes later a rider came galloping up, a struggling silver-haired male tied up and slung over the horse¡¯s back.If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.

    ¡°Unhand me!  I am your king!¡± the figure screamed.

    The rider rolled his eyes and shoved him unceremoniously onto the ground.  ¡°This one,¡± he told me, ¡°is utterly useless.  He would rather ride a cart than a horse.¡±

    Oh, Viserys, were you really so stupid as to do no research about the people you wanted to have fight for you?  No Dothraki would follow someone who rides in a cart.

    Whatever.  I didn¡¯t need that bastard; if he¡¯d just gone into a nice, quiet exile I wouldn¡¯t have been there in the first place.  Quick as can be, the groaning young man¡¯s noises were cut off as an arrow sprouted out of his skull.

    I turned to look at Jon.  ¡°I told you it would make for a good story,¡± I said with a grin.  ¡°Now let¡¯s get out of here before anyone else tries to kill us.¡±

    I started pushing temporary versions of my enchantments into Daenerys¡¯ horse so it could keep up.

    Jon came up beside me.  ¡°But wouldn¡¯t that just make the story better?¡± he asked snarkily.

    I glared at him.  ¡°I think I liked it better when you brooded.¡±  We both burst into laughter at that relatively weak joke and the sudden decrease in tension.

    ===================================

    A few hours later, and with Hue and Mu to verify that there wasn¡¯t any pursuit we particularly needed to worry about, we stopped for a rest.  I got my clothes and armor back on, and settled in to work on the horse.

    First, I sterilized her.  I made sure I could reverse the procedure, but I didn¡¯t want to release a new breed of super-horses without consideration.  Then I added the same upgrades that Aethon had.  I noticed that when I upgraded an animal it would be reasonably loyal to me.  The Direwolves loved me about as much as their owners, and warg-bonds were deep.  Still, just in case the horse tried to help Daenerys escape I used a modified communication link that left her incapable of stopping me from over-writing its vision, hearing, scent and touch with my own.  If I needed to I could shut the horse off from all sensation, though hopefully that wouldn¡¯t prove necessary.

    I checked over Daenerys too.  She was pregnant, the to-be-born child a girl.  I made sure both of them would be having no new children without my reversing the magical surgery.  That way even if she did somehow escape, it wouldn¡¯t be a critical emergency.  I also installed the conceptual shield and added a bit of regeneration so that she could keep up when we were riding.  I¡¯d take it away when we were on a ship to King¡¯s Landing.

    Then I noticed something interesting.  A dormant, unpowered enchantment resting in her blood.  I memorized the pattern of it, thinking I¡¯d test it later.  With any luck, it would be the storied Targaryen fire-invulnerability.

    With that done, I woke up Daenerys.

    She was obviously confused by everything that happened, and recoiled back when she saw me.

    ¡°You fainted, Daenerys,¡± I explained, shooting a glance at Jon not to mention my magic to her.

    She looked on the verge of tears.  ¡°So, my sun-and-stars?¡±

    I assumed she meant Drogo, as her horse was right behind me.  ¡°Drogo?¡± I verified.

    She nodded.  I shook my head.  ¡°I killed him,¡± I answered.  ¡°It wasn¡¯t a dream.¡±

    Then she broke into sobs.  ¡°Why?¡± she finally asked.  ¡°Why did you have to kill him?  He didn¡¯t even want to go to the Seven Kingdoms!¡±

    ¡°But you did, Daenerys,¡± I said calmly.  ¡°And your brother did.  And you didn¡¯t want to go to bend the knee, but to start a new rebellion.  You think you¡¯re in pain?  You think today was bad?  Grow up, girl.  A successful rebellion on your part would have put at least a hundred thousand men into the ground before the dust cleared and the fighting was over.  A hundred thousand widows and orphans.  No, today was a mercy.  A mercy for all the people sleeping peacefully in Westeros who won¡¯t be killed, raped, enslaved by some barbarian Dothraki horse-lord.¡±

    She looked up at me, confused.  What I was saying didn¡¯t fit with her world view.  ¡°B-but, I thought the Usurper was ruining the country?  That people were just waiting for us to come back and restore things to the way they were?¡±

    Wow.  They had kept her very sheltered apparrently

    I laughed bitterly.  ¡°Are you really so na?ve?  The rebellion didn¡¯t happen for no reason, Daenerys.  Do you think that all those lords went to war over what, greed and the evil in their hearts?  No.  Your father was called the Mad King for a reason.  His own son, Rhaegar, was plotting to depose him.  But then Rhaegar fell in love with Lyanna, and lost his reason in turn.  He stole her.  It would be wrong if she had been the poorest peasant girl or beggar.

    ¡°But she wasn¡¯t.  She was the daughter of one Lord Paramount, the betrothed of another.  And when her father went to court with her older brother to beg for her release, the king, your father, accused them of plotting to kill Rhaegar, of having had Lyanna seduce him to give them justification for it.  He burned Lord Stark alive while his oldest son was tied so that he would slowly strangle if he struggled to help his father.  Lord Stark died screaming, and his son died struggling.  That¡¯s why Robert rose up, why the Starks came south.  And the memory of that, of that madness your family was so famous for, is why the Kingdoms would never fall without a heavy fight.¡±

    She looked stunned.  ¡°Your brother never told you about that, did he?¡± I asked.  I had to hammer the point home while she was still recovering, and would likely have to reinforce it half a dozen times on the way back.  ¡°About how your father refused to cut his nails and hair for fear of anyone with a blade being close to him.  About how he¡¯d beat your mother.  About all the other lunacy.  So no.  No one who wouldn¡¯t stand to profit, and profit heavily, is interested in your returning to take the throne.¡±

    ¡°And how do you know all of this?¡± she demanded, sullen.  Ah, great.  A pissed off teenager.  Was I sure I couldn¡¯t just kill her?  Because I was sure she¡¯d test me patience in the days to come.

    ¡°I asked questions of those who were at court at the time,¡± I answered.  ¡°Some of the servants and Ser Barristan the Bold included.¡±

    ¡°Barristan turned his cloak,¡± Daenerys rejoined.

    ¡°He killed a dozen men at the Ruby Ford, and finally fell to his injuries.  He was so wounded they expected he would die, but Robert had been impressed enough by his honor and skill that he sent his own maester to tend to Ser Barristan.  By the time Barristan could walk again without assistance, the war was over.  In return for Robert¡¯s mercy, he swore to him.  And even now, all these years later, when Robert heard of your future child and grew fearful, and all but Lord Stark on the small council accepted the necessity of sending assassins for you, Ser Barristan spoke in your defense.  He took no small risk doing so, even if he was not successful.¡±

    Daenerys lowered her eyes in shame.  ¡°If you were meant to kill me, why didn¡¯t you?

    I grinned.  ¡°I¡¯m not meant to kill you, of course.  Lord Stark and Ser Barristan were right.  There was no honor in killing a young pregnant girl.  I volunteered to see you brought back under Robert¡¯s control, or placed into the dosh khaleen.¡±

    She looked at me incredulously, her mouth hanging open.  ¡°Wait, do you mean to say you set off to do this?  That you always intended to kill Drogo?  Just the two of you against his whole khalasar?  Are you insane!?¡±

    Jon decided to speak up.  ¡°I asked him the same thing, you know.  He said it would make for a better story.¡±

    I settled back in arrogant amusement.  ¡°Well, it worked didn¡¯t it?  And we¡¯re not two, we¡¯re eight.  I¡¯m Odysseus, as I mentioned before the fight.  This is my friend and technically my squire, Jon.  Aethon is my noble steed, while Shadowfax puts up with Jon¡¯s bony ass.  Togo is the oversized dog, Ghost the direwolf.  Hue and Mu are my ravens, but they¡¯re currently out scouting.  Anyways, I¡¯d rather we avoided any pursuit, so it¡¯s time to ride.¡±

    Daenerys began to mount her horse.  ¡°Eight, because of course he counts the animals,¡± I heard her mutter.  ¡°And he has the temerity to call my father the mad one.¡±

    ¡°I heard that!¡± I called out.  ¡°And you shouldn¡¯t insult the non-humans here, you¡¯ll hurt their feelings.  By the way, what¡¯s your horse called?¡±

    ¡°My silver?  The Dothraki don¡¯t name horses,¡± she replied.

    ¡°You¡¯re not Dothraki, Daenerys,¡± I reminded her.

    She looked down and sighed.  ¡°I don¡¯t know then.¡±

    ¡°How about Asfaloth?¡± I suggested.

    ¡°Asfaloth?  What does that mean?¡± she asked.

    ¡°Asfaloth, which means foam-flower, was the horse of a hero from a tale.  Glorfindel, one of the greatest of the Firstborn in wisdom and strength, an Elf-lord who met and turned back the Immortal Witch-King of Angmar.¡±  I had been just slightly obsessed with Tolkien as young child.  I only read the trilogy three or four times before I started only reading my favorite bits in subsequent read-throughs, so that wasn¡¯t too excessive.  Right?

    She considered it.  ¡°No, I don¡¯t think so.  I think being my Silver suits you just fine, doesn¡¯t it?¡± she asked the horse, getting a nod in response.

    Fine.  See if I care if you subject your horse to your horrible naming sense.

 Chapter 21: Over the Sea and Far Away, pt. 4

    <u>Chapter 21: Over the Sea and Far Away, pt. 4</u>

    I picked up Jorah¡¯s head by the hair and holding it away from Aethon rode back to Jon.  He helped me strip off my armor and upper clothing, and I left it with him when I turned to face Drogo.

    ¡°Are you ready, khal Drogo?¡± I asked.

    Daenerys reached towards him, begging him not to do this, and to his credit Drogo seemed conflicted.  Then he came to a resolution.

    ¡°Come then, blood of my blood.  As we are one, let us fight this Andal as one,¡± he called out.  Three other riders moved forwards with him.

    Oh, that fucking cheat.

    I shook my head.  ¡°Jon, it¡¯s fine!¡± I called out.  ¡°I¡¯ve got this.¡±

    Jon just looked at me.  ¡°I wasn¡¯t going to move in the first place,¡± he said dryly.  ¡°After all, I wouldn¡¯t want to ruin your grand story.¡±

    ¡°Gods, Jon, with that much saltiness are you sure you aren¡¯t Ironborn?¡± I replied.  Then, to make sure I got the last word, I urged Aethon forwards.

    The four dothraki had spread out in a tight arc, their horses moving at a steady walk.  They had seen what I had done to Jorah, and weren¡¯t going to risk closing so quickly.  One stayed at the back and drew a bow.  Seriously.  These guys really went all in when it came to stacking the deck.  Unluckily for them, there was no way a single archer was going to break through my shields.  But I didn¡¯t want to show that off unless necessary, so I urged Aethon to move faster.

    ¡°I thought you said we would fight with swords, khal Drogo?¡± I called out as I closed with them.

    ¡°And we are,¡± he replied.  ¡°But I said nothing of my bloodriders.  Of course, you could always join my khalasar instead.¡±

    I shook my head.  ¡°There won¡¯t be a khalasar when you¡¯re dead.¡±  And with that, we clashed.  Or rather, Aethon did, rearing up and dancing forwards while balanced on his hind legs, his front hooves lashing out and downing the two bloodriders¡¯ horses that were part of front line.  It was a thing of terrible beauty, watching Aethon fight.  The bloodriders were good, and didn¡¯t go out of the fight with their horses, but it gave Aethon the chance to charge the archer before he was ready.  We passed to the archer¡¯s side, and my blade flicked out in a wicked horizontal blow, taking off the archer¡¯s upraised hand.

    We wheeled around, then charged back at khal Drogo who was now far less good-tempered.  I heard Daenerys scream in the background as we clashed one, twice, three times as I battered his guard lower and lower.  Then his sword was totally out of position and I extended forwards, my sword passing in a straight lunge through the front of his neck and out the back.

    I withdrew the blade, and Drogo¡¯s hands came up to his throat, desperately trying to staunch the bleeding as his mouth filled with red blood and he choked on the air he would never breathe again. Then Aegon stepped forwards, putting Drogo closer to me, and my sword swung hard to the side, taking off his braid and part of his skull.  With a twist of the wrist I flicked his braid towards me and caught it.

    ¡°NO! NOOO!¡± I heard Daenerys shout, restrained from rushing to Drogo by the men he had once set to protect her.  I rode down the last of Drogo¡¯s bloodriders then turned to the rest who were looking on in shock and horror.  Drogo¡¯s party broke into a chaos of shouting as Jon, Togo and Ghost raced up behind me.  Jon tossed me my archery equipment which I quickly reattached to Aethon¡¯s tack.  I didn¡¯t, however, have time to get my armor back on.

    I turned to their party which was growing a bit more orderly and called out.  ¡°By my victory I claim Viserys and Daenerys Targaryen!  Does anyone here gainsay me?¡±

    My hand was full of arrows, the first already nocked and ready to be drawn.  I could already see the riders splitting up into two main groups, each headed by what I was guessing were some of Drogo¡¯s lieutenants.  In the middle were Daenerys and her protectors who looked far from pleased at their position.  Both leaders had seen me shoot, and neither wanted to die for some foreign girl or her piece of shit brother.

    ¡°You killed Drogo.  She is yours,¡± the one called.

    ¡°This is known,¡± agreed the other.

    One of Daenerys¡¯ protectors looked furious.  ¡°She is our khaleesi!¡± he shouted.  ¡°We must bring her into Vaes Dothrak so she can join the dosh khaleen!¡±

    I grinned.  I¡¯d had the time to talk to the merchants and some Dothraki about Dothraki customs, and knew their law well enough to answer that.  ¡°Wrong.  All khaleesi must be approved by the dosh khaleen first.  Khal Drogo never presented her.  So Daenerys Targaryen is not your khaleesi, but simply a girl your khal had at one point.  I imagine he¡¯s done the same to many girls,¡± I said somewhat crudely.

    I could see him wavering.  ¡°Or you could challenge me for her?¡± I offered.  And that did it.  The fight went out of his eyes, and he pulled back from her.

    Poor Daenerys.  She couldn¡¯t even speak Dothraki, couldn¡¯t follow the rapidly changing situation.  But she realized how bad things were for her when the last of her protectors pulled back and abandoned her.

    I looked at her, not unkindly.  She was just a girl, for all the death and misery she could have sparked, and never chose this for her life.  ¡°They¡¯ve abandoned you, Daenerys,¡± I explained.

    ¡°T-they can¡¯t,¡± she gasped.  ¡°I¡¯m their khaleesi!¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, girl, but you¡¯re not.  Dothraki khaleesi¡¯s have to be presented to the dosh khaleen, the widows of all the khals who died before their time.  That was going to happen after you got to Vaes Dothrak.  Now, they decided it would be easier to surrender you to me.¡±

    She was looking around, the panic and hysteria starting to set in.  I decided to nip that right in the bud. ¡°Hey!  Daenerys.  Look at me. Look at me.  It¡¯s going to be alright.  I won¡¯t harm you.  And if you go out into this crowd, you¡¯ll be nothing more than a rich prize, a toy that used to be Drogo¡¯s to boast about.  So take a deep breath, and calm down.¡±  She was doing so, thankfully, rather than panicking and running and make this situation into a whole mess.

    I had been closing with her then when I figured I was near enough hit her with a bolt of concentrated suggestion to sleep.  She passed out, slumping in the saddle.  Aethon raced forwards and I caught her, pulled her into the saddle in front of me, and her grabbed her horse¡¯s reins.  Her horse was a beautiful silver filly, and I figured Daenerys might want to keep her.  A couple minutes later a rider came galloping up, a struggling silver-haired male tied up and slung over the horse¡¯s back.This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

    ¡°Unhand me!  I am your king!¡± the figure screamed.

    The rider rolled his eyes and shoved him unceremoniously onto the ground.  ¡°This one,¡± he told me, ¡°is utterly useless.  He would rather ride a cart than a horse.¡±

    Oh, Viserys, were you really so stupid as to do no research about the people you wanted to have fight for you?  No Dothraki would follow someone who rides in a cart.

    Whatever.  I didn¡¯t need that bastard; if he¡¯d just gone into a nice, quiet exile I wouldn¡¯t have been there in the first place.  Quick as can be, the groaning young man¡¯s noises were cut off as an arrow sprouted out of his skull.

    I turned to look at Jon.  ¡°I told you it would make for a good story,¡± I said with a grin.  ¡°Now let¡¯s get out of here before anyone else tries to kill us.¡±

    I started pushing temporary versions of my enchantments into Daenerys¡¯ horse so it could keep up.

    Jon came up beside me.  ¡°But wouldn¡¯t that just make the story better?¡± he asked snarkily.

    I glared at him.  ¡°I think I liked it better when you brooded.¡±  We both burst into laughter at that relatively weak joke and the sudden decrease in tension.

    ===================================

    A few hours later, and with Hue and Mu to verify that there wasn¡¯t any pursuit we particularly needed to worry about, we stopped for a rest.  I got my clothes and armor back on, and settled in to work on the horse.

    First, I sterilized her.  I made sure I could reverse the procedure, but I didn¡¯t want to release a new breed of super-horses without consideration.  Then I added the same upgrades that Aethon had.  I noticed that when I upgraded an animal it would be reasonably loyal to me.  The Direwolves loved me about as much as their owners, and warg-bonds were deep.  Still, just in case the horse tried to help Daenerys escape I used a modified communication link that left her incapable of stopping me from over-writing its vision, hearing, scent and touch with my own.  If I needed to I could shut the horse off from all sensation, though hopefully that wouldn¡¯t prove necessary.

    I checked over Daenerys too.  She was pregnant, the to-be-born child a girl.  I made sure both of them would be having no new children without my reversing the magical surgery.  That way even if she did somehow escape, it wouldn¡¯t be a critical emergency.  I also installed the conceptual shield and added a bit of regeneration so that she could keep up when we were riding.  I¡¯d take it away when we were on a ship to King¡¯s Landing.

    Then I noticed something interesting.  A dormant, unpowered enchantment resting in her blood.  I memorized the pattern of it, thinking I¡¯d test it later.  With any luck, it would be the storied Targaryen fire-invulnerability.

    With that done, I woke up Daenerys.

    She was obviously confused by everything that happened, and recoiled back when she saw me.

    ¡°You fainted, Daenerys,¡± I explained, shooting a glance at Jon not to mention my magic to her.

    She looked on the verge of tears.  ¡°So, my sun-and-stars?¡±

    I assumed she meant Drogo, as her horse was right behind me.  ¡°Drogo?¡± I verified.

    She nodded.  I shook my head.  ¡°I killed him,¡± I answered.  ¡°It wasn¡¯t a dream.¡±

    Then she broke into sobs.  ¡°Why?¡± she finally asked.  ¡°Why did you have to kill him?  He didn¡¯t even want to go to the Seven Kingdoms!¡±

    ¡°But you did, Daenerys,¡± I said calmly.  ¡°And your brother did.  And you didn¡¯t want to go to bend the knee, but to start a new rebellion.  You think you¡¯re in pain?  You think today was bad?  Grow up, girl.  A successful rebellion on your part would have put at least a hundred thousand men into the ground before the dust cleared and the fighting was over.  A hundred thousand widows and orphans.  No, today was a mercy.  A mercy for all the people sleeping peacefully in Westeros who won¡¯t be killed, raped, enslaved by some barbarian Dothraki horse-lord.¡±

    She looked up at me, confused.  What I was saying didn¡¯t fit with her world view.  ¡°B-but, I thought the Usurper was ruining the country?  That people were just waiting for us to come back and restore things to the way they were?¡±

    Wow.  They had kept her very sheltered apparrently

    I laughed bitterly.  ¡°Are you really so na?ve?  The rebellion didn¡¯t happen for no reason, Daenerys.  Do you think that all those lords went to war over what, greed and the evil in their hearts?  No.  Your father was called the Mad King for a reason.  His own son, Rhaegar, was plotting to depose him.  But then Rhaegar fell in love with Lyanna, and lost his reason in turn.  He stole her.  It would be wrong if she had been the poorest peasant girl or beggar.

    ¡°But she wasn¡¯t.  She was the daughter of one Lord Paramount, the betrothed of another.  And when her father went to court with her older brother to beg for her release, the king, your father, accused them of plotting to kill Rhaegar, of having had Lyanna seduce him to give them justification for it.  He burned Lord Stark alive while his oldest son was tied so that he would slowly strangle if he struggled to help his father.  Lord Stark died screaming, and his son died struggling.  That¡¯s why Robert rose up, why the Starks came south.  And the memory of that, of that madness your family was so famous for, is why the Kingdoms would never fall without a heavy fight.¡±

    She looked stunned.  ¡°Your brother never told you about that, did he?¡± I asked.  I had to hammer the point home while she was still recovering, and would likely have to reinforce it half a dozen times on the way back.  ¡°About how your father refused to cut his nails and hair for fear of anyone with a blade being close to him.  About how he¡¯d beat your mother.  About all the other lunacy.  So no.  No one who wouldn¡¯t stand to profit, and profit heavily, is interested in your returning to take the throne.¡±

    ¡°And how do you know all of this?¡± she demanded, sullen.  Ah, great.  A pissed off teenager.  Was I sure I couldn¡¯t just kill her?  Because I was sure she¡¯d test me patience in the days to come.

    ¡°I asked questions of those who were at court at the time,¡± I answered.  ¡°Some of the servants and Ser Barristan the Bold included.¡±

    ¡°Barristan turned his cloak,¡± Daenerys rejoined.

    ¡°He killed a dozen men at the Ruby Ford, and finally fell to his injuries.  He was so wounded they expected he would die, but Robert had been impressed enough by his honor and skill that he sent his own maester to tend to Ser Barristan.  By the time Barristan could walk again without assistance, the war was over.  In return for Robert¡¯s mercy, he swore to him.  And even now, all these years later, when Robert heard of your future child and grew fearful, and all but Lord Stark on the small council accepted the necessity of sending assassins for you, Ser Barristan spoke in your defense.  He took no small risk doing so, even if he was not successful.¡±

    Daenerys lowered her eyes in shame.  ¡°If you were meant to kill me, why didn¡¯t you?

    I grinned.  ¡°I¡¯m not meant to kill you, of course.  Lord Stark and Ser Barristan were right.  There was no honor in killing a young pregnant girl.  I volunteered to see you brought back under Robert¡¯s control, or placed into the dosh khaleen.¡±

    She looked at me incredulously, her mouth hanging open.  ¡°Wait, do you mean to say you set off to do this?  That you always intended to kill Drogo?  Just the two of you against his whole khalasar?  Are you insane!?¡±

    Jon decided to speak up.  ¡°I asked him the same thing, you know.  He said it would make for a better story.¡±

    I settled back in arrogant amusement.  ¡°Well, it worked didn¡¯t it?  And we¡¯re not two, we¡¯re eight.  I¡¯m Odysseus, as I mentioned before the fight.  This is my friend and technically my squire, Jon.  Aethon is my noble steed, while Shadowfax puts up with Jon¡¯s bony ass.  Togo is the oversized dog, Ghost the direwolf.  Hue and Mu are my ravens, but they¡¯re currently out scouting.  Anyways, I¡¯d rather we avoided any pursuit, so it¡¯s time to ride.¡±

    Daenerys began to mount her horse.  ¡°Eight, because of course he counts the animals,¡± I heard her mutter.  ¡°And he has the temerity to call my father the mad one.¡±

    ¡°I heard that!¡± I called out.  ¡°And you shouldn¡¯t insult the non-humans here, you¡¯ll hurt their feelings.  By the way, what¡¯s your horse called?¡±

    ¡°My silver?  The Dothraki don¡¯t name horses,¡± she replied.

    ¡°You¡¯re not Dothraki, Daenerys,¡± I reminded her.

    She looked down and sighed.  ¡°I don¡¯t know then.¡±

    ¡°How about Asfaloth?¡± I suggested.

    ¡°Asfaloth?  What does that mean?¡± she asked.

    ¡°Asfaloth, which means foam-flower, was the horse of a hero from a tale.  Glorfindel, one of the greatest of the Firstborn in wisdom and strength, an Elf-lord who met and turned back the Immortal Witch-King of Angmar.¡±  I had been just slightly obsessed with Tolkien as young child.  I only read the trilogy three or four times before I started only reading my favorite bits in subsequent read-throughs, so that wasn¡¯t too excessive.  Right?

    She considered it.  ¡°No, I don¡¯t think so.  I think being my Silver suits you just fine, doesn¡¯t it?¡± she asked the horse, getting a nod in response.

    Fine.  See if I care if you subject your horse to your horrible naming sense.

 Chapter 22: Over the Sea and Far Away pt. 5 (Or, There and Back Again)

    <u>Chapter 22: Over the Sea and Far Away pt. 5 (Or, There and Back Again)</u>

    That night, before we all went to sleep I told Daenerys I¡¯d be searching her things.  I didn¡¯t think she¡¯d try and kill us; she certainly wouldn¡¯t succeed, as someone, whether furred, feathered or human was on watch at any given time.  But if she wasn¡¯t armed she¡¯d be less inclined to do something foolish, and I wouldn¡¯t be forced to punish her for it.

    That¡¯s how I found the dragon eggs in her saddlebags.  Three of them.  One deep green with little flecks of dark gold.  Another cream with golden streaks.  The third midnight black with red marks like a tribal tattoo.

    They might have been petrified but I could feel it deep inside, the life just waiting patiently to be fed enough mana to be born.  Hell.  Fucking.  Yes.

    Obviously, I wanted to be stronger in just about every respect before I hatched them, and I needed to be able to do a lot more with mental effects, brainwashing, bindings and the like.  Westeros needed a pissed off wild dragon running about the place burning cities like I needed a jalapeno enema ¨C in other words, not at all.

    But was I going to be a dragon-knight?  Damn straight.

    I didn¡¯t sleep until I finished crafting a ward to keep the magic balance inside of the eggs stable instead.  As much as I didn¡¯t want them to hatch yet, I wanted them to die even less.

    Ah, dragons, I sighed to myself.  I had dragons.  I was grinning like a loon.

    ¡°He does know they won¡¯t just hatch, right?¡± Daenerys asked Jon cautiously the next morning when my joy still hadn¡¯t receeded.

    Jon looked at her pityingly.  ¡°He only mentioned how he wished he felt up to going to Asshai and the Shadowlands while we were already so relatively close once or twice.¡±  Daenerys looked puzzled as to why that might explain my reaction.  Then Jon finished his sentence.  ¡°Once or twice a day.  Every day since we passed the Free Cities.  He was talking about what he¡¯d need to be able to camp out for years, in the Shadowlands, just to find one of these things.¡±

    ¡°Is it because he¡¯s a wizard?¡± she asked.  Jon and I looked at her in shock.  ¡°The horses are moving much too fast, and my legs haven¡¯t been chafing at all.  Then he falls in love with the dragon eggs.  It wasn¡¯t hard to guess,¡± she explained, rolling her eyes.

    I cleared my throat.  ¡°Ha.  Yes.  Well I try and keep it quiet, generally.  I mean, it¡¯s something of an open secret, just look at Togo, but I find it¡¯s a lot more fun to be a wizard than to be asked to be a wizard, if you see what I mean.¡±

    She looked at me with a fair bit of confused fear.  It was almost as if she were the captive of someone she thought slightly mad.

    I deflated a bit.  But only a bit because dragons.  ¡°Let¡¯s just get a move on,¡± I instructed.

    The problem was I had three of them.  I hadn¡¯t anticipated needing three names.  Beyond that none of the names I could think of were auspicious.  I wanted my dragons to be giant fire-breathing monsters of intelligence and wit, not just massive amounts of killy-ness.

    Of course I wanted the killy-ness too.

    Then it came to me.

    Zelazny, Feynman and Stephenson.  Three amazing authors.  Zelazny wrote Lord of Light, my single favorite book ever.  Feynman had a unique way of looking at problems that I attempted to emulate as a student.  And Stephenson¡¯s Diamond Age had been the novel that set me down the path of science in the first place.  I¡¯d simply name the dragons randomly from that list as they were born.

    From Vaes Dothrak we went west and slightly south towards Volantis.  After our previous innocent misunderstanding I didn¡¯t want to risk travelling through Qohor again.  Beyond that, Volantis had this massive, centuries old magical black stone wall.  Or at least they thought it used magic, but considering it was seamless and thick enough to drive six chariots across the top I wasn¡¯t going to discount the possibility.

    Although that did raise the question; just what kind of fucking monsters are out there that a twenty-four meter thick, 60 meter tall wall was considered reasonable and necessary?

    Either way, I wanted to see Volantis and its wall, so we set off for it.  Given that Daenerys was pregnant, we took it a little easier.  At the beginning of the journey she was somewhere on the border of the first and second trimester.  I asked her if she wanted an abortion, which she refused with a bit of horror.  As far as I and Blue was concerned the baby wasn¡¯t showing any signs of true sentience at that time, so I felt like it wasn¡¯t immoral to offer.

    But that just gave me more time to bond with the land as we passed over it.  I picked up eight White plains in the Dothraki Sea as well as a pair of Blues from rivers we passed in that area.  They weren¡¯t marked on my map so I had no idea as to their names.  Then we were travelling along the edge of the Painted Mountains and I picked up a neat half-dozen Red mana.

    After passing over some hills we entered into the marshes and swamplands around the source of the Volaena river basin.  The ground would have been unpassable if it weren¡¯t for my weaving roots into a solid road for the horses to walk along.  I picked up three Black mana passing through that area.  Then we were past the marshes and travelling along the Volaena river itself, which I bonded twice before we finally came to Volantis.This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

    I was wary of bringing Daenerys into the city, especially with her eye-catching white hair.  I wasn¡¯t too worried about her running; she¡¯d gained a fairly deep level of Stockholm syndrome over the past three weeks of travel, helped along by gentle nudges of Blue.  Slightly unethical, and I knew that, but if I could present Robert with a Daenerys who was happy and content and obviously not going to incite rebellion things would go much better for her.  Beyond that I really wasn¡¯t capable of anything more than planting temporary suggestions and emphasizing certain thoughts.  It was a slow nudging in truth, rather than a thorough conditioning or total control.

    At least so I comforted myself.  It was interesting to see how easy it was to be corrupted by power, the temptation to violate people in the deepest and most disturbing ways simply because it was less bother for me.

    But Westerosi traders were not unusual in the city, and the bounty on Daenerys and Viserys¡¯ heads from over a decade ago had never been officially rescinded.  Beyond that the Old Blood of Volantis, those who could prove unbroken descent from Old Valyria and were allowed to live within the Black Walls, might take an interest in her.  So I used Green mana to change her hair from silver to a more common blonde, her eyes from purple to a deep blue.  I attached an Uninteresting Object enchantment to the bag that was holding the dragon eggs, then again on their padding.  And with that we were ready to enter.

    Volantis was a great city, perhaps the greatest of the Free Cities.  Once it had been the most populous.  Though that was no longer the case it did have the most other cities within its territory, hovering somewhere between city-state and a proper small nation.  In contrast the other Free Cities were more centralized around their single main city.

    After living in nature for so long being in a populated city with its smells and noises ¨C but mostly smells ¨C was a real shock to the senses.  Even in the relatively exotic Volantis we cut quite the figures, a pair of Westerosi warriors with a beautiful blonde, all riding handsome horses and flanked with pony-sized canine beasts.

    That did give us a bit of space.  The hathays, a type of cab used by the people of Volantis who believed that travelling on foot was somehow demeaning, gave us an especially wide berth, careful that our animals wouldn¡¯t spook their dwarf-elephants.  In Volantis even being mounted on horses was seen as distinctly middle-class.  But fuck that bourgeoisie laziness, Aethon was a much better ride than any wheeled conveyance, especially since they lacked suspension systems.

    The city was full of tattooed persons.  Slaves were consistently tattooed to mark their status and denote their occupation, and Volantis had five slaves for each freeman.  I was honestly amazed that there hadn¡¯t been some Spartacus to come along and slaughter the slavers yet.  I didn¡¯t want to stay in the city for too long; the slavery made me uncomfortable.  On the other hand, I was very interested by what was on the inside of the Black Wall.  I wanted to explore the towers and temples, the stores of ancient knowledge held within.

    There were some other important structures in the city that I wanted to visit as well.  The Temple of the Lord of Light was dedicated to R¡¯hllor, whose worship was most common outside of the more traditionally Valyrian Black Walled populace.  The

    Temple was supposedly three times the size of the Great Sept of Baelor; I wanted to bond it, and see if any of their priest¡¯s sermons included real magic.

    There was also a bridge, the Long Bridge, that went over the wide mouth of the Rhoyne and connected the older and newer parts of the city.  The bridge itself was some two kilometers long, which was simply amazing considering it hadn¡¯t been built during the age of myths and magic.

    Volantis seemed to like these sorts of overblown edifices.  It was also home to the Merchant¡¯s House, an Inn which was certainly the largest in the city, possibly the largest, at least with regards to maximum occupancy, in the Free Cities.  We were staying there while we explored the city.  It was strange to sleep on a bed after so long on the ground.

    Since we were staying there the Merchant¡¯s House was the first place that I bonded.  It provided a White and a Red mana.  The first two days we travelled along the Long Bridge.  Each five hundred meter stretch provided a White and a Blue mana, four of each in total.  Jon and Daenerys window shopped while I followed along, most of my attention focused on attuning myself.

    Then we had finished with that, and it was time to move onto the Temple.  It was a truly massive complex and took three days of my attending the Temple and pretending to pray before I finally managed to attune the whole place.  In the end it gave me three Red, three White, two Blue and two Black.  What that said about R¡¯hllor as a god was disturbing; the place was weighted very heavily towards Red and Black for a place of prayer and knowledge.  Even a relatively chaotic place just being in a city and organized would give that relative amount of White.  Unfortunately, the priests¡¯ magics were still as unimpressive as they had been in Pentos.

    Then it was finally time to approach the Black Wall.  I looked at it closely with my magical senses.  It was impressive.  Over the course of the day I bonded that gatehouse, gaining a pair of Reds.  I also learned three new enchantments.  The first was something I probably could have figured out on my own with a bit time, and was an effect I dubbed Fuse Stone.

    But deeper in the Black Walls, sleeping and drained of power were some more interesting enchantments.  The second enchantment I learned that day was what I thought of as Living Stone.  The Walls, were they powered, could actually slowly regenerate themselves and repair damage.  Sort of like a persistent stone shaping effect directed to strengthen and heal the walls.  The third enchantment of the day was what I called Hateful Stone.  If the walls defined you as an enemy then on contact it would attempt to destroy you, in this case by burning.

    Unfortunately both the second and third enchantments depended on a power source.  For the Black Wall, this was the stone that the Wall was itself made of.  The thickness wasn¡¯t just defensive, but actually meant that the Walls were once upon a time an absolutely massive battery for the enchantment.  That said, the energy density of the stone, which seemed to be mostly dragonglass with some other things mixed in, was low.  It made sense they needed so much.  But with higher ambient mana I wouldn¡¯t be surprised if the Black Wall fortress stayed standing basically forever, even if it was being actively attacked day and night.  I could tell that the energy was mostly drained though, and that the Walls would start running totally dry in a century or three.

    I couldn¡¯t wrangle an invitation inside and had little chance of finding anything interesting in a timely fashion without a guide, so I decided we might as well leave Volantis.  The stench of oppression was starting to get to me anyways.

    We followed the river Rhoyne north for a week as I bonded seven Blue mana from it, then passed two days in the Velvet Hills, earning two Red, before finally ending up back at Pentos.  We were stuck there for four days until there was a ship going to King¡¯s landing.  Ten days after that and some three and a bit months and a new calendar year after we left in the first place, we were finally back in Westeros.

    Come to think of it, it had been about nineteen months since I first came to Westeros.  I was soon to be twenty two years old.

 Chapter 23: Homecoming

    <u>Chapter 23: Homecoming</u>

    I had kept Lord Stark updated via Nevermore, and so he knew to expect us.  Jory Cassel and a squad of Stark guardsmen were waiting for us at the docks.  Our cavalcade of people, horses, and massive fanged beasts left the ship.

    I walked up to Jory smiling, grasped his arm in mine.  ¡°Captain Cassel!  It¡¯s good to see you again.¡±

    He was smiling too. ¡°No, it¡¯s good to see you again, Ser Odysseus, and you Jon.  I feared that you would never return from your mission.¡±

    I spread my arms wide, showing off that I was, in fact there in the flesh.  ¡°I¡¯m devastated at the lack of faith, Jory,¡± I joked.

    He laughed.  ¡°So is that the girl?¡± he asked.  Daenerys was in a hooded cloak to avoid any unfortunate incidents happening before we reached the Red Keep.  I had restored her original coloring as we came in to port.

    I nodded.  ¡°She is indeed.¡±

    He looked at her cloaked figure intently.  ¡°She¡¯s a small thing to cause so much trouble.¡±

    Daenerys shifted uncomfortably.  ¡°She can also hear you, Ser,¡± she said.

    Jory just laughed.  ¡°My apologies lass, that was rude of me.  And I¡¯m no Ser; I¡¯m a proper man of the north, and don¡¯t need a pretty title to dress up what I do.¡±

    I gasped, clutched my chest.  ¡°Oh Captain, you wound me so!¡±  The Stark men, Daenerys and Jon laughed at my joke.  ¡°Anyways, it¡¯s been a long journey, Captain.  Shall we end it?¡±

    He nodded, gave his men the order to split up half ahead and half behind, and we were off for the Red Keep.  When we arrived, Jory told us that the king and his small council were waiting for in the small council chambers.  We dismounted, leaving the horses with stablehands, and walked up to meet with Robert, Ned, and the rest of the council.

    Robert looked very glad to see me.  ¡°Odysseus!¡± he roared.  Really, the next time he got poisoned I was installing an inside voice.  ¡°You did it!  You magnificent man, you did it!¡±

    Ned also looked happy to see us back, as if weight had been lifted off of his shoulders.  ¡°Well done, Ser Odysseus, Jon.  I¡¯m glad you¡¯re safe.¡±

    Renly, Ser Davos, Grand Maester Erreck, and Lord Manderly were also quick to offer their congratulations.

    Then the old woman in the room spoke up.  ¡°Yes, yes, you went off and killed some horse-lord.  Congratulations, boy,¡± she said somewhat flippantly, her eyes cunning and analyzing my reaction.

    ¡°My lady Tyrell,¡± I said with a short bow and a smile, ¡°may I say what a pleasure it is to have you in King¡¯s Landing.  I can see that you live up to every bit of your reputation.¡±

    She gave a humph sound.  ¡°Not too easily riled, then,¡± she said as if to herself.

    Robert laughed.  ¡°Stop teasing, Lady Olenna.  There¡¯s more than time enough for that in the future.  Now, is that her?¡±

    I nodded.  ¡°Your Grace, I present to you Daenerys Targaryen.¡±

    In a bit of theatrical flair she dropped her cloak to the ground and kneeled.  ¡°Your Grace,¡± she said, eyes lowered.  She was obviously pregnant, well into the second trimester, but still very pretty and so very, very young.  I suppose most of that was cultural; the Westerosi married as young as thirteen and fourteen sometimes, teen pregnancy the rule rather the exception that it was where I grew up.

    For all his faults, Robert tended to be generous if lecherous towards women.  I was hoping that would help Daenerys; I had gotten to know her on the way back and she was a good kid.  Might, in another lifetime, have even made a good queen.

    He looked at her, grimaced.  ¡°Up, girl, up.  I won¡¯t keep a pregnant woman kneeling, no matter what family she was a part of.¡±

    Daenerys stood up, her eyes still looking down.

    ¡°Look at me, girl,¡± Robert ordered.  Daenerys¡¯ face came up and he looked deep into her eyes.  ¡°You have Rhaegar¡¯s hair, but your eyes are far fairer.  Hopefully you didn¡¯t get his madness, or worse yet your father¡¯s.¡±  He sighed.  ¡°I still don¡¯t know what to do with you.  So, why not.  Ser Odysseus, you caught her, you keep her.¡±

    My eyes widened.  Please, please don¡¯t be what I¡¯m thinking.  I had no desire to marry, especially not some girl nearly six years my junior whose previous husband I had cut down.  ¡°Your Grace?¡± I choked out.

    He looked at me with a bit of amusement.  ¡°Well, you took care of what we discussed, correct?¡± he asked, referring to making sure there would be no future Targaryen pretenders with an unusual degree of circumspection.  I nodded.  ¡°So since she¡¯s no true threat, and I don¡¯t know what to do with her, I¡¯m making you responsible for her.  Send her to a nunnery, keep her here or at Winterfell, hells you can make her your mistress or even kill her for all I care.¡±

    I blinked a few times in astonishment.  That was, in so many ways, fucking cruel.  ¡°I wasn¡¯t aware Westeros had slavery, Your Grace?¡± I asked, my voice denoting humor to take the bite out of my words.

    Robert¡¯s face became a bit grim and he smirked darkly.  ¡°And we don¡¯t.  I heard you finally passed judgement on Jorah Mormont as well, good job on that by the way.  But no, I¡¯ve simply not rescinded my previous writ of attainder.  Daenerys Targaryen has no right to title of nobility, property, or even her life.  But I am now deferring judgement in this matter, and giving you full powers in all matters related to her.  The child too when it¡¯s born.¡±

    Wow.  That was actually clever.  I mean, really clever.  Robert wasn¡¯t exactly famous for his legal acumen, after all, and that was as far as I was aware a loophole that hadn¡¯t been used before.  It wasn¡¯t in any book of Westerosi legal practices that I read, at least.

    He read that thought on my face, as well as the faces of the small council and barked a quick laugh.  ¡°Ha!  You all didn¡¯t think I paid any attention when we discussed legal issues.  I was just waiting for my moment.¡±  And then he laughed heartily at our surprise, the rest of us chuckling along.

    Finally he stopped.  ¡°Now, I would ask for the full story now, but I¡¯ve already arranged a feast in your honor which starts in an hour.  And I¡¯m sure it¡¯s quite the story.¡±

    Well.  It seemed that I had to figure out what to do with Daenerys now.  I was a bit overwhelmed.

    As he left the council chamber to get ready to feast, Robert clapped me on the shoulder.  ¡°Now, don¡¯t worry, Odysseus.  I have a proper reward for you too.  But it¡¯s a surprise; you¡¯ll have to wait for me to announce it during the feast.¡±

    Oh dear.

    Then Jon walked up next to me.  ¡°You know, given everything you put me through I think we can agree you owe me a favor, right?¡± he asked.  I nodded hesitantly.  Then he got a wolfish smile on his face.  ¡°Good.  So, I¡¯ll be the one telling the story then.¡±

    Oh dear.

    ===================================

    An hour later, Robert stood at the front of the packed Grand Hall.  Margaery and Lord Stark were sat near him, but I was in the place of honor, Jon right next to me.  Daenerys stood behind me; Robert had wanted her to serve as my cupbearer at least for tonight in a bit of politically pointed public humiliation.

    I¡¯ll admit, the power, the attention¡­ It was a heady feeling, one I feared I might grow used to.  I had grown, developed, changed during my time in Westeros.  When I returned home, how would I relate?If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

    Robert rang a bell, getting total silence.  ¡°Alright,¡± he said.  ¡°When I announced this feast, I didn¡¯t say what it was for.  Or rather, who it was for.  Odysseus, stand up,¡± he ordered.

    He pulled me up and put an arm around my shoulders.  ¡°For those few who weren¡¯t here for the Tourney of the Hand, or didn¡¯t get to see him fight and compete, this is Ser Odysseus Gangari.  And tonight, he¡¯s who we¡¯re all here to honor.  I¡¯m sure you¡¯ve at least heard of him.  He¡¯s an accomplished and learned warrior, a great healer, and one of the most honorable men in the Realm.¡±

    I was blushing a bit at the unstinting praise.

    ¡°I¡¯ll cover some of his greatest achievements, then talk about what he¡¯s done most recently.  First, as a warrior.  He beat Sandor Clegane, disdaining weapons and only using his fists despite both being armed.  His dog, Togo, fought and won a trial by combat with the Kingslayer and traitor, Jaime Lannister.  Ser Gregor Clegane, the Mountain that Rode and forty men ambushed him ¨C he brought their heads in sacks right to this hall, and fought and killed Lord Tywin Lannister the next day.¡±  The crowd went wild with cheering at that.

    ¡°Aye, aye, I know,¡± Robert boomed in agreement.  ¡°You¡¯d better believe, I was even happier than all of you.  And a lot of us were cheering extra hard when he took the championship in archery later.¡±  A lot of people smiled and nodded in agreement.

    ¡°He was critical in overturning the Lannister conspiracy, in bringing Cersei Lannister to justice, in discovering the treachery of Grand Maester Pycelle as well as Lords Baelish and Varys, and though Baelish is still at large his properties were seized following a plan which Sir Odysseus suggested.

    ¡°The Crown is some five and a half million dragons richer today, and we have much of that thanks to our good knight.  Further, Lord Manderly, the Master of Coin, assures me that Odysseus¡¯ advice has left the Seven Kingdoms with a yearly profit three quarters of a million dragons greater.  Now, I¡¯m not one to count coppers as many know, but even I¡¯m impressed by that.¡±

    Another round of cheers rang out.  I was getting so many fuck-me eyes, from married and unmarried alike.  Hell, even some of the men; no judgement, but no way in hell guys.  Some of the women though¡­ There¡¯s a reason they call it tempted to sin.

    Robert waved for quiet again.  ¡°Now, any man who achieved half of that in his life would count it well lived, but our Ser Odysseus has gone even further.  He¡¯s a great healer, helping save the life of Bran Stark when the boy was pushed from a tower.  Not to mention saving my own royal life not once but twice.¡±

    And at that the crowd went quiet with shock then wild with applause.  Dammit, Robert, I liked shit being calm and quiet.  Plus, I was previously a little feared.  Now everyone would want to be my friend.  Plus they¡¯d bring me sick people to heal which just¡­ urgh.  Not what I wanted to be doing with my life.

    Robert waited for the shouting and cheering to die down. ¡°We should have been feasting him many times before, but Ser Odysseus dislikes too much attention and is perhaps too humble.¡±

    Ya, no, that was just a straight up lie.  I am far from humble.  It was like that time I was in middle school and my physics teacher was so happy with me that he praised my organization.  I was good at physics, not filing, and had already lost something like three quarters of my papers, but organization was part of the rubric so I got a ten out of ten on that and a bit of praise added to my year-end report.

    I was about as humble as an eagle; that is to say, not at all.  It was more my anti-social nature not wanting to have to deal with too much popularity than anything else.

    ¡°But over these last few months he has achieved something that I just could not let him get away with brushing off,¡± Robert continued.  ¡°Accompanied only by his loyal squire, their horses, and their dog and wolf, he rode out past the Free Cities.  Ser Odysseus proceeded to cross hundreds of leagues of grassland, patrolled and inhabited by the savage Dothraki horse-lords.  Finally, he found the horde of one of their kings, Khal Drogo, who commanded forty thousand cavalry.¡±

    Everyone was listening entirely intent on Robert¡¯s story as he paused to build tension.  It was times like this that made me realize why they made him king.  The man was charismatic, and boy did he know how to work a crowd.

    ¡°Also part of this horde were three of our enemies.  Ser Jorah Mormont, who fought bravely at Pyke and bested Jaime Lannister after breaking nine lances in the joust, yet sold men into slavery and fled before my good Lord Stark¡¯s justice could reach him.  Viserys Targaryen, the Beggar Prince and pretender to the crown.  And his younger sister, Daenerys Targaryen who was to wed Drogo in return for an army.¡±

    The room was totally silent now.  You could literally have heard a pin drop as the crowd just ate up Robert¡¯s performance.

    ¡°When I heard of this, I had a heavy heart.  It wasn¡¯t the most honorable course of action, but I decided that for the good of the realm, to prevent another war, it had to be done.  I had to send assassins after the Targaryens, after any unborn children the girl might carry.¡±  Robert sighed deeply, as if I hadn¡¯t been there I might have believed that he wasn¡¯t just pissed off, fearful and lashing out at that time.

    ¡°But my Hand, Lord Stark, and Lord Commander Barristan argued against that.  Argued that my honor was too dear to lose whatever the case.  So I was left with a most difficult decision; my honor as a man, or my honor as a king?¡±

    The room listened raptly as Robert drew them in, his voice getting softer as he related his great moral dilemma.

    ¡°But then Ser Odysseus spoke out.  Without thought to risk or reward, he volunteered to ride out, kill Viserys and Drogo, and retrieve Daenerys.  And in so doing, to keep my honor safe as both man and king.  As you can see,¡± he said his voice gradually rising, then turned to gesture at Daenerys, ¡°Ser Odysseus was successful, and Daenerys Targaryen is now in hand!¡± he boomed.

    If I thought the crowd went wild before, what followed gave a whole new definition to the word.  It took minutes for the cheering, banging and stomping to even start to die down.

    Eventually Robert raised his arms for quiet.  ¡°Now, when I asked this man, this hero, what he wanted for doing so much to aid the realm, to save my life, to save my honor, do you know how he answered?  He didn¡¯t ask for lands, for honors or favors, for some highborn lady¡¯s hand in marriage.  Hells, when I tried to give him a lordship or place on the small council previously he¡¯s even refused.  He hasn¡¯t even mentioned being refunded the monies he spent on his quest.¡±

    People were visibly impressed by that, and curious as to where Robert was going with it.  I, of course, knew.  After all, I¡¯d organized it by communications raven with Ned and Robert before we even took ship.

    ¡°No, Ser Odysseus asked for one thing. He asked that his faithful squire, Jon Snow, the son of Lord Eddard Stark, be legitimized as a cadet branch of House Stark.  And so I want it to be known to all here that Jon Snow is no more.  In his place sits a new man, Jon Farstark!¡±

    Jon was totally shocked, his mouth open as everyone started applauding him and chanting ¡°Farstark! Farstark!¡±  He shot me a look saying he¡¯d get me back for this as I pulled him into a one armed hug and ruffled his hair while I smiled.

    After a while Robert raised his arms for quiet again.  ¡°Now, you all know me, and you all know I¡¯m generous to my friends.  So there was no way I could allow Ser Odysseus to get away with this selfless act being his only reward.  All the time that he was gone, I wracked my mind for what reward I would give him when he came back with success.  And then, well, there was the tragic passing of Lady Whent a fortnight ago.  This time I¡¯m not giving Ser Odysseus the option of refusing,¡± Robert said with a smile.

    Oh, that bastard!  He was giving me so much work! I thought.

    ¡°And so I present to you Ser Odysseus Gangari, Lord of Harrenhal!¡± Robert shouted as the crowd went wild once more, screaming and chanting ¡°Gan-ga-ri! Gan-ga-ri!¡± and ¡°Harr-en-hal! Harr-en-hal!¡±.

    I turned to shout in Robert¡¯s ear, ¡°that was evil!¡±

    He gave me this massive, innocent smile and shouted back, ¡°I know!¡±

    Robert waited a bit for people to calm down, then raised his arms wide for attention again.  ¡°So, before we hear the tale of his latest adventure, something even I haven¡¯t had the details of yet, let us raise a toast.  To Lord Gangari!¡±

    ¡°¡±To Lord Gangari!¡±¡± the crowd echoed and drank.  I saluted with my wine-glass in return and drank a bit myself.

    ¡°Well,¡± I said loudly as I stepped forwards to begin my own speech.  ¡°I still say that Harrenhal is much too great an honor, and a heavy burden.  But as I seem to have no other choice, I shall have to bear it.¡±

    The crowd laughed at my joke.

    ¡°I wanted very much to tell everyone the story of our adventures in Essos,¡± I said.  And I really did.  A culture of epic storytelling was basically the greatest thing about Westeros.  ¡°I even subjected myself and Jon to a number of situations so that the resulting tale would be even better than otherwise.  However, my dear squire, not knowing that I was planning to gift him a name, demanded a single reward of his own; to tell our story.  And so I give you Jon Farstark to relate our journey into the heart of the savage Dothraki Sea, our actions and battle while there, and our return to fair Westeros.¡±

    And then with a bout of clapping from the crowd I sat down, and Jon stood up.

    ¡°I¡¯ve heard my master, teacher and friend called many things,¡± he began.  ¡°Some people have called him mad.¡±

    A few hisses, jeers and boos at those that would denigrate a hero, some from the very same people that had done so in previous months.

    ¡°Others,¡± Jon continued, ¡°have called him a genius.¡±

    Now some cheering, quickly quietened.

    ¡°Of course, they¡¯re all wrong.  I¡¯ll tell you the hidden truth, here and now,¡± he said, his voice quiet and drawing everyone in.  ¡°To me, at least, it¡¯s quite obvious.  He¡¯s a mad genius,¡± he deadpanned.  The crowd burst into laughter, as did I.  Under my influence Jon had lightened up a lot and proved to have a deep sense of humor.

    ¡°You see, my lord doesn¡¯t look at the world like normal people.  No, he looks at the world like it¡¯s an epic of the first age, and he¡¯s the heroic protagonist¡­¡± Jon continued as I began to dig into my food and wine with a smile.  I might as well have a good night, because in the morning I¡¯d have to start getting my shit together.

    I¡¯d been given my most difficult job yet; to fix the cluster-fuck that was Harrenhal.

    Once I had, my future dragons had better not fuck it up like their cousins did in the past.

 Chapter 24: New Lands

    <u>Chapter 24: New Lands</u>

    Ned came by in the morning to record my house words.  I went with ¡°Thy Will Be Done¡±.  The overt Westerosi meaning was to be obedient and dutiful to m--y overlords, the Tullys, and my king Robert.  The more hidden meaning was a reference to my magic powers.  And the reference to the Lord¡¯s Prayer was a reminder not to lose myself and my morals.  I had no desire to demonstrate the concept of absolute power corrupting absolutely, after all.

    I looked at Ned warily.  ¡°So now that you¡¯ve managed to force a lordship on me, what¡¯s next?  Going to try and get me wed?¡± I sarcastically asked.

    Ned was looking at me with the particular face he used when something was hilarious and he was not laughing because Starks are serious.  A shiver went down my back and I bolted upright.

    ¡°No!¡± I protested.

    He couldn¡¯t help it and grinned.  ¡°I¡¯ve already had someone approach me about that, as it so happens.¡±  He paused long enough to really wind me up, then continued.  ¡°Arya decided that if she had to marry someone it was going to be you.¡±  At that, I knew he was joking.

    ¡°Oh, you jackass!¡± I exclaimed.  ¡°You had me so worried for a moment.¡±

    Ned chuckled.  ¡°But seriously, if you aren¡¯t wed by the time she¡¯s sixteen, we¡¯ll be having this talk again.¡± He raised a hand to stop my protest.  ¡°I know how you feel about marriage; you explained the customs of your homeland, and I haven¡¯t forgotten.  But ten years difference is not too long, not when I suspect you will live far longer than any ordinary man.  For your own sensibilities you can be betrothed when she¡¯s sixteen, and wed when she¡¯s eighteen so long as her feelings don¡¯t change.  But Odysseus, you are one of the few men with whom she might be able to live a happy life,¡± he finished, pleading somewhat.

    I sighed heavily.  ¡°Fine.  If, if I¡¯m still unmarried in four and a half years we can go ahead with your plan, at least to the point of Arya and I talking about it.¡±

    Stark smiled and clapped me on the shoulder.  ¡°Thank you, Odysseus.  That is a great weight off of my shoulders.  What are your thoughts on Harrenhal?¡± he asked, gesturing to the documents and maps I was looking at.

    Honestly, I had been pissed off a bit about being given Harrenhal at first; it felt like settling down, giving up on going home.  But then I realized it might be nice to have a home in Westeros.  Once I figured out how to get home I¡¯d almost certainly be able to travel back and forth at will, and being the undisputed lord of a fief could be fun.

    Still, I groaned.  ¡°You know giving me that place was adding an extra job for me to do.  That place is a mess.¡±

    And it was.  Harrenhal was designed to be a royal seat, and even then it was overly large.  Winterfell was a massive fortress and could host over ten thousand troops and as many civilians in a siege in reasonable comfort.  Harrenhal was three times larger.  The godswood alone was twenty acres, all of it inside the walls.

    Winterfell needed a minimum patrol on the walls of about fifty men to detect a surprise attack, and needed about two hundred more to hold the walls properly.  Two shifts to alternate sleeping and fighting and taking into account the strength and height of the walls meant that a garrison of five hundred was able to keep Winterfell safe from twenty times their number.

    Harrenhal needed almost as many soldiers as a full combat shift at Winterfell just to patrol the walls properly.  It should be properly garrisoned by at the very least a thousand troops.  A good garrison would include two thousand foot and five hundred horse.  From the latest figures, they had only two hundred guardsmen and less than a half-dozen household knights.

    Everything was such a larger scale there, that monstrous edifice of a concentric castle on steroids.  Harrenhal was meant to be a royal capital, not a lord¡¯s seat, and without those extra revenues it was next to impossible to run the place properly.  Then add in the fact that so much damage was caused and never fixed after the castle was burned by dragonfire, the rumored curse from the workers whose blood had been mixed into the stones and mortar, the fact that old Lady Whent had been mostly incapable of properly managing her territory for years¡­ honestly, my ¡°reward¡± was more of a punishment.

    Still, I¡¯d make it work.  It was my responsibility, after all, and I wasn¡¯t going to leave the thousands of people that lived on what were now my lands in the lurch.

    Was I going to cheat like fucking crazy with magic?  You¡¯d better believe it.

    My first priority was agriculture and the food supply.  Initially I¡¯d just give a boost to what the farmers were already doing; add Green to make hardier, healthier plants and animals and White to ward away pests.  Then I¡¯d introduce fully upgraded fruits and vegetables, first to my own castle for a year or two to really optimize them, then to my farmers.  I¡¯d also be requiring my farmers to use Four Field rotation, and start the enclosure movement soon.  I had plans for aquaculture too; Harrenhal bordered the God¡¯s Eye lake, and fish farms are highly productive with large protein yields.  All of that would take time though.

    Part of improving the agriculture would include improving the tools used, which tied into the second thrust I was planning, metallurgy.  Given that I had the secret to Valyrian steel, I had no doubt that I could make my lands a center for Westeros¡¯ smiths.  I also knew how to make blast furnaces and Bessemer converters, so I could manage plentiful, cheap steel.  Granted, actually making those would be very difficult if it weren¡¯t for the fact I could shape and improve stone materials.  I¡¯d make sure to spend some time designing better plows, seed drills, harvesters and the like too.

    Apart from metals and food, I was planning on one more industry: books.  I wanted a paper mill and printing press.  Large amounts of paper was actually likely to be the bottleneck there, but I was hoping that a half-dozen alchemists and some guidance from me might make it work.

    Even better for my future industry, my lands were connected by river to King¡¯s Landing which meant I could export easily.  Someday Harrenhal would be productive and powerful.  I would have the last laugh.

    But most of that was for the future.  My beginnings would be much more humble.  And the very first step was to raise some serious funds.  Luckily, there was a product that I could produce quite easily that was literally invaluable: Valyrian steel.  I just needed a few good smiths to sign on with me.  I still had the lion¡¯s share of the gold I had won in the Tourney, about eight-hundred dragons, and I was sure that the Harrenhal vaults held more, so paying them wouldn¡¯t be an issue.

    I even had an idea as to who to visit first: Tobho Mott, and his apprentice, the king¡¯s bastard Gendry Waters.  When investigating Arryn¡¯s death Ned had come across Gendry, and been impressed with his skills.  Apart from being a lord, Ned was a well-trained warrior and had an eye for quality equipment.  Anyone good enough for the Lord of Winterfell was good enough for me, at least until I revolutionized the industry.Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

    Luckily Gendry and his master were willing to have him come work for me.  I recruited another two journeymen level smiths who seemed skilled and worked for well-reputed masters, and gave them money to buy whatever equipment and supplies they would need at Harrenhal that wasn¡¯t already available there.  I asked Lord Stark to look over their preparations then left with Jon and Dany (short for Daenerys) for Harrenhal.

    Unlike when travelling in Essos, I wanted to be there faster rather than take the chance to gain mana, so we travelled at a good pace all day, making the four hundred miles or so by noon the following day.  We passed by my new town, Harrentown, and its four and a half thousand inhabitants along the way.

    My new lands were fairly extensive, stretching from about forty miles west of Harrenhal over to the Kingsroad about eighty miles the east of my castle, and going from about twenty miles north of Harrenhal down to about 250 miles south.  Of course, most of my southern area was occupied by the God¡¯s Eye lake and the Isle of Faces, the latter of which was exempted from my control.

    My lands were relatively productive agriculturally and fairly densely settled; all in all, I had a population of some four-hundred thousand.  This included nine subordinate houses of landed knights and their lands, as well as the town of God¡¯s Tears where the God¡¯s Eye river starts.  The rest of the population were scattered about in fishing and farming hamlets and villages.

    The decent supplies of food and relatively clean fresh water meant that my peasants tended to be fairly healthy; the weak leadership in previous years meant that banditry was starting to become more prevalent.  There was a decent sized piece of woods to Harrenhal¡¯s south-east which came close to the Kingsroad; the bandits seemed to use it to raid my villages and travelers depending on their circumstances.  I looked forward to collecting more Green mana and hunting the bandits at the same time.

    ===================================

    When we arrived, Dany was just about ready to kill me.  She was pregnant and moody, and though relieved to be in my care was somewhat upset by the fact that I could do anything I wanted to her and there¡¯d be no recourse.  She trusted me not to abuse that authority, but it was still a difficult situation to digest, especially for a pregnant teen.  Dany had had quite enough of riding, and was glad to be done with it.  Though not, it seemed, glad to be at Harrenhal.

    I couldn¡¯t blame her.  The place was a fucking disaster zone.  Living there was like living in a building that had been hit by a hurricane and never properly repaired; it was better than living in the natural wild, but hardly pleasant on the mind.  The half-melted stone was disturbing, but the gnarled, twisted, leaning towers were legitimately worrying.

    Stone castles tended to settle over time, sinking very, very slowly into the ground.  If the towers shifted much more, the whole damned things could come down.  It wasn¡¯t like the stone was reinforced by rebar or anything either.  Just mortar, which meant that any and all structural integrity was really coming from the fact that everything was under compressive loading.  Add shear to the mortal like the towers were experiencing from their tilts, and I gave our materials at most fifty years more until something went catastrophically wrong.

    It took Harren forty years and all the money in the Riverlands to build my castle; there was no way in hell I¡¯d be able to fix it soon enough to feel comfortable ¨C it didn¡¯t matter how much money I used, how many Valyrian blades I made and sold.

    No, looking at that mess, I realized it was time to fess up to being a wizard, and get my magic on.

    The fact that the fortress was legitimately cursed didn¡¯t help things.  I had felt the sinister tendrils of Black reaching for us before being repulsed by the protections I had given us.  It was a weak thing, but the ground was cursed and over time would invite misfortune for those that called it home.  No wonder Harrenhal kept changing hands.

    I suspected that breaking the curse would have a noticeable effect, so I figured I might as well go all out.  It wasn¡¯t like my magic was really that much of a secret, and I was strong enough by that point that I could face the assorted armies of the world and laugh.  I had a hundred and fifty five mana after coming back to Westeros.  That could power enough attack magic to wipe out small armies.

    Further, as I had gained more and more mana I had noticed that my bonds grew deeper, more complete.  I was already starting to see a noticeable degree of diminishing returns, but my mana cycle time had decreased from a little over half an hour back when I first arrived at Winterfell to about five minutes.  I had plotted it out, and determined that the cycle time for mana was roughly an hour divided by the square root of the total amount of mana I had access to.

    With so much raw power available, I had to fight the temptation to just use every increasing amounts of mana in crude but easy applications, rather than improving my skill and finesse alongside my power.  The latter more skillful method had fewer immediate results but would allow me to go much, much further in the future.

    I shuddered to think what another mage of my variety might be capable of after gathering mana for a decade, a century, a millennium.  How mighty they might be.

    I had conceived of the idea of creating a spell to form mana bonds.  Then it would be an exponential mana-bonding curve until the whole of Planetos gave me power.  By a back of the envelope calculation, assuming that Planetos was the same size and land-area as Earth, that meant that there were about fourteen point five million chunks of land that were four square miles in size, which seemed to be the size that I bound for non-improved mana sources ¨C for example plains as contrasted to the more efficient cities.  Assuming that it took five mana per new mana bond, and my mana cycled every five minutes, I could fully bond the whole world in about five hours and fifteen minutes.

    That was fucking crazy.  I kind of wanted to do it.  I didn¡¯t for a few reasons.

    First, I was a firm believer in the twenty second rule of evil overlords: ¡°No matter how tempted I am with the prospect of unlimited power, I will not consume any energy field bigger than my head.¡±  I was pretty sure bonding all the mana on Planetos counted.

    Second, I had noticed a sort of subconscious awareness of the land after I bonded with it.  I was pretty sure that if one of my forests burned down, for example, or was cut down and a town built there, I would know.  It didn¡¯t seem that the mana I had was pressuring my mind, but it could easily be that my mind was naturally and slowly adapting to the strain.  Suddenly being aware of fourteen point five million lands seemed like it might be too much.

    Third, I had noticed if I bonded a lot of mana of the same sort in quick succession that I got a little crazier.  Challenging khal Drogo to a fight wasn¡¯t out of character, sure, but it was driven by the parts of my character that had been amplified by all that extra White I¡¯d been picking up.  Otherwise I¡¯d have never decided on a semi-honorable duel.  That was why I was careful to pick up even Black mana occasionally despite my general distaste for it and inefficiency using it.

    I suspected that by area, Planetos was heavily skewed to White and Green, grasslands and forests, with comparatively smaller amounts of river and coastline, mountains and swamps.  Granted those had higher energy densities than forests or grassland, but it still wasn¡¯t something I wanted to leave up to chance.  Even if the planet were perfectly balanced, it still might supercharge all parts of my personality.  I had no desire to give myself personality disorders, I was crazy enough already.

    Fourth, I wasn¡¯t quite sure how to do it yet.  I could feel the possibility for the spell, but it just wasn¡¯t there in my mind yet.  Still, whether it took ten new mana to get there or a hundred, I looked forward to having a more efficient way of gathering mana bonds.  Especially if I could do so at a nice distance, and set the spell to target a specific type of bond.  That would just be grand.

    But even if my power curve wasn¡¯t as explosively exponential as it might have been, it was still at least somewhat exponential.  In my magical infancy, I might have gone mad bonding ten mana of a single color back to back, and if I didn¡¯t go mad it would have been close.  After returning to Westeros I could do something like that and just take a day or two off afterwards to re-center.  As I gained more and more mana bonds, and grew more and more used to them, I could gain the next ones with less effect.

    So again, I was left wondering how strong a true elder land-mage like myself might become.  How many worlds they might call upon.  How skilled their magic, how overwhelming their power.

    One day I would be like that, as much above the fabled Titans as they were above the mortals of antiquity.  Already I was above any of the nations on this world.

    It was a heady realization, powerful and frightening in equal measure.

    But that was to worry about in the future.  For now, it just meant I could fix a broken castle with impunity.

 Chapter 25: Meet the New Boss

    <u>Chapter 25: Meet the New Boss</u>

    Of course, before I went around re-arranging the skyline, I had to meet my new subordinates.  I had sent Nevermore ahead to tell them when I¡¯d be arriving and to ask for a meeting of the lord¡¯s council.  Then Nevermore had winged his way north to Winterfell; it was hard for Ned to be so far apart from the rest of his family, and that way he could at least get and send news in near-real time.

    After ordering a servant to find Dany rooms near my own and look after her needs, Jon and I were led off to greet the officers of Harrenhal and Harrentown.

    There was the Marshal, who was in charge of all military affairs, Ser Deran Middlebury.  A fierce man with a cynical outlook into his middle years, he had a stout build.  He preferred to organize and command from the rear.  He was responsible not just for the men, but for their logistics as well.

    The Captain of the Guard was Ser Levir Hawick.  Stern, average height and solidly built, his red hair sported a widow¡¯s peak.  He was in his thirties and very respectful.  His job was to see to the day to day operation of the Guard, focusing more on a tactical/executive level than a strategic one.  He was Ser Deran¡¯s second in command.

    Ser Kase Crane was Master-at-Arms.  Restless and energetic he was a strong man but with a bit of fat to him and despite being fairly young had thinning brown hair.  His job was to train the soldiers in how to fight, and help lead them in war.

    The Master of the Horse was Ser Darran Perk, a gentle man, especially with horses.  He had sandy hair and his long face suited his lanky frame.  He was responsible for selecting and caring for the horses and helped in training the men to ride and fight from horseback.  Like Ser Kase, he would help lead the guardsmen in combat.

    Chief Constable Arnol Stally was outspoken and a bit of a braggart.  Tall, with salt and pepper hair and beard he kept the populace of Harrenhal and Harrentown in line.

    Chief Steward Stefon Bridges was my senior civilian manager and advisor.  He looked after the finances for my house, which Jon would now be helping with, made sure taxes were collected, and commanded the castle¡¯s servants.  He was assertive, confident and competent.  His blue eyes, black hair, thin frame and average height made me think he might hail from the Stormlands.

    Mayor of Harrentown Edam Blest was a bit of a worrier, wringing his hands during our meeting.  He was shorter than average, solidly built, and had a large bulbous nose.

    The Harrentown Dockmaster was Dorran Lander. He might as well have had his picture under the encyclopedia¡¯s entry for sailor; he was talkative, average height, had light brown watery eyes, a broken nose, and missing a finger that he¡¯d likely accidentally cut when gutting fish or lost in a net.

    The Septon, Marcyn Chess, was a disagreeable and self-righteous man, taller than average, soft in body and not a great orator.  I suspected that we might have trouble after I showed off my magic.

    The Maester was called Connor Rislet.  Compassionate, intelligent and pragmatic I was glad to have him.  Physically a little shorter than average, he was fit but skinny and had thinning salt-and-pepper close-cropped hair.

    Master Smith Bryan Teague was the senior smith for the castle, and the most accomplished in the region.  Sharp-witted and tongued he had a reputation for no nonsense.  Shorter than average but built like a beer barrel he reminded me a bit of a fantasy dwarf-smith.

    Chief huntsman Orwen Wyne was calm and quiet, of average height and build, and brown haired.

    After meeting them and hearing their reports on the state of my lands, I wasn¡¯t particularly happy.  Nor was I particularly surprised though.  Things were as I¡¯d been told to expect by Ned and Robert.  I wanted to get started with my magic then and there, but decided it might be better to wait until I had spoken with Ned and Robert, laying all my cards out on the table.  Even if they knew and suspected the truth, it was just polite and what a friend should do.

    So instead I laid out my general vision for the future.  How I¡¯d be using my knowledge to better than double the food production.  How we were soon going to be the top steel producers in Westeros.  How Harrenhal was going to be the first place in Westeros with a proper paper-mill and printing press.

    Basically, that there were good things coming, and that I¡¯d be leading the territory to wealth and power for all involved.

    Furthermore, I¡¯d be fixing the damned castle.

    They seemed cautiously optimistic, which was about what I was hoping for, though they obviously disbelieved my last claim to fix the castle and its curse.  Now that I¡¯d met them and verified there were no critical emergencies, I was able to go back and start gathering together the caravan of smiths, alchemists, and other experts.  Of course they¡¯d need an escort on the road, so I told my new Captain, Ser Levir, to take as many men as he thought necessary to be safe on the road to King¡¯s Landing and then escort my experts back to Harrenhal.  It would take Ser Levir about two weeks to get to King¡¯s Landing; I certainly wasn¡¯t going to travel at that slow pace.

    I sent Hue back to Ned with the message that I¡¯d be by King¡¯s landing tomorrow and would like to speak with him and Robert.

    ===================================

    I left Jon behind to start getting the clerks using double entry book-keeping, and to find some boys from Harrentown who could be trained up as clerks to go back through the last few years of accounts and re-record them in a better format.  Daenerys was taking a much deserved rest and relaxation.  And I left in the morning for King¡¯s Landing.

    Riding quickly and fueled to endure with extra charges of Green, Aethon, Togo and I managed to arrive in King¡¯s Landing some nine hours later.  It was still the early afternoon.  Ned and Robert weren¡¯t busy, and were happy to meet with me.Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

    I looked at them slightly nervously, hoping that they¡¯d react well to what I was about to say.  ¡°So.  I¡¯m not sure how exactly to say this¡­ You know how Togo is absolutely massive, and Aethon can run faster than any other horse but Shadowfax?  There¡¯s a simple reason for that.  I¡¯m a wizard.¡±

    Robert and Ned just looked at each other and burst out laughing.

    I was taken aback.  ¡°That was not the reaction I was expecting,¡± I muttered.

    Robert was howling in amusement and smacking his leg in his paroxysms.  ¡°I¡¯m a wizard! Hahahaha!  As if that¡¯s a secret! Ahahahaha!  And his face, Ned, his face!  AHAHAHAHAHAH!¡±

    I narrowed my eyes.  ¡°Alright then.  I¡¯m glad I¡¯ve amused you,¡± I said snarkily.

    Eventually they calmed down a bit.  ¡°So what brought this stunning revelation on, Odysseus?¡± Ned asked.  Robert started laughing again as soon as he heard the word ¡°revelation.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m planning on coming out about it, at least to an extent,¡± I replied.  ¡°Harrenhal is a wreck.  I¡¯m stunned that none of the towers have collapsed yet, but it¡¯s only a matter of time.  Ten years, twenty, fifty¡­ I have no desire to be buried in falling rocks.  And the place is fucking cursed to boot.  There¡¯s no way to fix either of those without a lot of pretty obvious spells getting thrown about.¡±

    Ned raised his eyes.  ¡°Your magic can fix something like that?¡± he asked incredulously.

    ¡°I¡¯ve gotten a lot stronger since leaving Winterfell,¡± I admitted.  ¡°And I roughly doubled my strength while in Essos.  I figured out how to achieve some of the same effects of the wonders there.  Volantis¡¯ Black Wall taught me how to mold stone and repair it, while in Qohor I saw enough of how they reforged Valyrian steel to be able to make my own.¡±

    That last one had their attention.  ¡°New Valyrian steel, you mean?¡± Robert asked seriously.

    A wide and gleeful smile dawned on my face.  ¡°That¡¯s right.  I need to work on it while it¡¯s being made by a master smith, but I can manage it.  I¡¯ll be selling them at set rates, a hundred times the weight of the weapon in gold for true Valyrian folded steel.  Twenty five times the weight of the weapon for unfolded Valyrian steel.  Or five times the weight of a metal item to have it given a Valyrian blessing.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s the difference?¡± Robert asked.

    ¡°The Valyrian blessing is the basics of the magic they put in the steel.  It makes it so the metal doesn¡¯t dull or break, at least not that I¡¯ve been able to manage at the sorts of forces a human can exert.  The metal also gets a lot lighter, which is both a good and a bad thing.  Swords and other weapons rely partially on their weight to cut, after all.  The best part about the Valyrian blessing though is that it can be applied to something that¡¯s already been forged, including armor.¡±

    I could just see their eyes light up at that.

    ¡°One level up from the blessing is unfolded Valyrian steel, or as I think of it false Valyrian steel.  This does everything the blessing does but also makes the edge of the blade very sharp.  However, it needs to be cast while the blade is still somewhat fluid.  After the sword will have an edge sharper than the finest razor.

    ¡°And then there¡¯s the pinnacle. The problem with true Valyrian steel is that it needs a smith with skill, soul and heart sufficient to shape the magic.  I can provide the power, but not the inspired act of artistic creation.  But true Valyrian folded steel is truly amazing.  To begin with this takes the advantages of the less sophisticated techniques and makes them even greater.  Then the magic and the smith work together to imbue the blade with the conceptual ideal of cutting.  If cutting was a god, then the sword would be its saint.  Beyond that, there is something about the blade that causes them to strike true.  Lastly, the sword gains metaphysical weight to replace what was lost to the magic.  When the blade strikes it hits just as hard as non-magical steel of that size and speed would, but since the blade is lighter and thus faster it actually allows the wielder to strike harder.¡±

    Ned nodded.  ¡°That has been my experience with Ice,¡± he agreed.  ¡°How many of these blades can you make?¡±

    I grinned.  ¡°We will be making a single item a month.  The right to choose what is made will be auctioned, then the purchaser will pay the price of the item itself.¡±

    Ned sighed.  ¡°Of course.  Your pricing seemed far too reasonable.  I should have expected something like that.¡±

    I shrugged.  ¡°One a month, auctioned, will bring me more than enough income to help reform my territory.  But I was thinking we might help each other.  Lord Manderly has a quarterly auction of the treasury bills and bonds.  I was hoping you might add three of my monthly items to the auction, one for each of the months of that quarter, and publicize it ahead of time.  We could start with the auction in two months time.¡±

    Robert nodded.  ¡°That would certainly bring a large crowd to the auctions,¡± he agreed.

    I smiled.  ¡°Thank you, Robert.¡±  He had told me after I brought back Daenerys that if I didn¡¯t call him Robert, at least in private, that he¡¯d appoint me to the small council too.  ¡°Now, in appreciation of our friendship I wanted to offer the two of you some gifts.  First, you can ask for whatever weapons or armor you like from me before the auction.  I only ask that you wear it to the first one, and show it off.

    ¡°Other than that, I wanted to offer to improve you with my magic.  I can make you supernaturally strong and fast, make your flesh as hard to damage as stone, give you a slight premonition of danger, give you a defense as powerful as leather armor that will work on any attacks ¨C even magical ones, shield you so that it would take a dozen archers shooting at once to overcome the protection and harm you, make your bones nigh unbreakable, make it so that you heal faster and are healthier and harder to poison in general, improve the good qualities you can absorb from your food, make it so that dirt and sweat comes off of your body and you stay ever clean, and make it so that the wind assists you when moving and cools you when standing.¡±

    Their eyes glazed a bit at the list of upgrades you could provide.  ¡°You have all of these?¡± Ned asked incredulously.  ¡°And they¡¯re safe?¡±

    I nodded.  ¡°I do.  And, they are safe.  For you, at least.  The supernaturally enhanced strength and speed might make bed-sports dangerous if the woman is someone not so blessed, and you will have to take care when practicing not to accidentally injure your opponents,¡± I clarified.  ¡°I am willing to offer the same to Catelyn, Ned, and your children save for the strength.  And for you, Robert, I can offer the same to your future wife, and to Lord Barristan.  But I think you can understand why I am wary of making too many superhumans, and the process is not without difficulty.¡±

    Robert was stunned.  ¡°Damn.  That¡¯s quite the offer.  Let me think on it a minute.¡±

    I smiled.  ¡°There¡¯s no rush.  I can always give you the upgrades later.¡±

    Ned was considering it, then after a minute he nodded.  ¡°I will take you up on the offer, in full,¡± he agreed.  ¡°And I will ask Catelyn to do the same.¡±

    Robert sighed.  ¡°Ah, fuck it.  I¡¯m in too.  But not the strength; I couldn¡¯t bear to lose out on my fun.  Mayhap things will change after I¡¯m married, but I wouldn¡¯t count on it.¡±

    ¡°The regeneration brings increased stamina as well.  Your future wife might surprise you,¡± I said, grinning.

    Robert laughed.  ¡°Now if you want to truly make a fortune, you should sell that!¡±

    I shook my head.  ¡°No, that is only for my friends.¡±

    ¡°And we¡¯re honored to be counted as part of that number,¡± Robert replied, draping his arms around Ned and me.  ¡°Now, I think this calls for a bit of a celebration.¡±

    Robert proceeded to try and get us all drunk.

    Huh.  I guessed I should have mentioned how hard that was going to be for him in the future.

    Nah.   Let him find that one out on his own.

 Chapter 26: Making Whole

    <u>Chapter 26: Making Whole</u>

    I spent the next few days in King¡¯s Landing, improving Ned, Robert, Ser Barristan, Sansa, and Arya.  Only Ned and Ser Barristan got the full strength.  Arya I gave a less potent version of the strength, but figured that she might be too tempted to use her strength and fight if I gave her a greater level.  I could tell that the spells could be improved, but didn¡¯t have sufficient time to make it a higher priority given the lack of a pressing need.

    Syrio Forel, Arya¡¯s instructor, figured out the difference almost immediately.  I wasn¡¯t overly surprised; he had a sort of wise martial arts master vibe going on.  He inquired about what it would take to get similar upgrades from me, but balked at swearing himself to my service.  It was a pity; he¡¯d have been fucking lethal with the upgrades and a Valyrian steel rapier.

    Meanwhile, Wisdom Munciter of the Alchemists Guild slowly got his party of acolytes and apprentices all packed up to come to Harrenhal and take up residence there.  I hadn¡¯t had much success attracting other skilled workers, but more for lack of time to search them out than anything else.  Gendry and the other smiths were busy readying to head out too.

    They looked to be on schedule to leave by the time my guards arrived, so that was all fine.  Unfortunately for them, they were limited to the speed of carts and wagons on the road back.  Aethon and I could make the five hundred mile Harrenhal - King¡¯s Landing run in a day; they¡¯d take a month.

    Apart from just not having time to waste, needing to get back to Harrenhal and start working my magic, I had to make it back to King¡¯s Landing again in time for the start of the week of festivities leading up to Margaery Tyrell and Robert¡¯s wedding.  That was starting in just a week, so I didn¡¯t waste any time and pushed on to Harrenhal when my business in King¡¯s Landing was done.

    Once I was there, I had the officers of the castle clear it out, brining all the people into one of the courtyards.  I intended to break the curse and fix the stones, and thought it might be better if there were no one inside while I did the work in case something went wrong.  I told my officers I was going to break the curse, activated my mage-sight, and set off.  I tracked the lines of dark influence back to the godswood and eventually the heart tree.

    The weirwood seemed to have a horrible visage, full of hate and twisted anger with wicked eyes.  It was a scarred tree, and the very opposite of sacred.  I settled into a light state of meditation, then reached for White.  I took one mana, then another, then five, then twenty more until I held a massive force, the greatest single concentration of mana I had ever wielded as part of a spell.

    ¡°Forgive us our trespasses,¡± I said clearly, structuring my desire to break the curse and restore the land.  Then I loosed the healing, purifying energies into the weirwood and waited with my breath held for a moment before the tree started to heal.  The scars shrunk and disappeared, the once wicked gaze became fond, its sneering face settling into the happy wrinkles of a kind grandfather.

    Throughout the fortress, for as far as I could sense, the darkness receded then evaporated as it lost its grip on the land.  No longer was Harrenhal cursed.  The air seemed sweeter, the light brighter, and a small creeping dread in the back of my mind had passed on.

    I turned, walked back out of the godswood and to the Kingspyre Tower, the tallest of all the towers where Harren and his sons were burned alive. It was a lopsided, broken structure that would have looked more like a wax model left too close to the flame than part of one of the greatest fortresses ever made had it not been for the humbling, awe-inspiring size of the tower.

    I stretched my hands forward, touched the wall of the Tower, and began to channel.  Strictly speaking, the Living Stone enchantment that was once active on the Black Wall of Volantis needed to be cast when the object had the structure that you wanted.  In other words, were I to use it unaltered, it would happily repair my castle to its current broken state in the future.

    But Blue was the color of history and dreams, of time and magic.  White the color of purity, of completeness, of order.  And so I made those stones living, but I made them remember and long for a time gone by when the fortress was new, and beautiful, and whole.  And then I settled in to channel.  This was a task beyond even my grown reserves, and so rather than a quick burst of power I gave it a steady stream, fed the spell pattern with a colorless mana every other second, occasionally touching the spell up as the magic tired.

    I was there for a long time, an hour or more.  My focus was complete and pure, my will iron, my intent sharp as an arrow.  And Harrenhal responded.  The stones flowed as if time were reversed.  And my castle was more and more whole.  And then suddenly the magic cut off, the spell completed with the fixes.  I felt that the spell would soon collapse, but that I could make some small change with what time I had remaining.

    I couldn¡¯t think of what I wanted to do with the spare energies until suddenly it came to me.  Piping.  And with that thought, the stone flowed inside the walls, some pipes appearing to carry water and others waste.  Then the massive working was complete.

    Jon passed me a bit of food and water.  My servants and guards looked on at me in fear and wonder, gossiping and chattering around the large yard but trying to avoid gaining my notice.  When I finished with my food and drink I stretched out my arms, interwove my fingers and strained to put a nice pressure across my palms.  Some of my fingers clicked at the action.

    Then I gathered up my mana again and reached out to the stone once more.  This time instead of moving the stone in a general fashion I blended it together, fused the different blocks and structures together, made the stones of the entire fortress a single perfect seamless piece.  It was eerie and awesome, as if some sculptor had carved the massive fortress out of a lump of perfect grey crystal, or as if a god had made the whole thing in one go out of cement.

    I was finished.  It was better than new, a slick grey fortress of looming concentric walls, powerful bastions and immense towers rising up, the smooth stone almost shimmering as the sun broke through the clouds.

    When I walked towards the castle¡¯s people, they cheered.

    Harrenhal was, without a doubt, mine.

    Though I was sure that the interior furnishings would still need work.

    ===================================

    After that my people were pretty damned reverent, if intimidated.  Even Jon and Daenerys were highly impressed, and they had experienced my magic before first hand.  I spent the next three days going over my plans for our Agricultural and Industrial Revolutions, preparing for when I could properly move on my plans.  My steward started rolling out the Four-Field rotation system and enclosures immediately, organizing what he could for the spring planting, but it would still take another full year before all of my fields were using it.

    My landowning farmers, who sat somewhere below a knight and above a peasant worker in the social hierarchy, tended to be fairly conservative.  Most would wait for proof of success before starting a new method of farming; I was considering offering insurance if they¡¯d make the leap, but was wary of being scammed.  Then again, it was pretty hard to hide more-successful crops; the tax assessors, who were often part-time officials and the local village chiefs could see the extra plants growing.

    I decided it was worth incentivizing the switch; those who did switch over their farms to the new system would be forgiven their grain tax for the next three years in proportion to how many fields they switched over.  They would still be responsible for their duty to keep a certain amount of arms, perform a certain amount of training with the local militia, and be prepared to be drafted as part of my levy if necessary.  The offer would only be good for these three years; in other words, if they switched next year, then they got two years of four-crop rotation tax free, the year after just one year without taxes, and after that I¡¯d be back to collecting my share of a hopefully much increased harvest.The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    The magically optimized plants and animals would have to wait until I had time to experiment.  That said, I did manage to bond with the Godswood there, all twenty acres of it, and gained three Green mana in the process.

    Then it was time to go back to King¡¯s Landing.  This time Jon came with me, since I didn¡¯t want him to miss the festivities.  Dany, pregnant and not wanting to travel, nor particularly comfortable near Robert or at court in general, decided to stay behind at Harrenhal.  It was a much brighter, happier place than when we had arrived, and much less likely to fall down on her head too, so I was content with the situation.

    ===================================

    Jon and I arrived back in King¡¯s Landing to find space somewhat at a premium.  The king¡¯s marriage to the young lady Margaery of Highgarden had brought thousands of lords, knights and their entourages to the city.  The Reach had sent forth the flower of its chivalrous youth to represent them, and the city was practically choked with arrogant young shits who were used to be the largest fish in very small ponds.  They weren¡¯t adapting to the city overly well, all charming and noble one moment then offended, petty and arrogant the next.  A bunch of spoiled brats.

    I sighed.  I was being a bit unfair.  One of the minor Reach nobles had had a collision with a merchant at the gate before we could enter.  The lord was entirely at fault, far too happy to just charge ahead and expect that everyone not only would but could get out of his way in time.  Then one of his carriages crashed into a wagon, and¡­ it was a mess, and the gate was blocked.

    After waiting a full half hour for it to get sorted with smaller and smaller amounts of patience left, I rode up there with Jon.  The lord then got stroppy with me.  Until he noticed Togo and realized who I was, at which point the lord paled and shut the fuck up.  The small collision was fixed relatively soon after, but my mood towards these petty lordlings was still somewhat hostile.

    Even the Red Keep was packed.  Though that didn¡¯t affect Jon or me much, as we had places in Ned¡¯s tower.  The day after we arrived, Robert brought Margaery to me to be improved.  She was a beautiful girl, just turned sixteen, with soft brown hair, large soulful eyes, smooth skin and a slim but womanly figure.

    In other words, she was totally Robert-bait.  And by the gleam of intelligence in her eyes she knew it, and was using it.  Not that I could blame her.  Women¡¯s lib wasn¡¯t exactly a thing, and even if Robert wasn¡¯t an absolute monarch, women were generally restricted in power by what their husbands allowed them.  Given that Robert was the king, well, Margaery could have a lot of power or none of it, and it all depended on how well she could lead Robert about.

    Robert walked up with her arm in arm.  ¡°Now, my dear, this is the great Odysseus Gangari that I told you about.  Odysseus, my wife to be, Margaery,¡± he introduced, beaming.  The man had already lost at least half of his excess flab in the weak I¡¯d been gone, his regeneration working to restore him to a more optimal form.  He looked years younger, fitter and healthier than he had been in a long time.

    Robert had the habit of dropping titles among friends.  I had not been granted any such dispensation, however.  ¡°Lady Margaery,¡± I said, bowing.  ¡°I¡¯m sure his Grace ¨C¡° Robert glared at me, so I amended my statement before I found myself with a place on the small council ¡°- Robert has told you already, but I¡¯m not one for being formal.  Please, call me Odysseus.¡±

    She smiled.  ¡°I¡¯ve already noticed that my husband-to-be shares that informality among friends.  I hope very much that you will be one of mine, so please, call me Margaery.¡±

    Robert was already impatient with the niceties.  ¡°Right, right, so the introductions are out of the way.  Now, Odysseus, she didn¡¯t truly believe me when I said you were a mage.  Before she¡¯ll agree to be improved, she¡¯d like to see some magic.¡±

    I laughed.  ¡°That is easily done, though once word spreads of what I did at Harrenhal I doubt it will be necessary.¡±

    Margaery looked at me curiously.  ¡°What did you do at Harrenhal?¡± she asked.  Robert seemed interested too.

    I smiled widely.  ¡°I fixed it.  I broke the curse there.  I made the stones remember what they used to be.  And then I fused them so that the entire castle is one single piece of stone, smooth as silk to the touch.¡±

    Robert gaped.  ¡°By the gods!  That would truly be a wonder to see!¡± he exclaimed.

    ¡°You¡¯re always welcome to visit,¡± I replied.  ¡°Gods know I have enough space inside to fit you, though the furnishings still need to be replaced and repaired and the bats chased out.  There is a long road ahead of me still before it is restored to true glory.¡±

    Robert looked at me full of boyish charm and cunning.  ¡°But Harrenhal is not here.¡±

    I raised my hands in surrender.  ¡°Alright, alright,¡± I said, looking around the room for something to show that wasn¡¯t a combat spell.  I spotted a bowl of fruit, and picked out an apple.  I looked carefully at Robert and Margaery.  He was in black and gold brocade, she a darker and lighter green brocade dress with gold accents.

    Then the apple began to twist and turn, the flesh receding as the seeds grew into wood.  The small sapling began to thicken in my hand, separate into two.  Then as my audience watched raptly the two rough cylinders of wood got more shapely, grew arms and legs, heads and hair, even clothes out of the small leaves.  Then the wood began to lighten to be like skin, and the clothes color until one of the figures was in black and gold, the other green and gold, fixed arm in arm.

    I smiled, and handed Margaery the little figures.  ¡°A present to mark out meeting.¡±

    She was astounded.  ¡°That was amazing,¡± she said softly, not wanting to break the wonder of the moment.  ¡°Like something out of story.¡±

    Robert beamed at me, clapped me on the back.  ¡°Didn¡¯t I tell you?¡± he asked rhetorically.

    ¡°I just hadn¡¯t thought¡­ how is this even possible?¡± she asked, still in awe.

    ¡°Magic,¡± I said, grinning.

    ¡°But¡­¡±  Margaery trailed off.  ¡°I was going to say there is no such thing, but it is obvious that there is magic.¡±

    ¡°So, would you care for me to work my magic now?¡± I asked.

    She began to nod then hesitated.  ¡°I do not mean to sound ungrateful, but¡­¡±  she trailed off, not quite willing to speak.

    ¡°What is it?¡± Robert asked.

    ¡°My brother, Willas.  He was crippled as a youth, and has trouble walking.  Is it possible for you to heal him?  I will forebear from any improvements myself if that is needed.¡±

    Ned and Lord Mace Tyrell had been in negotiations to wed Sansa to Willas in a few years, just as I had hoped.  They were planning on announcing it during the wedding.  I had been planning on healing Willas then, and upgrading him to match what I gave Sansa at the same time so it was really no bother.  Still, it was good of her to ask.

    I looked at her kindly.  ¡°It does you well to think of your brother.  But as you¡¯re likely aware, he will be wedding Sansa Stark.  I had already planned to offer him healing and similar enhancements to what you will soon have after the announcement.¡±

    ¡°Oh, thank you so very, very much,¡± she said, her eyes slightly tearing up in happiness.  ¡°How can I repay you?¡±

    I shook my head.  ¡°There¡¯s no need for that.  Ned and Robert have been good friends to me, and I give them my loyalty and friendship in return.¡±

    A few hours later, she was upgraded to match Robert, looking at her hands in marvel after a bit of pressure with a knife had done nothing more than leave a pressure-mark on the skin.

    ===================================

    I didn¡¯t see much of Robert or Margaery for the rest of the week, as they were busy hosting the parties and celebrations leading up to the wedding.  I did however meet her brother, Willas, whom I found very agreeable.  I was sure that he and Sansa would get along well; by all reports their first meetings had already allowed them to develop a friendship.

    I might not have been happy with dynastic marriages with such age gaps in general, but it was the local custom.  If it was going to happen anyways, I thought Willas the best option for Sansa.  I rather easily upgraded him, wished him the best of luck, and gave him a quick warning that I expected Sansa to be happy in the future.  I didn¡¯t think it a real issue, but just in case I figured the protection of a ridiculously lethal wizard who was rumored to be somewhat unhinged couldn¡¯t hurt Sansa.

    I also met Ser Edmure Tully, the heir to the Riverlands and my future liege lord.  In place of his father, he took my oath of fealty.  As Catelyn¡¯s brother and my at-least-in-theory boss, I upgraded him to match Robert and Willas.

    Come to think of it I needed to make my way back to Winterfell at some point and upgrade Robb, Bran, Rickon and Catelyn too.

    Other than that, over the week I upgraded Robert and Margaery¡¯s favorite horses as part of my gift to them, and acquired a dog which I gave all of Togo¡¯s upgrades save for the massive size to help guard her for the rest of the gift.  Then I realized their guards would need to be able to keep up, and made seven more horses for the kingsguard.  I had time to spare, so I upgraded Sansa, Arya, and Ned¡¯s horses too, and made sure their wolves were all up-to-date.

    I had decided that super-animals might as well breed, if only in small numbers, and left them with a reduced but still present possibility to have colts and pups.  Gods only knew what was going to happen when their progeny were first born.  I needed to be present for Daenerys¡¯ child¡¯s birth, but even then the baby had been conceived before I added all those magics to Daenerys, and so had gotten all the upgrades that Daenerys got, in other words all the ones but the physique, at the same time as Dany.

    A purely natural born animal from their improved parents could share all, some or none of the improvements, and I was excited and worried to find out what the case would be.  I knew that I could make the enchantments a truly permanent part of the animal if they weren¡¯t already and I wanted them to breed true.  It would just need some research.  Likewise, I could make the upgrades, the more magical and less biological ones at least, limited to just that animal, but again it would take research.

    Then the week of celebrations came to a close, Robert and Margaery wedded and bedded, and the Queen¡¯s Tourney kicked off.

    Thankfully, I had had to have no part in planning or running it.

    High in the sky a red comet blazed with fire.  It was taken as a good omen by those attending the wedding.

 Chapter 27: Lord of the Bow

    <u>Chapter 27: Lord of the Bow</u>

    Jon and I decided not to fight in the tournament; it would just be unfair and cause resentment.  Luckily it seemed Ned had managed to convince Robert to follow suit.

    Then there was a special bill and bonds auction, and every hope I had for a prosperous fiefdom was fulfilled when the first slot of Valyrian steel production was auctioned off.

    Harrenhal was both a rich and a totally broken fief to hold.  On the one hand, it was fairly populous and prosperous.  It had a total population of about four-hundred and twenty thousand, average family size of about five and a half, and average income of four and a half dragons per family per year, which was about one and three-quarter dragons above the poverty line.

    Of those four hundred twenty thousand people, four hundred thousand of them lived on lands within my territory; I ruled those lands, and taxed them, but didn¡¯t directly own and administrate the land.  That was left to a patchwork of yeoman landowning farmers, knights, and various local semi-independent villages and towns.  I ended taking about one fifth of their income above the poverty line in taxes and fees, with the rest going to the Tullys (one tenth), the crown (another tenth), village and common use (three twentieths), and about a quarter to the peasants to spend with another fifth to save.

    Then there were twenty thousand people that lived on lands that I directly owned and managed.  I managed to get my greedy mitts on about half the profit that those lands provided.  That gave me a total general income of about twenty eight thousand six hundred dragons, an amount of wealth roughly equivalent to earning two hundred and sixty million dollars a year.

    Which sounds like a lot until I take into account how much I have to spend.  Twelve hundred on guardsmen, between pay, food, and equipment.  Two thousand on the castle staff.  A thousand on maintenance for the castle, and that was much reduced from what it was before.  Four thousand to maintain the roads, shitty as they were, throughout my fief.  Eight thousand of the taxes were taken as service with the militia, rather than gold; most of that was time spent training, and even then my people were about as useful in a fight as a wet blanket.  Another eight thousand for bailiffs, constables, and as the small stipends for village heads and the like.  A thousand on tax collectors, another thousand on the entertainments and feasts I was obliged to fund, and finally a thousand dragons on things not accounted for or overbudget.

    That meant that at the end of the average year, Harrenhal¡¯s territory only made some one thousand, four hundred dragons in profit.  That was still pretty damned good, even if most of those profits came from the reduced cost to maintain the castle.  If I were back on Earth making thirteen million dollars a year, I wouldn¡¯t complain.

    But it didn¡¯t take into account that instead of two hundred guardsmen at twelve hundred dragons a year, I really needed at least a thousand guardsmen which would cost around five thousand dragons a year.  That would put me deeply into the red on my earnings sheet, and still didn¡¯t take into account the one-time cost of expanding the military rather than just maintaining it.  Further, I didn¡¯t just want my lands to get by, I wanted them to fucking thrive.

    Now, some things would have a big impact.  Four-field crop rotation, for example, would roughly double my territory¡¯s income by improving the agricultural yields.  Granted it would also mean I¡¯d need to fund more mills, granaries, and other infrastructure, so it might cost a bit to begin with.  The poverty line wasn¡¯t going to shift, so doubling the income meant that my peasants would have a lot more disposable income to tax, going from one and three quarter dragons to six and one quarter dragons.  Since I¡¯d squeeze out extra taxes to ¡°cover improvements¡± and the like, keeping my relative taxation rate on the peasants¡¯ profit consistent, I wouldn¡¯t be doubling my tax income; I¡¯d increase it by about three and a half times.

    Again, I was barely breaking even, but that was because both my expenses and my income were high.  Better than triply my income, and that meant my territory¡¯s profits would go from fourteen hundred dragons to almost seventy three thousand dragons, increasing by a factor of fifty.  With that money I could fully equip my castle and further modernize my territory.

    However, historically speaking the gains from the agricultural revolution were pretty slow.  It could take ten to twenty plus years before I saw those kind of gains, and at the very best with a Four-field rotation I¡¯d be looking at four years for full impact.

    I wasn¡¯t that patient.  Beyond which, I was effectively in turn one of a game like Medieval Two Total War.  I¡¯d grow my territory a lot faster if I used building cheats and money cheats.  I¡¯d already done the building cheat, fixing Harrenhal in a day.  Next, I wanted to earn a shit-ton of money.  And for that, there was nothing better or easier for me to do than produce Valyrian steel.  As was obviously shown in the first auction.

    Sixty four thousand dragons.

    Sixty four thousand dragons.

    SIXTY FOUR THOUSAND DRAGONS!

    I felt like screaming in glee as I sat in the auction, the sound of ringing gold in my mind.  It was a stupendous amount of money.  Not a year ago, and I was worried that a cost of a hundred thousand dragons might send the whole realm into a financial tailspin.

    Gods bless rich nobles who get their pride mixed up in having the very first Valyrian sword of the modern age, that¡¯s all I could say.  Though to be fair, they¡¯d likely get their names in the history books that mentioned this moment, and nobles lapped that sort of useless honor up like cats drinking the sweetest cream.

    The second spot went for twenty two thousand dragons, the third for twelve thousand.  A total of ninety eight thousand dragons, more profit than my fief used to make in a lifetime.  It was paid in the form of Royal Treasury Bills, which had quickly become the standard method of moving large amounts of money around in Westeros.

    With that, I was in business. It was time to go back to Harrenhal and get started.

    ===================================

    About a month after I returned to Harrenhal, and my smiths and alchemists had finally settled in.  I gave the alchemists a decent budget, and set them to figuring out how to make paper.  I suspected that the process would change a lot in the future.  Once they figured out exactly what was important in the paper making process I was sure I could figure out how to make a tree or bush that provided useful materials.  I just needed some parameters to design my plants.The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    The smiths, meanwhile, were ready to make the first true Valyrian steel equipment in an age.  I had spent a lot of time with them enchanting files, cutters and other equipment to be invulnerable.  They had practiced daily with meditation and focus exercises to achieve the correct states of mind, and grown their skills to make Damascus-style patterned steel blades.

    The first item we worked on was Ned¡¯s new sword.  He had decided that Ice was pretty much the epitome of an excellent blade, and that it would be nice for Winterfell to have one for the Lord and one for the Heir.  So we set to work, and created a copy of the same size, weight and dimensions.  Its name read Frost.

    The second was a bit more complicated.  Robert had asked if we could manage a Valyrian war hammer with a blunt head, a curved spiked beak back, and a spearhead at the top of the shaft for thrusting.  After consulting with my smiths, I¡¯d sent Hue with the reply that we could, but it would be difficult.  Even more than a sword, a hammer relies on its mass to cause damage.  Which mean that the head of the hammer had to be true Valyrian steel for the impact.

    The problem was, the head didn¡¯t have an edge.  Couldn¡¯t have an edge.  And instead of blade essence, had to be full of hammer essence in the crafting while the metal was folded and refolded into the shape of a hammer-head.  On my part, the enchantment had to be modified slightly.  The first time was an utter failure, the magic within the hammer-head detonating.  The only reason the blast didn¡¯t kill one of my smiths was that I¡¯d thought ahead and given them some protections.  I still ended up having to regrow one of their hands.

    A much warier group returned to try again.  The second failure was less explosive; the enchantments took, but the hammer didn¡¯t achieve the hammer essence it needed and so the weapon was useless.

    The third time, we succeeded in making the hammer and claw.  Then we took a shaft with a spearhead sized blade on it, fit them together, and I fused the metal.  And it was done.  The world¡¯s first Valyrian steel Warhammer.  At least, the first I¡¯d heard of.

    Fucking Robert.  Only he would want something like that.

    Once the hammer was done, productivity went up.  I had them make Valerian steel swords and lances for Jon and I.  We even had Valyrian steel belt knives, a true extravagance.  If I hadn¡¯t taken care of my facial hair with Green, I¡¯d have used it to shave too.

    Harrenhal began to feel more like a home over time.  I bonded the whole fortress; the five towers, the main gate, the east gate, the great hall, the kitchens, the barracks and armory, the outer and inner yards, the bathhouse.  My fortress was the size of a small town, but over time I bonded it all.  Eight White, four Blue, six Black and five Red from the memory of dragons and fire.

    With all the extra wealth, I ordered Ser Deran to expand the Guard¡¯s cavalry.  I thought about expanding the infantry too, but decided against it.  I wasn¡¯t overly impressed by the foot soldiery of the Seven Kingdoms.  Roman infantry or Spanish tercios would hand them their asses.  Eventually I¡¯d see to training up a decent bunch of professional infantry, but until then I saw little point in expanding what was essentially an antiquated an ineffective force.

    Generally I liked the expanding cadre model for the military: a small core of permanent professional soldiers, who served as the cadre for part time semi-professionals, basically the reserves, who in turn served as the cadre for their local militias.  That way, I¡¯d have a relatively consistent force, with a hardened, seasoned core I could call on at a moments notice.  If I needed to mobilize for war, I could do so quickly and with a relatively high quality of levy.

    But most importantly, my territory was soft.  It wasn¡¯t highly urbanized, with defensible cities, but was spread out with insignificant villages.  That¡¯s where the lowest tier of militia troops came in.  They didn¡¯t have to be great to see off bandits, and if everyone in my territory was trained to fight it would be easy to spot and recruit the best for my army and reserves.  Beyond that, I just generally believed people should know how to defend themselves.

    However, training infantry would take a lot of time and effort on my part.  So instead, I decided to go for a different option, one that would also take a lot of time but make my territory one of the best protected in the land.  I decided to spread the practice of archery.

    It wasn¡¯t very hard.  First, I grew thousands of heavily recurved bows from the oaks in the godswood, ranging from light draw-weight pieces for children to medium and heavier draw pieces for adults.  I also grew arrows by the thousand, their shafts falling down like rain from the tree limbs.

    Then I drafted a proclamation.  I laid out a number of different achievements that I wanted people to be able to manage, with different requirements for children and adults.  These ranged from what I thought reasonable out of a militia archer, which most fit men and a number of women could manage, to what I wanted out of a reserve archer, which still wasn¡¯t overly difficult but would take a degree of time and dedication to training, to what I wanted out of the archers in my guard which would take at least a modicum of skill and more extensive dedication.

    I added ranks, different colored badges that these achievements would allow and a sliding scale of cash prizes; the payout for truly top archers was enough that a master archer could be a person¡¯s profession.  It wouldn¡¯t pay well without other jobs, but anyone that good could join my guard anyways, and likely as a sergeant of archers which paid well.  There was both an active badge, which you had to qualify for yearly, and a historical achievement badge associated with each rank to drive competitiveness.

    The most skilled archer in an area was offered the responsibility of Range Officer.  This meant they had to organize for a skilled archer to be present each day for at least two hours to help student archers practice.  They were graded on a point system based on how many archers they had of each skill level, and offered incentives for their students to perform well.

    And then, for the real overachievers and ambitious people, there was horse archery.  Similar to regular archery there were badges and prizes, but unlike regular archery any sufficiently skilled horse archer, regardless of age, could get an automatic slot as a squire at my castle with a knighthood to follow once their training was complete.

    For richer landowners, that was the opportunity of a lifetime for their children.  To make sure it was available to those of poorer backgrounds but higher skill, any child sufficiently skilled at regular archery would be offered a spot as a squire-candidate at my castle until they turned eighteen.  That way, I could have them taught their numbers and letters during the training.  At the worst, anyone skilled enough for a squire-candidate slot would make a great guards archer, and with some literacy would be likely candidates for positions as corporals and sergeants.

    The bows and arrows I grew allowed me to offer them for free to anyone who wanted to try and qualify; the only requirement would be logging a certain amount of time a week on the shooting range or paying a penalty.  Selling the bow would be considered theft from their lord; few were so stupid as to do so.

    All children aged twelve to sixteen were expected to practice at least three times a week for two hours each time; part of the budget I assigned to this was earmarked for payments to the villages to offer meals to each of these children following their practices.  To motivate higher practice, the children could attend practice and receive a meal every day if they wanted.

    When tax wagons left my castle for my outlying lands, unlike in the past when they¡¯d leave empty and return full of grain, now they left loaded down with bows and arrows.  The project was crazily expensive; just the food for the children ran me four and a half thousand dragons.  Overall, I budgeted thirty thousand dragons a year to it, and that was after I made the bows and arrows essentially for free.

    It was incredibly popular, and my people ridiculously competitive over archery though, so the project was well worth it.

 Chapter 28: Lord of the Beast

    <u>Chapter 28: Lord of the Beast</u>

    However effective it seemed to be, the archery program didn¡¯t address the issue that I was dealing with at the time; a small, underpowered guard force.  For that, I turned to my general solution to problems in Westeros; magic, and animals.  I used Green mana to send the ravens and the castle¡¯s hunting pack into a breeding frenzy.

    Then I turned all the dogs into what I called a Gangari Guard Hound.  The new Hounds were about a hundred and twenty pounds, and had similar upgrades to Togo apart from the size.  They were further inherently embedded with loyalty to me, a sense of justice, and a pack mentality to induce order for military affairs.

    In a few months, about as much time as it would take to train even the worst guardsman, I¡¯d have about two hundred Hound puppies.  In a year, I¡¯d have about a thousand Hounds, and then if I wanted to their population could really take off.  Each one was easily the match for a proper warrior, and they could stand watches and help on patrols as easily as any of my guardsmen.  Already the twenty males were helping out.

    Likewise, Gangari Guard Ravens were patterned off of Nevermore¡¯s enhancements, just without a comm link and with an embedded sense of loyalty and justice.  They were designed to act as scouts for my guard forces, relaying messages, and finding and reporting crimes to their attached units.  Unlike the Hounds, which were basically a soldier-substitute, the Ravens were an effectiveness multiplier, allowing each member of the Guard to be much more effective.

    As part of that same effectiveness multiplier, I changed the horses into Gangari Guard Horses.  These were modelled after Aethon.  Since my guardsmen were unenhanced, the horses had a less powerful version of the Supernatural Physique enchantment.  They were designed to be even more biddable and calm, and slightly less intelligent.

    The soldiers riding them weren¡¯t always the best riders, after all, and really intelligent horses weren¡¯t exactly designed for combat.  Unlike Aethon and Shadowfax, I wouldn¡¯t be around to ensure the horses survived, so I didn¡¯t feel comfortable making them that sentient.  But still the horses were far faster, ate less, had better endurance, were tougher and easier to ride and in all respects superior to ordinary steeds.

    The Gangari Guard animal variants all had a unique coloration; they were varying shades of grey, with a hand sized version of my house¡¯s Parthian shot horse-archer silhouette on their front shoulder in black.  I thought it looked quite smart, like a natural uniform.  They were modified to only be viable with each other, a specific sterility enchantment that could be temporarily unlocked by another animal which had the same enchantment.  I didn¡¯t want the breeds to intermix with animals intended for use by others who weren¡¯t loyal to me.

    Luckily the soldiers seemed to be adjusting relatively well to the changes, taking the magic in stride as it just being normal from a wizard and adapting to their new compatriots.

    Having made animals for the Guard, it seemed natural to design better animals in general.  Farms, even ones that mostly grow grain, depend on animals.  Shepherding dogs look after animals and protect the farms from predators.  Work horses pull ploughs and wagons.  Cattle, for milk, meat and leather.  Sheep, for wool, milk and meat.  Goats, for fur, milk and meat as well.  Chickens for eggs and meat.  And bees, for pollination and honey.

    My castle and the nearby farming villages that supplied it and Harrentown had all of these animals to one degree or another.  I used those for my first experiments.  Then whenever I finished with a design I had Steward Bridges purchase a quantity of each of the animals for me to modify and then begin to breed for future sale to my farmers.

    I started off with the Gangari Shepherd dog.  Basically a sixty pound version of the Guard Hound with weaker physical upgrades and inclined to be naturally gentle towards humans unless it or its family was being attacked.  It was pretty easy to design and enchant those.  I started off with a population of sixty.

    Next were perhaps the most important aspect of any farm; the horses.  Gangari farm horses were designed to be biddable, to endure heat and cold, to pull heavy loads without complaint, and to consume food efficiently.  Unlike Aethon, they didn¡¯t emphasize extreme speed or intelligence, though because of the supernatural physical enhancements they ended up being faster than normal horses when they went full speed.  As horses breed slower than dogs, I started with a herd of three hundred.  It took me two weeks just to enchant them all.

    After the lengthy period enchanting horses, I wanted to make something new.  Pests are a massive problem in farms.  I wanted an animal that would go after them, without damaging the environment in general.  At first I thought of cats, but they don¡¯t do as good a job eating bugs, and they end up going off and killing birds instead of rodents.  Dead birds don¡¯t eat bugs either, so that¡¯s bad.

    Eventually I made what I called the Gangari Pest Eater bird.  It was mentally modified to be drawn to orderly nature, in other words agriculture.  They were designed to be voracious eaters when food was available, but enter into a low-energy mode when it wasn¡¯t to survive winters.  They were both territorial and at the same time hesitant to enter another¡¯s territory.  This was to avoid overpopulation, and to drive off encroaching rodents and other birds that would eat the crops.  If a bird ever managed to be full for a few days, implying that there were too many insects, it would cease to emit its territorial aura, switching to one designed to attract free nearby Pest-eaters and go into a higher breeding rate.  I developed them off of a sparrowhawk, and used Green mana to help build up an initial population of two hundred.

    After that, I went back to the basics; the simple chicken.  Apart from increasing food efficiency, reducing susceptibility to disease and improving biological efficiency in general, I focused on two designs.  The first were egg-laying chickens.  They would lay eggs more regularly, and lay better eggs.  The other were meat chickens, which would have more and tastier meat available for cooking and grow faster than usual chickens.  I made a hundred of each.Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

    Since I¡¯d been dealing with birds for so long, I decided to move back up to something bigger, and tackled the cow situation.  Cows come in two main varieties: milk, and meat.  Milk cows make milk, meat cows make meat.  It¡¯s pretty simple.  The meat cows were easy; make them bigger, the meat tastier and more nutritious, improve the efficiency of their digestion and tolerance to heat and cold, improve their health, make them nice and biddable, and I was done.

    The milk cows were a little harder.  Milk itself can be quite dangerous if it¡¯s not pasteurized.  I wanted to come up with an inherent filter.  Basically, something that would make sure the milk was safe to drink.  It took a bit of doing, but a mix of White enchanted into the udders meant that the milk was sterile, at least when it left the cow.

    Further, milking cows is a massive nuisance; I made the cows self-milking.  They could choose to release their milk, and I made them a little more intelligent so they could be easily taught were to milk themselves into.  Beyond that, the everclean coat that I was adding to all the animals would help keep their skin clean and disease free, but I also made them naturally tidy.

    Other than that, they got the typical enhancements to efficiency of digestion, weather and temperature tolerance, disease resistance, and were made somewhat regenerative to increase the amount of milk they could produce.

    Given all their advantages I was sure that my cows were going to be very popular, and I established herds of a hundred of each milk and meat.

    Sheep were next on the docket.  Sheep also have two purposes; meat, and wool.  For the standard or meat sheep, I made them totally white in their wool, and made the wool itself somewhat higher quality and more consistent.  I gave the sheep the same sorts of upgrades I¡¯d given the meat cows.  And then I made the sheep a lot more orderly.

    There¡¯s a secret joke in the Bible that anyone who grew up in an agricultural community with sheep knows that far, far too few people outside of those communities understand.  Every time Jesus was being called a shepherd, it wasn¡¯t just because a shepherd leads and protects the flock of innocent helpless animals.  It was saying that trying to look after humanity was going to be like looking after sheep, which is fucking miserable.

    Sheep aren¡¯t actually as stupid as some people think.  They can recognize people and like some more than others, are pretty good herd animals, can anticipate events and some even come when called by name.  That¡¯s already better than most cats.

    But for how sort-of smart they can be, they are also just about the dumbest animals on earth.  Leave forty sheep alone for a few hours, and one of them (at least) will have gotten themselves in some situation that¡¯ll kill them if you don¡¯t fix it.  They¡¯re smart enough to get into trouble, and dumb enough that they can¡¯t stop themselves or get out of it.  The biggest problem is that for a herd animal, sheep are far too happy to just wander off.  Reinforcing the herding instinct saved about half the trouble the sheep caused, so it was well worth it.

    As for the wool sheep, those were designed with one purpose and one purpose only; making wool.  Instead of the animals that might eventually be eaten when they died, I decided that the wool sheep were a cash crop.  Someone who wanted wool and a sheep could buy the standard sheep; its pure white coat was already highly desirable for merchants already as the white could dye easily and the wool was superior to natural versions.

    But my wool sheep, those were designed to have no dye needed.  Instead, I focused on two things.  First, making the sheep take as little expense in food and care as possible.  I used some of the Zorse-derived low-food and low-water requirement adaptations to achieve that.  That meant the meat wouldn¡¯t be suitable to eat; to make sure no one tried, I made it toxic enough to be obvious, and made the meat black and slightly smelly to really drive the point home.

    Second, I focused on the wool.  These sheep came in vivid reds and scarlets, yellow and gold, blue and turquoise, green and grey and brown and every color between.  Each sheep was a single, perfectly even shade save for a single tuft at their chin that was multi-colored.  The wool was fine and strong and soft, the everclean coat a permanent part of the wool that would make the fabric stain resistant in the future.

    The coolest part about the sheep was that they had a sympathetic coloring enchantment.  If you took a locket of the hair from the chin, picked out a specific color, and tied a piece of that colored wool to a shaved sheep¡¯s neck then all the new wool coat would change to and grow in as that color.  These were going to revolutionize the dyeing industry, and neither the initial herd of five hundred, nor their progeny would be resold.

    I wanted a monopoly on the colors to keep prices high. There was one particular lapis-lazuli derived blue dye that was literally worth its weight in gold.  And I could grow masses of wool that exact shade if I wanted.  Without flooding the market, and making other attractive shades of fabric, I was looking at expected profits of about twenty dragons a year on each of those multi-hued sheep.  It wasn¡¯t as much as my Valyrian steel, but it was nothing to sniff at either.

    I did however make a herd of a hundred white standard sheep, which were still highly attractive to the populace as their wool could easily be dyed.  Those would be available for sale in the future.

    With the sheep done I was making a goat when I decided it was too likely to become an invasive pest species, and stopped.  Goats eat everything and can live everywhere.  Making them even better at survival could easily end up with a swarm of goats covering my lands.

    Instead, I moved on to working with the bees.  The bees were pretty easy; I reduced their desire to sting White-oriented creatures, which mostly included organized humans and their pets, unless said White animals were being really annoying.  I increased their tolerance to temperature and weather, gave them the favorable winds enchantment to make flying easier and less energetically costly, improved their digestion, health and energy efficiency in general, and upped their breeding rate and lifespan.  I had had a full twenty bee-hives and their keepers hired, so I used the enchantment on those queens.

    All of the Gangari agricultural animals were given a marking, somewhat similar to how I marked my Gangari Guard animal lines.  Because they weren¡¯t warriors though I didn¡¯t use my sigil.  Instead I used an ornate, gothic G inside a white circle with a black border on their heads.  Also similar to my Guard animals, they were designed to breed true.

    And then I was finally done.  Two and a half months of enchanting work on the farm animals, and some two thousand dragons spent hiring laborers, breeders, workers to make stables and buildings¡­ It was a real project and strained by castle¡¯s staff to organize.  Still, I would begin spreading them, first on my own personal lands, then my territory.

    Soon the whole world would know my mark as that of the absolute champion of agricultural animals!

    Ahem.  The whole, unholy mixture of science and magic, creating new species thing might have been getting me in a weird headspace.

    But that was okay because, suddenly, baby!

    Daenerys was giving birth.

 Chapter 29: Lord of Lands

    <u>Chapter 29: Lord of Lands</u>

    I had wanted to be able to offer Daenerys the option of having her daughter be born under a different name, Drogo¡¯s perhaps, but I had told Robert how I killed Drogo before they were wed in the eyes of the Dothraki.  Nor had the original wedding had a septon or heart tree, so it was not recognized in Westeros.  Robert had added one more humiliation to Dany, one more nail in her family¡¯s coffin; her daughter was born a bastard.

    Lila Rivers, she was named.

    It was a pretty name, and she would, I¡¯m sure, grow up to be a pretty girl.  Drogo had been no dog, and Dany had the sort of fine cheekbones and pronounced bone structure you¡¯d expect from generations of royals inbreeding and selecting only the finest beauties to mate with.

    The birth was easy ¨C I was there, how could it be otherwise ¨C but even if I hadn¡¯t been there Dany would have been fine.  I was relieved to find that because so many of the physical enchantments and upgrades were Green, and birth was natural, that the enchanted Dany had an easier time with birth, rather than a harder one.  That meant I was off the hook for helping birth all of Robert, Robb, Jon, Sansa and Arya¡¯s children in the future.

    With the baby born I was largely freed up from waiting around in the castle just in case there was a medical emergency.  There was a six hundred square mile forest to the south east of Harrenhal, in between the God¡¯s Eye and the Kingsroad.  A band of robbers had infested it, and though the Guard had improved greatly, they were still over-extended enough to have trouble searching such a large forest.

    I needed to take a break and balance out my mana anyways.  It had been getting a little White heavy, especially after I bound four more mana from Harrentown on my visits there.  So I was going to head to the forest for three weeks to hunt bandits and bond Green mana.  Then I was going to travel back slowly along the God¡¯s Eye and bond some Blue for two weeks.

    After that was done I planned to check back in at Harrenhal, then go up to the North with Jon to visit and upgrade Robb, Bran, Rickon and Catelyn.  I envisioned a stop off in the Neck for a couple weeks on the way south to balance out my Blacks.  Then I intended to visit the foothills of the Vale¡¯s mountains for about a week to get some Reds and be back into a full balance.

    I checked in with my projects before leaving to make sure there weren¡¯t any emergencies.  The Valyrian steel project had stabilized at around five thousand dragons a month from the auction and a further fifteen hundred from the item.  That meant a total of seventy eight thousand dragons a year in profit, which was great.  My agricultural project was still mostly in the breeding stage, and would start to take real effect first on my own lands, then my territory¡¯s, in a few years.

    The paper project under Wisdom Munciter was starting to bear fruit.  They¡¯d been experimenting with different ways to make paper from cotton, linen and hemp fibers and rags.  The paper was still poor quality, but they were quickly dialing in on how to make better quality paper, and how to do so in bulk.  I anticipated that by the time I was done with my mana-binding they¡¯d have a preliminary paper mill design for me.

    On the printing side, they already had an effective ink formula, and the smiths were slowly finishing a sufficiently large collection of metal rollers and type.  Instead of the vertical screw press, we were using a cylindrical rolling press.  They were a lot faster, and better to adapt into future designs which could be more mechanical.  I anticipated that the printer would be done in time for the large-scale paper production.

    The more generalized steel-works, with a blast furnace and Bessemer converter, were still largely in the planning stages.  I had purchasing agents out collecting and storing enough raw ingredients and metal scrap to keep us running when the production actually started.  The agents had a budget of fifteen thousand dragons, and had actually slightly inflated the price of iron goods throughout the Riverlands.

    The archery project was going well so far.  General enthusiasm was high, and a vast number of children were avidly practicing.  I intended my first book to be useful for my farmers.  It would include a guide to archery practice and some training exercises I used, information on hygiene, herbalism and nutrition, and a guide to four-crop rotation and companion planting to improve agricultural yields.

    Hue was at Harrenhal.  In case there was an emergency there, he would be able to warn me.  Ned and Robert had a pair of my Gangari Guard Ravens to carry a message to Harrenhal in case the capital caught fire or what have you.  Nevermore was still off in Winterfell, and so it was just Mu, Togo, Aethon and I going to the forest.

    Everything taken care of, I set out from Harrenhal for my vacation in the forest.

    Did I say vacation?  I totally meant my dutifully lordly bandit hunt.

    ===================================

    I was not a great woodsman.  I hadn¡¯t trained much for it, and didn¡¯t spend much time stalking the woods for prey.  Luckily I had Togo and Mu, so I didn¡¯t have to be a great hunter to find the bandits, and Aethon was surefooted and stealthily minded enough for the both of us.  I ended up finding the bandits after about a week had passed.  Rather than shoot them all with arrows, which I was tempted to do from habit, I gave chain lightning a test fire.

    It was highly effective.  Zapped humans smelled disturbingly like bacon though, which was a bit disturbing.  I¡¯d hardly kept my hands clean of blood since coming to Westeros, but the red burned flesh, vacant and exploded eyeballs, the rictus of horror on the faces of the dead¡­

    It was quite the shock to the system, I thought.  Gods, I was already using puns to distance myself.  Talk about gallows humor.

    Togo went off for a day to take out any of their scouts who had escaped my strike, and I finished off binding a total of more than thirty Green mana.  It was a¡­ heady feeling.  All that nature, all that wild, joyful life and conflict and growth.  I took a couple days to calm down a bit, just sleeping and meditating.This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

    Then I went to the outer bank of the God¡¯s Eye, and did that same process all over again with Blue mana.  It went somewhat faster than with the Green, and two weeks later I finally rode off to Harrenhal with an extra thirty Blue mana under my control.

    Then Jon, Shadowfax and Ghost joined us to go to Winterfell.  We decided not to waste any time, and made it to the Stark¡¯s seat in two and a half days of heavy riding on the Kingsroad.  It was nice to see the Stark boys again; Robb had grown a lot mentally as the man of the castle, as it were, and both Bran and Rickon had shot up.

    Perhaps most interestingly, Bran had a strong taste of magic to him.  Jon had a fair bit of warg magic, Arya only a little less, but Bran was positively glowing with it.  I had no idea how to use those energies, unfortunately, and no real desire to become a warg otherwise I might have been able to help Bran with his abilities.  He had been having strange dreams involving a man in a tree with roots growing out of his skin, and three eyed ravens.

    To be honest that sounded suspicious as fuck.

    I mean, what kind of ancient sorcerer visits the dreams of a preteen boy with good intentions?  This wasn¡¯t some children¡¯s book where the plucky boy hero has to save the day because reasons.  This was reality; there was precious fuck all Bran could achieve that the good wizard of bloody roots couldn¡¯t do himself.  And this guy didn¡¯t sound like he was made of rainbows and sunshine either.

    I upgraded Robb, Bran, Rickon, and Catelyn with a full set of enhancements, much like Jon and Ned.  I held the supernaturally strong and fast physique back from Bran and Rickon.  Rickon would have driven Catelyn mad otherwise, and I wasn¡¯t risking a body I¡¯d fully enhanced getting stolen by some potential body-snatcher.

    I had hoped that the conceptual armor would be effective, but it proved to be less than useful in stopping the dreams.  Which either meant that the armor didn¡¯t consider the dreams an attack, or sufficiently harmful, or something; I didn¡¯t know, and was hardly equipped to scientifically explore the parameters and functions of my poorly understood magic.

    While I was there I could easily swat away probes coming in to Bran, their gossamer energies no match for my mana.  But I couldn¡¯t figure out how to ward Bran¡¯s mind without also blocking off his ability to warg.  I could use my comm link through the ward just fine when I tested it on myself.  For Bran, the annoying dreams were worth it to be able to share skins with Summer, his direwolf.

    I was worried.  I decided to upgrade Ser Rodrick and two dozen other loyal, life-long Stark guardsmen with everything but for the Supernatural Physique, of which I only used a minor portion.  I included the mental ward for them, as none were wargs.  I turned their ravens into Gangari Guard Ravens, though with Stark markings, similarly warded. Frankly, this sort of mental-mage crap scared the shit out of me, and every single one of my Guard-variant animals back home were going to get warded as soon as possible.

    I enhanced enough horses into Guard Horses to be able to provide mounts and spares for the Stark family and their enhanced guards, and turned every hunting dog they had into Gangari Guard Hounds.  Again, I used Stark markings and mental wards for the horses and hounds.

    Their direwolves were enhanced to match Togo.  Nevermore was assigned to watch over Bran in particular, and to warn me if anything went wrong.  And at that point I had to call it enough.  Though after I knighted Jon in a year or two I¡¯d definitely offer Bran a place as my squire; it was easier than worrying about him so much.

    Apart from that oh-so-minor issue, and Catelyn¡¯s constant sniping at Jon, the visit was lovely.

    Really, why didn¡¯t I go on vacation more often?

    ===================================

    On the way back Jon declined to stay with me and meditate for weeks in the swamps and hills, which wasn¡¯t really surprising.  He preferred to go back to Harrenhal, where he was respected and appreciated, and have his ego recover from the mauling Catelyn had subjected it to.

    I couldn¡¯t blame him.  Meditating in and around swamps for a fortnight wasn¡¯t exactly my definition of a good time either.  But I sucked it up and bound my Black mana.  I didn¡¯t use them for much, and wasn¡¯t really a fan of the style or concepts in Black magic.  But I felt like it was important to be balanced.

    After binding the Black mana I crossed back through to the South, then travelled along the foothills of the Vale for a week, bonding two mana each day.

    With all that done, I was perfectly in balance.  It was a good feeling, like when you step out of an airplane and pop your ears of that slight bit of pressure you couldn¡¯t get rid of, or when you stretch out and accidentally get rid of some tightly wound knots that were bothering you deep in your subconscious.

    After a day of meditating on the feeling, it was time.  Time to try and bind mana with a spell, rather than with my direct interface.  I was excited.  I sat down, reached out my magic into a sort of net, targeting the nearest mana-sources while adding in new mana in proportion to maintain balance.  Then I cast the spell out.

    And it worked!  First time too, it was so easy!

    No more spending large periods of time binding mana.

    No more having to voyage long and far to find the mana needed to balance myself out.

    Even better, after I tied the spell into an enchantment, set to keep a certain pressure of new-mana, it was basically automated!  It wasn¡¯t a true enchantment, more a stable spell that was permanently looped into my mana supply with some controls added on, but unless I ran my mana totally dry, it would stay there forever.  Even if I dried out, I could just recast the spell.

    This was a true watershed moment.  I bound seven mana that first day, when previously it was vanishingly rare for me to bind three, and that only when I was taking Blue with which I had the highest resonance.  As my mana pool grew, and the relative impact of the new mana on the old became smaller, I¡¯d be able to bind even more mana than that.

    But even at just seven mana a day, over a year that would be two thousand five hundred and fifty five mana!  Nearly ten times what I had when I achieved my balancing.

    In fact, I needed a proper name for that moment.

    The Great Balancing.

    Catchy, right?

    It even fell on the first of July.  Or, rather, what my all-speak defined as the first of July.

    I hoped my alchemists could make good graph paper soon; I needed to plot my mana growth and try to derive an expression for it in the future.

    But this spell was huge.  Huger than huge, even.  I¡¯d be able to grow in power at close to three times the rate that I did previously, and grow in power every day rather than just on days when I set time aside to bind mana.

    At that moment, the Great Balancing, with two hundred and seventy six mana available, I could comfortably destroy a couple towers or gatehouses per mana cycling, which was down to about three minutes.  Of course, that was if I basically converted mana to raw energy and tossed it about; backed up by better weight and cleverness of concepts, or working within natural laws of physics more intelligently I could do a lot better.

    But twenty five hundred mana?  That was more at the point of asking myself if I want a whole castle crispy, or extra crispy.

    I really needed to figure out how to teleport, and find some piece of wasted land no one cared about my destroying.  There was no way in hell I could test the sort of spells that would make full use of that much mana near to civilization, especially not civilization that I owned.

    Come to think of it, teleportation might be a good first step to getting back home.  I hadn¡¯t been able to manage it when I was starting out, and had given up on it pretty early.

    I set my focus to a distant hill, and tried to teleport there.

    I must have stood there contorting my face in concentration for a good hour before I gave it up for the day.  But my instinct was that I could manage it, somehow.  And I would keep trying until I succeeded.

    After all, I had all the time in the world.

 Chapter 30: Men of Steel

    <u>Chapter 30: Men of Steel</u>

    Back at Harrenhal and with a massive supply of mana, I decided it was time to go through all of my upgrades, cultivation and personal enchantments and improve them. It was, in fact, past time for me to do so, but there hadn¡¯t been a pressing need at any point and I had been focused more on breeding support animals than on improving my own person. It was probably because I¡¯d been overly White at the time, which made me a bit selfless.

    I first improved my thought acceleration to allow me to think about the spells better, allowing me to manipulate more complicated structures before they started to unravel. Then I improved my mana-sensing and mage-sight. I realized with that greater accuracy of sense that the thought acceleration could be further improved, so I went back and did so. That in turn allowed me to improve the mana-sensing and seeing patterns. Then I was at the limit that my connection to the concepts and power of Blue would allow there.

    I really had been letting myself get behind, it seemed.

    I similarly upgraded my combat ¡°jedi¡± precognition, not once but twice. The rest of my Blue-aligned personal improvements were more difficult to increase in their efficacy. Favorable winds wasn¡¯t a structured spell that I truly understood, but rather something I had evolved and copied. The mental ward was more technical than instinctive, and needed research rather than mana insight to upgrade. The communications link was the same.

    So I moved onto my physical Green improvements. I increased my supernatural physique qualitatively, then refined it a second time. My oakflesh spell went from something I could call stoneflesh, to graniteflesh, to bronzeflesh. It was incredibly hard but more importantly very, very tough.

    My regenerative healing factor likewise grew in strength. Before, I used to have to use a bit of Green and White mana every day to inject myself with life-energy, preventing aging. After the upgrade to regeneration, I realized that my body was naturally no longer aging, fixing itself into an optimal state. I still wasn¡¯t wolverine, but I had easily reached the point of battlefield-relevant levels of regeneration.

    I even managed to refine the structure of my dragon bone-derived skeletal structure, and used that to increase the natural strength of my body, the baseline on which the active supernatural enhancements were added. Green didn¡¯t just provide unnatural strength; it boosted the body¡¯s natural state too. Sort of like taking a number of small advantageous mutations and adaptations, and adding them without the necessity of waiting for evolution. Naturally I was near Captain-America levels of strength and speed, as good as or better than the best Olympic athletes back on Earth. With the enhancements over the top of that, I was truly a physical beast.

    With my Green sorted, I moved onto Red. I further increased my reaction speed, making it so fast as to be almost instantaneous. I also improved my haste effect which made me faster in general, then refined the improved structure to get a second qualitative improvement out of it. Combined with my non-magical baseline and Green¡¯s more physically-derived strength and speed, I could do things like lunge faster than a hundred miles an hour from a standing start, and punch fast enough to start approaching the speed of sound. The increased impact at the moment of hitting something was improved a smaller bit.

    I also added a new Red improvement: fireproof. I¡¯d finally taken the time to test the enchantment lying dormant in Dany¡¯s blood. It was pretty good to start off with, but I even managed to improve it a bit. From my testing, it could withstand temperatures of about fifteen hundred C without issue, and even temperatures above that were much less damaging. It was enough to forge without any protective equipment, which made me feel like a boss, so it was well worth it. Higher temperatures were still an issue, and things like wildfire were still potentially deadly, but typical flames were no longer a real threat.

    My White saw similarly impressive gains. The stored healing energy was enough to auto-repair getting my chest blown apart or some similarly extreme injury; my more extreme experiments with rabbits showed that depending on timing, it might even be able to repair my head getting blown off before my life-pattern and mana structures dispersed too much as they did when the creatures died. My conceptual armor was less like having a padded leather armor, and more like having full plate against physical attacks; more importantly, it gave a similar level of equivalent protection against any threat including spell energies, psychic assaults and the like. As a last line of defense it was great, especially if I came up against some threat I hadn¡¯t previously considered.

    The projectile shield was improved significantly in both individual shield strength, and the number of shields layered. I also improved the linking effect, so other nearby projectile shields would not only help share the load of impacts, something I¡¯d done before, but massive impacts would only impact the shield it hit. That way, something like a ballista bolt would take down a single shield layer on one person by overloading its concept of protection, rather than a shield layer from them and everyone connected to them. In fact, a ballista bolt may be a poor example; given the recent shield strength upgrade, a ballista bolt might not even take down one shield layer on an individual, let alone a group.

    The problem with that upgrade to the linking spell was that if someone was hit with multiple of those heavy impacts in succession they could lose all of their shields. So I further improved the linkage, allowing people with full shield-sets to shift one of their shields to the party under attack. That meant that I had the best of both not using more shield than needed at any point in time, sharing shield regeneration through the group, and even sharing number of shields through the group.

    Black, despite being my weakest color, also improved. My anti-disease and anti-toxin effects got stronger; I doubted that anything non-magical could hope to affect me. But the gains I was most interested in was in my improved consumption ability. Before, it harvested the possible nutrition near-perfectly. After upgrading it, it could substitute life and energy content for nutritional content; I could have survived on wood if I needed to.

    Not only that, but with refinement my consumption upgrade even allowed me to gain some small benefit by processing the food for essences. If I ate strong things, I would ¨C over an admittedly very long time ¨C get stronger. Fast things, faster. Poisonous things would give any poisonous glands greater strength. And so on. It was very, very inefficient, and I suspected would reach levels of diminishing returns, but it was only the start.Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

    With that done, my upgrades were complete. I did a similar process to Togo, Aethon, Jon, Ghost and Shadowfax over the rest of the day.

    What I really needed to develop was a way to pass on these upgrades in large numbers though for my Guard animals. As it was, I had neither the time nor the patience to do upgrades to them on an individual basis. It wasn¡¯t strictly necessary, especially on Westeros, but I worried that if they were somewhere more advanced like Earth that my beasts would be less invincible.

    While I was at it, I also added figuring out how to do the enchantments at long distance, such as for Ned and Ser Barristan.

    I did however take the time to make my smiths fireproof. I guess I took that whole ¡°Only You! Can avoid workplace accidents!¡± message to heart.

    ===================================

    While I was gone, my alchemists had finally figured out paper. It wasn¡¯t the nicest paper I¡¯d ever seen, but it was easily good enough to allow for decent quality printed books. They had a pilot paper mill already running, with ten workers preparing about five hundred pages a day each; it wasn¡¯t designed to be profitable, but to test new devices. More importantly, they had identified what they needed in a plant to make optimal paper with the least processing.

    I grew a few fields of the newly designed and magically modified paper-fiber plants. They were pretty heavily enchanted, and it was basically as easy as walking along the rows of trellised vines and picking off the matted plant fibers. Regeneration meant they grew back practically overnight, and they basically consumed air, water, manure and dirt to balance masses. Those fields would be more than enough for my paper industry for decades to come.

    The printers meanwhile had the first press fully functional. It could do six thousand pages of text a day, or four thousand if there were images involved. Again, it was mostly a prototype; the full production facility would be about twice as fast with trained workers, and the factory would ramp up to at least twenty such presses.

    By the end of the decade I intended to have printed enough books for one to be in every home in the Riverlands. The initial investment I¡¯d assigned of a thousand dragons should be enough that by the end of the year I¡¯d have the factories established, and then reinvestment could take care of the rest.

    There were going to be four books to start off with. The first, a guide for farmers with information on ¡°cutting edge¡± farming techniques and tools, hygiene, health, and archery (in my province¡¯s edition, at least). The second, a booklet with pictures, letters and numbers to help people learn to read and do math from basic arithmetic through geometry and basic algebra. The third, a book on the religions of Westeros, including both the Seven-Pointed Star as well as essential teachings and writings by Old Gods philosophers. The fourth, a book on the history of Westeros with commentary.

    If I could fully distribute all of those, I would do a lot to improve literacy and education in my little corner of the world. I¡¯d also be making something like twelve and a half thousand dragons a year doing so. Compared to the profits from my Valyrian steel industry that wasn¡¯t much. But considering that was about ten times the yearly profit from my fief when I took charge, the perspective shifted.

    Other than that, there hadn¡¯t been so many changes while I was off gathering mana. Valyrian Steel was still making a fucking fortune for me. The farm animals were still breeding. The peasants were still happily practicing archery.

    As for the Steelworks, they now needed me to get involved and actually build the major installations of blast furnace and Bessemer converter; the test beds had successfully identified how much of each of the different ores and such we had to use, and meanwhile the storehouses were just gathering more and more ingredients as my purchasing agents went about buying up ore and shitty iron. But there were finally enough high-quality bricks and refractory material to get building.

    And so I did.

    Luckily for me, making the blast furnace and Bessemer converter was actually really easy with my magic. I had massive piles of bricks where the blast furnace was going to be, and the Bessemer lining material was nearby. I had used the stone-manipulating spells enough that I hadn¡¯t had much trouble making a generalized ¡°shape stone¡± spell, and I used that to form the blast furnace and Bessemer converter.

    Then I did something very clever. I developed selectively permeable gas filters using White based wards. The only real difference between a Bessemer converter and the more modern basic oxygen furnace is that the latter avoids issues from nitrogen in the steel by using oxygen gas only. It wasn¡¯t hard to get a ward to reject nitrogen gas, and the high heat and pressure easily overcame any entropic energy losses from unmixing the gasses. The nitrogen was used as secondary heating for the blast furnace, increasing efficiency.

    To be honest, magic overcame so many materials difficulties. All the metal I used in the devices was Valyrian blessed, and could withstand greater stresses and temperatures because of it. Making things myself was very quick considering I could shape the materials with my will alone. Stone could be made highly heat-retaining through use of insulating White enchantment, which reduced fuel losses. And on, and on ¨C every issue I might face, I easily magicked away. Even my workers were largely immune from risk of injury due to my magic.

    It was fucking awesome.

    Between the blast furnace and converter, my new steelworks could process ore and scrap into quality iron, and quality iron into high quality steel (extremely high quality compared to the general technology level), faster than I could acquire the necessary materials. Even given that limitation though, within a few months my steelworks was up to about two thousand tons a year of iron production and a thousand tons a year of steel.

    In consultation with the smiths, I designed and built a massive foundry for all of the smiths flocking to my lands. It took me months. As the word spread, I must have had half the free journeymen in Westeros coming to my lands. Apart from the individual and shared workplaces, I had wind and water powered machines to make plates, bars, rods, pipes, wire, and nails, and some hydraulically powered hammers, grinders, drills, saws, mills and lathes.

    Many of the tools worked almost entirely on magic, or if not entirely, still relied on it for much of the work transferring energy into motion, moving energy through the space, and so on and so on. Beyond that, the tools were made of valyrian blessed steel, and so would never rust or wear so long as they were used on regular iron and steel and could withstand higher temperatures which reduced issues from long usage times from friction on the worked piece.

    In short, even a modern machinist would give their left nut to be able to use my gear.

    After three months of making buildings, designing tools, and all the rest of it I was sick to death of dealing with the metalworks. I estimated that by the end of the year, it would be making me some obscene amount of profit, about fifty eight thousand dragons a year even if I reinvested about half the profit, and putting more and more effort into it seemed like a waste at that point.

    I felt like Midas; everything I touched turned to gold, and I had no idea of where to spend it. The only real place I had to spend money was re-investing it, or my Guard. The Guard still needed to get bigger, but I wasn¡¯t ready to start a whole shift in training, doctrine and professionalism just yet. Nor was I willing to expand until I¡¯d managed my military reforms.

    It almost came as a relief when I got word that ice zombies were gathering beyond the Wall.

 Chapter 31: Zombie Watch pt. 1, Arrival

    <u>Chapter 31: Zombie Watch pt. 1, Arrival</u>

    Way back when I arrived in Winterfell, fresh off the dimensional displacement boat, I had all these worries about whether the ice-demon White Walkers and their ice-zombie wights might actually exist.  After all, I was magic, and so there didn¡¯t seem to be any reason that other magic might not be waiting in shallow graves to spring up and gnaw my face off.

    Now, all those fears had been validated.

    Hearing rumors of Wildling migrations and intending to find some of their missing men including Ned¡¯s brother Benjen Stark, the Night¡¯s Watch sent out a great ranging.  It was a reconnaissance in force, with everything that implied.  They would investigate and scout.  If necessary or given an opportunity, they¡¯d raid and destroy the Wildlings.  Three hundred men went out under the command of the Night¡¯s Watch Lord Commander Jeor Mormont ready to kick ass and take names.

    After being attacked by the ice zombies and a mutiny, fewer than a dozen made it back.  The Watch was gutted.  Already understrength, they were now looking at an invasion of a hundred thousand or more wildlings, followed by fucking ice-demons (or necromantic winter-fey.  I wasn¡¯t entirely sure).  But what we did know was that regular steel basically did fuck all, and arrows were less than useless against the zombies unless the arrows were also on fire.

    Suffice to say, it was bad.

    The Wall itself was about three hundred miles long, just over half a million yards.  Even with such a mighty fortification, it was unreasonable to try and hold it with less than a man per every hundred yards. The Watch really needed about twelve thousand men to properly patrol the Wall long term or defend it short term in a full-press siege situation.  Then again, using the same common rules of thumb for attackers and defenders, for a full-press siege situation the enemy would need about two hundred and fifty thousand warriors, and even that would be pretty light.  It was a comfort that the Wildlings probably couldn¡¯t manage that, but I suspected the ice demons could with their zombies.

    Even before losing those three hundred men, the Night¡¯s Watch was down to about a thousand men.  Now, they had only seven hundred.  A twentieth of what they really needed.

    When Robb got this news at Winterfell, he immediately decided it was critical enough to call his bannermen up and to use Nevermore to get a message to me.  I in turn had Hue, who was stationed in King¡¯s Landing, relay the message to Ned and Robert.

    The timing could definitely have been better.  It was officially Autumn, the transition from Summer to Winter years, and everyone was trying to get that last bit of harvesting done before the weather worsened and agricultural yields decreased.  The word reached me in early October, right in the normal planting time for the fall-winter growing season.

    Beyond that, it was the beginning of winter in general, and even during Summer years it would snow in the North.  Southern troops were straight up not equipped to go on campaign in the winter months, and the North lacked the infrastructure to supply a large expedition of southerners.

    For my own specific issues, it would have been much better if the fucking White Walkers had waited a year.  By then I¡¯d have had the first companies of my new model army ready, and I¡¯d have had thousands of Guard Hounds and hundreds of Guard Horses ready too.  As it was, my expanding support formations of Guard Ravens and Hounds were only just allowing my men to keep pace with the rapid population expansion around Harrentown¡¯s burgeoning industry, and I was forced to deploy Hound units that were younger than I¡¯d have preferred.

    On the plus side, I had just crossed over the one thousand mana threshold, and there was never a more legitimate target for extermination than an undead army.

    Instead of gathering all of the Seven Kingdoms¡¯ armies and marching to war, I convinced Robert and Ned to have different houses gather specific amounts of supplies along the march.  Others would be sending supplies to the North, to support the Northern mobilization.  Troops from the Riverlands would march north in the spring, while troops from the Vale would sail to reinforce the Wall more immediately.

    Unfortunately, it was next to impossible to move troops to the Shadow Tower by sea, the river there more of a gorge than something traversable.  That just meant that the Westerlands and Reach would be more responsible for supplies, and would have to send their contingents overland to take sail from the east or to march up the Kingsroad.

    It was a carefully considered and orchestrated logistical movement and mobilization designed to get up to seventy five thousand troops to the Wall if necessary.  The initial wave, twenty thousand Northmen by land and ten thousand Valemen by sea would be there in time for winter to truly set in.  In the spring ten thousand men would start out from the Riverlands and march for the Wall, while another ten thousand gathered from the Crownlands went out by sea from King¡¯s Landing.  Should casualties prove too high, a final reserve of fifteen thousand from the Reach would march, while ten thousand more would sail from the Stormlands.

    The real problem was what to do about the Others, or White Walkers depending on your terminological preference.  Reports from the ill-fated expedition were that they had completely resisted steel tipped arrows, and their own blades of ice shattered blades on contact.  Wights were totally proof against arrows that weren¡¯t on fire, and even those were less effective than one might hope in the frozen north against fresh, wet corpses.

    Apparently a search of old documents turned up that obsidian, or dragonglass, was effective against the Others themselves; I could see why it would be against demons of ice and snow, what with the memory of a volcano¡¯s fire inside every bit of rock.  The rock was being mined and shipped away for processing as quickly as they could on Dragonstone, a volcanic island.  Even still the Walkers would face precious little of that fell material, and we had no proof that it worked.

    For my own part, Harrenhal was mostly tasked with logistics.  I would be providing nearly twenty five thousand dragon¡¯s worth of food and equipment.  But in return my military would not be overly stressed; of Harrenhal¡¯s Guard and levy, only Jon and I were obligated to attend to the Wall¡¯s defense.Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

    That said, as both Jon and I had horses capable of making the Wall in less than a week and I represented a strategic force all on my own, we had to set out right away as part of the emergency reinforcements.  I was appointed Robert¡¯s envoy in dealing with this situation at the Wall itself.  Hue flew me the scroll proclaiming such in barely dry ink a bare day after we got the news, and I set out for the Wall.

    With me were Togo, Aethon, Jon, Ghost, Shadowfax and Mu.  We were accompanied by one of my two companies of Guard Ravens, and the three oldest companies of Guard Hounds.  They were still young, puppies in mind if not in body, but would be invaluable for patrolling the Wall and detecting any forces thinking to sneak up onto the Wall at night, in bad weather or the like.

    We made quite the procession on the Kingsroad, two riders in shimmering mail going faster than most had ever seen.  Jon bore aloft a banner of grey with the silhouette of horse archer performing a Parthian shot in black.  Behind followed the three blocks of massive grey hounds running in formations four abreast and twenty deep.  Above our flock of ravens flew in orderly ranks, keeping pace with the men and animals below.

    We made three hundred miles a day.  As we grew closer to our destination we often had to leave the road, going cross country as we passed slower moving blocks of infantry and cavalry from the North headed to defend the Wall and their homes.  The troops were obviously regulars, the core of different lordly houses¡¯ professional retainers sent out as first responders.  It had been too short a time for the levy to have been called and dispatched.

    On the morning of the six day we arrived, and found the Night¡¯s Watch in chaos.

    ===================================

    The Night¡¯s Watch was unique in many ways from other Westerosi institutions.  One of the ways it was unique was in the way it selected its leadership.  It was a democracy.  One man, one vote.

    It generally worked.  Over the past eight thousand years and despite having a large portion of the realm¡¯s convicts, there had been only four recorded instances of men who were corrupt or power-hungry enough to get the Watch involved with matters beyond their remit.

    The problem with that method however was shown during our arrival.  With no clear successor, the men of the Night¡¯s Watch were gridlocked over who the next leader should be despite, or perhaps because of, the looming crisis.

    I went to meet First Steward Bowen Marsh, the acting Lord Commander.  When my small army of beasts arrived he had been in a command team meeting with the people who I later learned were his political opponents, because defending a three hundred mile wall with some seven hundred men against over a hundred thousand wasn¡¯t complicated enough already.

    They rushed out of a tower, gaping at the sight of my three centuries of Guard Hounds and Ravens.

    ¡°Acting Lord Commander Marsh,¡± I greeted him.  ¡°I¡¯m Lord Odysseus Gangari of Harrenhal.  His Grace sent me north as soon as he heard.¡±  He was a ruddy, red-faced man with a large rotund belly, which had earned him his nickname of the pomegranate.  I presented him with the scroll that gave me authority to coordinate the Realm¡¯s response.

    He looked up at me, then over my combat contingent, then back to the scroll.  ¡°I sincerely hope we¡¯re getting more than animals,¡± he muttered under his breath, erroneously assuming I couldn¡¯t hear him, ¡°no matter how well trained.¡±

    Then he spoke up, loud enough for a normal person to hear.  ¡°Lord Gangari, it¡¯s a pleasure to have the first of what I hope will be many responders to the Watch¡¯s call for assistance.  But if I may, my lord, how did you get here so quickly?  I doubt the ravens have even managed to reach King¡¯s Landing yet, let alone give you enough time to bring yourself and so many animals north.¡±

    I smiled politely at him.  ¡°I am, as you may have heard or guessed, somewhat skilled in the magical arts.  I had a raven of my own design at Winterfell who got word to me as soon as they knew of the fate of the previous Lord Commander and so many of your sworn brothers.  They have my gratitude and prayers for their sacrifice.

    ¡°But when I got the word, and sent it to his Grace, King Robert, and the Lord of the Hand, Lord Stark, they asked me to come and help deal with the situation.  Twenty thousand northerners are already gathering and coming here, as are ten thousand southerners by sea.  In the spring, another ten thousand will march from the Riverlands, while ten thousand come by sea once more.  A final reserve of twenty-five thousand will await word as to our progress.¡±

    I was speaking loudly so that the word might spread and improve morale.  ¡°As for my own presence, it was not just the color of my hounds that I changed, or their size; each can run at thirty miles an hour for ten hours a day.  We set out the day after hearing about your plight, only six days prior.¡±

    They were visibly stunned at that performance.  Making it from Harrenhal to the Wall in sixty days would have been a feat worthy of admiration and of interest to all future students of war and logistics.  Making it in six, as far as they were concerned took magic; they were right, but luckily I was a mage.

    I smiled widely.  ¡°And my hounds are not just fast; they are far tougher, stronger and smarter than any hound I have not improved.  You will soon see that each is a match in combat for a trained man with mail, shield and sword.  My ravens are likewise stronger and faster than natural ravens, and can scout from the air then return to their attached unit and give a verbal report on what they saw.¡±

    Impressed and fearful mutterings broke out at my claims until one of the men behind Marsh challenged my statement.  ¡°Hah.  I¡¯ll believe that when I see it for myself,¡± he mocked.

    Still mounted on Aethon I looked down at him.  ¡°Very well.  Captain Poe,¡± I called out, turning to the lead raven of the company.  ¡°What is the combat strength of the men in this yard?¡±

    It flew up into the air, did a quick circle of the yard and came down.  ¡°A hundred warriors in black my lord, normal humans.  Three companies of your Guard Hounds.  One of the Ravens.  And yourself and Jon Farstark.¡±

    Everyone was looking at us stunned.  A talking, counting raven; would wonders never cease?

    I grinned harshly.  ¡°Now, my good brother of the Watch, you said you wanted to see one of the hounds fight?  Perhaps it would be better for you to experience it first-hand.  First Captain Fritz,¡± I called out.  ¡°Show this man your worth.  Just be careful not to injure him,¡± I mocked.  ¡°The Watch needs every man right now no matter how foolish.¡±

    The lead hound gave a quick bark and broke formation, coming to stand in front of the rude man, then crouching and preparing to lunge with bared fangs.  The man quickly drew his sword, a small measure of cautious fear in his eyes, his mouth set in a hard line as he prepared to try and kill my war-beast.

    ¡°I will give a count of three, then call begin.¡±  I called out.  Brothers were already gathering around in a wide circle, betting on having extra duties.  ¡°One.  Two.  Three.  Begin!¡±

    Like a shot, Fritz lunged forwards, getting inside the arc of the swords swing where it wouldn¡¯t have the leverage and power needed to injure him.  Fritz didn¡¯t slow down, but smashed into the Watch¡¯s man.  A blur of movement later and the man was caught by the back of the neck.

    Fritz gave a low growl announcing his victory, then threw his head back and howled.  As one, the other Guard Hounds pointed their heads back and followed his lead.

    ¡°Aarrooo!!!  AARROOO!!!¡± rang loudly, bouncing off of the walls and echoing in our ears.  Once they stopped I looked down at the man who was lying on the ground.

    ¡°So, does that make you more confident my hounds can keep the wildlings from you?¡± I asked cooly.

    The man refused to answer, spitting to the side and walking over to stand next to a man I recognized; Janos Flynt.  And judging by Flint¡¯s rapidly paling face, he remembered me too.

    Marsh cleared his throat.  ¡°Well, shall we enter inside and have a word, my lord?¡± he asked.

    ¡°Of course, it would be my pleasure.¡±

    It really, really wasn¡¯t.

 Chapter 32: Zombie Watch pt. 2, Politics and Preparations

    <u>Chapter 32: Zombie Watch pt. 2, Politics and Preparations</u>

    Marsh went back inside, followed by the people that he had previously been meeting with.  As I was introduced to the men, I realized that not only were they the officers of the Night¡¯s Watch, but also those trying to get voted in as Lord Commander.

    First Steward Bowen Marsh was acting Lord Commander, but it didn¡¯t seem likely that he¡¯d manage to take the seat.  That piece of shit Janos Slynt, the corrupt gold cloak I helped remove, was also bucking for the position.

    So were: Ser Alliser Thorn, the much-hated, ever-unpleasant Master-at-arms of Castle Black who had just been humbled by First Hound Captain Fritz; Cotter Pyke, the former Ironborn and commander of Eastwatch-by-the-Sea; Ser Denys Mallister, who has commanded the Shadow Tower for over three decades; and a few others who didn¡¯t really have a shot at winning anyways.  Thankfully the shit Joffrey had had an ¡°accident¡± at some point, otherwise I¡¯m sure he would have been in the running too, just to make my life more miserable.

    Both Pyke and Mallister would be decent choices; they had, after all, successfully commanded castles of their own, and were popular among the men at the Wall.  The only problem was that they fucking hated each other.  Thorn was already out of the running; I didn¡¯t know what he¡¯d been promised, or what sweet lies he¡¯d been told, but he¡¯d thrown his support to Slynt.  Luckily that support was worth less now after everyone saw Fritz maul his ass.  Acting Lord Commander Marsh didn¡¯t look like a fighting man, and was known for a bean-counter by the men at the Wall; he had, after all, held the position of chief bean counter for many years.  It was unlikely that he¡¯d be made Lord Commander, as the men didn¡¯t see him in that way.

    It was looking increasingly likely that Slynt, fucking Slynt would end up winning as the compromise candidate.  I just couldn¡¯t trust a man like that at the head of an organization that was at least half full of thieves, murderers, rapists, bandits and other crooks.  But it was looking increasingly likely that I wouldn¡¯t have a choice, and something needed to happen to break the gridlock.  Not to mention it was insane to leave the two castles meant to hold the flanks unattended by their leaders in this time of crisis.

    So I took a different option.  I decided to try and half-shame, half-bully the Watch¡¯s leadership (after all, Slynt had no shame to begin with) into deciding that since the vote was not deciding the matter of the next Lord Commander quickly enough that Marsh would stay acting Lord Commander, and everyone would get back to doing their fucking jobs.

    Even at the Wall they had heard about how I¡¯d killed the Mountain.  Between that, fear of my magic, Robert¡¯s appointment as his envoy, and the two hundred forty Guard Hounds I¡¯d brought with me they were willing to listen.

    Given any luck, Marsh would prove himself a successful commander, or some other man would rise up out of the ranks.  Failing that, I¡¯d see to Slynt¡¯s tragic accident myself.

    After that dick measuring contest had been decided, I turned to Marsh and asked a simple question.  ¡°What are the strategic and tactical situations?¡±

    He grimaced.  ¡°We are light on the stores needed to feed such large armies as you say are coming, Lord Gangari, and bringing large amounts overland will be difficult as the weather cools.  However, Eastwatch remains accessible by sea in all but the coldest months of winter, and that normally during years of Winter.  For the Watch¡¯s current numbers, our supplies are reasonably extensive, and we have large stores of arrows, flammable cloth, pitch and other necessary items for a siege.¡±

    I nodded.  ¡°That is about as good as I could have hoped for, Lord Commander,¡± I said, showing him my support.  ¡°Clearly you did well as First Steward to see the Watch so well prepared.¡±

    He puffed up a bit, his gut moving forward ponderously as he smiled.  ¡°Thank you, Lord Gangari.  As for the tactical situation, we are most pressed.  We have barely seven hundred men in the Watch now.  It is difficult to carry out the necessary maintenance and repairs with so few men, let alone to turn back an invasion by a hundred thousand wildlings.  Should even a small band of raiders slip past, it would be a dire threat to our castles.

    ¡°As for the threat of Wildlings, there are four main routes of attack.  Furthest to the west, there is the Bridge of Skulls.  It is the only way past the Gorge.  The nearest castle, Westwatch-by-the-Bridge, is more a gatehouse than a true castle.  Although easy to defend, a sufficiently large band may be able to force their way through.  We have too few men to guard it as well as I would like without weakening the Wall elsewhere.

    ¡°The second threat is less localized; the wildlings may attempt to climb over the Wall at any point along its length, and attempt to take our castles from the unprotected southern sides.  This is again an issue hard to defend against without many more men assigned to the task of patrolling.

    ¡°The third threat comes from Castle Black.  Other than the path that leads over the Bridge of Skulls and through Westwatch, it is the only tunnel through the wall at present that we have not filled.  Should the Wildlings be attempting to truly force the Wall and move their entire people through to attack the Seven Kingdoms, they are most likely to come here.

    ¡°The fourth and final threat comes from raiders taking ships and slipping by Eastwatch-by-the-Sea.  Luckily Wildlings make for poor shipbuilders and sailors; though the Watch¡¯s naval forces are small, I doubt that the Wildlings will be able to sneak too many by. That said, should they be willing to endure extreme casualties a massive raft-borne invasion is possible there, and there is the risk that raiding parties might get through to attack us from behind.¡±

    I considered for a moment, thinking about how to best employ my forces.  ¡°Very well.  I think that my forces can help in three main ways.  I will send out a platoon of twenty five of the Ravens to each of the three main castles.  They will patrol for Wildling movement, watch for ships and give warning for forces that target the Bridge of Skulls.  Two of the companies of Hounds will be set to patrolling the wall.  They will run along it, day and night, and ensure that no wildlings make it up undetected.  Finally, I myself will remain at Castle Black with the last company of Guard Hounds as a mobile reserve.  Should it prove necessary, I can split the company and send portions to reinforce all three locations as needed.¡±

    Marsh nodded thoughtfully.  ¡°That would free up the vast majority of the men I have patrolling the wall, and allow me to send extra forces to both Eastwatch and the Shadow Tower,¡± he agreed.  ¡°I will reinforce the Shadow Tower with a hundred men due to the risk of the Bridge of Skulls being attempted by the Wildlings, bringing the force there up to three hundred strong.  Fifty will go to Eastwatch, bringing them to two hundred men, while the remainder will stay here at Castle Black.¡±

    A bunch of much happier officers began to work out the details.

    ===================================

    All that hustle and bustle to get there, and after I arrived we had little to do but wait.  So I buckled down to magical research.  There were three priorities that I worked on.  First, analyzing the Wall; there was a shit-ton of magic through the thing, after all.  Second, figuring out how to apply and update enchantments in mass numbers and from a distance.  Third, I wanted to finally figure out how to teleport.

    The Wall was an impressive structure.  Despite being some eight thousand years old, it was still in good repair, and had stayed frozen and seven hundred feet tall the whole time.  I had anticipated White mana being involved; the wall was ice, which was a structured crystal, and it warded against the undead.  There was basically no more obvious a sign of White magic than structure and anti-undead.  But that didn¡¯t explain the eternal, unchanging, self-repairing nature of the Wall.  Not with the Wall being so far away from civilization.Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.

    The secret, surprisingly, was in the use of Green mana.  The effect that made the ice permanent, slowly dying down before I revitalized it, was copyable with White and Green.  It made the ice have some essential aspect of life energy to it.  Then there was the spell to make the ice truly ¡°living¡± in its ability to self-repair.  Last, there was an enchantment that made the ice sacred, for lack of a better word.  It basically gave it a localized anti-undead ward.

    The coolest thing about the ice was it was self-powering; the ice counted as alive enough and certainly sufficiently a part of civilization to generate high amounts of White mana, while being in the frozen and wild north meant it had high amounts of ambient Green at hand too.  There was a highly efficient feedback loop, and if properly staffed the Wall was naturally self-powering.

    I learned to reshape the ice without much difficulty; I suspected I¡¯d use the set of spells, or minor modifications thereof to make highly efficient cold-box devices that recharged when exposed to towns and cities.  I looked forwards to having iced fruit juice in the south.

    Meanwhile the anti-undead field was something I was interested in investigating further; it would likely lead to anti-undead beam attacks and a more generalized ward-undead that I hoped to use with some of my animals.

    Because fuck zombies.

    Luckily, it was ridiculously easy to modify into an anti-undead enchantment.  It basically had to be attached to something with high concentrations of white and green.  Which included all my animals and myself.  Unlike Valyrian steel, which I suspected would work against the undead by applying conceptual cutting damage, the aura was more of a shield, working against allowing undead energies within that space.

    Unfortunately, it was still pretty weak.  The effect on the Wall relied a lot on being a massive, three hundred mile long, seven hundred foot tall, fifty foot wide chunk of ice.  My animals were individually a lot more magical than the ice, and the anti-undead aura enchantment was powered by that, but the efficiency was still low enough that on an individual basis all I expected it to do was prevent my animals from being raised as wights, and to allow for impacts with their flesh or blood to harm the White Walkers.

    That was good, to start, but not really satisfying.  Luckily, the aura was linkable much like the projectile shields, and so blocks of my troops would cause nearby undead to be weaker and suffer damage over time.  It wasn¡¯t enough to make a fight a foregone conclusion, but it did serve to make my troops more efficient.

    For myself, it was more useful.  I could use the structure of the enchantment to serve as a spell, then dump colorless mana into it to flare the size of the aura, strengthening it with more White and Green.  It should be as effective as setting every undead near me on fire with sufficient mana, without the issue of a pile of actually burning bodies to menace my allies.  I also figured out how to fire beams and bolts of the anti-undead energies.

    The latter technique was easily adapted to send packets of healing life-force energy as well, the energy signatures of anti-undead and pro-life being quite close to each other.  It wasn¡¯t really that useful; most injuries were either too severe for a basic life-force infusion to work fast enough, or too minor to need my attentions, but it was an application nonetheless.

    Since I was messing about with attack spells, I figured it was time to set up a continuous version of chain lightning.  Chain lightning was mostly a one shot attack; the bolt could be guided a bit after I shot it, but the size and strength of the bolt was defined when it was cast in the first place.

    But that was from a time that my mana regeneration was slow.  When I arrived at Castle Black with over a thousand mana to call on, I could have a used mana bond ready to go again in a little under two minutes.  I basically had ten mana a second to spend before I started drawing down faster than I recovered.

    It was worth making a spell that I cast once, then kept channeling through as opposed to making multiple instances of the same spell.  It was easier on my concentration, and it meant that I could save on the mana required to build the spell-pattern every time I cast it.  For chain lightning, that was a full four mana to structure the spell and provide a minimal effect, but with the bulk of the power coming from the extra colorless I imbued the spell with.  Continuous chain lightning was only one colorless more to start off, and after that the power depended entirely on how much magic I was feeding it.  It was effectively my magic machinegun.

    Figuring out the Wall, developing an anti-undead aura, and gaining the ability to shoot anti-undead beams and continuous lightning only took a little over two weeks.

    As for my progress in enchanting, it took me about a month to be able to be able to lay the same enchantment on multiple people or objects at a time, and it wasn¡¯t until two months later in mid January that I figured out how to cast enchantments at a distance.

    At first I was overly focused on casting the same enchantment multiple times simultaneously.  It was like trying to write the same word with both my left and right hand at the same time; in theory understandable, in practice very, very difficult.  The trick that I eventually figured out was that I could cast the enchantment, and then when I went to tie it into the animal could instead send tendrils out to tie it to multiple animals at a time.

    The problem was in keeping the enchantment stable while subjecting it to those stresses, which required a fine control of mana; by adding mana into the enchantment at the same rate that it was flowing to the targeted beings, I could keep the enchantment stable.  When enough mana to enchant all the beings was finished, the enchantment would separate and flow into all the creatures.

    The advantage was that I could process as many as a dozen animals in the time it used to take me to process one, and that improved processing factor kept increasing as I kept getting more mana and more skill controlling it.  The disadvantage was that it wasn¡¯t possible for me to add the top level of what I could accomplish with enchantments; those were by definition cutting edge, at the very limit of what I could achieve and needed all my skill and focus.

    But that top level kept reaching higher and higher, with what used to be the apex suddenly something I could distribute to all of enhanced friends and forces.

    Which brought me to the topic of how to enchant people at a distance.  I started in mid November, and was pretty close to a solution when I realized it was once again coming up on Christmas.  I was depressed; every year my family would gather, everyone from all the over world coming to Florida for our family celebration.

    I knew that I wasn¡¯t there, that I¡¯d be kept in the Christmas eve and New Years prayers.  That my mother would be all tense, waiting for someone to say something about how I was probably in a better place or whatever so she could jump down their throat, insisting that I was fine, that I would be fine, that I¡¯d make it back someday to be with them again.

    They were heavy thoughts.  I¡¯ll admit, despite all the blood I¡¯d shed, the things I¡¯d done, the thought of that scene, my parents in the family setting, the specific idea of their faces and reactions to my being brought up after being missing for almost two years, for the second Christmas in a row, as everyone just prayed that I¡¯d get home but secretly feared I wouldn¡¯t¡­  It was tough.

    I spent a lot of time in private for those few days.

    But then Togo came along, picked up my wrist in his mouth, and dragged me to where I¡¯d been doing experiments.  I had talked to him about my problems, taking comfort in his quiet support, and he knew what I needed to do.  I needed to work.  To make progress with my magic.  And to one day make my way home.

    It seemed that jolt of motivation was exactly what I needed to make progress.  Through meditation I found these slight links between me and those that I¡¯d previously enchanted.  I had a habit of taking a perfect memory of people before and after I did an enchantment so I¡¯d be able to diagnose and fix whatever damage was done in the event of some sort of enchantment failure or rejection.  When I thought about those memories while meditating, I found ever-so faint links between me and them.  I could use those links to pass my spells without issues of distance.

    It wasn¡¯t great at letting me put in place entirely new enchantments, at least not yet, but I could easily upgrade the ones that were already there and with significantly more time and effort add new ones.

    Then, after spending enough time practicing, meditating, and upgrading the Guard animals back home to a higher standard, I made another breakthrough.  I gained the ability to track all the magic I was responsible for.  With deep focus I could suddenly feel out not just the animals that I had enchanted, but all of their progeny, at least so long as they were touched by my magic.

    The Guard Hounds, with a pregnancy period of about two months and litters of several puppies at a time had been expanding particularly rapidly; there were over four thousand of them in the Guard, patrolling my lands to maintain peace and order, with thousands more too young or pregnant to be part of the active units.  It took me six days just to get all of them up to the latest standard.

    Judging from the fact that they were almost as good as Togo, mostly just lacking his size and experience, I could probably upgrade myself again; I had over twenty-eight hundred mana by the time February came and I was finished upgrading my Guard variants to their latest standard, so I certainly had the extra power to spare.

    But teleportation was, I considered, of slightly higher priority.

    A pity I didn¡¯t get to work on it just then.

 Chapter 33: Zombie Watch pt. 3, Human Refugees

    <u>Chapter 33: Zombie Watch pt. 3, Human Refugees</u>

    Things were looking up by February.

    The Wall was beginning to repopulate. The North had responded in force under Robb¡¯s leadership, and Vale houses and their troops under Ser Brynden Tully¡¯s command were coming in at Eastwatch to reinforce the Wall and its castles. There were feasts and other events that I went to, but I had mostly stayed tucked away working on my troops. The Blackfish was an able commander, and he and Robb needed little input from me as to the disposition of his troops.

    I decided to increase my own forces at the Wall; I hadn¡¯t realized how quickly my hounds would be breeding, and had Hue, who was posted as part of my communications network in Harrenhal, relay the order for fifteen companies, a full twelve hundred hounds as well as another two companies of Guard Ravens to come north to the Wall.

    When they arrived, I formed them into three battalions of six companies each, with a company of the Ravens as aerial scouts and human/animal translators.

    I had decided to model my human army roughly after the Romans, with eighty men or thirty cavalry to a company (century), six infantry companies or twelve cavalry ones to a battalion (cohort). It didn¡¯t make sense for me to use a Legion sized structure though, as a single one would probably end up including every man in my army even after I finished expanding it.

    Instead the largest sizes, still entirely hypothetical, were Regiments; these were designed as combined arms formations, and had a minimum of eight foot companies, including at least two of archers and at least four of pikemen. A Foot Regiment had no integrated cavalry element, while a Mixed Regiment had eight companies of cavalry attached. A Fast Regiment used mounted soldiers who would then dismount to fight as well as the integrated cavalry unit.

    Romans had similar units: the Equitata Cohort, which included a cohort of infantry with an integral cavalry element, and the Equitata Milliara Cohort, an over-strength Equitata Cohort with ten infantry companies and eight cavalry. They were often made up of auxiliaries and used in the provinces when a full Legion would be overkill.

    I planned on having a Guard Hound for every man in the Regiments, as well as two companies of Ravens attached to each Regiment. The Hounds could fight from beneath the pikes, screen the archers, and support the cavalry, while the Ravens would scout and carry messages. Because of that planned integration, the Hounds and Ravens were already assigned to companies of eighty animals each back at Harrenhal. I had trained the first of them to keep organizing themselves in such a manner, and the hierarchical pack-instinct I created them with further reinforced their training.

    It made it easy for the Hounds to organize and deploy along the wall, that was for sure. The Northmen and Valemen took a bit of time to get used to organized packs moving about in formation, standing watch, and otherwise doing all the military activities they could. Some inquired about acquiring some for their own armed forces; I mentioned to them that I was selling shepherding dogs as the population of those grew, but that the Guard Hounds were not for sale. The fact that the Starks had some became quite a point of envy.

    Although I wanted to I did not get to work on my teleportation, I couldn¡¯t. The Vale and Northern forces had arrived just in time.

    We had to deal with the Wildlings.

    ===================================

    We were fairly lucky in how long it had taken the Wildlings to move. It may have seemed incredibly slow, but their horde often made as few as three miles a day. The massive amount of foraging required, the lack of roads and mounts, the need to carry all their tents and furs, the slowing due to the children, and the difficulties presented by walking through the snow and over the ice¡­ It all meant that the Wildling advance was less a military maneuver than it was a slow meandering migration.

    As for the Walkers, they were either slowed by the desire to raise every corpse in the lands beyond the Wall, or were wise enough to let the Wildlings test our strength first. Either way, I was glad that we were dealing with merely human foes, especially since the stocks of obsidian were not so much low as they were non-existent. Though Robert assured me they were coming soon. I was assured. But I¡¯d believe it when I saw it.

    We weren¡¯t sure of what exactly the Wildlings intended. Some believed they were coming to escape the White Walkers. Others thought that they were merely the first wave of human servants sent by the Walkers to open up a path through the Wall.

    I didn¡¯t particularly care; the Wildlings had a culture of rape, robbery, murder and general barbarism. Westeros wasn¡¯t nice or pretty, especially by modern standards, but they were a damn sight better than the Wildlings. Hell, Volantis was better than the so-called free-folk, and they practiced massive amounts of slavery. Letting Wildlings through the Wall, assuming they wanted to escape rather than serve the White Walkers, would be saving their wicked lives at the expense of all the innocents they would go on to harm.

    I wasn¡¯t willing to do it.

    The Wildlings would be given a simple choice. Surrender, bend the knee, accept the King¡¯s laws, the Stark¡¯s rule, and peacefully settle in the Gift, a stretch of land owned but not particularly used by the Night¡¯s Watch. Fight, and be destroyed by my sorceries and the gathered armies of the Seven Kingdoms. Or run back into the chilly embrace of the White Walkers.

    No other options were acceptable.

    I just had to hope the Wildlings were clever enough to accept it. Failing that, that the Wall was high enough I didn¡¯t have to worry about the scent of burning flesh.

    The first to show up were their scouts and outriders. My ravens reported that they were visibly dismayed at the number of banners on the wall. The scouts then turned to the sides, moving along the Wall for tens of miles in each direction, growing more and more bothered by the fact that the Wall was once again properly garrisoned. Other scouting parties approached the wall in other locations, though with a similar lack of success and growing consternation.

    A number of my Ravens followed them back to the Wildling host. The reports of it reminded me a bit of the Dothraki khalasars, just without the horses and with more clothing. The Wildlings were no army, more a collection of tribes, villages, clans and warbands which had decided to wander in the same direction. That must have been part of the reason why it took them so long to arrive at Castle Black; foraging for food for that many people was a gargantuan task.Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

    There were a few things I wanted to get a better look at.

    They had giants, which modern Earth would claim inefficient and ponderous due to the square-cube law; I wanted to get a good scan of their biology and any magic they had.

    And they had Wooly Mammoths; I wanted some to modify as line-breakers and mobile archery/artillery platforms for my Guard. I had always loved the Armored Elephants in Medieval Two Total War, after all.

    Other than that, the Wildlings were a collection of hardscrabble barbarians and I wanted little to do with them. Unfortunately, I was the one assigned to treat with them by Robert, should they so choose.

    My raven scouts had marked their leader, and one of my spies had heard his name: Mance Rayder. The traitor of the Night¡¯s Watch turned King-Beyond-the-Wall.

    I gathered together Marsh, Robb and the Blackfish in case I needed to consult with them, then I sent Mu out to begin negotiations.

    Watching from Mu¡¯s eyes, I saw Rayder¡¯s massive pavilion of a tent approaching quickly. It was very barbarian chic, made from the white pelts of Westero¡¯s version of polar bears and adorned with antlers from a great elk, but I thought he might have been trying a little bit too hard to stand out from the crowd.

    Mu flew right past the guard in a flash and into the tent, interrupting a meeting between Mance and a number of other wildling leaders. They recoiled in shock, even their leader, though his face was neutral again so quickly I would not have caught it with ordinary human senses.

    Other than the mid-sized and relatively non-descript Mance Rayder, there were three other men and three women there. One man was a massive bear of a person, with a long white beard and engraved armbands of gold. Another, tall, bald, lean and earless, wore heavy bronze scale armor. The third was in a shirt of bones. For the women, one was squat and round and stunk of blood. The second, a pretty young blonde woman, sat by the third who was pregnant.

    ¡°Greetings,¡± I relayed through Mu.

    ¡°Oh by the hells it talks!¡± shouted the white beard.

    Mu turned his eyes to look at the man dismissively. ¡°Indeed. I talk. Surprisingly, so do you,¡± Mu replied before breaking into caws of laughter. The seven wilding leaders¡¯ puzzled stares stood testament to their confusion and shock.

    The blonde girl guffawed. ¡°See, Tormund, even ravens think you more animal than man.¡±

    His face darkened. ¡°Aye, well we¡¯ll see who ends up in whose belly, and who has the last laugh then,¡± he muttered.

    ¡°Peace, Tormund,¡± Mance said. ¡°I would hear what our feathered friend has come to say.¡±

    Mu turned to look at Mance and looked him up and down. ¡°Clever,¡± Mu noted, then began to relay my words again in a somewhat different voice, the tone and timing shifted to match my own.

    ¡°Mance Rayder. I am Ser Odysseus Gangari, Lord of Harrenhal and Envoy of His Grace King Robert,¡± I introduced myself.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t realize they made ravens into lords in the south,¡± Tormund said sarcastically.

    Mu laughed, a trio of sharp, strident caws coming out of his beak.

    ¡°No,¡± I said through him. ¡°Though I suspect Mu here could do a better job than most, I am speaking through him from Castle Black.¡±

    The bald, earless man frowned. ¡°I think that wargs can not do this?¡± he asked in somewhat broken common.

    ¡°I¡¯m no warg, but a sorcerer of a sort that has not been seen for an age,¡± I replied.

    Mance raised his hand, drawing the wildlings back into line. ¡°And what does the envoy of the southern king have to say to us free folk?¡±

    ¡°I am here to tell you some facts, ask you a question, and offer you a choice,¡± I answered via Mu. ¡°The Night¡¯s Watch is aware of the White Walkers; their Great Ranging was slaughtered, but all accounts of those dozen that managed to escape agreed that the dead walked as wights and their commander was a white man of beautiful but inhuman form and power.

    ¡°In response to this and your own movements, the armies of the Seven Kingdoms have mobilized. Already thirty thousand men have gathered to defend the Wall, twenty thousand more are on their way, and twenty five thousand are available should they be needed. Dragonglass is being sourced and processed into daggers, arrowheads and spear-tips. We are ready to meet any and every threat from beyond the wall, living or dead.¡±

    I could see their expressions grow dark at that. A good fortress, with strong stone walls and towers, required around ten times as many men to attack it than to defend it. Something like the Wall, with seven hundred foot walls, was far, far harder to assault. It wouldn¡¯t be unreasonable to assume a fifty to one combat multiplier for the defenders so long as their supplies of arrows were maintained, and even a hundred to one or more was quite possible.

    The Wildlings may not have been experts in siege warfare, but it was clear that their plan for a lightning assault to break through the Wall and into undefended North had failed before it had truly begun.

    ¡°What we do not know is why you come south,¡± I continued. ¡°It could be you are fleeing the White Walkers. It could be you are aiding them, a first wave of humans to break through the Wall that would stymie their fell magics and undead. So which is it?¡±

    Mance looked at Mu seriously. ¡°All men with warm blood in their veins are enemies of the White Walkers,¡± he said. ¡°And we are no exception.¡±

    I had Mu give a jerky up and down nod. ¡°That is good to hear. So now, I offer you a choice. The first, if you wish to enter beyond the Wall, you must bend the knee. You will accept the King¡¯s laws, and whatever communities you form will accept both the Starks and the Night¡¯s Watch as their overlords. You will peacefully settle in the Gift, and only those invited to settle further south will be allowed to do so. Further, you will be responsible for providing a number of your warriors to help man the Wall during the present crisis.

    ¡°The second, you may fight, and be broken on the Wall by the gathered might of Seven Kingdoms. Or, the third option, you may turn and flee, running back into the chilly embrace of the White Walkers.

    ¡°I will come again tomorrow to hear your thoughts.¡±

    As Mu turned to leave, Mance asked a question. ¡°What if we agree to kneel, then go back on our word?¡±

    Mu transmitted my laugh, turning it even harsher and crueler. ¡°Did you think Mu was unique?¡± I asked, mocking. ¡°That I only practiced my art on ravens? The hounds I breed are as smart as men, can run three hundred miles in a day, tear through plate armor like it was parchment, and have flesh as tough and hard as bronze. Fifteen hundred are already with me to protect the Wall. By year¡¯s end there will be fifteen thousand to patrol these lands.¡± Mu copied well my voice as I continued, its cold harsh tones and promises of violence ringing clear.

    ¡°Should individual raiders test their mettle, they will die,¡± I promised. ¡°Should the former free-folk prove too irksome as whole, or march south again, I will come north again with an army of men and beasts. We will kill everyone that carries a weapon, and drop the rest off in chains outside Volantis. Perhaps their slavers would have better success in teaching those oathbreakers to kneel.¡±

    Mance snarled at the idea. ¡°I did not realize the king¡¯s laws on selling slaves had changed.¡±

    Mu cawed, transmitting my bark of laughter. ¡°What did I say of selling? No, what the slavers do to traitors all the way in Essos is beyond our concern. Mind me well, Rayder. You will have to live with the consequences of your decisions. Or not live, as the case may be. Till our next meeting.¡±

    Mu leapt off the table, flying out of the tent and quickly winging his way into the air. I broke the link, coming out of it in a stone room in Castle Black. Robb, Marsh and the Blackfish were all there, and had heard my side of the conversation.

    Robb¡¯s face was worried. ¡°What do you think they will do?¡±

    I shrugged. ¡°I have no idea, but if they are wise they will kneel.¡±

    But everyone who¡¯s watched a zombie show knows that the human refugees are just as great a threat as the zombies themselves.

 Chapter 34: Zombie Watch pt. 4, Ending the Threat

    <u>Chapter 34: Zombie Watch pt. 4, Ending the Threat</u>

    In the morning it seemed that we received the Wildling¡¯s answer.

    It wasn¡¯t what we had been hoping for, and came in the form of a raid on Castle Black just after dawn.  Of course the ravens had spotted it, and it was thus no surprise.  The troops were prepared.  And atop the Wall I waited with Jon, Robb, Brynden and Marsh, Togo and Ghost at our sides.

    The Wildling wave was fifteen thousand strong, significantly outnumbering the defenders.  Of the three hundred Night¡¯s Watchmen, five thousand Northmen, and three thousand Valemen, a little under half, some four thousand men, were on duty that morning.

    Still, given the advantages of fortification, training and equipment, and the lack of Wildling siege engines, those four thousand could have easily held against ten times as many Wildlings.  But I doubted our men would be necessary at all.

    As the Wildlings left the edge of the treeline some five-hundred meters distant, they gathered then began to run at an extreme archery range of four hundred meters, shields upraised around those carrying logs to use as battering rams at the gate.

    They were no risk.  I was tired of holding back, and defending the realm against Wildlings and White Walkers was certainly the best time from a public relations perspective to reveal the full extent of my magics.

    I raised my hand for dramatic effect and intoned three words.  ¡°Continuous Chain Lightning.¡±

    With a mighty *CRACK* a think bolt of lightning jumped out from my hand, smashing into a group of better dressed free folk. I dumped twenty mana a second into that spell, the majority of my regeneration dedicated to destruction, and watched in disgusted awe as the so called Lord of Bones and his entourage jerked and charred as I swept them with my lightning.

    The men on the Wall were staring at me in shock as I singlehandedly broke the Wildling attack.  Men dropped their weapons in their haste to make the sign of the seven pointed star, or simply forgot to keep hold in their awe.

    The Wildlings, meanwhile, at least those closer to the impact, had dropped their weapons for an entirely different reason; they were fleeing as fast as they could.

    A minute later and the Wildlings were in full rout, running as quickly as they could for the trees while my lightning played over them.  As the began to enter the tree-line, slowing in the belief that I was finished, I sent out the finale.

    I had been casting with twenty mana a second, and still had a full half of my mana pool when they ran.

    In a fit of theatricality, I threw my arms wide.  ¡°Firestorm!¡± I called out.  A hundred fireballs of wildfire, each with ten mana added to give it force and explosive heat formed and shot forwards, impacting through the tree-line, starting a fire and causing a great slaughter to those caught in the area of effect.

    I looked out on that field of the dead and dying, the screams of the terrified and injured ringing in my ears.  It was awesome and awful, terrific and terrible.  It was the raw and naked exercise of power.  My magic¡¯s power over reality.  My power over the Wildlings.

    With that single move, a truth was made evident to all the men there, guardians of the Wall and Wildling alike.

    The Wall would not fall.  The Wildling attack was over, but for discussing the terms of their surrender.

    ===================================

    This time Mu found a much less energetic and optimistic group in Mance¡¯s tent.  Mu glided in and settled into place on the table.  The bone-dressed man was absent, dead in yesterday¡¯s assault, and the squat woman who smelled of blood was gone as well, whether dead or simply absent I didn¡¯t know.  The people that were there looked at Mu as if he might be a bomb.

    ¡°Here to accept our surrender?¡± Mance asked somewhat bitterly.

    Mu cawed in laughter.  ¡°What, no thank you?  After all, didn¡¯t I just do what you wanted?¡± I asked.

    The men in the tent looked at Mu with narrowed eyes and questioning faces.

    ¡°What do you mean?¡± Tormund rumbled.

    ¡°Please.  Mance knew all along that there was no chance you could take the Wall,¡± I explained, ¡°not with it actually defended.  Ten to one, with equal quality of warriors and siege engines.  That¡¯s what you need to take even a normal castle, let alone one so impressive as the Wall.  And your men are hardly as dangerous as the men the North has gathered.  You never stood a chance.

    ¡°But some of your people were too savage and violent to understand that; they had to be taught the hardest lesson, so that the rest of your people might learn the futility of struggle.  Of course, he was hoping they¡¯d cause more damage first, improve your negotiating stance a bit.¡±

    The bald man frowned.  ¡°Rattler was not of my people,¡± he emphasized.

    ¡°Nonetheless.  The point remains,¡± I replied.

    Mance¡¯s lips were pursed.  ¡°And now our negotiating stance is even weaker,¡± he sort-of agreed, then sighed.  ¡°Very well.  I assume you can take our surrender?¡±

    ¡°I can.  Though those from the attack will not be allowed south of the Wall,¡± I replied.

    ¡°What!¡± Rayder shouted, rising from his seat.  ¡°You can¡¯t just leave them for the Walkers!¡±

    Mu shook his head in a strange parody of my own gesture.  ¡°And why not?  I offered peace, and they spat on it.  Such actions cannot be rewarded.¡±

    ¡°There will be others who refuse to enter if such a circumstance comes to pass,¡± he warned.  ¡°Perhaps as many as forty or fifty thousand, a full third of my host is related to or allied with groups that were part of that attack.¡±

    ¡°Then they too may choose to die.  You seem to misunderstand a simple fact, Rayder.  I do not fear the Walkers, but I lack the patience to hunt down tens of thousands of rapists, murderers and other ne¡¯er do wells throughout the North.  I care not if your people see me as the very devil himself; those that enter the Seven Kingdoms will be peaceful.¡±

    Mu moved forward a bit, fixing him with unblinking eyes.  ¡°I would rather all your people dead and burned than have a single northern girl raped, a single northern farm raided,¡± I said coldly.  ¡°I owe your people none of the protections and services I do to the Starks, and by extension the Starks¡¯ people.  Your people have lived by the power of their arms, have killed and stolen by it, and have no right to complain when they die by it in turn.  Those prepared to kill must be prepared to be killed.

    ¡°The only reason I am treating with you at all is that Lord Stark is far kinder, and wanted your people offered shelter, and convinced King Robert to agree with his plan,¡± I said.  I couldn¡¯t have them think of the Starks poorly, after all.  ¡°That, and the possibility I might not be able to burn all of your corpses and thus strengthen the Walkers¡¯ forces.  But to be honest, I doubt a few thousand extra corpses here or there will make such a great difference compared to how many corpses the Walkers will raise against us.¡±

    Mance had been losing energy throughout my speech, sinking deeper and deeper into himself, cradling his head in his hands.  ¡°Is there nothing we can do to convince you?¡± he pleaded.

    ¡°What do you have that I could want?¡± I asked rhetorically.

    The blonde woman grimaced and spoke up.  ¡°If you would forgive them, I would give you myself,¡± she offered unexpectedly.  With other people it might have worked; she was very pretty, and had that whole badass warrior-woman barbarian princess vibe going on.  I could have dyed her hair and called her Xena; that might actually have been pretty fun, come to think of it.  But I was not there to make friends, or gain a paramour.Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.

    Mu burst out into cawing laughter.  ¡°I have no interest in those who are with me out of anything but desire.  But beyond that, I am lord to some four hundred thousand people.  I am one of the richest and most powerful in Westeros, only arguably below the Lords Paramount, and have the ear of the King at court.  I am a handsome and powerful young man, with numerous heroic deeds to my name.  Do you honestly think, for a single second, that having one girl is such a prize?¡±

    It was cruel, and her face showed it hurt.  But I needed to be domineering; the free-folk were like vicious, wild animals. Worse, even.  Give them an inch and they¡¯d take a mile, then come back in the night, slit your throat, steal your boots and eat your corpse.

    ¡°Now, Mance Rayder, King-beyond-the-Wall, what is your answer?¡±

    ¡°We will swear our peace and surrender,¡± he sighed.  ¡°And I will do what I can to convince people to leave behind wives and husbands, fathers and mothers, and pass through the Wall.¡±

    Back at Castle Black I grimaced at the reminder of what I was dooming people to, but they were truly the human equivalent of hyenas, vicious opportunistic predators.  I had no desire to fill the North with mad dogs who thought to assault such a fortification as the Wall with so few people.  It spoke to an inherent aggressiveness and lack of understanding of consequences that was unacceptable.

    Hopefully those wise enough not to charge to their doom would be wise enough to keep my peace.

    If not, my hounds would turn them to shit.

    Literally.

    But only after eating them alive.

    ===================================

    A month later and the majority of Wildlings had finally finished trickling through the wall.  I had had to be present for a dozen arguments and disagreements, my very presence serving to quell tempers and remind the no-longer-free folk what mercy they had been shown.  I took hundreds of oaths in Robert¡¯s place, as did Robb in place of his father, and the Gift¡¯s population increased a hundredfold.

    I had called for more and more of my burgeoning Hound population to come north.  Eventually a full ten battalions, four thousand eight hundred hounds were there, helping ensure that the Wildlings didn¡¯t leave their reservations without approval.  Ten companies of ravens supported them.  Poe, the eldest of the Guard Ravens, was placed in overall command, while Fritz supported him.

    I inverted their coloring from their ears and neck back, their coats a flat Night¡¯s Watch black and their markings, including my horse-archer sigil, in whites and light greys.  They looked somewhat like giant Australian shepherds in their coloring afterwards.  On their right shoulders they bore the words of their unit: ¡°Watch-Force North.¡±  They were detached for semi-permanent support of the Night¡¯s Watch and peacekeeping with the free-folk immigrants, so I thought it would be appropriate that they bore the colors.  That said, I wasn¡¯t giving the animals to the Watch, they were a loan.

    Unfortunately none of the mammoths had had babies recently, and the giant¡¯s weren¡¯t willing to just give me some of their adults.  Nor was I feeling cruel enough to just take them.  In the end, we came to an agreement.  I gave the mammoths and giants a few fixes to ensure that their genetics wouldn¡¯t deteriorate due to inbreeding from the small population that was all they had left, extended their lifespans to help repopulation, and ensured that the giants would get extra support from the Starks and Night¡¯s Watch getting established.  In return they promised me some of the more genetically disparate calves once they were born.  It might take a while though; mammoth pregnancies could last as long as two years.

    As for the giants, they didn¡¯t have much magic; it was more that their biology was radically different, adapted for size and strength, sort of like a gorilla¡¯s as opposed to a man¡¯s.  Nor were the mammoth¡¯s magical.  All in all it was quite the disappointment.

    I spent most of my spare time in February fruitlessly pursuing teleportation.  Then in March I got sick of it, and decided since I lacked any idea of what to do with regards to teleportation, I may as well improve my mana cultivation and personal upgrades.  I had more than enough mana to do so, with about a full order of magnitude more than I had had when I last upgraded myself.

    Similar to last time, I found that my increased ability to manipulate and condense mana as well as spell structures meant I could improve both the efficiency, concept and sheer power behind my effects.

    In Blue I once again improved my mana senses, thought acceleration, and then each again.  Truly those were some of the most important enhancements, allowing me to manipulate mana more finely and quickly to create more complex and effective patterns, whether for enchantment or a more temporary spell.

    Then I improved my precognitive ability, seeing a wider band of possibilities a longer distance into the future.  I was getting more and more control of it, able to use my precognition to further speed up my thinking and problem solving by finding the answer that I would have found had I spent seconds to minutes thinking about it.  I could anticipate in the future being able to keep multiple parallel mental processes by simultaneously being precognitively aware of different mental states that I could be having.  What was even better was that the gains I made by clever application of precognition were multiplicative onto gains I made with spells.

    I had been using the Mental Ward spell long enough, playing with ways to break through, that I was able to fix many of those issues for both subtle and overt attacks.  I also took the time to really work out a variable form enchantment with the communications link; now it was effectively an integrated telephone capable of contacting individuals or groups, while preserving prior functionality.  I still had to act as the relay, however, which wasn¡¯t optimal; I wanted my hounds and ravens to be able to contact each other without my being involved, but couldn¡¯t quite get that part of the enchantment working.

    For my Green effects, I grew massively stronger physically, now able to quite easily bend and tear sheets of metal with my bear hands.  My oakflesh went past being like bronze into being like iron then steel, making me incredibly hard to harm.  The strength of the regeneration was powerful enough that it was like looking at the wound being re-round in time.  Still not the perfect regeneration of someone like Wolverine, capable of healing literally anything, but it was getting there slowly.  Even my transformed dragon-based bones improved, becoming more magically powerful and conductive, while being naturally more difficult to damage even before the oakflesh effect was added on top.

    In fact, the combination of subtle optimizations I had been doing, and the straight-up biological upgrades I had experienced pushed my natural state, without any magics, over the edge of the utmost human performance.  I was, in short, Captain America even without any magic at all; with it, I was far more powerful and tough, and healed much, much faster.

    Within Red I continued to push on my speed, the idea that I was free of the usual constraints of time, that I could move as fast as I wished.  It was reaching the point that when I really pushed my speed I could break the speed of sound with my fastest punch.  The increased impact effect on top of that meant that a full speed and power punch that I stopped about a centimeter into a tree would cause the trunk to shatter and splinter, sometimes even enough to bring down the entire tree.  I also managed to upgrade the fireproof effect, bringing the allowable temperature up to two thousand degrees C and making it slightly resistant to magical fire.

    My defensive effects got a big boost with White.  The stored healing energy was significant, enough to stave off most every life-threatening injury that didn¡¯t kill you all at once.  The strength of the conceptual armor had gone from similar to being in a suit of plate armor to being inside a lightly armored vehicle.  On top of that, the projectile shield would need to be hit by extended bursts of high caliber machinegun fire, or successive light cannon rounds or something similar to break through.  I was a big fan of survivability, and glad that mine was increasing.  Furthermore, I figured out how to make the Anti-Undead Aura a good bit stronger and larger; I suspected that wights would only be barely effective against large concentrations of my troops when I upgraded them with it.

    From Black, the anti-disease and toxin effects got stronger, as did my ability to derive benefit from consuming things.  I still couldn¡¯t consume objects that didn¡¯t qualify as food.  However, where before I got all the nutritional value, chemical energy, and a very small amount of essence from my food, I was now getting a significant amount of essence and an as-yet negligible rate of adaptation based on whatever natural advantages my food had over me.

    That last was extremely exciting, as it meant my natural physique could improve a lot more in the future, providing a better baseline for my magical effects to build off of.  I was generally wary of doing too many biological experiments to myself or my friends, for fear of harming them, which meant that a slow but steady and most of all automatic improvement would be a god-send.

    Green did make some natural as well as supernatural improvements too, but that was more extremely sped up evolution than adoption of others¡¯ mechanisms.  There was even synergy between the two; when my adaptation rate got better, I could evolve creatures with Green to improve their own natural state, then consume them to get those advantages myself.

    To be honest, my mana was increasing faster than my skill at that point; had I spent more time practicing and pushing the envelope on my magic, I might have eked out another level of performance when doing my upgrades.  Still, I was growing so fast, and so much in advance of any threats that I faced, that I wasn¡¯t overly worried.

    With that sorted out, I applied similar upgrades to Jon, Togo, Aethon, Ghost, Shadowfax, Nevermore, Hue and Mu.

    That took long enough that the Wildlings were pretty much processed.  More would arrive over time, fleeing ahead of the White Walkers, but my presence at the Wall became unnecessary.  Now any of my Guard-tier animals that needed to could contact me, so if and when the White Walkers and their zombie armies arrived I would hear about it and be back with plenty of time to spare.  I didn¡¯t even need to leave Hue or Mu behind for communications.  It was awesome.

    I left for Harrenhal with Jon at my side and peace in my wake.

 Chapter 35: Fief-Up

    <u>Chapter 35: Fief-Up</u>

    We arrived just after it became April.  As we were now entering into Winter, it was cool for spring, more similar to English weather than I had grown used to.  Namely, wet and cool.  The plants didn¡¯t seem to mind, luckily.

    In my absence, Harrenhal had been growing well.  The paper and printing production had been allowed to reinvest all the subsidy money that was equal to what they would have been getting had I been selling my basic guides to my people, rather than giving them away, and all of the proceeds they were getting from selling my Farmer¡¯s Guide and blank books for notes and documents.

    Once all of the new facilities came online and the workers were trained and experienced I hoped they could manage a full half-million pages a day.  That would let me print enough guides on country living, religion, and literacy/numeracy to put one in every family home in the Seven Kingdoms within fifty years.

    They were already building half a dozen new halls to fit everything in.  Between that and my expanding metalworks I had had to get the Tullys and Robert on board with allowing me a charter for a city to account for the burgeoning population of workers.

    That said when I got back there, I realized there was still a lot to do.  After being in the cooler and thus less pungent North, I was assailed by the scents of humanity.  I decided to do something about, to look after my people properly after being gone for so long.

    It was early April, nine months after I had Balanced and developed the mana-bonding spell.  I had a massive quantity of four thousand mana in my pool, and a cycle time of just under a minute.

    After charting it out, I had figured out the rules governing my mana growth.  The daily growth to my total mana was a constant plus a coefficient times the mana I had raised to a power.  The coefficient was related to how well I resonated to a color of mana.  If I were to define resonance on a 1-10 scale, then every mana color with a resonance above 5 added 0.2 to the coefficient, while every mana color with a resonance below 5 subtracted 0.2 from the coefficient.

    For the power, it seemed to be related to a function of the resonance minus five that added up the integers greater than zero for that number.  In other words, function of two was equal to three (one plus two), of three was six (one plus two plus three), four was ten, etc.  This function was then divided by the sum of the possible resonance, or fifty (maximum resonance of ten times five colors).

    The mana growth was thus exponential, but only grew at ridiculous speeds when the color resonance was high.  The fact that I cultivated all colors was actually a major limiting factor for my growth.  But necessary to avoid shifts in personality.  Luckily it seemed that when my mana within a color was greater than that color¡¯s resonance raised to the power of that resonance (eg, if resonance is five, then five ^ five), then the resonance would increase.

    Given sufficient time, my mana growth would become explosively exponential, just as with a single mana color, but the diversity would give me greater flexibility while avoiding mental contamination.

    In short, the TL;DR¡­

    My mana in April was more than enough to play Sim City in real life, and would only grow from there.

    I always liked Sim City.

    I drew on the dirt, forming it into stone and then that stone into a foundation for my town.  The roads became like concrete.  Beyond the original boundary of the town I continued to expand the system of roads, round-a-bouts at each intersection.  I laid out enough ground for my city to grow an entire order of magnitude, though I suspected it would be some time before that occurred.

    Below and to the side of the streets were sewers, with points for people to put in their liquid waste, and storm-drains to channel water to rinse the sewers.  I modified a toad to live in the sewers, with Black enchantments to make it impossible to sicken and a White driven compulsion to stay in the sewers and keep them clean by attacking anything that stuck to the walls or began to pile up.

    I raised a thick wall around my city of seamless stone.  There were covered parapets with arrow slits.  They overhung the walls with murder-holes to allow my defenders to drop things on those who were attacking.  Towers were spaced along it, and double-gated gatehouses raised at the corners for entry purposes.

    Then I extended the road to the main gates of my castle, and grew more walls to turn that space between castle and city into a ward where I could establish more factories, greenhouses, fields for horses or whatever else I needed.

    Then I went into my castle, my people¡¯s somewhat terrified gratitude still ringing in my ears, and I got to work.

    I decided I was going to work on five things.  First, I would learn smithing to the point I could make the true form of Valyrian steel without assistance.  My people had been getting by in my absence by using the special Valyrian forge I had made.  It allowed them to process ingots of metal I had already enchanted with the Valyrian Blessing.

    The blessing actually added all the magic to the metal that the full Valyrian steel enchantment needed; the rest was shaping the enchantment itself.  In Qohor they used blood magic to loosen the enchantment from the steel, allowing them to work on both; I had a special spell built into one of the furnaces to do the same thing.  But I wanted to be able to make true Valyrian steel products on my own.

    Second, I realized that it would be incredibly useful to get a glassworks in operation.  Not only were jars great for storing food, with enough sheet glass I could have greenhouses to keep my people well fed even in the harshest Winter.

    Third, I wanted to upgrade the plants that my people farmed.  Better vegetables like tomatoes, onions, carrots, and leafy greens.  Better crops for the four-field rotation of wheat, barley, turnips and clover.  Better legumes and other beans to act as nitrogen fixers.  Better apples, berries, and other fruit.  Better farming tools, and produce processing tools would likely be useful as well.

    Fourth, I wanted to figure out teleportation.  It was driving me crazy.

    So I portioned out my days, and I got to work.

    Every morning I spent with my top smiths, getting them to teach me how to do everything they knew.  They started me off with the very basics.  Surprisingly, a lot of smithing was figuring out what blend of materials to use to get good quality steel.  My basic oxygen furnace/Bessemer converter took away a lot of the difficulty from that, but it was still an issue for them.  The difference between a common smith and a good one was knowing how to pick out and combine the right materials in the right ratios.

    Of course, my visual acuity and image processing was much stronger than a normal human¡¯s after all of my upgrades, and that helped a lot.  But I was trying to push my magic whenever possible, so along with developing the basic skills, I developed a spell to tell me the composition of the materials.If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

    I called it, of course, Structural Grasp.  I had no idea if it might lead to some sort of artificial reality marble if I could perfectly grasp and memorize objects, but it seemed like a good thing to aim for.

    With that, I quickly learned how to balance impurities, carbon content and iron to get good batches of iron and steel.

    My teachers skipped over a lot of the mechanics of the forge; I had had to learn those to build my metalworks in the first place, after all.  So I got to skip pumping bellows, and move right onto manipulating metal.  Here again I used magic as much as possible, Grasping the materials to know how stressed they were, heating, annealing and quenching with fire magic to affect their hardness, manipulating the metal with telekinesis.

    They didn¡¯t say much, but I could tell my smiths wished they had had my advantages when they were learning.

    Finally they moved me onto the apex of skill in Westeros: plate armor, and folded steel blades.

    Plate armor is difficult because it has to be closely fitted and carefully worked.  A bad fit can wear at the user, put undue stress on their body, catch when making certain movements and cause other issues.  Beyond that, the plates need to be treated carefully to avoid having overly brittle work-hardened areas where an enemy¡¯s attack could penetrate.  Building a full suit of armor was thus a difficult endeavor, and a mark of the maker¡¯s skill.

    Folded steel blades had two hurdles to success.  First, the smith needed to select up to five pieces of good but different carbon-content steel to work.  If any of those had impurities, extra particles, a poor steel composition, or any other issue it could cause the whole blade to fail.  Unlike in the modern age, where I could have ordered these billets with precise metallurgical composition, that selection took real skill.  Luckily, I had structural grasp.

    Second, there was a lot of work to go into one of those.  The steel had to be beaten out and folded back in on itself, doubling and redoubling in layers until it might be over a thousand layers thick.  There was heating, quenching, and annealing to do as well, all of which were difficult to control without high temperature sensors to take the temperature.  A single mistake in any of these processes and the blade may be damaged.  Unlike a blade made of a single piece of steel, once the steel was folded the billets of metal were no longer recoverable.

    Days turned into weeks into months as I worked on smithing in the morning.  Sometimes Jon would look in on me, but he had no real interest in smithing.  Instead he focused on leading the training for the twenty odd boys and half-dozen girls who had qualified as squire-candidates from my archery program, and got to know the two actual squires who had qualified via horse archery.  Dany was mostly focused on little Lila; I saw little of her save at mealtimes.  She haunted the library mostly, reading to herself and her daughter, played with the animals and helped teach the squires and squire candidates their numbers; she was quite popular among the young men.

    Then I was finally pronounced the equal to any of the smiths in my employ.  That day I forged my first Valyrian steel blade on my own.  The experience was entirely different from doing so as part of a group, my understanding of the conceptual cutting effect far improved when I applied it myself.  I could tell that there was something more to the effect now, a possibility of applying that same impossibly effective edge not to a blade, but to a telekinetic structure.  A vorpal blade projection, one might call it.

    It was still beyond me, but something I might research in the future; it could easily turn into one of my more potent evocations.

    While I worked on smithing in the morning, in the afternoons I worked on a glassworks.  My territory had a decent supply of clean sand near the lake, and by June the alchemists were able to come up with a mixture that produced a reasonably strong and clear variant of soda-lime glass.  The glassworks had two sides to it.

    One side used a tin-float system under positive pressure of nitrogen gas to make large quantities of sheet glass for windows and greenhouses.  There were ten workers there, and they could make a total of a quarter million square meters of glass a year.  Each square meter of glass sold for five silver stags; I had wanted to make it two and a half, but was told that was simply too cheap.  Even at five stags I had to restrict the amount that foreign merchants could buy; I wanted my people to get the glass for their windows and greenhouses first.

    The other side of the glassworks had a full sixty seven workers, trained by Myrish glass workers stolen away from slavery at great risk and expense.  While some work on colored glass and other luxuries was done, the shaped glass side mostly worked machines to blow out glass jars.  I had taken a bit of the rubber from the boots I was wearing when I arrived in Westeros and made a magically modified tree to produce rubber.  That let me have gaskets put onto the jars, making air-tight seals.  It wasn¡¯t perfect vacuum sealing, but it was a massive improvement over what the previous technology was capable of.  It used a production line was at two million jars a year, and already there were plans for three new shaped-glassworks to be raised and occupied when enough extra workers could be trained.

    Of course, none of it would have been possible without magic.  I used magic to form shapes for machines, to enchant parts to have superior performance, to heat, cool, and move objects, to partition gasses, and on and on and on.

    By June I was done with metal.  By July the glassworks needed little of my input, and I had transitioned away from metal and glass.  Instead I worked on improving agricultural yields again, this time by improving my plants.  I didn¡¯t want to cause too much ecological upset, or create invasive super-wheat or some other disaster, so I kept the modifications mostly within reason.

    I gave the plants the sorts of things that were pretty obvious, but would make a massive difference for my farmers; after upgrades, my plants were somewhat more resistant to heat and cold, too much or too little water, and less likely to rot.  The yields were more bountiful, and individual fruits, vegetables and grains had higher concentrations of nutrients.  They were just generally better, rather than trying some crazy idea derived from genetic engineering¡¯s hopes for true super-crops.  I guess that¡¯s why I wasn¡¯t so interested in them; compared to my animals, my plants were just too mundane.

    I still transformed many of my fields; once the harvest was in anyone in my territory would be allowed to trade their seed grain in at a one-to-one ratio.  In a year or three I had no doubt that my farmers would see massive improvements to the quality of their crops.  Which meant healthier, happier peasants, and more tax income.

    Other than that, I formed a working group of some of the more innovative and mechanically minded to improve processes, create new machines, and turn my half-remembered descriptions of tools into reality.  They managed to get a few prototypes of mechanical reapers and seed drills built, and full production of those would begin soon.  That would allow for a lot more land to be farmed, improve yields per acre, and increase productivity per capita.

    I had noticed one problem caused by the Pest-eating birds; they had driven mice, rats and other vermin out of the fields and into my castle and city.  I really needed a cat to go after them, but didn¡¯t want to end up making some super cat that would drive all sorts of birds and other prey to extinction.  Then I had a clever idea; I made a cat which was scared of the outdoors.

    More specifically, I made a cat with a high degree of White to it.  It could manage to be out in orderly areas, farms, villages and roads, but was really happiest indoors.  But it had an aversion to Green, to avoid nature, and a hatred for Black, to kill vermin.  The cats were made smaller than normal, just a little larger than the rats that they were designed to hunt, but with physical improvements and increased toughness.  They were absolutely adorable serial killers, their metabolism linked to how much they ate.  Destroying vermin made them happy, and so they would kill and kill and kill.  Then when no vermin was present, their appetites would diminish and they would be happy to laze about someone¡¯s home.

    My house-cats proved extremely effective, and quickly had my castle clear of pests.  I had some of my tax-collectors bring them out to distribute to farming communities and turned dozens of them loose on my little city.

    The humans were well under control as well.  A hundred and twenty companies of Hounds kept it that way, though many were still puppies and the companies were still coming up to full strength.  Thirty companies of Ravens supported them.

    I had decided that I would begin to grow my human forces relatively soon, and had sent out agents to purchase six hundred mares and a hundred and twenty stallions all of a quality to be used by a knight.  As they arrived I transformed them into Guards Horses, suitable to be used by my future soldiers.  I drove them into a bit of a breeding frenzy; in the future the front line units would use the stallions and geldings which were less valuable for reproduction.

 Chapter 36: Travel

    <u>Chapter 36: Travel</u>

    I had noticed while riding to and from the fields where I made my enhanced produce that the roads in my territory sucked.  I wanted to do something about it, something other than wandering about the place slowly raising roads using my magic.  But on the other hand, I had no patience to design and oversee the building of a British industrial-revolution era style highway.  Not to mention the time ¨C Britain¡¯s roads had sprung up over decades, whereas I wanted results within months.  At some point I would start some rail lines, but that wasn¡¯t needed yet.

    No, like I did so often, I turned to biological manipulation to solve this problem for me.  Using Green, White for order and some Blue for calculation, I designed a plant which would drop road-seeds.  These road seeds needed to be activated by an acid like vinegar or citrus to grow.  After being activated, they would rapidly grow a system of roots, anchoring the plant.  These roots would connect to other nearby plants¡¯ roots, allowing them to communicate and share information.

    The plant would spread a network of sprouts to detect the lay of the land.  Then the plant would grow a platform that was gently curved to connect to the neighboring platforms, conform to the land, and otherwise be as flat as possible with a slight convex shape for drainage.  The platforms were all raised a half-foot off the ground, so that drainage to the side of the road wasn¡¯t an issue, with bands of waist-high brush help keep traffic on the road and act as a central divider.

    Once the platform reached a certain size which depended on how much acid was used to activate it, maxing out at about a four-lane highway, it would stop growing.  The platforms themselves were just rough enough for a good grip, photosynthetic and tougher than steel with a natural toughness enchantment strengthening the already hard wood.  The root system removed issues of the road¡¯s underlying surface being washed away.

    To remove a section of road, you could dig around the side to be close to the roots, then treat them with salt mixed with a base such as soap.  The plant would die and rapidly rot away.  The same method could be used to remove the brush to allow entrances and exits.  To make a new one, you needed a seed which only I produced.

    I had the Ravens coordinate with the Hounds to plan out improved road routes throughout my territory, then sent them out with leather water-skins containing vinegar and baskets full of seeds.  My greenroads grew like weeds across the map of my territory.  It made it far easier for goods to be transported across the land, and soon I was selling my seeds at about eighty dragons for enough to grow a mile of highway.  The Seven Kingdoms had some ten thousand miles of major roads, and I had no doubt that in time all would be grown from my seeds.

    ===================================

    By August my roads were spread across my land and I was entirely sick and tired of playing estate manager.

    Teleportation was proving more difficult than I had expected, and no matter how fast and strong Aethon was, or I was for that matter, there were issues with physical force and the physics of how to move much faster than we were going, especially over rough ground.  Flight would take care of those issues.

    Furthermore, there was the basic question: can any land-bound mage truly call themselves a proper wizard?

    I thought not, so flight was essential.

    I had thought about all the different ways I might do it; running on telekinetic platforms, blasted about in a bubble of air, changing the direction of gravity, and so on.  I also had the dragon eggs, still waiting to be hatched, and whatever bit of magic it was that dragons used to keep their massive bulks aloft.

    But I didn¡¯t want to bring dragons back, not yet.  Not while I was still unready.

    When I had dragons, I needed for them to be able to be my sole focus.  I needed to be able to watch them, see how their minds formed, ensure that they would be obedient to me, that no other could steal them from me, that they would not grow in power to challenge me.  Dragons were mighty enough, the local equivalent to the atom bomb.

    After I was done with them, they would be upgraded from city-killing fission bombs to country cracking fusion bombs though.  I needed to be absolutely sure of my interactions with them, and free from all distractions.

    Honestly, I didn¡¯t even want the distraction of getting home to be there when I woke the dragons.  Optimally, I would figure out a way home, reunite with and upgrade my family, and then return to achieve my childhood dream of being a dragon-mounted mage-knight.

    So in the end I went with a simple telekinetic field as my flight mechanism.

    I say simple, but the enchantment was anything but.  Based mostly on Blue for the active control and intelligent reading and reacting to my physical signals, the enchantment made a skin-tight telekinetic field around my body.  Then with a lot of fine tuning I had the field react to my movements, small instinctive twists of the hips and shoulders to spin about, movements in the torso that on the ground would help me dodge to get lateral motion, leaning forwards and backwards to accelerate or slow down.

    The outside of the field was actually a lightly armored reactive shell that hugged my skin.  It counteracted most of the force of wind-pressure so I didn¡¯t feel like I was getting blasted by a tornado while I was whipping about.  At higher speeds a teardrop shape would form for better aerodynamics, though the movement-driven inertia responses would still send me moving about as I wanted unless I turned it off and went into cruise control.

    There was a backup mode that let me use set amounts of force in specific directions, but that wasn¡¯t as intuitive to use especially while doing other things.

    If all this sounds easy, trust me, it wasn¡¯t.  I had to stop practicing in the castle after I hit an interior wall hard enough to crack it.  It took over a week just to design a prototype of the spell, and I was still fine tuning this and that months later.  Still, by the end of August it was functional if not perfect, and I had learned a lot about simple forces, my body, and control-reaction loops in enchanting.

    It gave me the idea to develop magically-motivated power armor someday, but the idea of doing more of that fiddly work at the time was anathema to me.

    There were two big issues with the flight enchantment.  First, I saw no easy way to apply it to Jon, let alone the different bodies of Aethon, Shadowfax, Togo and Ghost.  Instead I developed a flight ride-along, something to keep their relative position with regards to me the same so I could carry them about on a flight if I wanted.

    Second, the enchantment was only the structure of the spell; much like an airplane, it still needed to be actively fueled to fly.  That was fine for me, but even for those as heavily enchanted as Jon and the others there just wasn¡¯t enough mana available for continuous or high speed flight.

    If I wanted them to be independently flight capable, I really needed to look into ambient mana gathering, mana storage, and mana generation.  I was sure all three were possible, just probably really difficult, at least in the quantities that I needed.

    I wasn¡¯t too bothered though.  I always loved my dreams of flying, and being able to do it for real was awesome.

    ===================================

    Buoyed up with my success I decided to turn my hand once more to teleportation.  Previously I had tried many, many failed methods to instantly transport myself.  As failed teleportation seemed potentially dangerous, I tested it with a combination of precognition and small animals.  I killed a lot of small animals named Science! in the process.Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

    But Science! the First through Eight Hundred and Seventy Fourth would not die in vain!  That I swore.

    The closest to an actual teleportation I managed was to project the pattern of their mana onto a slightly distant spot and then force the body to move there.  Sometimes Science! didn¡¯t even explode on the other end or disappear into the aether, just coming out horrifically disfigured.  Then progress slowed once more to a crawl.

    One day I was feeling particularly bored and lazy.  I had been trying and failing to manage teleportation for all of August.  I had no new ideas to try.  And so there I lay in one of my labs, trying to summon the motivation to get some work done.  A large number of Science!s were in cages against one of the walls.

    Without really thinking about it, I reached out to one of the Science!s, a squirrel in one of the series which had been pre-treated for toughness in the hopes that that would help to survive teleportation (it didn¡¯t).  I tugged on that faint, nebulous link between us, provided some mana, and wished he was in my hands.

    Science! the twelve hundred eight first disappeared from his cage and into my hands.

    I blinked down at Science! the 1281<sup>st</sup>, and he blinked his eyes us at me.  A wide, wide grin spread across my face.  I tossed Science! across the room (it¡¯s not animal cruelty when the animal is literally tougher than the stones) and tried again.

    Science! the 1281<sup>st</sup> promptly exploded all over me.

    ¡°FOR FUCK¡¯S SAKE!¡± I screamed.  Then I ranted, raved, tossed my chair against the wall, swore like a sailor and screamed a bit in my rage.

    Eventually I got it out of my system.  Panting and once more calm, I looked at Science! the 1282<sup>nd</sup> and teleported him.

    It worked!

    I laughed and laughed and laughed in my joy, and didn¡¯t stop until my stomach hurt.

    It was far from what I needed to return home, but every journey begins with a first step.

    ===================================

    For the rest of September I practiced with my new skill, which I called Calling (since it called animals to me).  I investigated the important questions: why Science! would sometimes explode; how much mana it cost to transport Science!; whether distance mattered for possibility of transportation, exactness required of mana manipulation or quantity of mana supplied; what happened if I used a little more mana than needed; what happened if I used a lot more mana than needed; whether I could teleport something twice at the same time to make a duplicate, etc.

    I found out a few things.  First of all, the mana required to transport Science! did vary.  It started off as what seemed to be the exact amount of mana that was bound in all the active enchantments plus the animal¡¯s own essential manna pattern, which was basically the energetic description of that being.  Then it approached a maximum of two times that much energy.  That maximum was asymptotically approached, so after a few hundred miles the extra mana was pretty negligible.

    Both too much and too little mana were deadly.  Too much and the pattern would be distorted when it arrived.  If the animal was lucky, the corpse was merely mangled and unrecognizable.  Unlucky, and it fucking exploded, spraying blood everywhere.  Too little and the animal would just disappear, poof! Gone, disappeared into the aether.  I tried tracking them with a sympathetic bonding, but the bonding just straight up disappeared.

    This actually led to the development of one of my most powerful spells yet.  I called it Exile.  It used a single White mana to seize hold of a creature¡¯s pattern, then a single colorless to initiate teleportation to a preset destination; I used the Wall.  It was a simple, clean, eradication of any target.  The only ways I could see them blocking it was if they could either avoid my mana senses, or prevent the forceful teleportation.

    Then, because that wasn¡¯t effective enough, I came up with Mass Exile.  Basically, instead of just using White to target a single pattern, it used multiple Whites and targeted multiple patterns at a time.  I added a Blue refinement to auto-target patterns within a certain area as well, making it area-of-effect rather than multi-targeted.

    It was a fucking terrifying magic.  I knew I sure as fuck couldn¡¯t survive it if someone tried it against me, and it was cheap.  So very, very cheap.  If I¡¯d done the right research, I could have been casting it weeks after arriving in Winterfell, after waking my magic.  So I came up with a defense against it.  I called it Stability, and its purpose was to break apart anything that tried to take hold of my pattern.  Failing that, it tried to siphon off the energy from the teleportation effect, storing it or dumping it into an aura of light, heat, electricity; anything to bleed off the power.

    The exactness of the mana manipulation when I wasn¡¯t purposefully miscasting teleportation to kill shit was a bit difficult, especially over longer ranges.  I ended up making a buffer spell, a construct that I could slightly over-charge and then have it feed the mana required.  Ironically, that buffer spell was based on and inspired by the Blue area-of-effect spell-component from Mass Exile.  The buffer drastically reduced mistakes with long distance Calling.  When I added a bit of wiggle room on the exact location where the called would appear, it ended the mistakes.  But I was still having issues with short distance calling.

    Every now and then, things would disappear or explode after the pattern became unstable when doing short distance calling, and I couldn¡¯t figure out why.  Eventually I figured it out when I was trying to do a duplicated teleportation.  By calling the same object twice, or really providing twice as much mana and then splitting the pattern, much the same way I did to cast multiple enchantments at once, I was hoping to be able to get a second creature on the other end.

    It would be awesome; I could grow my army as fast as I could Call, make more wooly mammoths for the giants and then take some of them, and when I figured out how to duplicate items literally make permanent copies of materials.  It was a grail technology, one of those things that are just at the very, very edge of what¡¯s possible, and something that if you can achieve it has an utterly transformative effect on life.

    When I got it to work, it explained why the short range teleportation kept failing.  Copies always cost exactly the amount of mana as the creature¡¯s basic pattern plus all enchantments and active magics.  The teleportation for short ranges where the mana for teleporting and copying was the same meant that the magic wasn¡¯t sure if it wanted to teleport the original, or to make a copy.

    The copies also weren¡¯t exact.  Instead of the exact same song, it was like someone else singing the song in a different key, or a rock band doing a cover of a jazz song.  Recognizably the same, but also different.  There was a limit to how many copies I could make of a pattern, four per actual animal.  I could tell that as I got better at magic, I might be able to make more finely defined, cleaner copies which would allow for more than four.

    I decided that I didn¡¯t like the word copies, and would instead call them summons.  Making a summons was summoning, while teleporting an existing creature was calling.

    It was also important to note that summons weren¡¯t the originals.  They had much of the same skills and knowledge, but none of the same experiences.  In other words, a human summons might know fire was hot, because the original once burned themselves, but wouldn¡¯t have any memory of that event.  Furthermore, they were literally made from my magic, something that I had an inherent control over, and that control persisted into the summons.

    They started off as something in between an automaton and a true copy of the creature they were based off of.  I imagined that it was sort of like using clone troopers; obviously intelligent and human, but lacking a certain essential something that made them alive instead of just living.  If I didn¡¯t want them to change, if I wanted to keep them as semi-static mana patterns, they didn¡¯t even need to eat.  Just absorb enough ambient mana, or get topped off enough by me to avoid their mana patterns from slowly falling apart.

    On the other hand, if I fed them food, allowed them new experiences, and basically just wanted them to then over time they would grow more and more alive.  I had a few long-term experiments running to verify my suspicions that given enough time, enough life, they would eventually become true creatures which could serve as originals to call or summon off of.

    It was far easier to perform summonings at a distance than it was to teleport a creature to a place where I wasn¡¯t.  The trick was that I had to use a bond to target it.  In other words, I could summon a creature to me (via the original¡¯s bond to me), next to the original (ditto), next to a different creature (via that creature¡¯s bond to me, though that was difficult) or to one of my bonded lands (though the exact location wasn¡¯t too accurate for that last one).

    Once I figured out how to do that, it didn¡¯t take too many Science!s to figure out how to Push not just summonings but callings as well.  Pushing, of course, being the term for summoning or calling to a place where I was not located, as opposed to a simple summoning or calling to where I was.

    This allowed another defense against Exile.  Should someone manage to get past the Stability defense, there was a second layer, a spell I called Asylum.  It was a dual-buffered pre-prepared teleportation spell set to send the creature on which it was applied to Harrenhal.  Basically, it had both an empty buffer to accept any extra energy that the enemy who tried to exile them was applying so the teleportation couldn¡¯t get overly full, and a full buffer to perform an immediate teleportation to a land inside the greater territory of Harrenhal.

    Once I had that working on the Science!s, and had upgraded all of my friends and loyal creatures to defend against enemies who could exile them, I felt like I might be able to teleport myself without too much fear.

    I just had some preparations to do first, just to be safe.

 Chapter 37: Final Preparations

    <u>Chapter 37: Final Preparations</u>

    I knew that despite all of my testing and everything else that the teleportation was going to be risky. I wanted to make sure that if anything happened to me my lands would be fine. I officially made Jon my heir, and took care of everything that I needed to within my fief.

    It had been a while since I last worked on upgrades for myself, about eight months, and so it was time for a new set. As was usual, I started off with mana sensing and thought acceleration. Those more than anything determined how good my spellcasting was, as the thought acceleration let me manipulate mana faster, forming it into finer patterns before the mana structure started to fray, while mana sensing gave me more fine mana control and precision.

    Then I improved my precognition; it was really getting to the point where if I devoted some time to it, then it could start opening up secondary powers. For example, mental partitions by simulating multiple precognitive points of view. I was fairly sure I was capable of that, with some training. I just had to find the time for it.

    I continued to improve the mental ward, preventing telepathic intrusion or assault. I also took a few days to finally iron out the kinks in the communications link. Part of the teleporting buffer structure that made calling my creatures to me safe enough to use had involved coming up with a better way of storing mana. With that, I was able to make the communications device self-powered. Creatures could register a specific number, and then be contacted via it.

    Honestly, that was one of the most impactful enchantments I¡¯d come up with. It turned my Ravens into a cellular network. I had no idea what long term implications that would have. How it might change and stifle innovation into electricity, for example. But I did know that it meant Robert, Ned, and Westeros as a whole had an unparalleled military advantage.

    After finishing with my Blue, I moved onto Green. I improved my supernatural physique to even more ridiculous heights, my unrestrained strength capable of treating steel like particularly dense clay. My oakflesh also improved significantly, to the point where my body was more like tungsten or a super-strong steel alloy. My regeneration factor got stronger and faster, practically remaking whatever part was injured as soon as it happened. Not that that was easy, now; only Valyrian steel wielded with my impressive strength was capable of causing practical levels of damage. I further improved my skeletal structure, making it stronger, tougher, and more able to take the extreme stresses I put it under.

    In Red, I continued to enhance my reaction speed and haste effects, applying the concept of freedom from time ever more strongly. I could easily break the sound barrier with my blows by this point, destroying trees with even light contact given the upgrade to my increased impact effect. I also improved my heat resistance, now keeping me safe up to around twenty-five hundred Celsius, about the same temperature as an incandescent light bulb filament, or twice the temperature of lava.

    White continue to show good improvements in defensive effects. I upgraded the energy I kept in the stored heal, and applied some of my new knowledge in summoning and teleportation to allow it to try and return a heavily damaged mana-pattern to the original. In Science! test cases, it showed effectiveness in returning a destroyed head with only a moment of memory loss; it looked creepy as hell to watch though.

    My conceptual armor had improved from being similar to the protection offered by an armored car to being similar to the protection offered by a Bradley armored fighting vehicle. It didn¡¯t just help against physical damage, but really any incoming attack would have to deal with that level of conceptual resistance to harm. Thinking of it in terms of vehicle armor was just a way of understanding that in a less abstract form.

    The projectile shield saw similar levels of improvement. The level of damage needed to break through it was getting insane. A sustained cannon barrage might manage it, or a massed artillery strike, but short of that I doubted I¡¯d have much of an issue. It was, honestly, excessive for Westeros. Even for modern Earth it was getting to the point where, given my speed and everything else, I doubted I had much to worry about.

    Other than that, I managed to continue to develop the anti-undead aura, making it both larger and more powerful. I had no doubt that if the White Walker¡¯s wights tried to close with a tight-packed formation of my hounds that the wights might suffer too much damage to fight just from the aura. It made me feel much more confident in the future of Westeros.

    Black continued to allow some significant gains in disease and toxin immunity. I suspected that it would take not just a magical disease or poison, but one intended to defeat magical countermeasures to have a chance at harming me. My ability to consume improved a significant amount. Now I could strip food for nutrition, energy, and essence, as well as incorporate a significant amount of whatever natural advantages that food had into myself. My muscles, tendons, ligaments, nerves, organs, sight, hearing, smell; all of those began to slowly improve themselves. I could do a set of upgrades to animals now and then incorporate them via consumption, eliminating the risk of biological rejection and poor matching in biological subsystems that would reduce effectiveness.The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

    After I was done with my own upgrades, I began to push them out to Jon, Togo, Aethon, Ghost, Shadowfax, and all of my other friends, adopted family, and loyal Guard beasts.

    As October came to a close and I finished with the latest round of upgrades, I had one more preparation left: to make sure my army was unbeatable at least in the short term. There was an easy way to do that; I summoned a full half of my maximum summoning limit, instantly tripling my Guard¡¯s complement of Hounds, Ravens and Horses.

    It took a truly obscene amount of mana, nearly a million all told. But I had a pool of over nine thousand, and my mana-recharge time was under forty seconds. I had a mana supply of over eight hundred and seventy five thousand mana per hour. With my lands safe and secure, Jon warned of the possibilities, letter written just in case, I was ready.

    I tried to teleport to one of the staging grounds where the Hounds of Watch-Force North lived.

    It was a total success. I was one step closer to getting home.

    ===================================

    The next step was to figure out one of two things. Either I had to learn how to make a bond with a distant land, and use that as a teleportation target, or I had to learn how to send a creature to a place where I didn¡¯t have a bond, and use that creature as a teleportation target.

    I spent a few weeks working on the first option before giving up. It just wasn¡¯t working. Oh, I could use my mana-bonding spell, and with relative ease have it target somewhere far away. With the amount of mana I had available, I could send it all the way around the world. I just couldn¡¯t get it to leave the world.

    I was starting to get a little disheartened, so I decided that it would be better to take a break and do something I knew I could manage. Specifically, adapting summoning, calling and pushing to provide and store equipment. It didn¡¯t take long, merely being a mildly different variation on the teleportation spells. It did mean that I had the next best thing to an unlimited inventory though; while things weren¡¯t stored on me, I could easily send them to a storage room in Harrenhal or retrieve them from the same.

    Reassured that I could, in fact, make progress with teleportation I dug back into it. Remote land bonding wasn¡¯t possible, but I figured that pushing a creature to a location that I wasn¡¯t truly connected to might be possible.

    I had an idea that I might be able to use a search spell to create a temporary location marker to push a creature to. I tried a lot of things; spells meant to identify specific geographical features, spells meant to home in on specific mana patterns, matching blood, matching features, matching astronomical signs even, and on and on and on. None of it worked consistently on Westeros, and there were zero successes in managing to get to another world at all, let alone the world that I grew up on.

    November came to a close, and it was looking like this would be another Christmas where my family had no knowledge of my whereabouts or even survival.

    Fuck that, I decided.

    I was resolved to figure out a way.

    ===================================

    The answer literally came to me in a dream.

    Dreams.

    They were naturally nebulous, thought to link humans on a mental and spiritual plane that transcended distance and even time. Beyond that, they fell under the domain of the mind, which was Blue, the color of magic that I had the greatest affinity to.

    I hadn¡¯t been able to cast a curse through a sympathetic blood link a couple years ago, when that shitty Lannister incest baby Joffrey and his wicked bitch of a mother were being so problematic. But that was a long time in the past. I was a much stronger mage now; it was like comparing Monet¡¯s first finger paintings as a child to his later masterpieces.

    I offered a gold dragon to several members of the same families who worked in my castle. Many were nervous, but enough took me up on the offer. Within about a week, I could form a sympathetic link between immediate members of the same blood family.

    I worried that my upgrades might make it difficult for me to establish a link, so I tested that out with drops of Jon¡¯s blood and that of Daenerys and Lila. Interestingly, I only had problems with establish a link between Jon and Ned.

    It made me suspicious as to his true parentage, but I didn¡¯t say anything. Whether Jon was truly Brandon¡¯s, the dead older brother of Ned, and had been arguably denied his birthright, or whether Jon was Lyanna¡¯s and thus truly a Targaryen, I saw no potential for good coming out of an investigation, and much potential for harm.

    With that done, I just needed to learn how to enter someone else¡¯s dreams. Luckily it only took a few days to manage a sort of astral meet-up where I specifically targeted Jon while sleeping. The trick to it was in the state of mind. I had to be at peace, meditating, and almost but not quite asleep when I cast the spell, while Jon had to be not just asleep but also dreaming. It was a good thing I¡¯d gotten so much practice meditating, concentrating and spell-casting because that whole combination was pretty tricky to pull off at the same time.

    Once I could enter dreams and do sympathetic magic, I just had to combine the two. By December twentieth I could manage it, and on the twenty first I could finally make contact with my family.

 Chapter 38-A: Phoning Home

    <u>Chapter 38-A: Phoning Home</u>

    I wanted my family to be able to prove that they had had a true dream of me, which meant I needed to pull them all into the dream at the same time so they could compare notes in the morning.

    I caught them as they entered their dream states; I pulled them one by one into my prepared space.  I let them experience a memory of flying as first my youngest brother, then my mother, then my middle brother, then finally my father joined us.

    I slowly ended the dream, fading in to a sitting room I had in my castle with a comfortable fire, thick carpet and plush chairs.

    I stood in front of them grinning stupidly and opened my arms wide.  ¡°Tada!¡± I announced proudly.  ¡°It took me a fucking age, sorry about that, but better late than never right?¡±

    ¡°Dude, I hope this isn¡¯t some beyond the grave thing,¡± my middle brother, Damien, said without really thinking about it.

    I clasped my hand to my chest theatrically.  ¡°What, no confidence in your older brother, Damien?  You think I¡¯d die so easily?¡± I asked teasingly, as if that wasn¡¯t a real and serious danger throughout my adventures.  ¡°No, this is a spell.  An astral sending.  A shared dreaming.  Now, don¡¯t everyone hug me at once.¡±

    With that, the stillness was broken.  I quickly ended up in the center of a massive group hug.  After all the I love you¡¯s and I missed you so much¡¯s and Bro, what were you thinking, you know how upset you made Mom?¡¯s were passed around we took our seats so I could explain everything that happened.

    ¡°Right, so let me tell you all what I¡¯ve been up to, then you can catch me up, and then we can plan about what to do next,¡± I suggested to a chorus of nods.  ¡°Save the questions till the end, if you can; I don¡¯t know how long the dream will stay up for.¡±

    ¡°Alright, so where do I start¡­ I guess at the beginning.  I was meditating in one of the courtyards at school, but when I opened my eyes I was somewhere entirely different.  Not being a dumb-fuck and having read proper fairy tales, I knew how dangerous that was and tried to get back home.  I couldn¡¯t.

    ¡°I was found by Ned Stark, Lord of Winterfell, Lord Protector and Warden of the North.  He¡¯s basically a duke, and in charge of one of the nine provinces of the country I ended up in, the Seven Kingdoms.  Imagine all of medieval Europe under a single kingdom, and Ned ruling Denmark, Sweden, Norway and the UK all rolled into one cold, wet place and you¡¯re not too far off.

    ¡°I decided to change my name, in case magic could target me through it; I¡¯m Odysseus Gangari now.  I proved my bonafides to Stark with math and a bit of other knowledge; they didn¡¯t have any calculus before I got there so it was pretty easy.  Then I spent the next eight months effectively as a courtier.  I learned to fight, practiced archery like crazy, told them about four field crop rotation, and told stories to the Stark kids.  That sort of stuff.  I also realized I could do magic, and I began to develop that as fast as possible in secret.  Fast forward eight months and life got more exciting.

    ¡°Ned grew up fostering with Robert Baratheon.  About twenty years back they rebelled against the former dynasty, the Targaryens, which had basically gone batshit insane from inbreeding.  Robert ended up as king after all was said and done.  The previous Hand of the King, basically the prime minister, was this guy, Arryn, the one who they fostered with.  When Arryn died, Robert came fifteen hundred miles north just to get Ned to be his new Hand.

    ¡°Not an insignificant journey, given their technology,¡± Dad noted.

    I nodded.  ¡°That¡¯s right.  Especially since he had his bitch queen with him, and her stupid fucking carriage¡­ I¡¯ll get to her in a bit.  But they were making twenty miles a day, and that with the king pushing for as hard a pace as he could.  Just the travelling was five months round trip.  While they were staying in Winterfell someone cut the climbing gear that Bran, the middle Stark boy, was using and pushed him off a wall.¡±

    ¡°Did he survive?¡± Ender, my youngest brother and the rock-climber in the family asked.

    ¡°Ya, he did.  Kid was only ten too.  He saw something he shouldn¡¯t have, we found out later.  Anyways, I wasn¡¯t going to leave Bran a cripple when I had magic, so I healed him up, revealing myself fully to the Starks in the process.  I investigated but didn¡¯t find anything tying anyone to the crime.

    ¡°The king and company left to go south.  Ned and his two daughters, Sansa and Arya, ages thirteen and eleven respectively, went with him.  Sansa was betrothed to the prince, Joffrey.  Meanwhile I stayed behind to make sure Bran healed up right then caught up to them on the road.  When I finally found them, I ran across Joffrey, Sansa, Arya and some servant kid Arya had made friends with.

    ¡°Arya was a total tomboy, and at eleven wanted nothing more than to learn to fight.  She¡¯d been playing with sticks with the kid.  Joffrey, that fucking psycho, comes up and starts cutting the kid with his sword.  Arya hits him with a stick, Joffrey fucking loses it.  I came into it when he was about to stab her.  I was a moment from putting an arrow into him when Arya¡¯s wolf just fucking tackles him.

    ¡°Oh, that¡¯s right.  I forgot to mention; the Stark kids found these direwolf puppies and adopted them.  Five or six hundred pounds of ferocious beast when fully grown, but the wolves love the kids and are pretty tame.¡±  I saw my family¡¯s eyes light up.  We were all big dog lovers.  I grinned.  ¡°I can¡¯t give you direwolves when I finally figure out the transportation, but I can give you what¡¯s basically huskies enchanted to grow that big and strong.¡±

    Mom rolled her eyes at our antics.  ¡°I¡¯m glad you haven¡¯t been wasting your time then.  Just know, if you all get dogs, this won¡¯t be like last time; I won¡¯t be the one in charge of walking them.¡±

    We chuckled.

    ¡°Anyways, so Joffrey¡¯s a little mauled and crying like a brat,¡± I continued. ¡°I bring the kids back to camp, and the queen throws a hissy fit.  Her family, the Lannisters, were a real piece of work.  She ends up getting Robert to agree to have the wolf put down in some petty vengeance.  I told Arya to have a trial by combat; they still did that shit there.

    ¡°Cersei, the queen, is championed by her brother, Jaime Lannister.  He¡¯s part of Robert¡¯s Kingsguard, seven knights sword to have no children, inherit no land, and basically die protecting the monarch.  Jaime was meant to be one of the top knights in the kingdom.

    ¡°Arya was championed by Togo, my dog.  Togo had been a testbed for magical enhancements.  He was about as big as a large-ish tiger at that point, and his skin and flesh was as tough as oak-wood.  Togo tore Jaime¡¯s face off.

    ¡°There was a lot of bad blood between Lannisters and Starks before that, but after it got worse.  There was a whole bunch of bullshit.  In the end Tywin Lannister, the head of their house, sent his fucking monster after me.¡±

    I paused for a moment in the memory of that fight.  ¡°Gregor Clegane.  They called him the Mountain that Rides.  Dude was eight feet of rage, hatred, and murderous strength and skill.  He tried to take me with forty men in an ambush.¡±

    ¡°Holy shit.  How did you survive?  Did they not know about your magic?¡± Damien blurted out.

    ¡°Nah, I used horse archery.  I was faster than them, and I just killed them all by firing arrows while running away.  After, to make a point, I went back after and took their heads off.  I walked into the royal feast and confronted Tywin, dumped the heads of his creatures out for all to see.  We fought a duel the next morning and Tywin died.¡±

    I saw Mom about to say something, and just shook my head.  ¡°Trust me, all of this was totally necessary.  And I wasn¡¯t really at that much risk, I didn¡¯t even need to use a lightning spell or anything.  I was already crazy fast and strong from my magical upgrades.

    ¡°So after Tywin¡¯s dead and the Lannisters are pretty much broken, it comes out that Cersei, the queen, had been fucking Jaime.  All the kids that we thought were the princes and princess were their little incest babies.  When Arryn, the former Hand found out they killed him.  When Bran saw them fucking, they cut his rope and threw him from the window.

    ¡°The capital was, generally, a fucking cesspit.  Of the small council, basically the top ministers, three of them were traitors.  One, the Grand Maester, basically the royal doctor and advisor on all things intellectual, was in the Lannister¡¯s pockets.  I killed him before all of this, after he poisoned the king, who I healed.  Another, Varys, their chief spy, was plotting to bring back the Targaryens from exile.  He jumped a long way onto rocks rather than let me capture him.  The third, Baelish, who was the Master of Coin had defrauded the government to the tune of millions of golds, threatening to send the country into economic collapse.  He¡¯s still in hiding.¡±

    ¡°How did it get so bad?¡± Dad asked.

    I grimaced a bit.  ¡°Much as I like the man, Robert was a very disinterested king.  He¡¯s a bit better now, but it was pretty bad for a while, and the corruption just built and built.  Ned has it under control though.  I helped him clean a lot of that shit up, got the realm out of debt by restructuring their finances, and generally kicked ass and took names.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m proud of you, Bro,¡± Damien said with a grin.  ¡°Showing those primitives what¡¯s what,¡± he mocked.

    ¡°You kid, but basically,¡± I admitted with an abashed smile.

    ¡°So things were stable again.  Partially on my advice Robert was betrothed to Margaery Tyrell; her family controls the Reach, which is the most populous of the major provinces, and that bought their loyalty.  The Vale is ruled by the Arryn family, who are loyal.  Ned and Robert are best friends, which means the North is loyal.  The Riverlands are ruled by the Tullys, and the two daughters of their Lord Paramount are respectively Ned¡¯s wife and Arryn¡¯s widow, so they¡¯re loyal.  Robert was originally the Lord Paramount of the Stormlands, and his brother still rules it. Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

    ¡°That left three regions that weren¡¯t too loyal, but knew better than to do anything about it.  Dorne, who hate the Lannisters a lot and Robert a fair amount for some warcrimes the Lannisters committed during Robert¡¯s Rebellion.  The Westerlands, ruled by the Lannisters, who weren¡¯t too happy with everything that had gone down.  And the Iron Islands, populated by a bunch of would-be pirates who need smacking down once a generation or so.¡±

    ¡°Did you have to smack them down?¡± Mom asked.

    ¡°No, or at least not yet,¡± I replied.  ¡°But about two years ago Robert heard that Daenerys Targaryen, who was fifteen at the time, had just been married to Khal Drogo.  Drogo was a Dothraki Khal or warlord; they¡¯re basically no different from a Mongol warlord, even more savage maybe.  In return, he was meant to lend his army of forty thousand cavalry to help Daenerys¡¯ brother retake Westeros.

    ¡°Robert wanted to send assassins after Daenerys and her brother, but Ned thought that was dishonorable.  I ended up going over there instead to kill Drogo and Viserys Targaryen, and see Daenerys either installed into the gathering of the widows of Dothraki khals, or returned to Westeros and Robert¡¯s keeping.  I took Jon, who is both my squire and Ned¡¯s bastard, along with me, as well as Togo and Ghost, his direwolf.  We rode Aethon and Shadowfax, our enchanted horses.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not sure if I¡¯m happy about this quest,¡± Mom objected.

    ¡°It was better than the alternative,¡± I replied.  ¡°The Targaryens were fucking insane.  Burning people alive at the slightest provocation, not cutting fingernails or hair for fear that anyone with scissors was an assassin, they just went nuts towards the end.  But I¡¯m sure there are some people who would follow them, and that would cause war.  It wasn¡¯t like the Targaryens were living a nice, peaceful quiet life.  They were gathering an army.¡±

    ¡°No, I get that part,¡± Mom agreed.  ¡°I¡¯m not sure I¡¯m happy you volunteered to risk yourself.¡±

    Ah, that¡¯s Mom for you.  The world can burn so long as her kids are safe.  I missed her so much, I thought with a fond smile.

    I chuckled.  ¡°Ok, that¡¯s possible.  But it got me out of wedding preparations, and I was looking for magic.  I needed to accelerate my learning, to gain the skills and techniques that might eventually help me get back home.  Riding across a whole other continent was part of that.  And I really wasn¡¯t at risk.  I don¡¯t think they had anything that could hurt me, at that point in time.  I was just too much faster and stronger than they were, and could outrun anything I couldn¡¯t outfight.  As proved by my killing Drogo and getting the survivors of his leadership cadre to give me Daenerys.

    ¡°After that, I brought her back to King¡¯s Landing, the capital, and got made Lord of Harrenhal for my troubles.  Harrenhal was a shit-heap, the biggest fortress in all Westeros, but also cursed and half ruined in the past by dragons.

    ¡°I was finally strong enough with magic at that point to be able to beat just about everyone in a war if I needed to, so I said fuck it, and stopped hiding my magic at all.  I used stone-shaping magic to rebuild the castle.  Since then I¡¯ve made my fief the most profitable in the entire country.  I have a semi-modern metalworks, a glassworks, paper and printing factories, even an extremely profitable enchanted sword business.  I started a program to spread agricultural improvements, including magically enhanced animals that I designed, and that should start showing improvements in a year or two.¡±

    Everyone looked at me with this odd expression.  ¡°So, you¡¯ve basically been playing that game you like, what was it, Medieval Total War with cheat codes but in real life, huh?¡± Damien asked, articulating what everyone was thinking.

    I laughed.  ¡°That¡¯s it exactly,¡± I admitted.  ¡°I actually had that same thought a bunch of times.¡±

    ¡°How many people live on your lands?¡± Mom asked.

    ¡°About four hundred and fifty thousand,¡± I said.  ¡°I¡¯m not in the top ten when it comes to population, but I am in the top twenty.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s big,¡± Dad noted.  ¡°How did you end up getting given that fief?¡±

    ¡°Well, I did all that shit for Robert, and then the last remaining member of House Whent, the people that used to own Harrenhal died, so he gave it to me,¡± I answered.  ¡°I¡¯ve had it for almost two years now, and other than my magic it¡¯s been eating most of my time.

    ¡°Except for earlier this year when I had to go off and fight again.  There¡¯s this huge, eight thousand year old wall in the North.  It¡¯s seven hundred feet tall, and one of the few instances of magic that survived into the present.  Imaginatively, they call it the Wall.  An order of convicts and volunteers called the Night¡¯s Watch guards it, preventing Wildling savages that live north of the Wall from raiding the Stark territories.  The Night¡¯s Watch has been getting smaller and smaller.  After a recent disaster when they tried a reconnaissance in force beyond the Wall, they only had seven hundred people to try and defend about three hundred miles of wall.

    ¡°Even worse, the Wall wasn¡¯t built to keep out Wildlings, but to keep out these winter-fey ice demon creatures called White Walkers.  The Walkers and their undead wights were driving all the Wildlings south, so the Wall was looking at an attacking force of over a hundred thousand.  There was a massive mobilization, and I ended up getting sent to be Robert¡¯s Envoy until the situation was resolved.¡±

    ¡°So what happened?¡± Mom asked.

    ¡°Obviously he killed the Wildlings and the ice demons, Mom,¡± Damien answered.

    ¡°But then the corpses would get turned into wights,¡± Ender objected.

    ¡°Why don¡¯t we just wait and hear the story?¡± Dad asked exasperated.  ¡°Seriously.¡±

    I chuckled.  ¡°Right.  Well, we killed the Wildlings that attacked, but those that didn¡¯t and were willing to swear fealty were allowed to immigrate.  I¡¯ve got fifteen thousand of my magical Guard Hounds up there, each one capable of running over three hundred miles a day and easily the match for a man in plate armor.  If the Wildlings try and leave their territories to raid, they get eaten.¡±

    Damien burst into laughter.  I looked at him questioningly, and he shook his head.  ¡°No, no.  It¡¯s just, I was so surprised that you were willing to let the savages somewhere you felt responsible for.  I was surprised until you told me that you¡¯ve basically prepared to wipe them out if they cause trouble.¡±

    I scratched the back of my head sheepishly.  ¡°Their culture literally makes no distinction between capturing a woman and raping her, versus making her your wife,¡± I explained.  ¡°The ones we killed represented the warriors for something like a fifth of the population, and they were so fucking stupid and aggressive that they decided charging a seven-hundred foot tall fortress, with a single gate, was a good idea.  And this is after the fortress was fully garrisoned.  So, no, I do not trust the inherent goodness of a society of raping, murdering, anarchists.¡±

    Mom started laughing then.  ¡°I¡¯m glad that you haven¡¯t changed that much, honey,¡± she said.

    I rolled my eyes.  ¡°Anyways, if everyone¡¯s done giving me shit for perfectly reasonable actions, I¡¯ll finish up.  After I dealt with the crisis at the Wall, and saw to its reinforcement in the event of those Walkers trying to start a zombie apocalypse, I went back to Harrenhal, where I¡¯ve been working on methods to try and teleport back home for the past year.

    ¡°I figured out a lot about teleportation.  I¡¯m pretty sure that it¡¯s impossible for me to return; I just don¡¯t have a strong enough anchor on Earth, and there are probably an infinite number of places I could end up other than Earth.  But I might be able to use our shared blood to get enough of a fix on you that I can bring you to me.  That¡¯s a little bit easier, magically, and it already worked well enough to get this dream space functional.¡±

    ¡°What are the downsides if we do?¡± Ender asked.

    ¡°Well, much in the same way that I can¡¯t follow you home, I can¡¯t send you back either.  There is some risk in the teleportation, though I¡¯ll do extensive testing before trying anything with you.  Beyond that, it¡¯s basically the middle ages here.  I have running water and toilets in my castle, but the rest of the world is filthy.¡±  I could see they were getting turned off by the idea, so I hurried onto the advantages.

    ¡°But, I can offer a lot of benefits if you come.  I can¡¯t teach you magic, at least not yet, but I can make you into at least a top-grade superhero.  Tougher than steel, strong enough to treat metal like clay, regeneration that will make you the next best thing to immortal, improved cognitive abilities, precognition, increased speed, conceptual armor against damage as strong as a heavily armored vehicle, a shield against projectiles that would need a battleship to get through, and that¡¯s just what I have working so far.  Flight is pretty close to being functional, for example.

    ¡°And Mom will be happy to know that I have horses.  Really awesome horses,¡± I enticed.  Mom loved to ride.  ¡°On the less personal benefits side, you can help rule my lands.  I¡¯m about to start expanding my military; I only have something like two hundred humans in it, with fifty thousand Hounds and Ravens, so if you want to be a medieval general, that¡¯s possible.  After I do that, I was thinking about maybe conquering Essos.  It¡¯s full of slavers, barbarians, and all-around bad guys.  Even the eastern part has nine major city states; you can rule one of those if you want.  Or, you can do basically anything else that you want to.  So, what are you thinking?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m going,¡± Ender declared.  I was pretty shocked that he had decided so quickly.  ¡°It¡¯s easily the best shot I have at leading a full-length life,¡± he added, clarifying his position.  ¡°You can heal basically everything, right?¡±

    Ah.  That made sense.  Ender had a host of medical conditions.  He was a tough kid, but he was eighteen and it was a minor miracle he¡¯d survived high school.  I nodded in answer to his question.

    ¡°Well, we might as well,¡± Dad agreed with a shrug.  ¡°I mean, why not?  We¡¯ll be immortal and powerful.  The food¡¯s probably really fresh and tasty.  And otherwise we won¡¯t be able to see Odysseus except for our dreams.  The only problem is a lack of books, but I¡¯ll just download a few computers worth, and Odysseus can magic up a charging system for the computers and kindles and everything will be fine.¡±

    ¡°As a note, I¡¯m pretty sure I can find some modern Earth-equivalents, it just might take a while,¡± I said.  ¡°So don¡¯t think you¡¯ll be devoid of entertainment forever.¡±

    ¡°Fuck it, I¡¯m in.¡± Damien agreed with a shrug.

    Everyone looked at Mom, who rolled her eyes and snorted.  ¡°Please.  As if I wouldn¡¯t want to go wherever my kids are,¡± she said.

    ¡°What about the rest of the family?¡± Ender asked.

    ¡°You can offer the option to them too,¡± I said.  ¡°I can pull in our aunts and uncles via Mom and Dad¡¯s blood, then get their kids, then get the parents who aren¡¯t related to us.¡±

    ¡°I doubt many of them will go for it,¡± Mom replied.  ¡°They¡¯re all pretty invested in their communities.¡±

    ¡°And it¡¯s a bit strange,¡± Dad agreed.  ¡°Trust us, teleport into the great beyond, we had a dream.  A bit difficult to go for.¡±

    ¡°Alright, well I wanted to hear everything about what you¡¯re doing, but I can feel the spell slipping away,¡± I said hurriedly.  ¡°It¡¯s pretty damned difficult to cast, so I think the next time we¡¯ll see each other is when I summon you.  I¡¯ll try and do so in about two months, so you have that long to get your affairs in order.  Love you guys!¡±

    ¡°Love you too!¡±

    ¡°It was great to hear from you, sweetheart,¡± Mom said.

    And then the dream broke.

    It was time for me to get to work.

    ===================================

    Figuring out how to call someone to me with just a blood link was difficult but not impossible.  I had a method that worked every time I tested it within a month.  I still couldn¡¯t expand it beyond immediate familial relations, but that was fine; that was enough.

    That gave me a month to play around with.  I decided to play around with ultra-high quality clothing for enhanced persons.  Back on Earth, there are these techniques to make cloth out of very thin metal wires.  I once wanted to make a steel-cloth scarf, just as something to have.

    But with magic I could go further.  I made the thin steel wire, then gave it the Valyrian blessing.  After that, I had my tailors process it for me into sets of clothing for myself and my family.

    I still had more time to spare, so I figured out how to cast a magical projection of a Valyrian sword.  I called it the TK Cut.  Since it relied fairly heavily on my conceptual understanding of ¡°cutting,¡± I suspected that in the future I would be able to develop more and more functionality for it.  Cutting across space, for an instantaneous attack and teleportation.  Cutting against concepts for offense and defense.  Really, there were a lot of pretty cool applications even among the most obvious and off-the-cuff ideas.

    ===================================

    Finally, it was time to bring my family over.

    First, I summoned Ender.  Then Dad, Damien and Mom.

    I had finally done it.  I had reunited with my family, and though it was unlikely I would make it back to the Earth of my birth anytime soon, I didn¡¯t care.

    I was simply happy.

 Chapter 38-B: Dreams and Reality

    <u>Chapter 38: Dreams and Reality</u>

    A word of warning on the subject of Dream magic: when it fails, you still end up with a magical dream.  I saw my family, reunited with them, then I woke.

    And I realized it had not been a success, that my magic had merely shown me what I wanted rather than what I intended.

    There was no link.  No communication.  No possibility of using the dream as a focus for a summoning.

    I admit, I did not take my failure well.

    But when I finished tearing apart a few barren hills in the Vale, I decided I had gained something valuable.  A sense of closure.  I had no more avenues of investigation to find my family, no way of changing the reality of our separation.  It was something I now had to accept, and I endeavored to do so.

    Did I still have hope that one day I¡¯d manage a reunion?

    Of course.  Hope springs eternal, after all.

    But I no longer had an expectation of it.  I saw it as a fruitless task to continue my directed research into magics that might accomplish a meeting.  I would continue to grow in magical talent and strength, and maybe one day I would have some inspiration, find some obscure practitioner, and manage a solution.  But I had no idea as to what that would be, how it might be accomplished.

    Random searching was, of course, a possibility but it seemed vanishingly unlikely.  As far as I could tell, travelling between different realities as I had done was not like moving between layers of a cake.  It was like being a bug on a bouncy ball in a large box full of other bouncy balls that was being shaken.  Each bouncy ball a reality; when two were close together, a jump was possible, but the position of the balls in relation to each other was not a constant thing.

    That was why anchors were so important.  I needed a marker, something to fix on with my magic, to have any hope of going to a specific location that far away; a simple vector wouldn¡¯t suffice.

    Of course, as I got more powerful, I could jump further.  But that meant that more and more balls, or realities, were within my range.  And as time went on, my original home, my original Earth got further and further away, the probability of finding it lower and lower.

    But finally, I had to accept that as reality.  I couldn¡¯t go home again.  At least, not without some fortuitous accident or occurrence.

    Which meant I was truly stuck on Planetos.

    The time for fucking about was over.  If that was to be my new home, I needed to start making some changes.

    ===================================

    I had a large number of irons in the fire, and with my increased seriousness that only grew.

    Perhaps most critical were the ice zombies beyond the Wall.  Luckily they seemed content to remain there, like due to my recharging the magical protections of the Wall and the fact that it was re-garrisoned by a mixture of Westeros¡¯ soldiers and the former Wildlings.

    The other extinction-level threat I decided to address was the comet.  It had come and passed, but it did make me worried; I had no desire to go the way of the dinosaurs.  I used a slightly modified version of my shield enchantment, and applied it along lands all over my territory to create a regional anti-bombardment defense.

    With the only real serious threats taken care of, I was left with more mundane concerns.

    Economically, my lands were in the early stages of an aggressive Agricultural Revolution.  Beyond that, I was quickly becoming a massive financial power.  I had a virtual monopoly on printing, industrial metalworking, and glass-making.  My more magical valyrian steel production was sucking in phenomenal amounts of money that the other noble houses had saved, while my road-seeds were transforming transportation and my multi-colored wool-sheep allowed me to corner the market on high quality fabrics.

    All in all, I had more money than I knew what to do with.  I started a large budget for the arts, particularly literature (I loved to read, and wanted a thriving fiction and fantasy selection for the future), as well as a fund to increase healthiness by spreading knowledge and hiring Maesters and healers, but that only accounted for a percentage of my yearly profit.  My peasants, especially early adopters for my agricultural reforms, were thriving, so there wasn¡¯t any real point to decreasing taxes.

    To put things in perspective, even with all of these expenses, I was running at a yearly profit of about a quarter of a million dragons.  The Seven Kingdoms had a yearly profit of about three quarters of a million dragons during Summer.

    I decided that it was time to reform my military.  I mostly organized it along Roman lines, at least at the small-unit level.  Eight men to a squad, three squads to a platoon, and three platoons plus a command section to the company gave good tactical and organizational flexibility.  It let my men use a wide variety of formations built on units being divisible by three or four, and I could have mixed companies by replacing a platoon of swordsmen with pike-men.  For cavalry, thirty men formed a company.

    Equipment wise, the infantry were a mix of Roman-style infantry and pikemen.  The Roman-style infantry were equipped with a chainmail tunic, leather lined steel helmet, shield, sword, and javelins.  The pikemen also had chain and helmet, but used a long pike with a short-sword as a backup.  Archers used the heavily recurved bows with a minimum draw-weight of eighty pounds, had leather armor, and backup heavy long-knives similar to a seax.

    Apart from their own war-gear, the men were well (one might even argue over) laden with all the peripherals.  Including a healthy amount of combat-engineering equipment, and the training to go with it.  I was a fan of field-fortification doctrine; whenever possible, my men should be faster and better supplied than the enemy.  That meant they should be able to pick where and when battles happened, which meant they should, whenever reasonable, be able to force the enemy to attack ground that was prepared with stakes, ditches, holes to cause tripping and the like.

    The cavalry came in the variety of light and heavy.  Light cavalry were armored in padded leather vests and leg-guards, and equipped with lances and swords.  Doctrinally, they were intended to harass, raid, scout and chase down broken forces, but not engage directly.  Heavy cavalry were mostly drawn from knights and professional mounted men-at-arms, including a healthy leavening of sell-swords and hedge-knights drawn to my land by healthy purses and the assumption of magical support in any conflict.  They were armored in a mixture of mail, scale and plate, their chargers barded in padded mail as well.  All horses used were Gangari guard horses, which meant the units were ridiculously quick and had effectively inexhaustible stamina.

    Needless to say, this equipment was expensive.  As was the men¡¯s time.  Over a year¡¯s time, I trained a cadre out of my guard and some of the squires and squire candidates that had come through the Archer-program.  These men then trained the first class of recruits, overseen by Jon and myself, and then a second class of recruits with some assistance from the first.

    By the end of that, I had sixty companies of infantry, sixty of archers, and twenty each of light and heavy cavalry.  I even had a provisional company of horse-archers made up of those who had graduated to full squire in the Archery program, with three hundred more boys and girls under training.  It was about sixty thousand dragons a year to maintain the army, and had cost a full year¡¯s income to form it.  That said, I hadn¡¯t had to dip into my reserves, or take a loan, or magically generate gold so it wasn¡¯t that expensive.

    Of course, it wasn¡¯t complete yet.  The troops were still only operating at the company level.  On the one hand, that was terrible; the logistics and command for a larger force was much more complicated, and there issues with tactics, formations and movements that the officers would need to internalize to be properly effective.  Beyond that, my men needed a lot more experience and a good blooding.

    On the other hand, it still compared favorably to the other medieval forces.  Most armies in Westeros were formed from different feudal levies.  The training, equipment, unit size¡­ nothing was uniform for those forces.  At the very least, two companies of my troops were roughly equivalent, and with the initial army at least basically trained, I could move on to higher level organization.

    That second year, that¡¯s what I focused on.

    Six companies of infantry, or twelve of cavalry, formed a battalion, the general organization unit for my armies for pure-composition organizations.  But for the most part, Westeros and Essos weren¡¯t dealing with large armies; I didn¡¯t need battalions of a single type of troop, so much as I needed regiments of combined formations that could operate semi-independently when needed.

    A foot regiment included four companies of infantry, four of archers, and added a Gangari Guard Hound for every man as well as two companies of Ravens for scouting and communications.  Considering a Guard Hound was easily the match for a powerful warrior, that gave a fighting strength of just under thirteen hundred men and beasts, better trained to fight as a unit and better equipped than just about any other force, and with unparalleled scouting and communications thanks to my Ravens.The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

    Mixed regiments added four companies each of light and heavy cavalry, while the fast regiments not only included a cavalry detachment, but gave every man a horse, turning them into mounted infantry rather than simple foot-sloggers.  Those units were ridiculously fast, able to make three hundred miles a day even without roads.  To put that in perspective, they could advance at a rate unmatched until the modern era of warfare.  And by modern, I truly mean modern.  Unless a force was fully mechanized, they wouldn¡¯t be able to keep up.

    Once all was said and done, I had ten regiments of foot, three mixed, and two fast for an active army of about twenty thousand, though I¡¯d have backed them against five times their number of the typically disorganized, poorly trained, doctrinally inept local forces.  And I still had some fifty companies each of Hounds and Ravens patrolling my territories, backed up with twice their number in summoned animals.

    Then, at the end of those two years I had a general review of the army, and gave every man basic upgrades to physique, toughness, health, cleanliness and reaction speed.  I kept the bonuses fairly minor, at least for that first time.  It was a first taste, sort of like a drug.  Although it improved their combat potential, that wasn¡¯t the only, or even the primary drive behind that decision.

    I had decided that gold was good, but my lands would at some point enter post scarcity.  I already had plans to leave the planet, ideas for magically rather than technologically driven space-craft that could serve not just as ships, but as villages, towns, even countries.  Unlike on a planet, where living and construction happens a bit above and below the surface, a space ship¡¯s living space increased with every extra floor.

    That meant that a four kilometer long spaceship could have a living area of about eighteen hundred square kilometers, easily enough to house and feed a metropolis of two million people.  With a hundred kilometer long ship, it would have twenty eight million square kilometers of land, easily enough for a population in the billions.  And that¡¯s if I built the ship with an aesthetically pleasing ratio of length to width to height based on the golden ratio, allotted five meters height per floor, and gave forty percent of the volume of the ship over to armor, weapons, and other equipment.  Given the realities of my magic, I doubted that would be needed.

    But if I was going in that direction, of serious expansion and a departure from the realities of Planetos¡¯ medieval economy in the long term, I needed a different type of payment.  Preferably one that was highly valuable, with no real cost to myself, but that I had a natural monopoly of.  Naturally, I thought of magic.  My enchantments could do everything from make a man into a super-man, allow for immortality and more.  While my men had been training, I had spent part of my time figuring out how to make items that could apply enchantments, and how to make enchantments have an expiry date to stop people from wanting to permanently retire once they were satisfied.

    My men would not just be paid in gold, but in points.  Points that allowed them to purchase further enhancements for themselves and for their loved ones.  There were some restrictions, especially higher tier combat enhancements for civilians, but the program had been very well received by my soldiers.  I planned on rolling the program out to the general populace in the near future, with a baseline of points available for those who maintained good behavior, paid taxes and the like.  Further points could be earned by taking on more civic responsibilities, achievements in academic tests, mastery of useful skills including archery, etc.

    But that was for the future.  With that first crop of soldiers, I was not only prepared to defend myself, but had the military backbone necessary to start some conquering if I wanted to.  The only problem was, I didn¡¯t have the administrative basis to conquer, not if I wanted to keep the locations I seized and begin the work of converting them into loyal Gangari partisans.  That would take administrators and educators, neither of which I had available.

    I needed a university.  So I set aside a piece of undeveloped land about a dozen miles away from my castle along the bank of the God¡¯s Eye lake.  On that land I raised a small university, and bordering it (leaving room for expansion) a small town.  I had little desire to teach myself, and it could take years to evolve the types of thinking that I wanted naturally.  I wasn¡¯t patient enough to just wait during that, and would otherwise occupy myself, but that meant it was crucial to find a good Chancellor, one who could not just inspire the students and staff, but do so on my behalf.

    Luckily, I found one such man.

    ===================================

    Looking across the table at the man interviewing for the position of my first Chancellor, I saw a fairly incongruous sight for an academic.  The man was an archmaester, effectively a department head and leading scholar from the Citadel, but it would have been more believable if he were introduced as a sailor, or perhaps a bouncer.

    The man was middle aged and balding, with a nose that had been broken more than once.  He was short, but had that stocky, muscular build that inspired Tolkien when writing about dwarves with a chest like a barrel and large, strong hands.  His skin was red, still sunburned from his most recent journeys.  On the table he had placed his mask and rod, both of Valyrian steel for the study of magic.

    ¡°It¡¯s a shame, Archmaester, that you cannot help me much with my magic,¡± I sighed.

    He gave a quick snort of laughter.  ¡°My lord, I have searched for decades to find magic.  And, unlike most others, I have succeeded.  I daresay no other in Westeros, and very few in Essos, know more than I.  But comparing those magics to you¡­ It¡¯s like comparing a candle to the sun.¡±  There was a gleam of fanaticism in his eyes, a near-religious ecstasy brought about by the culmination and validation of his life¡¯s obsession.

    ¡°Yet even a candle is useful,¡± I noted.

    He grinned.  ¡°That¡¯s right.  And even if I can¡¯t help much in teaching you, or studying the magic itself, I¡¯ve found more experience and knowledge during my searching and travels than most.  You won¡¯t find any more interested or more learned than I for your place of learning.  And even if I have to wait a decade, or three, I suspect I¡¯ll learn more of magic with you than I ever could otherwise.¡±

    I nodded decisively.  ¡°Then, Chancellor, the position is yours,¡± I said.  Then I grinned.  ¡°And don¡¯t worry, Marwyn.  I¡¯ve started a program in my territory where those who serve me can earn points and redeem them with magical enhancements.  Your position will afford you more than enough not to worry about age.¡±

    His brows rose.  ¡°Truly?¡±

    I just smiled and nodded slowly.

    He shook his head incredulously.  ¡°Your abilities seem somewhat more akin to the gods than otherwise,¡± he marveled.  ¡°Luckily, I have seen no evidence that the gods, at least the Seven, are at all active, and for the others I have never seen more power than could be ascribed to a practitioner among their priests.¡±

    ¡°Well, with that, let¡¯s start talking specifics.  I¡¯d like you to focus on useful skills to improve industry, the understanding of the natural sciences including mathematics, physics, chemistry, biology, etc.  Of course, any developments in understanding magic or alchemy are interesting as well.  But most importantly, I need loyal administrators.  I am transitioning my lands from feudal leadership to a more bureaucratic state with myself as the undisputed leader who gives direction and guidance for progress.  I also want teachers to be trained who can go out into my lands and help educate the more intelligent among the small-folk.  And in the future, I intend to expand.  To claim the lands beyond the Wall, perhaps, and to do away with the practice of slavery.¡±

    His eyebrows rose.  ¡°Ambitious, my Lord.  And what is the timeframe for this?¡± he asked cautiously.

    I smiled reassuringly.  ¡°Don¡¯t worry, Chancellor.  I won¡¯t ask the impossible.  If it takes a decade, I can find other things to occupy myself with until then.¡±

    He looked relieved.  ¡°Very good.  What about budget, and facilities?¡±

    ¡°For facilities, I have already established a small town and buildings for the university about a dozen miles west of Harrenhal.  There is space sufficient for sixty professors or lecturers, and twelve hundred students, and room for expansion as needed.  I have allotted fifty thousand dragons a year to the budget.  At least initially, students may attend on credit, even given an allowance, with the provision that afterwards they enter into my service for a term of no less than ten years.¡±

    He boggled at the amount of gold I assigned.  ¡°Fifty thousand a year!¡± he gasped.

    I smiled.  ¡°You don¡¯t have to spend it all,¡± I noted.  ¡°But, yes.¡±

    ¡°With that much, in a decade or two we¡¯ll be doing a better job at education than the Citadel,¡± he promised.  ¡°Can I hire from outside of the Maesters?  Outside of Westeros?¡±

    ¡°So long as it will help you provide results, you may hire from whomever you like,¡± I replied.  ¡°Buy slaves, if you think they¡¯re clever enough, so long as they are freed and given the chance to leave for elsewhere.  I want able, learned, and most importantly loyal men and women.  And if you need more gold than that, we can discuss it.¡±

    ¡°It may be a year before we can properly start,¡± he warned.  ¡°I¡¯ll need to go and chase down some of the men I¡¯ve met, and send letters to others.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s fine.  I¡¯ll assign four of my Paragons to your protection, and gift you with some enhancements, if that is acceptable.¡±

    ¡°Paragons?¡± he asked.

    ¡°My personal bodyguard,¡± I explained then began to boast of their abilities.  ¡°Each one was an elite swordsman before being further enhanced to the utmost of my ability.  They are strong enough to smash through stone, fast enough to cut arrows out of the air, tough enough that their flesh can turn blades and axes, immune to every toxin I¡¯ve been able to test, and with enough endurance to fight for a week without sleep.  Each is accompanied by a dog as large as Togo,¡± I motioned towards my pony-sized companion who lay next to me, ¡°which is as tough, strong, and fast as they are. They also have a pair of similarly enhanced ravens which are both intelligent and capable of speech, and a horse capable of running a hundred miles in an hour.  They and their mounts are armed and armored with Valyrian steel.  Suffice to say, you will be safe.¡±

    And he would be.  The Paragons were all created by mana, copied off of Ser Barristan the Bold¡¯s template.  Then, after the first four were sufficiently different, I took a template of them, and made sixteen more.  Recently those twenty had all diverged sufficiently to make another copy, bringing my guard up to eighty men.  Each had been as skilled and strong as Barristan to begin with.  Then I de-aged them, and upgraded them with all of the latest magic, to the point that they could beat Captain America as easily as a professional boxer could beat a fifth grader.  Finally I finished it off with the best equipment I could manage, and supported them with copies of Aethon, Togo, Hue and Mu.

    The zenith of skill, magical enhancement, equipment and (like all of the summoned) a fanatical degree of loyalty combined to make each of my Paragons a one-man army.  Literally.  Between a modern tank battalion and one of my Paragons, I¡¯d be betting on the man in armor with a sword.  Watching them spar was like watching an anime as they blurred about the place hacking and slashing.

    Having eighty of them was, honestly, somewhat excessive.  I was frequently sending them on tasks that were, frankly, beneath their capability.  I didn¡¯t want to be taking any risks with my life though, and for occasions like this they were useful.  Both as a surety and token of my esteem, and a quiet demonstration of the reach of my power.

    Marwyn bent his head.  ¡°Thank you, my Lord.  Both for the protection, and for this opportunity.¡±

    ¡°No, Chancellor Marwyn, thank you.  I believe we will accomplish great things together,¡± I replied.

 Chapter 39: The First Step

    <u>Chapter 39: The First Step</u>

    With the University taken care of, I was at something of a loss with regards to my projects.

    Really, that was an advantage of running a feudal fiefdom; so long as there wasn¡¯t some serious issue, a lot of the lower level management just happened, and I got taxes. As for the things that were my problems, well, those were all running very smoothly.

    My Ravens and Hounds had reduced crime and corruption to practically zero, and any violations were recorded, tabulated, and forwarded for my rubber-stamping by my legions of feathery, furry justice. My peasants pretty much had to try to starve given the recent explosion in agricultural productivity from better grain and farming, and all the micro-loans I¡¯d made available to buy new and improved animals. There were hundreds of maesters and healers to protect against illness and injury. Business was booming. And any of my neighbors would have to have been idiots to pick a fight with me; I was not only a KYAG (Kiss-Your-Ass-Goodbye) level sorcerer, but I was also the King¡¯s favorite. Plus I had probably the best army in Westeros under my banners.

    Suffice to say things were going pretty well. But I had a lot of time on my hands. There were two possible projects I had scheduled. My dragons, which I had yet to hatch, and beginning to explore other planes. I decided to go for the exploration, mostly because I¡¯d had enough of Westeros. As awesome as having dragons would be, it was sort of like having a child ¨C a massive responsibility. To steal an RSPCA slogan, dragons are for life, not for Christmas.

    I wanted a vacation though, not a new magical pet (no matter how awesome it would be). So I started Sending out pairs of summoned Ravens to scout planes that I found nearby. Unfortunately the active communications link didn¡¯t work over the inter-planar distances, but I could still Call one of the Ravens and then review its memories. The second Raven provided a beacon I could teleport myself to if the world proved interesting.

    It didn¡¯t take long for me to find a world that was basically science-fiction, with hovercars and spacecraft. It was a fairly green, unpolluted world, with a lot of swampland and water coverage. The people seemed happy and healthy, the government unobtrusive ¨C really, things seemed almost worryingly paradisiacal.

    The locals called it Naboo.

    I had my vacation spot.

    ===================================

    I had to make some last preparations before leaving. Jon was used to being put in charge of things, and was already my military commander. He had done well during the war games, was a knight, the bastard son of the Hand, and I trusted him; in short, he was the perfect candidate to be my right hand. But this time, he wasn¡¯t staying back. I was going on vacation, but that¡¯s always more fun when there¡¯s a friend to share in the adventure.

    Instead, I was leaving Nevermore in charge. He was my normal diplomatic envoy, messenger, and voice; people were used to assuming that I was speaking through the bird, and he was clever enough to keep up that pretense. Not to mention as my Director of Intelligence, Nevermore did more to run things than I did. I¡¯d check messages from him via Raven a few times a day in case of emergencies, but I wasn¡¯t anticipating any issues.

    Before I left though it was time to improve my enhancements. I had grown massively in mana stores over the years, with about sixteen times as much mana capacity as I had had last time I upgraded. I was reaching the stage of being inhuman rather than superhuman though; issues with the passing of time when using an accelerated mental state and the like could make the experience of having superpowers uncomfortable, so I was also adding in an adaptive scaler. I¡¯d be able to feel like I was fully committed in a physical endeavor with a more human-level partner, but all of the power would still be waiting for when I called on it.

    As per usual, I started with improving my mana senses and thought acceleration. I moved onto precognition, which had boosted enough that I could use it to simulate other potential mental states by precognitively predicting them in real time. That stacked further with actual mental partitions that I could run via my improved cognition and thought acceleration. When I chose to devote true focus to an issue, I was as much a mentat, a human supercomputer, as I was an ordinarily (highly) intelligent person.

    It was just a shame that I mostly thought faster, clearer, and more, as opposed to more creatively or better. Improving baseline thought metrics was something I had shied away with for fear I¡¯d do myself some damage.

    With that done, I updated my mental ward to be as effective and powerful as possible, and improved the finesse and reaction time of the spell that was meant to rescue me from hostile magics which were able to shunt me into some hostile dimension or location.

    Next I turned to my Green based boosts of Physique, Oakflesh, Regeneration and Dragon-Bones. By the end of the upgrade cycle, I was a the point that my unrestricted full strength made steel feel as weak as jello. My flesh when attacked was ridiculously hard, not quite as much as diamond perhaps but close, while still maintaining the toughness and ductility that you get out of steel. It behaved strangely as well, soft and supple until stressed. The speed and completeness of regeneration was approaching that of Wolverine or Deadpool from the comics. Meanwhile my skeletal system was effectively a magical superconductor and supercapacitor, while beyond any natural material in strength and toughness. Even without the magic active, I was twice as strong and fast as a professional athlete. With it active, I was well within super-hero range.

    The Red upgrades gave me the instant reaction speed to take full advantage of my improved physical potential. Beyond that I could hasten, breaking free of the constraints of time to the extent of near instantaneous movement of limbs, seeming to teleport short distances when seen by an outside observer. I estimated my fire-proofing at four thousand degrees Celsius, hotter than molten tungsten or boiling uranium. When I allowed my blows to have the full increased impact, they hit more like artillery shells.

    White¡¯s defensive upgrades increased as well. My stored heal, when tested on some Science! animals, proved capable of healing from two vaporizations. The shield spell was improved both in strength of each individual shell, as well as the number of shell layers to the point that I doubted a modern military could defeat it. I suspected a spaceship¡¯s armament might still be able to though. The conceptual armor that lay underneath was, as far as I could tell, equivalent to the more armored section of a battleship, or perhaps a reinforced bunker. My anti-undead aura would likely destroy any zombie before it got within striking range, and my defense against being exiled was further reinforced.This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

    From Black, I improved my defense against disease and toxin. I doubted that even a magically enhanced disease or poison designed to harm me specifically would be effective for long. The improved ability to consume meant that I stripped anything organic that I ate for all of its possible benefits, whether nutrition, energy, essence, or even natural benefits from different types of biological mechanism.

    The highly efficient strength of a chimp, speed of a cheetah, eyesight of a hawk, reaction time of a spider¡­ all of these were mine naturally as I stripped the food for its benefits and incorporated it into myself. Soon I would be able to do similar to concepts, eventually even to inorganic materials. Similar to the protagonist of RE: Monster, I would be able to gain the conceptual advantages of everything. I was looking forward to it greatly.

    With myself upgraded, and similar upgrades pushed out to Jon, our animals, and my Paragons, we were finally ready.

    ===================================

    I Walked to Naboo¡¯s main spaceport in their capital, Theed. Walking is¡­ indescribable. There literally aren¡¯t words in the human language for it.

    Mechanically, I think of it as moving in the direction of not, passing through the interplanar chaos, and then coming out the other side into some local reality. It¡¯s sort of like being on a soap-bubble, with lots of other soap bubbles all occupying the same space but shifted just out of phase so that they normally don¡¯t interact with each other. Any soap bubble, or plane, that happens to have part of the soap, rather than the air it contains, in contact with my own part of the soap is close enough to easily reach. The further the soap surface is though, the harder it is to reach without a beacon to jump to.

    But that doesn¡¯t express the sheer awful, terrible, majestic wonder of passing through the space between. A thousand times more hypnotic than watching a dancing fire, more visually impressive than watching an exploding volcano, more pressing down on the sense of self than zooming out and seeing the earth in relation to the galaxy for the first time in a planetarium.

    And then I was back in reality.

    What a trip.

    I pulled Jon to my side. He was pale, sweating, wide eyed.

    ¡°Are you alright, Jon?¡± I asked. No reply. ¡°Jon!¡± I barked out, startling him from his daze.

    ¡°Bloody fucking hell,¡± he muttered. ¡°What¡­ No, I don¡¯t want to know. Just, lets avoid doing that as much as possible, alright?¡±

    I laughed.

    He scowled. ¡°It¡¯s not funny.¡±

    I just laughed harder at his grim, stony visage.

    ¡°What in the Gods¡¯ name is so funny?¡± he burst out.

    I was in stitches at this point. ¡°It¡¯s just,¡± I gasped, ¡°it¡¯s just your face. You look just like a young Ned, when he¡¯s scolding Robert! It¡¯s too funny!¡±

    His eyes widened in horror. ¡°No. No! I refuse. I will not spend an eternity being your responsible adult, Odysseus.¡±

    I just laughed harder. ¡°It¡¯s too late! You¡¯re doomed already.¡±

    As this was going on, we were walking into one of the customs offices arranged around the spaceport. The customs officer we approached just looked at us and shook her head at our antics.

    At first I¡¯d been worried about how to infiltrate Naboo, but the scouting from my Ravens showed that to be unnecessary. One of the Ravens had daringly flown into the customs and immigration hall, then spent days perched unmoving on the wall. Humans don¡¯t tend to notice things like that, and it was days before the Raven was detected. Afterwards, the person who did so assumed that someone was playing a subtle prank, and left it unbothered, too happy to be in on the joke to risk disrupting it.

    Security wise, Naboo was a joke. But it made sense. The Galactic Republic that it belonged to was huge. Naboo itself was the capital world of its sector, Chommell, which included over forty thousand systems with some sort of sentient presence, even if it was just a prospector who was mining unclaimed asteroids. More heavily colonized over the past thousand years, the sector had a relatively low population of about fifty billion. The Republic had over a thousand sectors, and at least a hundred trillion citizens.

    Keeping track of that many people was next to impossible without being a complete technological police state; the Republic was somewhere in between the EU and the UN for its collective influence and effectiveness, and couldn¡¯t manage that.

    Beyond that, there really wasn¡¯t much of a reason for Naboo to have strict policies for visitors. Terrorism wasn¡¯t really a thing. Naboo had extensive welfare for its citizens. As long as a visitor wasn¡¯t trying to get welfare benefits, and didn¡¯t commit a criminal act, they were happy for people to be there. Even then, it was relatively easy to immigrate, especially if you were willing to get an education and join the workforce. And if you were a criminal, Naboo¡¯s philosophy was that you¡¯d eventually be caught and dealt with then; that was, after all, the purpose of the security forces. I assumed there were automated face-readers, or the like, to catch those who had been banned from Naboo, but visible security was very light.

    The world had less than a billion human permanent residents, and reminded me quite of bit of a very cultured, architecturally beautiful New Zealand. Philosophy, art, and architecture were some of the most common fields of work ¨C note, I don¡¯t say employment because many of the people doing so lived purely off of the state¡¯s money. Luckily for Naboo, they had vast reserves of high quality plasma. Like Saudi Arabia with its oil, they got a lot of money from the Trade Federation. But there was still work to do, a populace that didn¡¯t see much need for it, and a lot of spare land, so immigration was easy.

    Thus, customs officers on Naboo were as much greeters, facilitators, and tourism bureau as they were actual law enforcement officers.

    ¡°Good morning,¡± the customs officer greeted us perkily. She was wearing a neat uniform in friendly, pastel colors. ¡°How are you today?¡±

    ¡°Very well, thank you,¡± I replied with a grin. ¡°Happy to be on your beautiful planet.¡± It always pays to be polite and friendly in these situations.

    ¡°Yes, Naboo is a lovely place. May I ask what brings you to Naboo?¡±

    ¡°My friend Jon and I are planning on doing some independent study, then perhaps study at one of the universities.¡±

    ¡°Oh, that¡¯s great!¡± she replied. ¡°Let me give you these pamphlets about free educational resources, higher education on Naboo, and the work scholarship program. The work scholarship program allows just about anyone to study for free; they even pay you a stipend. After you graduate, you owe a year of work per year of education. You do get paid for that work, pretty well actually, and afterwards its very easy to get Nabooian citizenship. I did the program myself, and its just been fantastic!¡±

    This is what I meant by their customs process being easy.

    ¡°Now, if you can just place your bags on the scanner. It automatically checks for any restricted chemicals and biologicals; we don¡¯t want to ruin the environment, after all!¡± she chirped. ¡°Did you have any other luggage, by the way? I noticed you each only have a carry-on.¡±

    I grimaced in mock pain. ¡°Unfortunately, we lost it halfway through the trip. We¡¯ll need to replace most of our clothing and toiletries.¡±

    ¡°Oh, that¡¯s terrible!¡± she gasped. The scanner turned green. ¡°Well, it looks like everything¡¯s good. You can use the information terminals to show a map to the spaceport¡¯s shopping centers. There are also money changers in case you need to exchange currencies. I hope you have a nice day, and welcome to Naboo!¡±

    ¡°Thank you, you too,¡± I replied. And that was it. We were through.

 Chapter 40: Hotel Naboo

    <u>Chapter 40: Hotel Naboo</u>

    After going through customs, I changed a number of Peggats, a gold-based currency used in Hutt Space, into Galactic Credits.  I¡¯d sent a summoned pickpocket over earlier to acquire a sample to copy; unlike the crypto-currency credit, the Peggats were something I could simply magic up.  I had no doubt that after changing a literal bag-full of Peggats that I was on a watchlist ¨C it was worth more than one and a quarter million credits after all, and was shady as fuck.

    Still legal though, so that was nice.

    With a nice, fat bank account, Jon and I checked into arguably the best hotel in Theed, the Solleu Gardens.  Jon wasn¡¯t a fan of the flight over, at least until he got used to being in an air-car, but for me it was the culmination of all too many sci-fi dreams.  The hotel itself was beautiful, the beds comfortable, the furnishings palatial.  But Harrenhal was no slouch after I got done with its renovations, I had built some of the finest baths imaginable with my magic, and after improving my body so much, beds didn¡¯t matter as much.

    No, the really good thing about the hotel was the food.  Don¡¯t get me wrong; with my improved ingredients, Harrenhal had the best steaks, roasts, smoked meats and fish, excellent cheese and amazing fresh fruit and vegetables.  But my cooks made medieval food; they did it well, but it got a bit boring.  At the Solleu Gardens¡¯ restaurants, a whole Galaxy of haute cuisine was available, from examples of the finest, cleanest tastes, to the most complicated molecular gastronomy and everything in between.

    Jon and I shopped from the hotel¡¯s stores, purchasing full wardrobes in the local fashion as well as the most cutting-edge electronics, blowing a small fortune on things that we probably didn¡¯t need.  I was just so happy to be somewhere modern.  Well, in this case futuristic, but that just made it better.  Television, movies, books¡­ I was going to be alive for a very long time, and while I was having a blast playing Medieval Magician over on Westeros, I could do with a bit of a break.

    But there was something about all this that was bothering me.

    Something that seemed familiar.  The alphabet they used, how the droids looked, the way certain words translated.

    That night, reading through the galactic version of Wikipedia, I realized what it was.

    I was in Star Wars.

    =================================

    Everyone back on Earth knew about Star Wars, had watched in the original trilogy as the amnesiac Revan defeated his treacherous former subordinate Malak before shacking up with Bastila.  And most people had seen the prequel trilogy, where Revan fought the Mandalorians before falling to the dark side.  I¡¯d heard that there was a sequel trilogy in the works, but that wasn¡¯t released by the time I¡¯d ended up on Planetos.

    The big problem with this being Star Wars?

    The fuck-off levels of firepower.  Planets were sort of like Pringles; no one stopped after eating just one.  Between Force users like Nihilus who were capable of literally consuming all the life on a planet, superweapons that could do weird things to local physics or cause suns to go supernova, and just plain old orbital bombardment, Star Wars was hardly a safe setting to be in.

    Luckily, it seemed that the events that I knew about had happened around four thousand years ago.  Ever since the last dust-up between the Jedi and Sith was resolved nearly a thousand years prior to my arrival with the ¡°total and complete destruction of the Sith,¡± (something I didn¡¯t believe for a second) the Galactic Republic had been fairly peaceful.

    I wanted to jump back to Westeros until I was laser-proof and could tank hundreds of megaton-range blaster impacts.

    Except.

    Except I couldn¡¯t.

    It wasn¡¯t that my access to my mana was limited, thank all that¡¯s holy.  No, it was more that I was too heavy, metaphysically, to do so.  I could still Summon copies, Call and Send originals, but all of those operations were sort of like sending someone down a zipline over a ravine.  It was just that the zipline was attached to the massive mass of lands I had bound on Westeros, and on Naboo it was attached to me.  Until I¡¯d bound enough mana, I wasn¡¯t sure what would happen if I tried to cross back.  Just that it wouldn¡¯t be good, and would likely damage me, or my lands, or my bonds.  I might end up somewhere else entirely, somewhere not as conducive to life.

    So for now, I was trapped.

    Which meant it was time to get serious about my safety.

    =================================

    Luckily, Naboo seemed like a reasonably safe place to be.  The military, consisting primarily of a small but elite Starfighter corps, was strong enough to dissuade pirates and the like, while weak enough that any real invasion could roll them over.  As a sector capital, anyone wanting to invade and conquer was likely to actually conquer rather than make an example of Naboo, because otherwise they¡¯d be left administrating a sector where they¡¯d just blown up all the administrative records (not a smart idea). And while Naboo did supply a large amount of plasma, it wasn¡¯t the kind of industrial giant that would make it an attractive target for spoiling raids, nor would these hypothetical raids have to cause widespread damage other than to the plasma refineries.

    Further, one of the largest Trade Federation bases was basically next door in the Enarc system.  They were effectively an East India Company analog within the Galactic Republic, exploiting the Outer Rim and making phenomenal profits doing so.  Last year the Trade Federation managed to get significant concessions on the level of armament on their vessels, giving a further boost to their company¡¯s armed forces.  I doubted they¡¯d let anyone interfere with their plasma supply.

    That wasn¡¯t to say things were perfect.  Naboo had recently elected a teenager as their queen, and her policy of renegotiating their deal with the Trade Federation to get better payment for Naboo¡¯s plasma seemed somewhat na?ve in outlook.

    Did the original deal suck?  Yes, definitely.

    There was a loophole that allowed the Federation to purchase significantly more plasma than expected, then sell the surplus on to other entities at a multiple times markup.  Rather than causing Naboo to become a center of industry and a crossroads of trade, the planet was making only a modest fortune supplying top quality plasma at cut-rate prices.

    But was this Queen Amidala likely to be able to renegotiate a fair deal?

    Sort-of.  Honestly, the TF was a company, and profit driven.  The ridiculously uneven deal was likely to be renegotiated, because the alternative risk of a breakdown of plasma supply was too dangerous for their shipping.  But Amidala¡¯s belief in a totally ¡°fair¡± deal was unlikely.  In the decades between making the deal and when I arrived, Naboo had grown used to Trade Federation goods, and Trade Federation droid labor.  This dependency had extended to Naboo¡¯s agricultural sector which I found particularly foolish.

    There was an interdependency, and Amidala¡¯s people were pampered, sophisticated artists at heart.  They weren¡¯t like the Russians, willing to freeze and starve, fight and die for national pride.  Nabooians were barely willing to work at all, let alone make a real sacrifice.  But that just meant that the Trade Federation had a stronger negotiating stance; the political fallout, including in other sectors, of being too strong-handed should keep the Trade Federation from being too dirty in their tactics.If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    However, there were some disquieting signs.  Within the Federation there seemed to have been a quiet coup last year.  Though they were blaming terrorists for wiping out the non-Neimoidian representatives, a few hours of research showed a quick and decisive consolidation of power in Neimoidian hands in the following days.  Beyond that, the same bill that saw the TF gain the right to arm their ships more heavily removed some of the reduced taxation and tariff-free import rights that the Federation took advantage of.

    Honestly, those allowances should have been eliminated centuries ago; they were introduced initially to motivate industrial development and trade route establishment in the Outer Rim.  But those days, when the Outer Rim was effectively undeveloped, were long past and the TF¡¯s trade concessions were giving them an unfair advantage against other companies, stifling growth in the inner systems.  At the same time, it allowed the TF to fully leverage their greater development, preventing locals in the Outer Rim from making use of tax and duties laws that favored local (for a given definition of ¡°local¡± at least) industry to have domestic growth.

    The TF was still pissed off about it, of course, no matter that the newer laws were fairer.  But there wasn¡¯t much they could do.  The Republic may have lacked much of a military (the morons), and crime may have been on the rise, but the powerful Core and Inner-Rim sectors that formed the swampiest part of the Galactic government weren¡¯t vulnerable to even so powerful a company as the Trade Federation.  Nor was Naboo ¨C a peaceful, prosperous world in a peaceful, prosperous sector ¨C threatened by the gradual slide of the furthest reaches into barbarism.

    The Republic may have been on the wane, potentially even sliding into its twilight years much the way that Rome once did, but I estimated Naboo would be insulated from the impact of such for many a decade yet.

    I was glad Jon and I didn¡¯t have to leave the planet; I liked it there.

    It did however mean I needed to get a home, and get cracking on just-in-case preparations.

    =================================

    The first step in getting ready for what the Star Wars galaxy could throw at me was getting access to truly fuck-off levels of money.  I had a million credits and change which was, admittedly, a lot.  Credits had about ten times the purchasing power of a dollar, after all.  But I wanted to buy and fortify an estate, hire enough starship designers to make full use of my magical abilities to redesign a small ship into something capable of taking on capital ships, and generally live in luxury.

    Peggats weren¡¯t going to cut it.

    Looking up valuables on the datanet, I found a few likely materials.  Nova crystals, rare but highly reactive when non-stabilized, were used in some electronics and weapons systems, and worth about fifty credits a gram.  Crystalline vertex, even rarer, was used by the Corporate Sector to back their currency and worth between ten and fifty thousand credits a gram depending on quality and color.  Most valuable was Aurodium, typically seen in small quantities on the rarest and most expensive jewelry, at over a half-million credits per gram.

    I was able to get the pattern for all three at various jewlers, and soon enough I traded twenty kilos of crystalline vertex for a half billion Republic credits with the local banks.  With that, I was in business.

    I purchased a large estate, and brought over two dozen Paragons to run site and personal security.  I had three different security companies install shields, independent power sources and datanet connections, and defensive systems.  One of those security companies was from Eriadu, a major planet a few sectors away.  A local luxury audio-visual company put in better-than-cinema sound, flat-vid and holographic entertainment systems.

    These installations were then checked over by at least a half-dozen droids, three purchased with each from different suppliers, and three summoned copies of those droids.  Both the hardware and the software was examined.  More teams of droids swept the property for bugs ¨C to my surprise, none were found.  I guessed others assumed me paranoid enough to check, or there weren¡¯t any local spy-masters who felt me important enough to watch ¨C at least not yet.

    Jon was impressed and horrified at the level of paranoia.  Then I showed him videos of orbital bombardment, and he was just thankful.

    While my new home was being set up, I headhunted an engineer for my starship project.  I ended up hiring a young woman called Sola Miran, a twenty nine year old weapons system designer who had worked for Theed Palace Space Vessel Engineering Corps.  TPSVEC was a specialist designer which made ships for the Naboo government, including the Royal Yacht, and the N-1 Starfighter.  Unfortunately they didn¡¯t intend to make any new armed ships for a while, and so Sola was left mostly adrift with her work.

    Intelligent, somewhat obsessed with weaponry, and socially oblivious she jumped at the possibility of managing a refit and upgrade with an unlimited budget.  I had her sign a magical secrecy contract, then demonstrated my ability to enchant metals.  I¡¯m fairly sure she¡¯d have married me if I¡¯d asked.

    On her advice, I ended up ordering a Corellian Engineering PB-950 patrol boat.  Thirty seven meters long, twenty three wide and fourteen tall, the stock ship was relatively heavily armed with a quad-laser cannon, a pair of medium ion cannons and a concussion missile launcher.  It had space for four crew and eight passengers, as well as up to a hundred and eighty tons of cargo on top of three months consumables.  Double hulled and armored, the ship had good odds of surviving hits that penetrated through the shields.  Contrary to its stocky, blocky appearance, the designers focused on speed, and it came stock with a class 1.0 hyperdrive.

    The ship was pretty old, having seen at least three centuries since the first left dock, but that just meant that there were a lot of variations you could purchase.  Corellian Engineering focused on having modular designs, which meant they could provide customized ships without long wait times.

    I went in for what was basically the ¡°very paranoid tycoon¡± model.  It combined luxurious interior furnishings, a larger, better equipped kitchen, and top of the line entertainment system with more expensive, higher-functioning armor, improved sensors and communications gear, and a power-plant nearly three times as powerful and twenty times as expensive to supply the improved shield generator and sublight engines.

    Of course, there was a cost to this; the supplies space was halved, and between one room with a king sized bed and another with a bunkbed there was only space for up to four passengers (and that if two were sleeping together).  Not to mention the monetary cost; for the same price, I could have purchased a brand new CR90.  But the patrol boat was much less assuming, practically ubiquitous, and a fraction of the size.  For my travelling and emergency-evacuating vessel, it was perfect.

    Naboo had strict environmental controls, and manufactory licenses were difficult to acquire, so I had to buy a defunct factory that was mostly driven out of business by cheap imports.  While the ship was being finished and delivered, Sola was busy getting a research agreement with TPSVEC that would classify my ship as a ¡°research prototype¡± and give an allowance from Naboo¡¯s weapons control laws.

    With that in place, Sola starting seeing how quickly she could burn through my money, buying an absolutely cutting-edge high accuracy manufacturing system, droid workforce, top-quality materials and specialty parts.  I fully expected my spaceship to go through a number of refinement and optimization cycles, transitioning from mostly off-the-shelf products that I improved, to products designed with my potential magics in mind, to a ship that incorporated specially designed and optimized magics in critical components.  Eventually, it would be a perfect fusion of techno-magical badassery.

    I couldn¡¯t wait.

    Then my home was finally ready for me to move in.  I magicked the place to hell and back.  First I filled the walls and floor with enchanted steel which embedded into the bedrock, itself transformed into a solid slab of stone.  A massive projectile ward was established that covered the house itself</a>, while more were anchored to the grounds.  Conceptual defensive enchantments were laid on the buildings.  After initial tests showed improved performance, the power plants and shield generators were enchanted with White to improve their defense, Blue to improve their function, and Red to improve their power, while all but the outer-ring of weapons systems were enchanted with Blue to help their targeting, Red to improve their damage and power, and White to improve their cooling.  Those initial enchantments were hilariously primitive and inefficient, but still made the equipment function significantly better.

    Between that and two-score Paragons with their animal companions, I felt reasonably secure.  At the very least, I¡¯d be able to escape to one of the lands I had claimed on the other side of the planet.  And after my personal yacht was upgraded, I¡¯d have Sola work on designing some ground to space installations.

    After all, I was excited to be in the Star Wars universe, but totally unwilling for it to become my burial place.

    With my immediate security taken care of, I copied some of the best chefs from a cooking competition that was open to the public, and was finally ready to sit back and enjoy having access to the full breadth of games, shows, films, and books that a galaxy-spanning leisurely society could produce.

    Just as soon as I built a spell to perfectly reflect lasers¡­

    I was probably being overcautious, but over eternity even small risks add up.

 Chapter 41: Safety and Sloth

    <u>Chapter 41: Safety and Sloth</u>

    Star Wars had a wide variety of weaponry available.  Everything from chemically driven bullets, through coilguns, railguns, lasers, blasters and various missiles.  Of particular note were blasters, because I wasn¡¯t particularly familiar with them.  Blasters shot a (sometimes charged) plasma or particle.  Some, designed to work only in space, were really more properly plasma-pumped particle cannons.  Others, designed to work in atmosphere and in space, used electromagnetic fields to maintain bolts of concentrated plasma until it hit the target.

    The reason that blasters were popular was fairly simple; they could defeat advanced materials.  No matter how good your gun design, there was the simple reality that for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction.  Recoil, in other words, was a bitch.  As better materials became available and body armor improved, it became more and more difficult for first chemical, then even hypervelocity electromagnetically driven slugs to penetrate body armor.

    While grenades were effective, especially those with more exotic payloads, they were also expensive ¨C especially those with more exotic payloads ¨C and the bulkiness of the ammunition limited the user to tens or dozens of rounds instead of the thousands that military planners became used to when using electromagnetic slug-throwers.

    Enter the blaster.  With a blaster, it isn¡¯t the bolt¡¯s momentum that causes damage, but the extremely exothermic, explosive interaction that the plasma in the bolt imparts when it impacts the target and loses containment.  Although prohibitively expensive and short ranged (due to poor containment degrading during bolt-flight) at first, over thousands of years technology continued to improve, increasing performance and decreasing cost until the blaster became the weapon-of-choice galaxy-wide.  And with high density energy storage mediums, a blaster could fire dozens of times with a single charge pack.

    That said, blasters were not created equal.  Some, commonly used by civilians expecting only to deal with other unarmored civilian threats, were effectively semi-auto tasers.  Others were really not much better than a modern pistol.  Their shots would often dissipate due to containment failure within twenty to forty meters, sharply limiting their range (though admittedly that was the maximum accurate range for most inexperienced shots).  Damage wise they caused some pretty nasty wounds, but typically cauterized to the point that prompt medical treatment could save a victim.  Those were effectively the ¡°hi-point firearm¡± of the blaster market.  Cheap, shitty, but pretty robust and fine for emergency self-defense.  You could buy one just about anywhere.

    In the middle quality offerings, you had blasters that were better optimized for specific purposes but were still lacking in some way.  A lot of military blaster carbines were like this, for example.  Designed for shipboard or urban combat, their containment typically started to fail at anywhere from sixty to a hundred meters depending on the model.  They might have high rates of fire but weak bolts, good for fighting waves of unarmored targets, or lower rates of fire but heavier bolts designed to smash through higher quality body armor or light vehicles.

    Some blasters came with stun functions, great for police work.  Recoil correction, shot correction computers, variable yield bolts, high speed bolts, purposefully weak containment to cause more explosion, purposefully strong containment to cause more penetration, and on and on and on.  All of these were options, and many added to the expense.

    To put it in perspective, a cheap but serviceable civilian model might have started at fifty credits.  Standard military blaster rifles went for a thousand plus, and that¡¯s before adding on scopes and other after-market options.  That was equivalent to a ten thousand dollar gun, enough to buy twenty assault rifles on Earth.  A high quality, long range blaster rifle with scopes might start at two thousand credits.  Still well within my price range, though unfortunately illegal for private ownership on Naboo.

    Thankfully Sola¡¯s research license covered ¡°blaster technology,¡± and after she recruited a friend of hers who worked in small-arms research we were able to navigate the procurement process and get a wide selection of infantry weapons.  The Paragons, Jon and I played what I like to think of as ¡°full contact laser tag¡± in a series of underground battlegrounds I had excavated with my magic.

    Luckily for me and my shield spell, the typical ¡°heavy¡± blaster hit with about a hand-grenade¡¯s worth of energy.  My shields could tank that pretty easily.  Even a military-grade anti-armor blaster rifle, the Star Wars equivalent to a modern anti-material fifty-cal, came in at a damage level that was well within what my shields could deal with.

    Starship grade weaponry was a different matter.  Shields on spacecraft were designed to stop meteorites as well as enemy attacks.  A basketball sized meteorite travelling at ten percent the speed of light had an energy of over six megatons of TNT.  Granted, that¡¯s a large meteorite (easily picked up on sensors), and travelling extremely fast, but it illustrates a point.  Military grade starship blasters were designed to overcome not just the sort of shield used against space debris, but other military grade defenses (plus the armor beneath), and typically hit with kilotons of energy.  So it was even better for me, that my shields tended to treat a contained bolt as ¡°one attack¡±.

    Unfortunately, my shields did not treat a sing beam, whether of laser or particles, as one attack.  Rather, they wore down successive layers of shield until they penetrated.  However, there was one bit of good news; particle-beam style blasters were shit in atmosphere.  Pretty much useless, actually.  Without the containment, they pretty much instantly interacted with the atmospheric gasses, caused a thermal bloom, and dissipated the energy.  They didn¡¯t even really heat the ground way below; considering that Texas got around 700 terawatts of sunlight at noon, or about a hundred and sixty kilotons of TNT worth every second, it was easy to understand why a spaceship¡¯s blaster beams were ineffective.

    Beam technology blasters were used in spaceships because the beam-type blasters could get faster travel speeds, which meant increased ranges.  Though, to be fair, most larger ships did also have some containment-tech blasters which tended to hit harder though at lower range, sort of like a carronade from the age sail versus a canon.  These blasters were intended for close in slugging matches, but also worked for planetary bombardment.

    Lasers were uncommon for hand-weapons.  The typical technology used was excited-plasma pumped lasers.  Modern Earth had the idea for these, using nuclear bombs or reactors to pump lasers that could intercept missiles or aircraft.  With better materials, energy storage, and blaster technology it was possible to miniaturize it enough to be a (particularly bulky) infantry weapon; there just didn¡¯t seem to be much of a point, save for some extremely expensive, finicky, ultra-long-range sniper rifles for assassinations but those were as much myth as reality, like ice-bullets back on Earth.

    But on the larger scale, these laser weapons were great.  Space-combat, unlike ground combat, tends to start at extreme range.  The cross section of the enemy, their acceleration and thus dodging, your weapon¡¯s accuracy, targeting, fire rate, and often most importantly your weapon¡¯s speed all determine how far away you can engage.

    There were a lot of weapons designers trying to eke out that bit of extra speed or power in their blasters.  Some even used lasers to do so, which led to the term ¡°laser-enhanced blaster cannon,¡± often (and confusingly) shortened to simple ¡°laser-cannon.¡±  But ultimately, nothing was faster than light, and so true laser weaponry became a mainstay of space combat.

    Unfortunately, lasers were also relatively easy to protect against.  Reflective chaff countermeasures, layers of heat-absorbing liquid that would boil and expand into clouds that further reduced the laser¡¯s intensity, and some layers of highly reflective heat-resistant materials mixed into the hull armor were all highly effective at protecting against lasers.  These counter-measures could get pricy, but were common on larger dedicated warships.  Meanwhile, lasers hit a relatively small area with further limited their damage and would often miss more important components, or fail to penetrate to those hidden on the inner layers of large ships. Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

    To make things worse, the energy efficiency of lasers was low on the weapon side compared to blasters.  Energy efficiency was one of the most important factors in space combat.  Ships couldn¡¯t get rid of heat quickly enough.  At rest, a ship could bleed heat via black body radiation and numerous engineered mechanisms.

    In combat, running extra energy to the shields, weapons, engines, acceleration compensators, and sensors, a ship would have to store the heat in limited heat-sinks and dump it with typically limited stores of coolant.  In some of the worst galactic naval engagements, it wasn¡¯t unusual for crews to end up cooked alive by their own ship¡¯s heat.

    Between countermeasures reducing damage, relatively small impact damage, and low energy efficiency, lasers weren¡¯t the best tool against enemy capital ships.  But they excelled at taking down fast moving small-craft including fighters and smaller ships.

    Capital ships were ruinously expensive to outfit with top of the line acceleration compensators.  For some perspective, the Lucrehulk was a three kilometer by three kilometer by one kilometer donut shaped battleship that the Trade Federation used based on a super freighter designed for their larger deliveries.  Recently, with their armament rights, they¡¯d adapted some half-finished freighters into these Lucrehulk battleships.

    The estimated price tag for one of those puppies was right around forty million credits, and that was with the Trade Federation using droid workers and asteroid mining to drive costs all the way down.  They came with a class two hyperdrive, which was good for something that large.  But, they could only pull three hundred G¡¯s of acceleration.

    A high quality fighter could pull three thousand.  The Nabooian N1¡¯s could pull four thousand if the pilots red-lined it.  If the Trade Federation wanted their ship to be able to pull a relatively modest twenty five hundred G¡¯s, it would raise the cost by about a billion credits.  This was obviously prohibitively expensive.

    So in short, the biggest ships were a lot slower in combat, and were large targets.  Thus hitting them with relatively slow moving blasters made sense.  On the other hand, picking off fast corvettes, fighters and missiles with blaster-turrets was often an exercise in futility.  For that, ships used lasers.  A capital ship would typically carry ones powerful enough to do serious damage to light frigates.

    Lasers were popular on fighters and small-craft as well, since their typical threat were other fighters and small craft.  In other words, lightly or unarmored, densely packed with critical components, but very fast and maneuverable.  For larger targets they used concussion missiles designed to spread shock and damage electrical components, or proton torpedoes that used small anti-matter charges, some of which made explosions big enough to threaten even a capital ship.

    And unlike unconstrained blaster beams, lasers weren¡¯t so affected by atmosphere as to be useless against targets on the ground or in-atmosphere.  Blaster containment got very tricky at high speed, which meant dual-role fighters capable of both atmospheric and aerospace dogfighting often used lasers rather than blasters, with optional missiles or torpedoes to deal with armored ground targets.

    Long story short, something capable of damaging a frigate could easily penetrate my projectile shield, and something designed to target fighters pulling four thousand gravity evasive maneuvers wouldn¡¯t have much problem targeting me either.

    =================================

    Thankfully, designing an anti-laser shield wasn¡¯t difficult.  I just needed something that would perfectly reflect away incident light over a certain intensity, and a thermal shield behind the reflector that would prevent the heat from building up.  It was a simple twist of spells that I already understood within White, and something I could incorporate into my Projectile Shield enchantment.  To avoid letting people paint me with a targeting laser, I even set the shield to reflect in a diffuse manner with a gap where the laser originated from.

    Then, as a backup, I figured out how to change the path of a laser using Red.  Underneath the reflectance was now a redirect that would have the laser bend around the projectile shield before continuing its path behind me.  With all of the different layers of shielding, each one first reflective, then redirecting the laser, I felt sufficiently secure.  It wasn¡¯t perfect, and there was some energy drain, but tests with Sora showed that, assuming there were no other incoming types of damage, I could resist the combined weight of a capital ships¡¯ laser weapons pretty much indefinitely as my shields would regenerate at about the same rate they were drained.

    Somewhat inspired, I decided to design the anti-particle beam shield right afterwards.  There were three main threats with a particle beam, or unconstrained blaster.  Some, by far and away the most common, caused damage with extremely high velocity, typical fractional-c, beams of high energy particles.  Others, a very small minority, less than a fraction of a percent, fired beams of very small quantities of antimatter.  Anti-matter was expensive, difficult to contain, and dangerous to the ship if the turret was damaged, but it also caused fairly extreme damage, and was highly compact and energy efficient compared to other weapons of similar yield.

    Between these, there were three primary threats my ship would be faced with by particle-beam technologies: the kinetic energy of the particles, the inherent (thermal, ionic, etc) energy of the particles, and possibly the anti-matter potential.

    With a few quick experiments, I found out that it was actually much more efficient to turn an attack¡¯s energy against itself.  After all, an incoming attack didn¡¯t just cause damage, it released energy which whatever it hit couldn¡¯t deal with, the result of this energy being damage.  If I could store that energy, or translate it into something useful, then no more damage.

    Unfortunately, I couldn¡¯t translate that energy to magical power, then use that.  Nor could I get that energy translation to be free.  But, very small amounts of magic could translate large amounts of energy.

    Better yet, translation turned out to be a very stable structure where most of the magic went to establishing the transfer path rather than actually effecting the energy.  Sort of like building a dam, once that structure was in place the energy would flow naturally, with only a small extra magic for maintenance.

    Eventually, when I had proper auto-targeting enchantments, I planned on the defensive enchantment gathering that energy and using it to counter-fire and destroy whoever had the temerity to attack me.  However, those targeting enchantments were scheduled for after the first round of my battle-yacht¡¯s upgrades as I planned to test them against distant targets in space.  For the moment, I had to be satisfied with turning the force of the attack into a shield.

    Best of all, I could tie this enchantment into my projectile shield enchantment.  Instead of being attached to each individual layer of shield, it was the new first layer, a ditch formed from the full power of the projectile shield enchantment to catch any incoming attack¡¯s energy.  If the energy was too much, it would over-fill the defense, saturating it but not damaging it before continuing on to impact the projectile shields.

    I even managed to get a module on the enchantment functioning with phase-shifted light that could destructively interfere with incoming laser attacks.  Inspired, I added anti-hostile-magic shielding using a similar concept.  A strong enough will (for actively controlled magics) or previously unknown magical attacks might defeat it, while the redirection and control of foreign magical energies would be much more costly, but it was a massive improvement.  I attached a bit of Blue analytical magic to auto-update the shield to react to magics it was overcome by, so that any holes in the defense were automatically patched, and so that I could learn those magics myself.

    All of this cost about two percent of the shield layers, and there was a fraction of a percent of the incoming energy that bled over.  But in return, all non-magical incoming attacks were reduced by a defense that was about a thousand times stronger than my previous total combined shield strength.

    It took an attack on the tune of fifty kilotons of tnt to overwhelm that initial shield layer when we tested it on a Science! animal.

    Then there were still over a hundred conceptual shield layers below that defense, each of which were good to block a single impact of just about any magnitude, and needed about a half-ton bomb¡¯s worth to break in a single blow.

    Over time I would be able to improve the general anti-laser modules, and my shields would naturally improve in strength and number.  I was feeling pretty secure, especially since on a ship, where I could anchor a much larger enchantment, the defense that would be that much stronger.

    And thus I felt comfortable to descend into sloth, reading fantasy, watching holovids, and eating the finest foods.

    It was glorious.

 Chapter 42: Socializing and Ships

    <u>Chapter 42: Socializing and Ships</u>

    Unfortunately, Jon was not content to leave me in my indolent, fiction-consuming ways.  That was why we were at this godawful dinner party.  As much as I loved Naboo¡¯s environment, the freedom, the ability to enjoy the future, the people could be really tiresome.  Especially those who were political.

    ¡°You know, that¡¯s the real problem with the Republic,¡± this one vapid twit was saying.  She was in her twenties, blonde, svelte, fashionable, and sort of artsy in her dress.  ¡°The wealthy, the corporations, they aren¡¯t stepping up and doing their bit.¡±

    I¡¯d had enough.

    ¡°No, that¡¯s not the problem.  The problem is everyone always wants to make things someone else¡¯s problem.  Look at the Republic.  It¡¯s totally moribund. It¡¯s defunct, politically and morally.  There¡¯s no proper law enforcement; the Republic Judicial Department¡¯s a joke, and the Sector Rangers are so toothless they don¡¯t even make a pretense of enforcing the law outside of sectors which are already lawful!  There¡¯s widespread corruption, including at the highest political levels.  Sentient droid-intelligences are regularly mind wiped.  And slavery, whether de jure or de facto, slavery is a regular part of life for many so called Republican systems!

    ¡°And we sit here.  We sit here, as people are facing truly heinous shit.  Starvation, lack of clean water, easily prevented or treated illnesses, forced child conscription, systematic rape, honest-to-god slavery.  It¡¯s happening somewhere, right now.  I¡¯m not being facetious.  It¡¯s a human problem.  We had it back on my homeworld, too.

    ¡°We could certainly do something about these problems.  And I don¡¯t mean we collectively, but we individually.  You, individually.  It wouldn¡¯t be hard.  Half a credit would buy netting, allowing someone to live a life without getting infected by pathogens spread by small insects.  Half a credit per person would allow for wells and clean water supplies.  Sithspit, we could hire mercenaries to provide protection while trainers teach locals how to defend their communities.  Hire tutors, or provide droids, to improve the opportunities available to the most abandoned.  Help bring people out of poverty, out of ignorance.

    ¡°But we don¡¯t.  At the end of the day, it¡¯s just not our problem, is it?  Hell, that dirty kid who lives at the end of the street, the one with bags under their eyes from a lack of iron in their shitty diet, who flinches whenever you pass by on the sidewalk... they''re not your problem either.

    ¡°And its fucking terrible, but that''s humanity for you.  We¡¯d rather go out, drink and dine, and give no thought to how those credits could literally save lives.

    ¡°And given all that, you have the gall, the sheer fucking balls to show up here, and complain about how other people aren¡¯t doing enough?

    ¡°If you¡¯re living in the smallest, cheapest place you can that¡¯s still reasonably clean and close to work, if you eat cheap but nutritious food, avoid wasting money, and you give everything else, all that money you don¡¯t actually need to help those that do, then I¡¯ll apologize.  But if you don¡¯t¡­ if you don¡¯t you¡¯re just a fucking hypocrite.¡±

    Half the room was silent, listening to my rant.  The other half was whispering behind their hands about me.  Jon had facepalmed.  The girl I¡¯d gone off on was literally in tears.

    Her date, a young man in the local equivalent of a blazer and slacks, was glaring at me.  ¡°Oh, and you¡¯re some paragon of virtue are you?  I¡¯ve heard about you, Gangari, throwing credits around like they¡¯re water.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re right.  But I don¡¯t preach the gospel of redistribution and someone-else¡¯s-responsibility.  I don¡¯t see being here, eating this meal, spending these credits, as something immoral.  If it¡¯s your money, spend it as you like so long as you¡¯re not doing harm.  Actual harm, not just an absence of good. As far as I¡¯m concerned, among the natural rights of sentients are these: First, a right to life.  Second, to liberty.  And third, to property.  Together with the right to defend these rights in the best manner they can.

    ¡°I¡¯ll try and leave the galaxy a better place than I entered it, but that¡¯s because I¡¯m a good person.  Not because I¡¯m inherently responsible for the galaxy.  I¡¯m responsible for me and mine, and no further.¡±

    By then, the party was very, very awkward.  Our host was stuck somewhere in between glee (her party would definitely be the talk of the city), fury and embarrassment.

    ¡°If you¡¯ll excuse me, I have pressing business elsewhere,¡± I said, then got up and left, motioning to Jon to stay and do damage control.

    But I hadn¡¯t lied. I was disgusted by what I¡¯d been learning of the Republic.  As bad as Earth, including the US, or parts of it at least could be, it was nothing compared to the modern Republic.

    Honestly, I sort of blamed the Jedi.  It seemed that they¡¯d become even more fanatical and puritan than they¡¯d been portrayed as in the movies I was familiar of that depicted Revan¡¯s age.  Apparently they didn¡¯t even believe in sex anymore, which was fucking crazy considering Force abilities were known to be hereditary. It didn¡¯t even make sense considering the Jedi¡¯s founder, Nomi Sunrider, was married and had children of her own, plus there was Revan and Bastila¡¯s romance and many, many more examples among the top Jedi of various epochs ¨C all a matter of common historical record.

    To make things worse, the Jedi had absorbed a lot of the responsibilities for galactic stability.  That left something like ten thousand Jedi who were from what I could gather weaker on average than those from previous eras, trying to police ten billion times their number.  Imagine that Earth had a single high level FBI agent analogue; no matter what they did, they¡¯d be bound to fail to make a significant dent on crime (or manage anything productive really).

    I did intend to leave the Republic better than I found it.  The biggest problem was with scale.  The Republic had one thousand sectors, each with an average of a hundred thousand systems with a known Republic presence (even if it was just a navigation buoy).  Granted, most of these were very sparsely populated, but there were still around a hundred trillion Republican citizens.

    I was thinking about going after the slave trade, but that meant eventually going after the Hutts.  Hutt space, comparatively, was much more rimward, ie in the direction of the less dense collection of solar systems at the galaxy¡¯s edge, compared to the very densely populated systems in the core.  So, even though volume-wise it was about a quarter the size of the Republic on stellar maps, it had far fewer inhabitants.  Overall, the best estimates were that they had a population of about a hundred and twenty five billion, maybe twice that counting slaves and non-citizens.

    Far more than I wanted to deal with, to be honest.  Plus then I¡¯d be left holding the bag with respect to reformation, the economic upheaval, and so on for some two-hundred-fifty billion sentients.  Not exactly what I wanted to be doing.

    The other primary targets, while smaller, were still too large for me to take over at that time.  The Senex-Juvex region, ruled by a slaving aristocracy, had a population of about eighty billion.  It was much less centered around criminal enterprise, which made it far likelier as a target than Hutt space, but still too large.  The Zygerrians, a race of near-humans some twenty billion in population, ruled a part of the Chorlian sector and had a state-sponsored slavers guild responsible for taking tens of millions into slavery each year.  Despite how much I wanted to, they were still too large to go after.

    No, if I wanted to do something, my best bet was to target a simple criminal organization.  The Karazak Slavers Cooperative, based out of Karazak in the Sujimis sector in the Outer Rim territory was thought to contain some ten thousand members, while the planet itself was likely only inhabited by a few million.  The Thalassian Slavers Guild, another group of independent slavers based out of the Meram sector, were of similar size but was far to the galactic north of Naboo.

    In a few years time, when I had a small fleet of ships, and had developed a modern military force, I¡¯d show those bastards what it meant to be holding the other end of the stick.

    But it certainly said something about the Republic, that it allowed these filth to survive for centuries, especially when the slavers didn¡¯t even pretend to hide their activities and stood no chance against even the relatively toothless Republic forces.

    =================================

    It seemed that my outburst had made me a less attractive dinner companion, and over the next few months I was mostly left alone to focus on my newly arrived ship.  Jon kindly took on my social duties in my stead.  The PB-950 Platinum Executive edition arrived about a month after I entered the Star Wars reality.  I named it the Nostos, or homecoming in Greek, hoping that it would be a lucky name.

    Part of the purchase included four crewmembers who were experts with that ship class to train me and my men and droids in basic piloting, navigation, maintenance and operation of the ship.  I of course immediately took their patterns when I shook their hands; there was no way that I or my Paragons, all of us coming from relatively savage technological backgrounds, would be as skilled as the experts.

    So, in the afternoons I learned to fly and fight a modern ship, while in the mornings my engineer Sola,  and a small horde of droids and I took that ship apart.  There were three ways to improve the ship.

    First, and perhaps easiest, was applying purely magical enchantments with purely magical effects to the ship itself.  That was relatively easy, and something I didn¡¯t need Sola¡¯s help for.  But it was also limited; for the most part, it only really meant that my ship had a layer of magical shielding on top of its technological measures.  Granted, that magical shielding would allow it to at least survive and escape from even a capital ship¡¯s attentions (at least for a little bit of time), but it was still limited in improving the ship¡¯s function.

    This basic upgrade formed the Mk. 1 Nostos.

    Second, and still fairly easy but tedious was improving the function of different components through the use of my magic.  This took the part of imbuing devices with color-oriented conceptual upgrades, as well as improving the technological functions of different parts.  A ship has a lot of parts, but they can be roughly grouped into a few sections: hull (including armor), shields, hyperdrive, sub-light drive, inertial compensators, power-plant, sensors, navigation, communications, life-support and armament.

    Third, and strictly for the future, was designing a ship from the ground up to work with magic.  A true, optimized fusion of technology and magic.  Eventually I had plans for massive living ships, balanced between different mana sources and capable of acting as their own mana-wells to power their enchantments.  But that was definitely for the distant future.

    We tested using the Valyrian blessing on various materials, and found that it worked best on metals, giving a proportional upgrade.  I immediately added making a set of Valyrian steel blades out of Songsteel and acquiring Beskar armor for my men to my to-do list, though I didn¡¯t have the time deal with it then.The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

    It was a good thing that I could summon up extra material once I had its pattern; Sola quickly fell in love with the idea of using Beskar throughout the ship, and there wasn¡¯t enough of the rare metal available on the entire galactic market for a ship even so small as the Nostos.

    But when it came down to it, raw materials were easy.  What was time consuming was improving individual components in all the myriad of ways that I could, then sending parts off for testing.  After individual components were understood, they would be put together into larger and larger sub-units of the ship¡¯s devices, with settings refined to account for the changed performance.

    Each time, they would need more testing to see how that larger unit operated, especially as different parts¡¯ magic interacted with each other.  Sometimes this was synergistic, sometimes it was very much not.  Eventually, we ended up with individual parts which were then ready for re-inclusion into the ship.

    This was a time consuming process, though much of that was basic tests that the droids, or sometimes outside expert engineering consulting services did in the background.  Everything was going about to schedule, which listed twenty weeks to complete the Mk.2 Nostos.  It was going to be a real beauty.

    The hull was the first part upgraded, and in many ways the easiest as it was only really structural.  We used a combination of phrik, a very durable and light metal, with beskar (also called Mandalorian iron) which was denser but even more durable.  A thin skin of durasteel was applied on top to avoid sensors detecting the beskar, then a sensor-deflecting coating on top of that.

    My previous training in smithing, and experience in making Valyrian blades allowed me to figure out how to give it the concept of defense, much like a Valyrian sword had the concept of cutting.  This made the hull more than simply blessed; it was true Valyrian armor.  The sensor deflecting coating was further enhanced with the Blue concept of avoiding notice.  The whole thing was further enhanced with my recently developed anti-laser and anti-particle shielding, then given White-based conceptual armor, and projectile shields attached to large enchantment points made from my enhanced dragon-bone.

    I had wanted to use a layer of ultrachrome, a silvery super-conductor that excelled at deflecting laser blasts, over a layer of living ice which would massively improve resistance to laser-attacks.  Unfortunately, that proved impossible.  On Naboo, only the Royal Yacht was allowed to be entirely coated in ultrachrome, and even markings using it were reserved for vessels in royal service.

    Further, there were issues with powering active enchantments on spaceships.  Unlike when on a planet, where the enchantments¡¯ mana stores could and would recharge from the ambient mana field, in space there was no ambient mana.  That meant that unless I was present, the enchantments would run down as they were used.  That was one of the major reasons behind my desire to develop fully integrated techno-magical living ships, which could serve as their own mana source.

    Short of that, or developing a way to transfer mana over massive distances without my own attention and input, having active enchantment effects form a critical part of the structural stability of the ship was insane.  Passive magical upgrades, like the use of Valyrian-modified metals, either didn¡¯t degrade, or did so slowly enough as not to matter.

    The general upgrade to the efficiency, resilience, conductivity, and other desired behavior of different electrical components made a massive improvement to the more sophisticated components as well.

    The biggest improvement was in the power-plant; by reducing resistance in electrical connections, that massively reduced heat buildup.  Improving material performance for the reactor vessel reduced wear, increased life-expectancy, and most importantly allowed for a higher-energy reaction to take place, increasing peak power availability when it was needed.

    The shields also experienced massive improvements.  There were two critical metrics for shield performance: peak output, and maximum recharge rate.  Peak output determined how large of an impact the shields could resist before the shield generator overloaded.  Maximum recharge rate impacted how well they held up against sustained bombardment.  Both depended a lot on how resilient the shield parts were, and improved by orders of magnitude with my magical treatments.  Efficiency, which affected shield strength as well as waste-heat, which limited shield sustainment times both improved as well, though not as significantly.

    With ultra-rare and high performance alloys, as well as the magical enhancement, my hull gave protection several times better than a typical frigate¡¯s per unit surface area.  Between all of the improvements to the shields, the greater power-draw they could take from the improved power-plant, and the relatively small area they had to cover, the shields had the performance expected of a frigate, rather than a humble patrol boat.

    Considering that my ship was a much smaller target than a frigate, and there were magical shields and improvements too, its survivability was far superior.

    The inertial compensators and sub-light drive were together responsible for how fast the ship could accelerate outside of hyperspace.  A normal Platinum Executive version of the PB-950 could manage two thousand g¡¯s of acceleration, which was good, and only really beaten by dedicated space-superiority fighters and interceptors.  Fully upgraded and enchanted, the new drives were projected to manage four thousand g¡¯s of acceleration, fully twice as good as before, and at least as fast as all but the most agile interceptor-fighters.

    The weapons saw similar improvements, hitting harder and firing faster than they could have been expected to do otherwise.  The ship came with a quad laser cannon, which was mostly effective against fighters and lightly protected civilian freighters commonly used by smugglers.  After being upgraded, it was powerful enough to be effective against heavier fighters and bombers, as well as light patrol craft like the PB-950.  The nose-mounted ion cannons, designed to immobilize small craft and unshielded freighters for capture experienced comparable improvements.

    But overall, the PB-950 wasn¡¯t really designed to go against other warships, focusing on customs patrol and anti-fighter work.  It was a lack that Sola was planning on correcting in the future with the addition of one or more options out of blaster turrets, proton torpedoes and magically-powered spell-cannons, but that was for later generations of the Nostos.

    This meant that the big winner weapons wise were the concussion missiles.  Between an enchantment with enough mana to generate four times as many missile reloads as the ship normally carried, as well as the enhancement to missile speed and targeting, magical protection against point defense fire, and huge improvement in payload damage, the concussion missiles made the ship a legitimate threat to a corvette or even, with a bit of luck, a frigate.  Worst case, between the Nostos and a frigate, the Nostos should at least be able to damage it enough with the missiles to render it combat ineffective and then escape.

    Ironically the biggest upgrade to the weapons effectiveness wasn¡¯t in the weapons themselves, but in the sensors.  I managed to get the sensors to not just operate better, with a greater ability to sense what was truly there at a greater distance, but to be precognitive by a full two and a half seconds.  In space combat, time was distance.  Two and a half seconds meant that the effective range of any laser weapon increased by seven hundred and fifty thousand kilometers when their normal effective range was a tenth of that.

    In the Star Wars universe, there was one group that easily claimed the position of top-dogs when it came to fighter-pilots: the Jedi.  From looking at records of space-combat, I estimated that a good Jedi Ace, their pilot specialists, might have as many as five full seconds of precog in combat.  This meant they were almost never hit, and almost always hit their own targets.

    I wondered at first why people used actual flesh and blood pilots, rather than removing the human from the equation to eke out a bit of extra acceleration and remove all the cost for life support.  Then I looked at statistics that showed trained fighter pilots managed a .1 second precognitive advantage, did a back of the envelope calculation, and understood.

    Without precognition (in other words with a drone pilot) for a ship firing a hundred pulse laser burst (which many ships could manage in about a tenth of a second and is a fairly normal targeting time for a fighter), there is a 18% chance of at least one hit on a typically-sized enemy fighter at .35 seconds distance (ie, one hundred thousand kilometers range with a laser). This improves to 54% chance of landing a hit with that trained fighter pilot.

    Now, that¡¯s for 0.1 seconds precognition.  A Jedi pilot will land every shot at that range, and into critical components too.  And now, with my new sensor system, my ship¡¯s auto-aimer was about as good as a standard, non-specialized Jedi-knight.  I could upgrade individuals with enchantments to have a similar level of precognition on top of that, though there were significantly diminishing returns using a precognitive operator on the precognitive sensors.  My sensors combined with the improved acceleration also meant that my ship was nightmarishly dodgy.

    Navigation was harder to improve with magic.  Overall, I could make the computer slightly faster, and used a Blue-based precognition effect to skip over actually calculating things, instead looking into the future that would-have-happened had the computer actually done the calculations.  That made it possible to do more complex navigational maneuvers much faster, especially for hyperspace translations.  But while it would help with blockade-running, it wasn¡¯t the sort of massive advantage that I saw in other improvements.

    Similarly, the actual hyperdrive was something I was wary of fucking with too much.  Hyperspace physics were¡­ difficult.  The hyperdrive itself was basically archeotech, and despite tens of millennia of research its underlying principles weren¡¯t actually well understood.  Faster drive ratings were as much luck as they were proper experimentation, and the best drives were uniformly manufactured with the aid of force-sensitive individuals who just ¡°felt¡± how things should be.  Because of that, I could basically make the hyperdrive be much, much more resilient, harder to break, and with increased range, but the speed difference was minor.  That said, it was already 1.0 class drive, which was as fast as was commercially available.  Even with military vessels, only a few nations fielded faster ships, and almost all were top-priority couriers.  Anything else was just too expensive and high maintenance.

    Hyperdrive navigation was something that did improve, mostly due to sensor improvement and precognition.  Navigating outside of the main hyperlanes was very difficult, requiring long scan periods followed by micro-jumps or the use of sub-light drives.  This wasn¡¯t because the drives didn¡¯t work outside of the hyperlanes, but because impacting matter while partially phased out of reality tended to have a negligible effect on the real-space matter and absolutely catastrophic results on the phased matter.  Hitting a pea while using a hyperdrive could totally destroy even a capital ship.

    By using the improved precognitive sensors, collisions could be avoided which made micro-jumps much more viable, and decreased the risk of leaving hyperspace near to a pirate ship, minefield, or other hazard.

    Communications likewise saw relatively minor gains.  The ship came equipped with a HoloNet terminal which included a hyperwave transceiver.  HoloNet communications, especially placing calls, were very pricy, though also fairly long range; there were few places they could not be used, almost none within the borders of the Republic.  The ship also had a subspace transceiver.  Limited to ten light years in range and less expensive than the HoloNet, it still cost on the order of ten credits or a roughly a hundred dollars a minute to relay a call through a corporate or governmental transceiver.  Finally there were a slew of tight-beam laser and radio communication systems.  All of these were improved in range, fidelity, and difficulty to intercept by my magic.  That said, it was really gilding the lily; the systems the ship came equipped with were excellent, and it was unlikely I¡¯d face a situation that the upgrades were actually necessary.

    The last area that did get a major upgrade was life-support.  The biggest issues with life-support were heat-management, air and water.  Air and water freshening enchantments were simple, and made the ship much more pleasant for longer journeys, keeping the air and water as pure and clean as it was on Naboo, avoiding any issues with smells or metallic taste as it was cycled and recycled.

    My conceptual enchantments to help the heat-sinks to shed heat faster were highly effective, and a full order of magnitude more emergency coolant was automatically summonable to refill the stores as they were used.  Considering cooling down from weapons fire and shield usage was a major combat issue, that also improved combat endurance.

    As an emergency measure, the ship had enchantments to teleport all of the crew to emergency bunkers on Naboo if it were about to suffer catastrophic damage.

    Overall, the Nostos was basically a light frigate in armament, with a heavy frigate¡¯s survivability and a fighter-bomber¡¯s agility, all piloted with the level of skill expected from Jedi knights.  It was utterly monstrous.

    I was really pleased with it, and very much looking forward to putting all the different systems together in the ship at the same time for its final tests.  I was even planning on seeing if I could manage to make the ship self-regenerating.

    In other words, all was good in the world.

    And then, a mere fortnight before my ship would have been ready, that fool child of a queen and those greedy bastards in the Trade Federation all decided to drink idiot juice and escalate the disagreement over plasma rights.

    Amidala ordered a cessation of exports, and a halt to all plasma production.

    In retaliation to that, and to recent changes in Republic taxation laws from Coruscant which were aimed at weakening the Trade Federation, the Trade Federation decided to take action.  They sent eight of their lucrehulks to blockade Naboo, and shut down all food production.

    Naboo was under siege.

    And my ship was literally in pieces.

    Fuck my life.

 Chapter 43: Farmer

    <u>Chapter 43: Farmer</u>

    I sat at the head of a conference table.  To my left was Jon as my general second in command.  Sola, my ship/weapons designer was to my right.  Also present were Captain Orson Willard, a summoned version of Sir Barristan whose divergences had led to superior performance and thus being appointed commander of my Paragon bodyguard company, and Leon Dannuz, a copy of a recent Nabooian college graduate who I had created to serve as my assistant/secretary.

    ¡°So, Sola, what can you tell me about the Trade Federation forces?¡± I asked.

    She snorted.  ¡°Do you want the good news, or the bad news?¡±

    ¡°Bad, then good, please,¡± I replied.

    ¡°Well, bad news first then,¡± she said with a slightly sadistic smirk.  ¡°Although the Trade Federation calls them ¡°battleships¡±, Lucrehulks are really carriers.  Each one has fifteen hundred Vulture fighter droids.  And the Trade Federation has shown up with eight ships.  Worse, because the Vultures are droids, as long as they¡¯re in low-power mode they can stay away from the ship indefinitely.  The Trade Federation should have total orbital dominance, and running the blockade will be close to impossible for conventional ships.  In other words, without the Nostos being fully functional, or the arrival of a Republic battle-group, nothing¡¯s getting off planet.

    ¡°Other than the Vultures, on the Trade Federation fleet there are around two-point-two-five million B1 infantry droids, four thousand armored troop transports, and about fifty thousand hover tanks.  The troop transports each carry a company of one hundred and twelve B1¡¯s; those not in armored vehicles are mounted on unarmed, unarmored troop carriers.  Using their full complement of over four hundred C-9979 landing craft, that entire army is orbital-assault ready, and can be dropped in a single wave.

    ¡°Now, that¡¯s the official complement for the Lucrehulk class.  Generally speaking, these ships are really armed freighters, not dedicated warships.  There¡¯s still room for up to four hundred million more B1 droids, if the ships are totally packed with them.  In other words, they may have come with enough troops to put one in every household on Naboo.¡±

    ¡°Sorry, just one second,¡± I interrupted, causing Sola to pout a bit.  ¡°Jon, what did you find for Nabooian forces?¡±

    He laughed a bit, looking at his tablet where he¡¯d written down some numbers.  ¡°Far less than that.  Over a population of about one point two billion Republic citizens, there are about two point four million law-enforcement officers and security forces.  But of those, there are only a hundred and twenty five thousand armed police, only fifty thousand of whom carry lethal weapons.  Granted, they¡¯re all very well trained, highly experienced, and carefully picked.  But they carry anti-personnel weapons, or ones designed to take down at most lightly armored vehicles.  Not much good against a tank.  And they¡¯re used to fighting drug dealers, kidnappers, the occasional lunatic.  Not enemy militaries.

    ¡°As for arming the population, that would be a long shot, if you¡¯d pardon the pun.  There are two point eight million registered long-arm owners, and nine million short-range gun owners.  Most of these are only hunting-weight though, and would be of limited effectiveness against even a minimally armored target.  I doubt that even a B1 would be taken out in a single shot, and most shots would need to hit more vulnerable locations.

    ¡°As for proper military equipment, the Nabooians have five fighter squadrons, each of which have a dozen N-1 starfighters.  They¡¯re nice ships, but not two-hundred to one nice.¡±

    ¡°So it looks like Naboo had better hope for a diplomatic solution,¡± I said.  ¡°Sola, you said there was some good news?¡±

    ¡°Right,¡± she nodded.  ¡°Good news.  While the Trade Federation forces are great on paper, they¡¯re fairly shit in practice.  I could go on about the reasons: legal limitations, design by committee, evaluation criteria, issues with how comparison testing was run, inherent conceptual flaws in the battle-doctrine, and overly credit-conscious selection decisions.¡± She looked at me.  I was interested in those, sure, but it hardly mattered at that moment why the Trade Federation equipment sucked, more how it did, and how we could take advantage. I shook my head and motioned for her to go on.

    ¡°But you¡¯re not that interested,¡± she continued.  ¡°Instead, I¡¯ll go down the list, and mention what those flaws are and how to take advantage.  First, the Lucrehulk ships themselves.  They¡¯re not designed to be involved in combat, at all.  The shields haven¡¯t been significantly changed.  That means that while they have a fair amount of endurance, because the ship itself is huge and thus they have a lot of power available, individual shield segments aren¡¯t designed to protect against more than incidental environmental damage.  Fighter-weight torpedoes would likely be highly effective; hells, a heavy assault boat¡¯s blasters may be.  Then, the hull isn¡¯t heavily armored, and the support structure isn¡¯t designed to take heavy damage.  Nor are the ships heavily gunned; they only have forty-two quad-laser batteries to cover the entire ship.  There are numerous blind spots close in, and few approaches are heavily invested to the point that a typical light frigate would have significant issues.  In short, the carriers are very soft targets.

    ¡°The problem of course is getting past the Vultures, so I¡¯ll address those next.  They were designed to fulfill all aerial roles, and as a result are a poor compromise.  Because the Trade Federation wanted to make sure they could support ground troops, they went with a relatively high-power four blaster cannon configuration rather than lasers.  But that means that in space combat they are very short ranged, relying on high speed to close with the enemy.  To take on heavier targets they carry a pair of energy torpedo launchers; again, the lack of aiming means a limited range against other fast targets, but they can be effective against larger ships.  As a cost-saving measure, they aren¡¯t equipped with the very best inertial compensators, so they are somewhat slower than top-of-the-line fighters.  Nor are they shielded.  Most critically, they only carry enough energy to last thirty five minutes at full combat power.  So the best way to fight them is at long range with lasers, staying out of their engagement window, and using high-acceleration evasive maneuvers to reduce the chances of a lucky shot.

    ¡°As for the landing craft, they are large, only lightly armored, and very lightly armed.  As such, they are hilariously unsuited to making contested landings, and without fighter support are highly vulnerable.  If Naboo had a sufficient quantity of camouflaged ground-to-orbit weapon emplacements, they¡¯d be fairly easy prey, but to the best of my knowledge we don¡¯t.

    ¡°The Federation armor, on the other hand, is fairly good.  Their tanks in particular are well armed.  That said, all of their armor is unshielded, tends to be relatively lightly armored, and has large profiles which is a definite negative for armored-warfare.  Their troop carriers, both armored and not, are too large to fit into small urban environments, and the armored troop transports discharge their forces to the front, leaving them vulnerable when dismounting in combat.  The single limitation all of their ground vehicles share is that they are slow, ranging in speed from thirty five to fifty five kilometers per hour.  Between their lack of speed, large size, relatively weak armor, and forward-focused firing arcs, Trade Federation mechanized ground forces are vulnerable to rapidly repositioned guerilla style attacks.

    ¡°The B1 droids themselves were not designed with open combat in mind.  They are very much ¡°lowest bidder¡± options, and their guns are typically poorly calibrated, leading to very low accuracy.  Further, the guns skimped on heat management to reduce costs; an unforeseen side effect of this means that after they are fired, parts become misaligned and accuracy suffers.  The droids work fine for defending cargoes, or assaulting in the short-ranged, narrow confines of a space station, but are less effective otherwise.¡±

    Sola had been speaking for a while, and was mostly reading off of her tablet, but now she looked up happily.  ¡°Last, and most important, is an issue that the entire Trade Federation force shares.  They¡¯re stupid.  And I mean that very literally; their droids don¡¯t have actual droid intelligences.  The cost of hundreds of thousands of droid-minds might have doubled the cost of each ship¡¯s complement.  And we all know how cheap the Federation is.

    ¡°Instead, they¡¯re run from central computers located on the Lucrehulks; with an army this big, and the possibility of the entire army operating at the same time on planet, they¡¯ll need a control ship too.  While some dumb programs will be on each droid, all the intelligent decisions will be subject to lag.  Not to mention the possibilities this opens for jamming signals, or destroying the control ship.  Either of those will knock out the droid forces until the signal is restored, or another ship can take command.¡±

    Orson grinned ferally.  ¡°That is good news.  Say the word, my lord, and me and the lads¡¯ll go take the control ship for you.¡±

    I chuckled.  ¡°Don¡¯t be so enthusiastic, Captain.  It hasn¡¯t come to actual war between Naboo and the Trade Federation yet, and even if it does so long as we¡¯re left alone we won¡¯t involve ourselves.  The last thing I want are Jedi, Sith, or even simply mundane powers breathing down our necks.  But you and Sola should brief your men; come up with a list of equipment we can either procure or produce that might be useful as well.¡±

    ¡°What about the trials you did?¡± Sola asked.

    I winced.  ¡°You mean of the Nostos over in Westeros?¡± I clarified.  Sola had, by this point, been fully briefed on my magic.

    ¡°That¡¯s right,¡± she nodded.

    I could see Jon grinning off to the side.  ¡°Oh, stop it, Jon,¡± I snapped.

    He laughed.  ¡°Stop what?¡± he asked innocently.

    ¡°Grinning,¡± I grumbled.

    ¡°I can¡¯t!¡± he chuckled.  ¡°It was just too funny!¡±

    Sola looked at us like we were a pair of idiots.  ¡°Care to share, boys?¡±

    I sat back, and waved at Jon in permission.The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

    ¡°So, Odysseus was so excited to try out high technology back in Westeros, start the technological revolution in his lands,¡± he began.  ¡°He sends some equipment over, and what happens?  Nothing.¡±

    ¡°What?¡± Sola gasped.  ¡°What do you mean?  What went wrong?¡±

    Jon just smiled.  ¡°Nothing happened.  Nothing at all.¡±

    I interrupted his gloating.  ¡°He¡¯s right.  My best guess is that the physical laws are subtly different.  Purely chemical explosives worked reasonably within estimates.  But anything electronic¡­ not so much.¡±

    ¡°Damn it!¡± Sola hissed.  ¡°So there¡¯s no way to test the ship then?¡±

    I shook my head.  ¡°None.¡±

    She looked at me irately.  ¡°And you didn¡¯t think to send out some of your Ravens to other planets before we were blockaded?¡±

    I rolled my eyes.  ¡°You already know the answer to that question.¡±

    ¡°Look on the bright side,¡± Jon interjected.  ¡°At least we have a good reason to tell the Palace why we can¡¯t provide any significant forces.¡±

    ¡°Whatever,¡± Sola huffed.  ¡°If we¡¯re all done, then?  Because if so, Sir Orson and I have some work to be getting to.  I need to make some new weapons because someone failed to take basic measures that would have let us use the Nostos platform as planned.¡±

    ¡°Yes, yes. And I am most sorry and appreciative, Sola,¡± I replied.  ¡°But no, that was basically it.  If nothing changes, we¡¯ll meet again in a week.¡±

    =================================

    Luckily for me and Naboo, nothing did change.  Oh, food got scarcer, and tensions continued to increase.  The Queen left for a negotiation with TF representatives, only to be attacked by ¡°pirates¡±.  That fiction fooled no-one; it was obvious that the Federation was growing tired of the situation.  Senator Palpatine, Naboo¡¯s representative on Coruscant, attempted to increase political pressure on the Trade Federation, though apparently ineffectively.

    Honestly, from what I could gather from local and galactic news sources, this whole thing was Amidala¡¯s fault.  Her overly idealistic concept of ¡°fairness¡± and profit sharing meant that instead of offering a deal which was better for Naboo, and still great for the Trade Federation (if a bit less so), while setting the stage for future negotiations to close the gap even more, she went for a ¡°my way or the highway¡± approach.  Needless to say, said approach backfired, and now Naboo¡¯s trade dispute had ballooned into Naboo being both example (not to fuck with) and a hostage that the Trade Federation was using in an attempt to re-establish highly profitable tax exemptions.

    But still, something wasn¡¯t quite right.  The Federation were acting far too arrogantly, aggressively.  They were, despite everything, a trade company.  I¡¯d seen less aggression from expansionist warlords.  The fact of the matter was that as a trade company, the Federation was highly vulnerable to actions from local governments as well as the Republic.  Their aggressive stance could easily result in widespread sanctions and penalties.

    Still, food supplies were running low due to the Trade Federation¡¯s cessation of its agricultural labor.  After three weeks, starvation was becoming more and more likely.  People had complained immensely when perishable luxury foods weren¡¯t available; now, there was panic and unrest.  Even with rationing, Naboo was looking at about one and a half weeks before food started to run out; hoarding and transportation snafus had already resulted in limited cases of starvation.

    To make matters worse, if someone didn¡¯t get things working in the farms soon, the harvests designed to feed the planet for the next weeks to months would start to rot.  It wasn¡¯t all farms that were down, but between transportation shortages and the farm-bot shutdown that hit most of big-agriculture, Naboo¡¯s food supply was sitting at about thirty percent of what it was before the blockade.  At starvation rations they could support only three quarters of the population long term, and short term reserves were running dry due to a focus on just-in-time, super-ripe produce.

    There¡¯s an economic theory about supply and demand of essential goods in a shortage.  Basically, let¡¯s say when you have a small excess (say, ten percent more than is needed), food costs five credits a day; pretty much everyone is eating, other than a very few people who can¡¯t look after themselves.  At par, in other words with just enough food, food might cost seven credits a day; some people are probably hungry while others have excess, but again generally speaking people don¡¯t starve.

    Now, reduce that slight excess further from just enough to a slight deficit and things get interesting.  Food is no longer five or seven credits a day; it¡¯s twenty, fifty, a hundred.  In a free market system, people will pay whatever they can for essential goods needed to live.  In other words, the food will end up priced so that it is unaffordable for however many people to starve (whether partially or in full) as is needed to re-balance the food supply.

    That was where Naboo was.  That¡¯s where shit goes crazy, law and order breaks down, people die and peasants storm Bastilles.  People will do anything to eat, and almost no-one on Naboo had ever gone hungry, not properly at least.  Things were, in short, fucked up.

    This gave me a massive opportunity.

    =================================

    Queen Amidala was in her makeup and regalia, her face impassive, but I could sense the worry and stress wafting off of her.  Despite the almost armor-thick makeup, she was just so young.  Honestly, why this planet thought electing a teenager was a good idea was completely beyond me.  I mean, look at the result - a year in office, and the place was blockaded and starving.

    ¡°We are told you have a proposal to end the food shortages, Mr. Gangari,¡± she pronounced.

    ¡°Yes, Your Majesty.¡±

    ¡°We have read your proposal, and are not impressed.¡±

    Girl, you¡¯re fourteen, I thought.  I could give a shit about you being impressed, but I don¡¯t.

    ¡°I am sorry to hear that, Your Majesty.  Perhaps I might answer any issues you have?¡± I answered as if butter wouldn¡¯t melt in my mouth.

    I could see her clench her teeth.  ¡°Perhaps you can explain to Us why We should give all of Naboo¡¯s farms to you,¡± she stated with icy sarcasm.  And a bit of exaggeration too; I didn¡¯t want all the farms, just the ones currently shuttered by the Trade Federation.

    ¡°Because I can get operational again, Your Majesty.  As my pilot project demonstrated.  And the alternative is starvation.¡±

    And that was the beauty of my plan.  It turned out that I could overwrite the essential command code for a droid, essentially taking control of it.  It wasn¡¯t a cheap process mana-wise, growing exponentially more expensive as the droid was more intelligent, but farming droids were generally sub-sapient.  As a pilot, I had bought one of the farms which was owned by a Nabooian but previously administered by the Trade Federation, and converted it to my control.

    Naboo needed food, and Amidala refused to concede to the Trade Federation to get it.  I was the only other option.  And when you control something someone needs for survival, well, is any price too steep?

    She stared me in the eye.  ¡°We could order you to repeat your actions.¡±

    I raised an eyebrow.  ¡°Without pay?  Why, Your Majesty, that would be slavery, and a very dangerous precedent.¡±

    She half-raised herself out of her throne.  ¡°That is hardly-!¡± she exclaimed before regaining control of herself and sitting back down.  If she were savvier, she¡¯d probably force me to accept some more reasonable remuneration.  But she wasn¡¯t ¨C that¡¯s the problem with child rulers.  ¡°This is extortion.¡±

    ¡°No, Your Majesty.  This is business.  And, I will admit, a bit of punishment.  Your noble Nabooian landowners surrendered control of your food supply.  If I am to become responsible for Naboo¡¯s produce, I will ensure that it is secure.  And I will be responsible.  I refuse to bail out those so foolish as to allow the Trade Federation their monopoly, creating this situation.  Not without reward.¡±  This was a pretty pointed remark in general, as that foolishness could be applied to the entirety of Naboo¡¯s economy.  I could tell from her spike of inner turmoil that she understood my subtext.

    To her side, one of her advisors, an older male, leant over and whispered in her ear.  Little did they know, I could hear every word.  ¡°Your Majesty, I strongly advise we take his offer, however distasteful.  We can hardly risk otherwise, given the circumstances, and how we came to be in them.¡±  He was right.  Honestly, with the current state of affairs I gave it two weeks before the populace revolted and overthrew the government.  At that point, the Trade Federation would probably end up practically owning the whole planet and all its inhabitants soon after.

    At that reproach, the queen ducked her head, closing her eyes for a moment in shame.  Then she looked up at me.  ¡°Very well, Mr. Gangari.  For every farm you restore to working order before this crisis is over, you will own it.  Of the goods produced for the next hundred years, you will have fifty percent, with twenty-five percent resting with the original owner, and twenty-five percent the Nabooian throne.  After that, you, or your heirs, will have sixty percent, and the throne forty.  No other taxes will be levied.  In return, you must ensure that agricultural yields do not fall below eighty percent of what they currently are, or the farms may be re-apportioned.¡±

    It was a little off from what I had offered, but I¡¯d take it.  Honestly, it was fairly clever of her; even a quarter of the food supply, especially if she took her quarter in lower-cost grains, would be enough to ensure a basic food ration for the Nabooians who couldn¡¯t afford better.  Granted they¡¯d be hungry, and a low-calorie boring diet is no fun for anyone, but they¡¯d be alive.

    She also kept her nobles partially on-board; I¡¯d initially suggested a seventy-thirty split between myself and the throne, and nothing for the previous land-owners.  Small farmers, the sort of local equivalent to the mom-and-pop farm, organic hobbyists and the like, weren¡¯t in trouble in the first place.  I had little issue giving the wealthy landowning class the shaft.  As far as I was concerned, that class had a certain unwritten social contract.  They had a lot of privileges, social cachet, and money; in return, they had to take a long view and look out for the nation¡¯s best interests.  Trading control of the food supply for less work and slightly higher profits broke that contract, as far as I was concerned.

    In fact, in some ways I was getting shafted.  Over the prior hundred years, as plasma sales dominated Naboo¡¯s economy, the previous taxes on massive landowners were eliminated (as were many other taxes) by monarchs pandering to Naboo¡¯s elite.  A tax of 50% now, 40% later, was very steep, especially since the tax was effectively applied before taking into account my expenses.

    I could sense this was the best deal I¡¯d get.  A negotiator Amidala was not.  ¡°Agreed, Your Majesty.¡±

    ¡°You are dismissed, Mr. Gangari.¡±  Yeah, she basically thought I was scum, taking advantage of peoples¡¯ needs as I did.  That sort of naivete is why young teenagers shouldn¡¯t rule entire worlds.  I wasn¡¯t sure she even recognized what situation the Nabooians would be without me, assuming that it would ¡°be alright somehow.¡±  Another reason why teenagers who have never experienced set-backs shouldn¡¯t be rulers.

    Later that day, an emergency law allowing the confiscation and redistribution of unworkable farms during a time of food-shortages to those who could work it was passed.  I was in business.

    There were about four hundred thousand droids over a thousand farms that provided the bulk of the food on Naboo.  Using teleportation and my minions, I could visit a hundred farms a day. It was a pretty simple procedure; one of my minions (typically a paragon) collected droids, set up a jammer and activated an EMP pulse (all of which was really for show, hiding my magic), then I teleported in, re-wrote their loyalty, and sent a general repair-field to fix anything the pulse broke.  The jamming and EMP gear was provided by Sola, then copied via magic as needed.

    Ten days after meeting Amidala, I owned a few billion acres of prime Nabooian farmland, worth over a trillion credits.  I was just glad the Trade Federation hadn¡¯t ordered their droids to self-destruct; that would have been problematic.  I guess they just thought that in a month or two it wouldn¡¯t matter; either they¡¯d have a deal, which would likely include return of their property, or they¡¯d have either taken over the system and seized control themselves or have much more serious issues to worry about.

    For the most part, the Nabooians loved me; I had, after all, just saved them from starvation.  Had I screwed over a load of the wealthy landowners?  Sure, but what working-class (or, given that this was Naboo dole-class) stiff didn¡¯t want to do the same?

    War-profiteering was the best.

    Then the Jedi showed up, and, predictably, everything went to hell.

 Chapter 44: By Hook or By Crook

    <u>Chapter 44: By Hook or By Crook</u>

    After restoring the food-supply to full functionality, I was invited to the palace for a press-conference.

    The Nabooians were about eighty percent in approval of what I¡¯d done; the rest were the usual malcontents who were never happy with anything, those worried by the sudden consolidation of wealth, and those who supported the previous owners¡¯ rights.  But eighty percent was good.  That¡¯s about as good as it ever gets in a society with freedom of speech and no mind-control.

    The government, understandably, wanted to capitalize on that, reassure the public, and reduce the remnant worry that I would end up the overlord via food.  Plus Jon decided to bother me until I agreed to go.  He just rolled his eyes when I decided he had to accompany me; his tolerance for bull-shit like PR conferences was way higher than mine, so it was hardly a punishment.

    I had just entered a chamber next to the throne room where I was meant to meet with Amidala prior to our joint statement when I saw a man in Palace Security Forces uniform, an officer by his rank tabs, get a message via his ear-piece.  It must have been serious, as he seemed fairly panicked, running over to Amidala.

    ¡°Your Majesty,¡± he said quietly in her ear.  It was still audible to my improved body though.  ¡°Trade Federation landing ships have launched en-masse.¡±

    Oh shit.

    Amidala nearly got whiplash she turned to him so quickly.  ¡°What?  But, that¡¯s impossible!  The Chancellor assured me that the Jedi negotiators would have arrived by now,¡± she said, seemingly trying to assure herself, and falling out of the royal ¡°we¡±.

    Oh, shit.

    ¡°In that case, Your Majesty, it seems negotiations have failed,¡± the man said dryly.  I couldn¡¯t help myself, and chuckled a bit.  Jon looked at me like I was an idiot.

    Still, it was time to get moving.  ¡°Captain,¡± I said, activating my communications link spell with Orson as I began to walk towards Amidala. ¡°The Trade Federation is invading.  Give orders to raise readiness levels, and prepare for contingency blue.¡±

    Blue was a plan to keep people out of Trade Federation hands by teleportation to prepared secret bunkers scattered about the planet, while avoiding destruction of assets via a lack of resistance.  At the same time, my home itself would not allow more than a token droid presence; house arrest was fine, but if invaded the building defenses would be activated, and the place would fight until it was necessary to activate the self-destruct.

    ¡°Yes, my lord,¡± the man replied seriously.  ¡°I¡¯ll tell the security detail to be ready as well.¡±  Given the circumstances, the blockade and possibility of invasion, I was travelling with no fewer than a dozen bodyguards in three armored speeders.  That was basically equivalent to a small army given their capabilities, but a bit of warning never hurt and we were facing a rather large army by all accounts.

    ¡°Very good, Captain,¡± I said, coming up on Amidala.

    ¡°Order an emergency meeting of the Privy Council,¡± she was saying to her handmaidens.  ¡°Get as many governors conferenced in as possible.  We want to be ready to communicate with that damned Viceroy as soon as We are seated on the throne.¡±

    ¡°What is going on, Your Majesty?¡± I asked.

    She glared at me.  ¡°We are being invaded,¡± she hissed, stalking out of the chamber and into the throne room, still giving orders to her attendants.  As she sat herself on the throne and got into communication with the Trade Federation¡¯s Viceroy, I was wondering something.

    What the fuck had I been thinking, showing the ability to re-write droid controls while the Trade Federation was in orbit with a droid army?  There was no way their intelligence hadn¡¯t marked me as a priority target, and not in the way that I¡¯d have been as a semi-mysterious rich man.  No, they were going to want answers.

    ¡°Captain, it may be best to expedite case Blue,¡± I ordered.  ¡°Get the researchers and computers out, and prepare to receive hostile guests at our home.  Scrub whatever you can¡¯t evacuate.  Don¡¯t take casualties, but don¡¯t leave the bastards any useable intelligence either.  Still, don¡¯t fire unless attacked.¡±

    Seriously, what had I been thinking.

    ¡°Yes, my lord.¡±

    It was time to refocus on the immediate surroundings Amidala was getting up; she was not happy.  It seemed her talk with the Viceroy didn¡¯t go well.  Not that I was expecting anything else.

    ¡°Gangari, follow us,¡± she ordered.  ¡°Since you control the agriculture sector, you should be here for the emergency meeting.¡±

    Fuck.  I followed her; Jon followed me.

    It quickly became apparent that the Nabooians were not, in any way, ready for this eventuality.  Not that I was quite sure how they should have been; sudden invasion by a completely overwhelming force via orbital drop wasn¡¯t something that could really be countered by a political discussion.  But still, Naboo¡¯s politicians did not respond with reason, intelligence and control.  They were a bunch of panicked, breaking-down fools, really.If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

    Honestly, I was pretty pissed off by it all.  At least Amidala had the sense to order her security, law enforcement, and the rest of the population to, while not surrendering, not actually attack.  Otherwise it could have been a bloody slaughter.  I wasn¡¯t sure if it was wisdom, or she actually believed in the rule of law that much.  Then again, Naboo had had peace and prosperity for so long she may have actually believed that was the natural order of things.  It may have been so deeply ingrained that she was literally incapable of considering otherwise.

    Or the Force was keeping her from screwing the pooch.

    Either way, it avoided a massacre.  But we were still in that fucking room hours later when the droids showed up to take us into custody.

    =================================

    I had sent my men back long before.  From reports, the TF forces weren¡¯t committing atrocities, but were taking control.  I didn¡¯t need another dozen projectile-shield enchantments around me as a buffer against orbital fire, and two people mysteriously escaping was much easier than fourteen.  I was still trying to keep my cover, after all; while a few droids weren¡¯t a threat to a planetary-apocalypse level mage, the Star-Wars verse had their own planetary-apocalypse level characters, not to mention star-ships of similar power.

    But apparently I was high enough on the target-priority list to merit being transported directly to the Federation leadership, I was guessing for interrogation and signing over my fortune.  Considering Amidala and her direct entourage were the only other ones to get similar treatment, it was quite the compliment.

    Then a pair of Jedi dropped down, wiping out the droids in a flurry of flashy sword-work.  They even brought along an incredibly irritating gungan, Jar-Jar Binks, as their comedic relief and mascot.

    We were ¡°rescued.¡±  Hurray!

    I¡¯d have preferred to remain with the droids; I was planning an easy escape later, and that scenario had far lower chances of getting involved with people who could actually kill me.  Not the general Jedi knights, but if what I saw from Star Wars, and possibilities I verified from the redacted histories of the galaxy, if those were true¡­ Suffice to say, I did not want to engage top-tier Force-users.

    As Jon and I bobbed along in Amidala¡¯s wake, rushing to the hangar bay in an attempt to get into the air, run the blockade, and escape Naboo to avoid being forced to sign some document legalizing the Trade Federation¡¯s invasion, I had a sudden realization.

    I knew why I¡¯d gotten involved so foolishly with the food situation, why I was present that day at the palace to get caught up in the invasion, why I was taken with Amidala.

    It was the fucking Force, I knew it.

    It wanted me involved, somehow, with what was going on.  With what was about to happen.  But whether it was to my benefit or detriment I didn¡¯t know.

    Honestly, that thought filled me with panic.  Too much panic, I later suspected.  But the kernel, the fear of the Force, was true.  The Force sounds really great¡­ until you realize that conflict between Jedi and Sith had been the root cause of at least half of the galactic wars.  And the ones they didn¡¯t start, they sure as fuck jumped in on.  At the end of the day, I saw the Force as a sort of psychic field that magnified things.  Enlightened monks became space-wizards, and significant wars became genocidal conflicts.

    Hell, the last war between the Jedi and Sith lasted centuries, and basically caused a galactic dark age.

    Granted, the Jedi had been around for a thousand years since then, so I wasn¡¯t anticipating something as bad as that.  I had, and still have, a very poor level of conclusive understanding of the Force, though I had many theories.  The Force is sort of like God; ask a thousand people what it is, and you¡¯ll get a thousand answers, with ten thousand explanations.  But it was clear that the Force was hardly concerned with human ideas of morality, or gigadeaths for that matter.

    It was also clear from what I¡¯d learned of history that the Force functionally played favorites, acting like narrativium to create stories with Force-sensitive protagonists.  I had no interest in being involved.  But as strong as I was, I suspected it was nothing compared to a galaxy (or more) wide psychic force which seemed to be wanting me included in whatever mess was coming up.

    It was clear I¡¯d need some sort of shield specifically against fate, destiny, precognition and the like.  Obviously it would need to be conceptual, given the disparity in power.  But how to best achieve that¡­

    I should, perhaps, have been more focused on the escape.  I was paying enough attention to my precognition to ensure we weren¡¯t destroyed, blocking shots that would have crippled the engines, damaged inertial compensators, or caused some other disaster.  But I was afraid, especially with two Jedi on board, of doing anything more overt, and the ship did get hit hard enough to bring down the shields and do some damage.

    Luckily most of the Vulture droids had been assigned to CAP (combat air patrol) to cover the relatively un-protected landers, and the remainder seemed to be under orders to disable but not destroy the queen¡¯s transport.  So we did get by without my having to intervene more overtly.

    Still, it was fucking inconvenient when the hyperdrive was damaged.  Maybe next time the Nabooians will decide that their royal yacht could do with some guns.

    But either way, the hyperdrive needed fixing, and we had to do it somewhere the Trade Federation wasn¡¯t.  Tatooine, a desert world filled with smugglers, was chosen.  I thought it was pretty stupid; the same smugglers, mercenaries, and ¡°abandoned ship reclamation specialists¡± (read, pirates) that made Tatooine an unlikely place for the Trade Federation¡¯s nice, fat, juicy ships to loiter made it a dangerous place for the queen¡¯s incredibly flashy, pricy ship (which could no longer even run away) to land.

    Granted, the place was under ¡°Hutt Peace Accords,¡± a set of rules keeping the actual piracy away from the planets and stations necessary to enjoy and profit from it.  But these people were career criminals and villains; a pardon allowing them to operate in Trade Federation controlled space and a big enough pile of credits, and the Hutt¡¯s peace wasn¡¯t worth shit.

    But I wasn¡¯t consulted, and the Force seemed to like the place (according to our wonderful new Jedi ¡°friends¡±), so off we went.

    Still, this fucking mess taught me one thing.  It was clear that I¡¯d need to figure out how to avoid the Force¡¯s interference.

 Chapter 45: Leaving the Circus

    <u>Chapter 45: Leaving the Circus</u>

    Tatooine was a crime-infested, barren, desert shit-hole, but I was incredibly happy to be there.  It meant that Jon and I could finally get off that damned ship.  We¡¯d been on it for just under three days at that point, and I¡¯d had enough.

    Enough of Amidala¡¯s unveiled hostility.  Enough of her sycophants joining in on treating us alternately as whipping boys and lepers.  Enough of the practically transparent ploys from Padawan Obi-Wan Kenobi and Master Qui-Gon Jinn attempting to satisfy their curiosity.  Enough of the lack of accommodations (the ship only had one passenger suite, for Amidala and a few of her handmaidens, and a couple bunk rooms for the crew; guess who was last on the list for beds or even blankets).  Enough of the fucking boredom, unable to work on my magic (or anything else, really).

    Just enough.

    I think if I¡¯d been on that ship another day, I¡¯d have flipped and filled the entire thing with wildfire before teleporting Jon and I back to Naboo.  I didn¡¯t even have Togo to pet.  It was awful.

    Even the MRE¡¯s sucked.  I mean, come the fuck on, future! You can¡¯t manage nice MRE¡¯s on the royal yacht?  But no, apparently the ship was only stocked with the freshest food, and only when about to go on a journey.  The MRE¡¯s were only there if the hyperdrive went down mid-flight, and they somehow survived the experience, thus needing to wait for rescue.

    So when we landed Jon and I semi sarcastically thanked Amidala for her hospitality, then fucked right off.  I had more than enough cash on me, and could easily summon up as much as needed.  The bastards chose to land in the sand-dunes outside the spaceport of Mos Espa, rather than take my entirely reasonable offer to pay for a ship¡¯s berth myself.

    Why did they do this? For ¡°security¡±.

    Morons.

    As if a klick of desert would stop mercenary-pirates on flying cars.  Or as if the entirely unique royal yacht was somehow less obvious in the desert than the spaceport.  No, the only thing landing there meant was that we weren¡¯t under the spaceport authorities¡¯ protection.  The Hutts had an interest in maintaining their safe-port status and neutrality, but only for paying customers.  In fact, they now had an interest in allowing (or even ordering) an attack on the queen¡¯s party, to ensure others didn¡¯t choose to land in the desert rather than pay their port-fees.

    Like I said, morons.

    Plus, it meant Jon and I had to walk through the desert, awkwardly close to Qui-Gon, the idiot gungan and Amidala, who had for some doubtless fucking stupid idea decided to join them while pretending to be a handmaiden.

    Jon and I were trudging through the sand when he turned to me.  ¡°I need a drink.¡±

    I chuckled.  ¡°Me too.  Fucking hell, but that was miserable.¡±

    He nodded.  ¡°Next time, I don¡¯t give a shit if we die, you bust out the magic.¡±

    ¡°Fine,¡± I replied.  He was right.  For such a powerful mage, I was being a real coward.  What was the point of all the power if I had to suffer that sort of petty bullshit?

    ¡°I¡¯m surprised you didn¡¯t go all ¡®Mountain Killer¡¯ on that ship.¡±

    ¡°What, run about the place killing everyone, and deliver a sackful of heads to who? Senator Palpatine?  Tell him, ¡°Sir, in the future, pick a less obnoxious queen!¡±?¡± I asked.  ¡°That sounds a bit mad.¡±

    Jon laughed.  ¡°I wasn¡¯t aware that sanity was among your virtues.¡±

    ¡°Oh, shut up Jon.  And think about what you want to drink,¡± I said.

    ¡°I already know.  The most potent, hallucinogenic drink they have.  It¡¯s the only way we can still get buzzed, after all your magic.¡±

    ¡°After the past few days, honestly, that sounds divine,¡± I muttered.  ¡°Just watch out for the whores.¡±

    ¡°What? Why?¡± he asked.

    ¡°They¡¯ll be slaves, here.¡±

    ¡°Fucking seriously, Odysseus?  We get off that damned ship and away from those horrible people, and now you start being a wet blanket, trying to get me miserable again?  Plus, when have you ever known me to visit whores?¡±

    I burst out into laughter at his indignation.  ¡°Sorry, sorry,¡± I apologized.

    =================================

    Eventually we reached Tatooine, and via a combination of threats and bribes found a dining establishment called the Victor¡¯s Roost that attracted the higher class of scumbag.  The establishment itself was pretty amazing.  Basically, imagine Tortuga during the golden age of Caribbean piracy.  Then imagine a bar for only the richest of captains and their officers.  Finally, bring it into the future.

    That was the Victor¡¯s Roost. The most luxurious furnishings, bedecked in gold and looted treasures that ¡°looked nice enough,¡± things that could fetch fortunes, if they weren¡¯t too hot to move, all thrown together with a sort of classless, garish extravagance.  The most attractive of human and alien serving girls and dancers (all of whom were also available, for the right price), exotic and expensive wines and food, and of course the drugs.

    And underneath it all was this frisson of danger.  Fortunes were won and lost on the turn of a card or throw of the dice.  Pirates wanted in a dozen sectors met planning attacks on valuable shipments.  Smugglers, gun and drug runners were hired by rebels and criminals for essential deliveries.  Deadly assassins were hired to hunt down a traitor or remove an enemy or, worse, already on the hunt.  Slavers discussed special orders, or just sold off the most precious of their recent stock.  And all of these villains were standing at the top of their respective fields.The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    Suffice to say, the place had ambiance, though the galaxy would doubtless be better off if I hosed it down with spell-fire.  But after three days in close quarters with the Nabooian royal party, I was willing to give them a pass so long as the food was good and the drink was strong.

    We had literally just finished ordering when I got a call.  Considering that the only people who had my number were the Nabooians, it was fairly obvious who the culprit was.

    I tapped my earpiece, activating the communicator, and clicked the hard-wired switch for the microphone to ¡°on¡± ¨C no listening in on my conversations without my knowing.  ¡°Odysseus here,¡± I said.

    ¡°Hello Odysseus, it¡¯s Qui-Gon,¡± I heard from the other end.

    ¡°Qui-Gon, I¡¯ve just sat down for the first decent meal in days.  This had better be an emergency,¡± I warned.

    He gave a small cough in embarrassment.  ¡°Well, it turns out that the salvage-yard owner won¡¯t accept credits.¡±

    ¡°Alright.  So, what?  Did your mind-control fail?¡± I asked.

    ¡°It¡¯s not mind control,¡± he protested tiredly.  ¡°But yes, the owner proved resistant to being influenced.¡±

    ¡°And then someone remembered I might be carrying hard currency?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s right,¡± he said.

    ¡°So how much do you need?¡±

    ¡°About twenty thousand credits worth.  Are you carrying that much?¡± he asked hopefully.

    I grinned.  I sensed another opportunity.  ¡°I am.  Please give the handmaiden the comm.¡±

    ¡°Hello Mr. Gangari,¡± Amidala said, her voice far less arrogant than usual.  ¡°Thank you so much for agreeing to help us.¡±

    Nice try, queenie.  ¡°You can cut the act, Your Majesty,¡± I drawled.  ¡°I doubt you¡¯re fooling the Jedi; you surely didn¡¯t fool me.  And I haven¡¯t agreed to help you yet.¡±

    ¡°What do you want,¡± she asked, her voice totally devoid of feeling.  She hated me so much in that instant.

    ¡°The Naboo throne doesn¡¯t take it¡¯s cut of my farmland.¡±  It¡¯s always good to start off from a high price in negotiations.

    ¡°What.  WHAT!¡± she hissed. ¡°That¡¯s worth tens of billions of credits a year, you, you ¨C you extortionist!¡±

    I chuckled.  ¡°Well, what¡¯s your counter-offer?¡±

    ¡°My counter offer?  How about you give us the money!  How about you do the decent thing, and help us!  Help everyone suffering on Naboo!¡±  She was furious.  Ah, it was really quite satisfying to dig beneath her mask.  But still, she was far too childish.

    ¡°Why would I?  You¡¯ve hardly done anything to make me well disposed to you, personally.  It¡¯s not like you can¡¯t get to Coruscant.  You can easily sell the ship, and buy something cheaper.  Granted, it might take you a week or two more to get to Coruscant, and you¡¯ll take a bit of a hit to your image, but I¡¯m sure the Jedi will get you there safe and sound.  I doubt the Trade Federation will do anything too terrible in the meantime.  Granted, some of your entourage may have to be left here until you can retrieve them, but I¡¯m sure they¡¯re all clever enough to get by without falling into slavery.¡±

    I was just cranking her up, making her realize how much she needed my help.  I had no idea if they could get credits exchanged otherwise; credits were a government-controlled trackable cryptocurrency, after all, which criminals tended to steer clear of.  There were doubtless people who did exchange, and clean, credits, but the exchange was probably exorbitant, and introductions hard to come by.

    She was quiet for a moment, thinking. ¡°Five percent.  We¡¯ll reduce Naboo¡¯s portion of your produce by five percent,¡± she finally offered.  Her voice was quieter, weakened by the realization of just how screwed they are.

    ¡°I trust you mean by five percent of my total produce, not five percent of what you¡¯d get,¡± I clarified.  ¡°But that¡¯s not enough.  Twenty-five percent.¡±

    ¡°Ten percent, for a period of a hundred years,¡± she rejoined.

    I grinned.  ¡°Now you¡¯re learning to negotiate!¡± I replied happily, subtly mocking her earlier failures to do so.  ¡°Fifteen percent, in perpetuity.¡±

    ¡°Ten percent, in perpetuity.¡±

    Good enough.  ¡°I agree, so long as the right is transferrable to future owners.  Have one of your handmaidens draw up the agreement, and send it to my datapad.  If you text us the address, Jon and I will be by momentarily.¡±  I hung up.

    ¡°So, no food?¡± Jon asked.

    ¡°No food,¡± I agreed.

    ¡°No drinks?¡±

    ¡°No drinks.¡±

    ¡°More of this fucking sand?¡±

    ¡°More of this fucking sand.¡±

    He sighed.  ¡°How much did you take them for?¡±

    ¡°Ten percent reduction in our agricultural taxes.¡±

    ¡°What ¨C forever?¡± he clarified.

    ¡°That¡¯s right.  About six billion credits a year, give or take.¡± I grinned.

    ¡°And how much money did they need?¡± he asked.

    ¡°Twenty thousand credits.¡±

    ¡°Gods, that girl is just awful at negotiations,¡± he noted.

    I nodded.  ¡°She really is.¡±

    Jon sighed, looking mournfully at our empty table.  ¡°I want half.¡±

    ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°Of what she¡¯s giving you.  I¡¯m missing the food too, it¡¯s only fair.¡±

    I laughed at his boldness.  ¡°Unlike the queen, I¡¯m not in the habit of bending myself over the barrel for those I negotiate with, Jon.¡±

    He sighed again.  ¡°Fine, I¡¯ll take a third.¡±

    ¡°Really?  How magnanimous of you,¡± I said sarcastically.

    ¡°It really is.  Otherwise you¡¯ll be listening to me bitch and moan about this meal at least until Coruscant,¡± he warned.

    ¡°Fine, fine,¡± I rolled my eyes.  ¡°You can have a third ¨C but no bitching, moaning, whining, or other complaining about this meal.  Not that the money even matters; I can make as much as we need.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s the principle,¡± Jon replied.

    ¡°Right.¡±

    We looked at each other, and broke into laughter.

    =================================

    After taking a cab to our destination, Watto¡¯s (Junk/Salvage) Shop, I went over and signed the agreement I had with Amidala, had it witnessed by the Jedi, then gave her the money.  A single pound-sterling sized coin made out of crystalline vertex could be worth between ten thousand and a hundred thousand credits, depending on crystal quality, which made the whole thing feel slightly ridiculous; all of this seriousness and the object being transferred was a pair of coins.

    Suffice to say, Watto, a pot-bellied, child-sized flying alien of some variety, was more willing to accept this form of payment, and delivery of the replacement hyperdrive parts was scheduled for the next day.  We left the shop, and I turned to Amidala.

    ¡°Well, it¡¯s been a pleasure,¡± I said with a smirk.

    She glared.  ¡°I just hope I never have to have any business with you again, ever.¡±

    Qui-Gon looked at us, unsure what to say or do, then settled for a nod and a quick ¡°may the Force be with you,¡± which I politely returned.  Each party turned to go in different directions, Jon and I to our cab and then back to the Victor¡¯s Roost, the Jedi, queen and gungan to their ship.

    Except we were interrupted.  A sandy-blond slave-boy, his emotions rippling with nervousness combined with curiosity and a sort of empathetic kindness spoke up.  ¡°Um, where are you planning on going?¡±

    I looked at him, amused by his daring; I wasn¡¯t cruel, especially to slaves, but he didn¡¯t know that.  ¡°Jon and I are off to a place called Victor¡¯s Roost, where we¡¯ll try and get some rooms.¡±

    ¡°And we¡¯re headed back to our ship, which is the sand-dunes to the west of the spaceport,¡± Qui-Gon answered.  ¡°Why?¡±

    The boy shook his head.  ¡°There¡¯s a sand-storm coming in.  You¡¯ll never make it.  And all the rooms will be full; it¡¯s the Boonta Eve Classic in two days.  People come in from all over the galaxy to watch it.  But you can spend the night at our home.¡±

    After a quick call to the Roost to check if that was actually the case, I agreed to take up the slave boy¡¯s offer of hospitality.  Not exactly what I was hoping for, and I¡¯d still be in contact with Amidala, but after getting such a large concession out of her being around her was pissing her off (and amusing me) more than the reverse.

 Chapter 46: Manumission

    <u>Chapter 46: Manumission</u>

    I pitied the boy, Anakin¡¯s, mother.  They were well off by slave standards, to be sure.  They had excess food, water, space, their own place, a degree of freedom outside of their work, and a relatively benign master.  Still, they were slaves.  Their excess, their entire buffer from their master cutting their food and water rations either as punishment or to cut costs after losing a bet or coming off worse from a business deal, we went through all of it.

    A week worth of food and water to a woman and boy acclimated to the climate, used to scarcity, gone in a single meal for their five visitors.  Binks especially needed more water in the desert climate, as his race was adapted to amphibious areas.  Why the idiot left the ship I did not know.

    Plus, we were definitely crowding them.  Two bedrooms, kitchen, and living, all quite small were enough room for a single woman and her son, but less so for an extra five adults.  And Shmi, Anakin¡¯s mother, was definitely aware of how vulnerable she and her son were.  We were obviously wealthy off-worlders, and Qui-Gon, Jon and I were physically powerful to boot.  We could have done anything we wanted to those two.

    But despite all of that, despite her incredibly shitty life ¨C after all, unlike Anakin, Shmi was not born to slavery, did not entirely take that as the natural way of things ¨C she was a genuinely good person.  She cared deeply for her son, but also cared about people in general.  She was charitable and optimistic.

    It was interesting watching her, and how she interacted with us.  Anakin had noticed Qui-Gon¡¯s lightsaber at the shop, correctly assumed he was a Jedi, and incorrectly assumed that he was on Tatooine to free the slaves.  Shmi had a flash of hope, which Qui-Gon crushed when he explained that he wasn¡¯t there to free the slaves, but rather running escort.  But even still she wanted to help us.  She didn¡¯t let her disappointment turn to bitterness.

    And I respected that.  Respected her.  She was, in many ways, a better person than I.  I was pissed off by Qui-Gon and Amidala.  Was it really so much to free a pair of slaves?  Qui-Gon was a senior Jedi master; according to his Padawan Kenobi, he was a candidate for their high council.  He probably had access to discretionary funds sufficient to buy the entire planet, let alone a single boy and mother who had possibly saved his life.  Amidala certainly did, as queen of Naboo.

    But Qui-Gon was afflicted by that peculiar disease endemic to Jedi, that idea that all that happens was the Force¡¯s will.  I found it difficult to differentiate in practice from ¡°inshallah,¡± that expression guaranteed to drive any western engineer who ever worked within the Arab world up the fucking wall.  Or perhaps he had become so capable of divorcing himself from his experiences that he couldn¡¯t differentiate how Anakin and Shmi¡¯s suffering was any different than that shared by the hundreds of thousands of slaves on Tatooine, the billions or even trillions throughout the galaxy.  And since he couldn¡¯t save all of them, he chose to save none.

    Either way, it was a dick move, and Qui-Gon only became interested in Anakin after he found that the boy was powerful in the Force, though the boy was apparently too old to train.  Which, just, such a pedo statement!  Seriously, fucking Jedi cultists and their baby fetishes.  Besides, I had figured out how to sense Force potential using my magical senses, and Anakin was potentially seriously powerful.  Significantly more so than Qui-Gon, for example, and Jinn supposedly had a high-councilor level Force connection.

    As for Amidala, that idiot got a message from home that was doubtless designed to lead our enemy to our doorstep by tracking the message router information.  And she, fool that she was, opened it, saw the whining face of one of her governors, and descended into a pity-party.  Honestly, she was like one of those idiot criminals back on Earth who got caught after answering a call from their girlfriend and getting tracked by that.

    With any luck though Amidala and co. would get their ship functioning quickly and out-run her pursuers.  It didn¡¯t matter much to me, as I had no intent to continue with them.

    Unlike those two, I did intend to help Shmi.  For her and her son¡¯s assistance and charity in hosting us, I would have repaid them a hundred-fold.  For her character, I¡¯d do better.  Anakin, Amidala and Binks, tired by the activity, stress and environment had all gone to bed, leaving Qui-Gon, Jon, Shmi and I awake.  Qui-Gon was off in the corner, looking at something on his datapad, while the rest of us were gathered around the table with a pot of tea.

    After a long stretch of silence, I spoke up.  ¡°What is it that you want, Shmi?¡±

    ¡°What do you mean?¡± she asked.

    ¡°If you could make a wish, what would it be?¡± I clarified.

    She was visibly hopeful, and almost glowing with it to my emotional senses.  ¡°For Anakin to be free,¡± she said.

    I nodded slowly.  ¡°Just that?  Not for revenge, on those that put you into slavery?  On your masters since then?  Not for your own freedom?¡±

    She shook her head.  ¡°No.  If Anakin were free, could leave Tatooine, could have a good life¡­ that would be enough,¡± she whispered.

    ¡°Alright,¡± I said.  ¡°Tomorrow, he¡¯ll be free.¡±

    Her eyes widened.  ¡°What?¡±

    I shrugged.  ¡°One good turn deserves another.¡±

    ¡°But, all we did was give you a single meal, leave you a patch of floor to sleep on¡­ I, just, I don¡¯t -¡± she stammered.

    I smiled.  ¡°And that represented a significant portion of your wealth, no?  You¡¯re both good people, and were willing to sacrifice your hard-won excess for a pack of off-world strangers.  Well, this stranger appreciates that.¡±

    She left her chair, kneeling in front of me.  ¡°Thank you, thank you,¡± she wept.

    I put my hand on her shoulder.  ¡°Please, get up,¡± I said, uncomfortable with the excess emotion.  After she had gotten up, sat back in her chair, and calmed down a bit, I continued.  ¡°But a boy should have his mother, so I¡¯ll be freeing you both.  And offering you a job; leaving you here on this crime-ridden rock, or abandoning you to fend for yourselves in the wider galaxy would hardly be right.¡±This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

    She was gaping at me, stunned.  I clapped her on the shoulder, and gave a tight-lipped smile.  ¡°Anyways, I¡¯m going to turn in for the night,¡± I said, then left for the alcove we¡¯d earlier decided was going to be my sleeping nook.

    Best way to avoid uncomfortably emotional moments?  Walk away!

    =================================

    Of course, I didn¡¯t actually need to sleep.  I was meditating, figuring out exactly how my shield to protect me from being noticed or influenced by the Force was going to work.  See, it wasn¡¯t enough to become transparent to the Force if everything I interacted with was still within the Force¡¯s purview.  The Force may still be able to manipulate me, and individual Jedi and Sith would definitely notice the shadow I cast, possibly finding me as the common linking element.

    One idea I thought about was to try and throw up a massive smokescreen.  Blind the Force not to me, but in general over as wide an area as I could manage.  But I was hesitant to do so.  The galaxy was in the far-future, with highly advanced technology.  The lack of a Von Neuman AI army, hegemonizing swarm, grey-goo nanite plague, tyrranid-inspired bioweapon infestation, or other such disaster was possibly the result of the Force.  The fact that a bare ten thousand Jedi held together a Republic with over ten billion times their number of citizens was surely attributable to the Force.

    I had no desire to watch the galaxy drown under a tide of the fires of war and bloodshed, and doubted it would last a decade if the Force were suddenly blinded in a major way.  So, I needed a different solution.  Instead of blinding everyone, I just needed to make myself extremely illusive.

    At its core, my spell was meant to make me totally transparent to the Force.  I did not exist, thus could have no future or past.  The next layer out, the spell would blend the effects of my passage into the background of the Force, a chameleon-like neutrality.  The last layer added false futures for myself, starting from what was my actual Force presence (as if none of those spells were cast at all), but warping it like a mirror-funhouse at the carnival.  The longer term something tried to model me, the worse reality and precognition would diverge.

    There were two really great effects from this.  First, as far as the Force itself was concerned (if that was, in fact, a mechanism that it used), I wasn¡¯t there, and it should no longer drag me into its messes, or those of its favored children: the various Forceful Jedi, Sith, and other such adepts.  Second, as far as other Force users were concerned, I was one of those rare individuals whose ever-shifting decision making and reprioritizing meant that it was difficult to judge my future.

    Magically, the spell was based strongly on Blue, for thought and perception, with aspects of Green and White to blend me into the background.  Red, chaotic and unpredictable, helped give variability to my false Force presence layer, while its aspects of freedom helped divorce myself from the skein of Fate and Destiny in the first place.  Best yet, the spell should be generally effective against any fate, destiny, or other semi or fully precognitive manipulation.

    I just had to wait to be away from those meddlesome Jedi, and I¡¯d be able to put the spell into place.  Otherwise they could be jarred by my transition.

    =================================

    The next day dawned bright and sunny, as was pretty much always the case on Tatooine.  Jon, Shmi, Anakin and I went off to Watto¡¯s so that I could buy them, while Qui-Gon led Amidala and Binks there to pick up their parts.

    ¡°Ah, here for your parts, yes?¡± the green-blue buzzing creature asked.  ¡°Right this way, right this way.  They¡¯re already loaded on this repulsor-lift.¡±  He motioned to a chunk of angular metal casing and wiring.

    ¡°They may be,¡± I said, gesturing at Qui-Gon and his annoying followers, ¡°but I¡¯m here for some other business.¡±

    ¡°Oh, and what would that be?¡± Watto replied, a gleam of greed in his eyes.  ¡°Did your friends tell you about my fine collection?¡±

    I gave the jumbled mess of used droids, parts, and simple junk a sweeping glance, unimpressed.  ¡°No, I intend to purchase Shmi and Anakin.¡±

    His face instantly shuttered.  ¡°They¡¯re not for sale,¡± he said, his voice flat.

    I grinned charmingly.  ¡°Everything is for sale, my friend.  It just depends on the price.¡±

    His wings buzzed with agitation.  ¡°Fine.  A million peggats.¡±

    I quirked my eyebrows.  He was massively overcharging.  Shmi and Anakin were class two slaves, those with technical skills.  Shmi, a middle-aged human female, was worth at most ten thousand credits, and that was still easily twice as much as I¡¯d expect to pay.  Anakin as a child was worth half that, though his special skills as a podracer pilot might drive that up.  Both of them combined should certainly have been under twenty thousand credits, with a more reasonable estimate being about eight thousand.

    At forty-ish credits to the peggat, that was between two hundred and five hundred peggats.  A million peggats was more than a thousand times their value.

    My eyes hardened.  ¡°I just want the two slaves, Watto.  Not everything you own, and even then I wouldn¡¯t pay a million peggat for it, not even if you threw in your life.¡±

    He snarled.  ¡°Threatening me?  Get out of my shop.¡±

    I chuckled, shaking my head.  ¡°Master Jinn,¡± I said, turning to Qui-Gon.  ¡°We are not in the Republic, and so you have no ability to enforce Republic law, correct?¡±

    He nodded, slowly.  ¡°That is right.¡±

    ¡°And, given the fact that this individual is holding slaves under threat of death, this constitutes exigent circumstances, does it not?¡±  As I had everyone¡¯s attention, Jon slid into the alien¡¯s blind spot.

    ¡°It does,¡± Qui-Gon agreed.

    ¡°Still, perhaps you shouldn¡¯t see this.  Why don¡¯t you take everyone and wait outside.¡±

    He was a bit worried, and Amidala and Binks were far more so.  Shmi and Anakin were as well, but less so at the prospect of violence than of not being freed.

    ¡°Morons,¡± hissed Watto.  ¡°You think you punks are the first to try and rip me off?  Gua-¡° he began to shout before Jon lunged forward, grabbing the great flying asshole by the throat and shutting him up before he could call for help.

    ¡°Off you go, we¡¯ll just be a second,¡± I said, waving the others out and sealing the door behind them.  I walked over to where Jon was holding Watto, grabbed his arm, and broke it.

    ¡°Aaahhhhhh!¡± screamed the intractable slave-owner.

    I slapped him across the face a few times, not too hard, just to refocus him.  ¡°What¡¯s the price, Watto?¡±

    ¡°E chu ta!  You¡¯re dead, you wermo.  As soon as Jabba hears about this, you¡¯re dead!¡± he spat.

    I sighed, reached over to the hand on the broken arm and began to squeeze.  I could tear apart steel like it was play-dough; his hand gave no resistance.  I slowly increased the pressure as he grimaced, then cried out to the soft pops of damage to those fragile bones.  ¡°OK, OK!¡± he cried as his hand was on the verge of being crushed.  ¡°They¡¯re yours, just let me transfer the codes!¡±

    I could practically smell the deception oozing off of him.  I walked over to one of the inactive droids, and tore its arm off, then starting smashing it until it was a ruin.  Then I turned back to Watto.

    ¡°Hey, shit-head,¡± I said.  ¡°My friend here is just as strong as I am.  You going to bet that he can¡¯t tear your throat out before he gets hit when you activate your defenses?¡±

    He slumped a bit.  ¡°Fine!  Fine,¡± he snarled.  But his aura was still full of deception.

    I brought up a document on my pad, then sent it to his.  ¡°Here¡¯s the agreement,¡± I said.  ¡°A hundred peggats for both.  This way, if something unfortunate happens, like you forgetting to give us the right code, or having some backup that kills them anyways, I can tell Jabba about how you reneged on our deal.  And Watto, that million peggats?  I¡¯ll put that on your head as a bounty if you try and run.¡±

    At that, the fight went out of him.  Soon enough, we¡¯d made the transfer.

    ¡°Good.  Watto, next time you have a customer?  Try not to be such a fucking asshole.  You¡¯re in retail, after all.¡±

 Chapter 47: Unwelcome Meetings

    <u>Chapter 47: Unwelcome Meetings</u>

    Jon and I left the shop.

    ¡°Well,¡± I grinned, ¡°you¡¯re free.¡±

    Shmi got all teary, thanking me, while Anakin ran up and gave me a hug.  Which, ok, thanks kid?

    Jon looked at me.  ¡°So, what¡¯s next?¡±

    I was about to reply when Anakin interrupted.  ¡°You have to see the Banta Eve podrace!¡± he exclaimed.

    ¡°Sure,¡± I shrugged.  ¡°I guess we¡¯re off to the podraces.¡±

    We made our goodbyes to Amidala, Qui-Gon, and Binks, hopefully for the last time, then left.

    The pod-races were¡­ interesting?  Sort of like NASCAR, but even faster, with even more wrecks, and a lot more sabotage and cheating.  But it didn¡¯t really do it for me.  Oh, I¡¯m sure it was fun as hell to race yourself (if crazily dangerous for those not capable of tanking artillery rounds to the face), but as a spectator I didn¡¯t really appreciate the sport.  Martial arts were more my speed.  But it made Anakin happy, and so many other people were watching that it would have been hard to look for a ship to charter to take us off that barren, sandy rock anyway, so we might as well have watched.

    I took the opportunity to establish my anti-Force precognition shield.  The Fate-guard, I called it.  The mass of hundreds of thousands of people, all highly emotional and focused on a chancy event like a podrace, fortunes and lives changing in instants¡­ that made, as far as I understood, for a great smokescreen from Force-users.  Twenty minutes of the race, and I¡¯d snapped it into place, delicate and deceptive workings of Blue and Green and Red removing myself from the skein of destiny, replaced by decoys and dummies to avoid attention.  I fit the same to Jon; the rest of my people could wait until I had the time to spare.

    Afterwards we started hitting a few of the spacer bars to find out if anyone was amenable to being hired.  I wasn¡¯t really sure where I wanted to go.  On the one hand, I wanted to head to Corellia and tour their shipyards, maybe get the patterns for some capital-class ships.  There was one dedicated ship-to-ship frigate, the DP-20, that was pretty nice too: heavily armed, armored, and fast.  After the Trade Federation¡¯s invasion, I was feeling like my Nostos might need some heavier backup.

    On the other hand, I now had significant assets on Naboo.  It was, essentially, where I kept my shit.  Leaving Amidala of all people to deal with the Republican Senate and secure assistance seemed apt to fail.  She hadn¡¯t exactly had a good track record recently with negotiations.  So, with a great sigh, I decided we had to go to Coruscant.

    Of course, that was slightly easier said than done.  Far too many of the smugglers were partying and drunk in the podrace¡¯s aftermath.  Annoyingly, they didn¡¯t list their destinations on open boards; too easy for a competitor, or a pirate to pick some likely transit point and ambush them, stealing their load, ship, and even selling them into slavery.

    After striking out in the second bar, I noticed something bad as we left.  We were surrounded, a motley crew of mercenaries and ne¡¯er do wells, mixed alien and human scum.  And, judging by their focus, they were after us, specifically.

    Luckily, Jon and I were packing; one could hardly be unarmed on Tatooine, after all, and arming ourselves was the work of an instant back when we¡¯d first separated from Amidala and the others after leaving the ship.  Somewhat unusually for the galaxy, we weren¡¯t using blasters.  Blaster pistols just didn¡¯t cycle fast enough; even with relatively weak shots and strong power sources it typically took as long as a quarter second before the next shot was ready to fire.

    In comparison, top of the line ballistic pistols using electronically controlled caseless ammunition and super-high explosive propellant could manage just under fifty shots a second, or about three thousand in a minute.  Of course, firing that quickly was counter-productive for accuracy and gun longevity, so full-auto was limited to ten rounds a second unless otherwise modified; burst and single shot made full use of the high rate of fire, though only someone as modified as Jon or I could actually benefit from that with single-shot mode.  A standard pistol-grip fitted magazine held forty rounds.

    Granted, standard ballistics weren¡¯t effective against targets with even moderately decent-quality body armor, but other than full protected targets like an armored war-droid, or a Mandalorian, Jon and I were good enough shots to hit unprotected spots.  And if things really got to that point we could use Valyrian-tipped beskar penetrators.  Or magic, since by then the cat would probably be out of the bag.

    Anyways, we could fight back without revealing our full abilities, or even hinting at them, much to our attackers¡¯ pity.

    ¡°That¡¯s the-¡° a reptilian thug shouted before I blew a hole through his brain.  It was merely the first of many.  It sounded like being caught directly inside a thunderstorm as the booms of Jon and my shots rang out as we accelerated, targeting and firing smoothly as we used our precognition and enhanced senses to ensure that none of the enemies hit us, or Shmi or Anakin. The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

    That was definitely one nice thing about ballistics; most people in the galaxy weren¡¯t used to that level of noise and flash, the sound deeper and more terrifying than that of blaster-bolts exploding.

    Shock and awe; everyone who witnessed it was full of both.  Shmi and Anakin looked a little sick though.

    ¡°Shit,¡± I said as I reloaded with practiced motions.  Back on Naboo, in our training grounds, we used these things like BB-guns.  Now, that was a fun sport.

    ¡°What?¡± Jon asked, also reloading.

    ¡°I forgot to leave one alive to question,¡± I replied.  ¡°Did you?¡±

    He looked a little sheepish.  ¡°I was caught up in the moment.¡±

    ¡°I wonder if it was¡­¡± I trailed off as I saw a surveillance droid, something far too advanced for Tatooine watching, and shot it.  ¡°No, not Watto.  I¡¯m guessing Trade Federation.  It¡¯s time to go; I just hope Amidala still has room for us.¡±

    =================================

    Minutes later we were screaming towards the royal yacht in a speeder.  We swooshed in, stopping just short of the ship, and jumped out of the speeder.  Shmi and Anakin each had a bag with some valuables and keepsakes, prepared in case I secured their freedom but they were kicked out of Watto¡¯s living space. Unfortunately, they were otherwise leaving behind their things.  Still, better that than dead in the next crossfire.

    Plus, that tacky golden droid of Anakin¡¯s was annoying as fuck; I was honestly glad we¡¯d been attacked, as it gave an excuse to leave it behind.  If the boy wanted a droid, it should be as awesome and useful as HK-47.  Now that was a ¡°protocol¡± droid.

    Captain Panaka, who had been in charge of Amidala¡¯s security detail when the attack happened and accompanied her since, rushed out of the ship.

    ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡± he asked.

    ¡°We were attacked,¡± I replied.  ¡°A number of local mercenaries, pirates and thugs.  We killed them all, but there was a top-of-the-line surveillance droid.  I¡¯m guessing Trade Federation, or a subcontractor.  If they went after us, I doubt they¡¯re far away from you too.¡±

    ¡°Thank you for the warning,¡± Panaka said.  ¡°Was there anything else?¡±

    I quirked my brow.  ¡°Really?  I have to ask?  Well then, I¡¯d be greatly appreciative if you¡¯d allow us to travel with you to Coruscant.  I¡¯d prefer not to be shot at while trying to arrange transportation.¡±

    The bastard was enjoying his advantage over me.  ¡°I¡¯ll ask her majesty,¡± he said.

    ¡°Dick,¡± I muttered underneath my breath after he left.  Soon enough he returned, with Amidala, still disguised as a handmaiden, at his side.

    ¡°It seems that this time you need something, Odysseus,¡± she said with a pleased grin.  ¡°And her majesty has authorized me to negotiate.  I¡¯m thinking a twenty percent increase to how much of your produce that goes to the throne.¡±

    I faked looking shocked.  ¡°Really?  Her majesty would extort not only myself and Jon, after we had become her subjects, but charge so steep a price to save the life of a nine-year old recently freed from slavery, and his poor mother?  And not just any boy, but one who selflessly allowed you to shelter under his roof, sharing their meagre rations to save your lives with no expectation of reward, nor any reward given by Naboo?  I¡¯m not even sure that¡¯s legal, let alone how it would play out in the papers.¡±

    I smirked as she growled.  ¡°Fine.  Get on board,¡± she hissed before turning and stomping off.  I just laughed at her, and at poor Captain Panaka who looked like he wanted to face-palm at the fail.  I was about to follow her up when Qui-Gon rushed out.

    ¡°Something dark is coming,¡± he warned.  ¡°You need to get on board, we need to leave as soon as Obi-Wan finishes the repairs.¡±

    Of course.  Fucking dark-siders.  Just another group of assholes taking a dump on our shit sandwich.  It just went to show that even if Jon and I were immune to Force-future-fuckery effects, everyone else around us wasn¡¯t.  I could spread the shielding around, of course, though it might be a bit dangerous for Anakin considering his deep connection to the Force.

    Jon and I joined Qui-Gon a short distance from the ship, our pistols drawn as everyone else raced to get on board.  Soon we saw a speeder approaching.

    Typically, pistols are only effective at short ranges.  This is partially due to design and manufacturing; short barrels, rounds that aren¡¯t designed for long ranges, etc.  Between incredibly tight part specifications and advanced materials and munitions, that first wasn¡¯t such an issue.  But a lot of it has to do with how hard it is to hold a pistol steadily enough to hit a target at longer ranges.  At twenty yards, a semi-inexperienced shooter will struggle to hit a man-sized target in a critical spot.

    Jon and I were much better than that. We engaged at a kilometer, putting shot after shot into the speeder-bike.  It seemed to be shielded though, or the pilot could deflect bullets with the Force, as none of our shots were getting through.

    ¡°Get back to the ship!¡± Qui-Gon shouted, so Jon and I turned and ¡°ran¡± back at normal-ish speed.  By the time we were up the entry-ramp, the new attacker had engaged Qui-Gon in a furious lightsaber duel.  Qui-Gon¡¯s green saber and the red and black alien attacker¡¯s red saber flashed and swooshed in an elegant display that would have made an awesome Christmas display.

    At the top of the ramp, Jon and I turned again, and aimed at the Sith.  A quick rattle of fire shot out.  The Sith initially tried to block with his saber, but that just resulted in a supersonic spray of molten and vaporized metal giving him surface burns.  A few rounds got by his defenses, the rapid fire and our own precognition defeating his skill, and caused grazing wounds as he backpedaled, still holding off Qui-Gon as he finally reached the defenses of his bike, glaring hatefully at us.

    The yacht¡¯s engines finally warmed it, it began to lift off as Jinn disengaged and jumped up to us, leaving behind a fucking furious dark Jedi or Sith.

    I hated leaving enemies like that behind, but was even less willing to show off the powers needed to kill him.  Yet again, a situation that could have been fixed if this bloody ship had some guns.  We were just lucky he was a swordsman, rather than a properly trained Force-adept capable of plucking the ship out of the sky with telekinesis.

    But we were off of Tatooine, and headed to Coruscant once more.  Though considering everything that happened, I doubted Amidala would end up getting the answers she wanted to Naboo¡¯s plight.  If hostile Force users were involved beyond the usual bureaucratic incompetence, political corruption and realpolitik, shit was about to go down.

    I had some work to do, if I wanted to keep that twit Amidala from selling all Naboo down the river.

 Chapter 48: Political Beasts

    <u>Chapter 48: Political Beasts</u>

    A rather uncomfortable week later, and we were finally at Coruscant.  I was definitely persona non grata as far as Amidala¡¯s entourage were concerned, and only her favoring Anakin spared the rest of my party the cold shoulder.  Though that bastard Qui-Gon was using it to get close to Anakin, likely to try and steal him away to his bloody cult.  But even if the other masters would make an exception for Anakin¡¯s age, I suspected I¡¯d keep him in the end; I had his mother, after all, and had freed him from slavery.  Plus, I could just summon up a few Jedi based on Qui-Gon and Kenobi¡¯s patterns, and have them teach my little Force prodigy.

    The lack of amenities, including places to sleep that weren¡¯t the cold, hard, metal floor, was a continued annoyance, as was the shitty food re-packaged into gourmet ready-to eat containers that they¡¯d foolishly bought on Tatooine.

    I suppose we were lucky not to be starving, but I was sorely tempted to summon up a roast boar, or some nice juicy steaks¡­

    Mmmm mm mmm mm mmmm.  That would have been taaast-eee.

    But I held out, focused on preparing for when we landed and life got busy again.

    And then we were on Coruscant.  As we were landing I digitally paid an absolutely exorbitant sum to rent a suite near the senate building, typically used by visiting dignitaries.  Anakin and Shmi would stay there, getting a new wardrobe and a bit of well-deserved pampering and feeding up, while Jon and I went off along with Amidala¡¯s party to find out the lay of the land, politically speaking, from Senator Palpatine.

    Palpatine, oh Palpatine.  What should I say about the man¡­ Well, first of all, I didn¡¯t believe the grandfather act for a second.  The man was a Sector Senator, one of the Republic Senate, a body of fewer than fifteen hundred sapients whose votes decided galactic law for trillions of citizens.  You couldn¡¯t get there without ambition, manipulation, charisma, connections, luck and general political talent.

    Palpatine may have been a nice man when he could be, but he still represented the political elite.  Deception was his meat and drink and breath.

    And he was good.  Naboo was not a massively important planet, and Chommell was not a major sector.  Naboo was sort of like New Zealand, or a better weathered Norway; lovely place to live, great people, reasonably wealthy, but it was not exactly the most happening area, nor was it a major player in global/galactic politics.  And yet, just about every political analysis I read on the ship placed Palpatine as one of the top fifty most influential senators.  Many placed him in the top ten.  He was a player.

    And he was sure as shit playing Amidala, telling her about how the Republic was too moribund to react to this emergency.  He was right about that, but his solution of replacing Supreme Chancellor Valorum by vote of ¡°No Confidence¡± seemed incredibly unlikely to succeed in actually helping Naboo.  Valorum was the political equivalent of a baited bear; massive and powerful in his own right, but slowly being worn down by the quick, darting attacks of his political enemies¡¯ hounds.

    But Valorum had staked a fair bit of political capital on supporting Amidala and Naboo, forcing an emergency senate session for this very issue.  The only two topics?  Naboo, and BR-0371, the law which reintroduced taxes for the Trade Federation.  Valorum had made these two points take up the entirety of the galactic governing body¡¯s legislative agenda.  And that was after it being debated on and off the senate floor for the preceding month.  So no, if something went wrong the next day when Amidala addressed the senate, Valorum was unlikely to be the cause.  And if Amidala blamed him, then Valorum was fucked politically.

    The problem Naboo had in that moment was one of constituency.  The queen was elected by Naboo, and Naboo ruled Chommell.  Chommell¡¯s senator was appointed by the monarch.  But the monarch didn¡¯t depend on knowing how the senate worked, didn¡¯t depend on galactic politics.  No, the monarch depended on local, Nabooian support.  So it was unsurprising that Naboo¡¯s monarch, especially one in her early teens, wasn¡¯t as informed over galactic power plays.

    As to why she hadn¡¯t become more informed, as I had?  Well, she was worried, and over-focused on what little news was escaping from Naboo.  Her accommodations, food¡­ it was all very different from what she normally had, throwing her off her game.  She trusted her ¡°loyal¡± expert, Palpatine ¨C after all, he was an excellent politician ¨C and he was feeding her the briefing packets of ¡°what she needed to learn¡± while we were in-flight.

    And perhaps most critically, Palpatine was strong in the Force.  Oh, it looked like the Jedi had missed him, and his potential was dormant, but I suspected the Force of still playing favorites, giving him that subtle luck that surrounded those with the greatest potential, that bending of chance.  And it wouldn¡¯t take much bending, given everything else Amidala was facing.

    I wasn¡¯t excusing it.  Not at all.  She had a massive responsibility to her people, one that she was fucking up.  And she was going to screw over a man who had truly tried to help her, along with potentially her entire population.  The above are reasons for her failings, not excuses.

    Honestly, I didn¡¯t even blame Palpatine.  The man was a politician in a super-state whose military hadn¡¯t seen a real threat in a millennium and was controlled by their Judiciary.  I doubted he was looking at it as a military problem rather than a political one.

    No, I figured he looked at the scenario, realized there was fuck-all he, or anyone else, could-slash-would do about the occupation, and figured that the best move he could make would be to become Chancellor.  If he wasn¡¯t capable of fucking over the Trade Federation in a million ways at that point, ways that would cost them far more than holding Naboo was worth, then he¡¯d never have been such a great politician.  It¡¯s one thing to attack the capital of a minor sector.  It¡¯s something else entirely, something far closer to rebellion, to attack the Supreme Chancellor¡¯s homeworld.

    Or, perhaps, from that point Palpatine would back off from the taxation under the ¡°impossible pressure,¡± and end this crisis that his predecessor started.  He could use the popularity boost to develop at least a core of loyal, effective ass-kickers, and revisit the taxation in a few years, engaging the Federation from a prepared position both politically and militarily.

    Or, at the very least, Palpatine would find the silver lining to the cloud of invasion and boost his career.

    But he was still an opportunistic fuck.  And there were several angles, ones outside of direct senate politics.  He was presenting the problem as a nail, and himself as Amidala¡¯s only hammer.

    Fuck nails and hammers; if there¡¯s a wall in the way, the best thing to use is C4.

    =================================

    After the initial briefing on the main players and their viewpoints, which lasted about three hours, we broke for a snack and bathroom break.  I was standing by the window, looking out on Coruscant while eating an excellent meat and mustard sandwich when Palpatine came up to me for some smalltalk.

    ¡°I don¡¯t believe we¡¯ve met,¡± he said warmly.  ¡°Senator Palpatine, at your service.¡± He gave a short bow.

    I smiled, and bowed slightly lower.  ¡°Odysseus Gangari, at yours.¡±

    ¡°Yes, I¡¯ve heard of you,¡± he replied with a wry grin.  ¡°Her majesty isn¡¯t your largest fan.¡±

    I chuckled.  ¡°I don¡¯t see why.  Every deal we¡¯ve made was at least better than the alternative.¡±

    He snorted a bit.  ¡°Yes, well, better than the alternative doesn¡¯t mean good.  And you¡¯ve done very well for yourself in the current crisis,¡± he pointed out.

    I nodded.  ¡°Back on my homeworld, there is a language that, according to legend, was one of the first used by humans, often used on bones for fortune-casting by oracles.  It¡¯s logographic, using symbols to represent entire words.  In it, crisis and opportunity are closely related.¡±

    He seemed very interested at that.  ¡°Really?  And where is your homeworld?  I confess that you have been quite the interesting mystery.¡±

    I smiled.  ¡°Honestly, I¡¯m no longer sure, save that it wasn¡¯t within the known bounds of the Republic.  On my first journey outside my home, my drive and navigation equipment malfunctioned, leaving me lost and unable to return.  Luckily I was able to make a good home for myself on Naboo.¡±This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

    He didn¡¯t believe a word of that explanation, but let it go.  ¡°I¡¯m sorry to hear that.  But I, at least, am very glad that you¡¯ve joined our wonderful planet.  I shudder to think what would have happened had you not been able to restore the food supply.¡±

    No shit.  Revolutionary governments were rarely kind to senior politicians from the previous administration living it up on Coruscant while they starved at home.

    I grinned.  ¡°Well, I¡¯m very glad I was there for that crisis as well.¡±

    He chuckled.  ¡°Yes, a trillion credits worth of property is nothing to shake your head at.  You know, my own family had nearly two hundred thousand acres in the amount that you acquired.  It¡¯s a shame, I still remember playing there as a child.¡±

    Ah, so that was the game.  Well, I was willing to play.  ¡°Well, I¡¯d hate to deprive you of that, given you were here working so hard for Naboo during this crisis,¡± I flattered.  ¡°I understand how important childhood homes are, having lost mine.  I¡¯d be happy to sell the estate portion back for a nominal fee, just whatever taxes and maintenance have been required in the meantime, and give a significant discount on the commercial parts, perhaps with the bulk of the money coming long-term from a portion of the property¡¯s income.¡±

    He clapped me on the shoulder, beaming.  ¡°Thank you so very much,¡± he said.  ¡°I hope you will consider us friends, and if there¡¯s anything I can do to help you in the future, please don¡¯t hesitate to contact me.¡±

    ¡°Of course, senator, nothing would make me happier,¡± I replied.  This was actually pretty clever of Palpatine; show a weakness for if not bribes then something close, but in doing so get the man with unknown capabilities and deep pockets on-side.

    ¡°Well, I think it¡¯s about time to get back to it!¡±

    I doubted he¡¯d be as happy once I said my piece.

    =================================

    After a few more hours, Palpatine had worn everyone down and thoroughly made his case for giving Valorum a single chance to prove himself effective before upsetting the apple-cart in the hopes that something better would turn up in the mess.

    After another break, it was time to make my case.

    I stood up.  ¡°As well reasoned as his arguments are, I disagree with the senator¡¯s recommendation, Your Majesty.¡±

    Amidala turned to me, her face impassive.  ¡°Oh?  And what, in your vast experience, is it that you think We should do?¡±

    I smiled confidently.  ¡°I¡¯m not saying I¡¯m greatly experienced with politics, or the senate, Your Majesty, but sometimes outsiders can see things in ways that are difficult for those who have become used to a certain state of affairs.  But I have three main issues.¡±

    I raised my left hand in a loose fist, then extended my thumb.  ¡°First, by all of our analysis Chancellor Valorum has stuck himself out on the line for Naboo, spending political capital to make our plight a galactic priority, and he is firmly on our side.  If you turn on him, he is likely to fall.¡±

    My index finger joined my thumb in pointing out.  ¡°Second, if the apparatus of Republican government is truly so broken and corrupted, the Trade Federation¡¯s allies so politically capable as to block Valorum, then there is little indication that the next Chancellor will fare any better, or be as well deposed to Naboo¡¯s plight.  Further, everyone will remember how fickle Naboo¡¯s friendship is, and will be less likely to be willing to commit to the close alliances we may need to deal with the Trade Federation¡¯s aggression.¡±

    And now, my middle finger.  ¡°Third, this all presupposes that this sort of political maneuver is the best way of dealing with the Trade Federation.  I think I have better ones.¡±

    Palpatine raised himself out of his seat.  ¡°Your Majesty, I have already explained how ¨C¡°

    Amidala raised up her hand, silencing him.  ¡°No, senator.  As difficult as We have found him, Mr. Gangari has a certain cunning.  We would hear what he has to say,¡± she pronounced.  Palpatine flushed lightly, then sat back into his chair.

    I nodded my head in a light bow, then continued.  ¡°Thank you, Your Majesty.  While a general political solution may be preferable, it¡¯s the avenue that everyone¡¯s ready for, both us and the Federation.  I suggest we shift the paradigm.  Given their actions, especially the invasion of Naboo and attack on your ship, you are within your rights to declare a state of emergency not just on Naboo, but over the entirety of the Chommel sector since Naboo is its capital and administrative center.  This gives you, in your position as chief sector-administrator of Chommell, authority to operate as a Judicial General for the duration of the emergency, though your ability to control RSF and Judiciary assets is limited to the Chommell sector.  As such, you can declare the Trade Federation an illegal pirate organization, with the destruction of the Jedi¡¯s Judiciary transport as the primary complaint.¡±  My grin was vicious as they started to catch on.

    ¡°Once that¡¯s done, you can officially seize any and all Trade Federation assets within the sector, and can request that other friendly governments do the same, freezing financial assets as well.  Instead of a political vote, subject to political rules, allow all of your allies the ability to independently strike against the Trade Federation as they wish, and incentivize it as they can profit from what they take under asset forfeiture.  I¡¯m sure that our own allies within the Judiciary and courts can cover our actions long enough to cause massive financial losses.¡±

    There was a susurrus as everyone in the room reacted to my idea.  Palpatine rose looking concerned.  ¡°But that escalates things far too much!  That¡¯s practically declaring war.  What will they do to Naboo?¡±

    I nodded.  ¡°Thank you for bringing that up, Senator.  I recommend making the declaration simultaneous with a military strike, at least on Naboo, though I would recommend considering hitting other Trade Federation bases and worlds as possible.  The entire droid army is currently controlled by a single Lucrehulk command ship in Naboo¡¯s orbit; a moderately sized naval strike group could force a surrender or destroy it without much issue.¡±

    Palpatine blanched.  ¡°What¡¯s to stop them ordering a massacre?  And where will you even get this army?¡±

    ¡°Viceroy Gunray himself is currently present on Naboo, Senator, and he is not the sort to actually risk his own life by ordering a massacre when he¡¯s already beaten,¡± I scoffed.  ¡°As for the army, we can hire mercenaries.¡±

    ¡°With what money?¡± Palpatine rejoined.  ¡°We barely have enough to keep our embassy here functional through this crisis, and unless you can somehow convince the Trade Federation to give us access to a transfer from Naboo I cannot see how you intend to pay for these mercenaries.¡±

    I smiled.  ¡°Oh, I¡¯m perfectly willing to pay up to a trillion credits for mercenaries,¡± I said.  Palpatine¡¯s eyes widened.

    Amidala decided to join in.  ¡°For some highly profitable considerations, no doubt,¡± she mocked.

    ¡°You know me so well, Your Majesty,¡± I grinned.

    She leant forwards and thought a moment, wondering if it was worth it.  ¡°How many mercenaries would we need?  Where would they come from?¡± she asked.

    ¡°That depends on what you want to achieve, Your Majesty.  For the minimum, I¡¯d recommend a million-strong army from the Mercenary Guild of Coyn with as many naval assets as are available.  The majority of their combat ships would invest and seize Enarc while a strike group diverted past to hit the control ship in orbit over Naboo.  As soon as Federation fleet assets at Enarc are engaged, transports would come through and conduct a combat landing to ensure the safety of Naboo¡¯s populace.  I¡¯d estimate the price at between twenty-five and thirty-five billion credits for the operation, though I¡¯d recommend keeping a significant force presence long enough to build up our own defenses which could add up to fifteen billion a year without combat bonuses.¡±

    Enarc, for those unfamiliar with Galactic system locations, was one jump away from Naboo, and lay on the most direct route between it and Coyn.  It was a major Trade Federation shipping point, and likely had anywhere between four and eight Lucrehulks protecting it.

    ¡°As for elsewhere,¡± I continued, ¡°I recommend hitting the Federation where it hurts.  Cato Neimoidia, one of the Neimoidian purse worlds, is a resort world restricted to only the wealthiest Neimoidians and their servants.  Deko and Koru Neimoidia, their other two purse worlds, are located nearby.  Ailon, a planet a day or two away, has a billion-strong mercenary force called the Nova Guard; one to two hundred million should be available for operations, which is far more than we need.  Best estimates are that each world is guarded by up to twenty Lucrehulks.  Four to five hundred billion credits would let us hire enough of the Guard to hit all three targets, seizing their orbital infrastructure and putting the Trade Federation in an untenable situation when it came time for negotiations.  Another three hundred billion and we could even take Neimoidia too.  Though those estimates don¡¯t include the cost to ferry away what assets we capture.  In short, I propose that we carry out what the Federation failed; a full hostile takeover.¡±

    Palpatine was pale and trembling, the very picture of a modern Republican politician faced with violence.  ¡°Your Majesty, this warmonger¡¯s advice is far too risky.  I implore you, please seek a diplomatic solution!¡±

    Amidala closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them, resolved.  ¡°As much as We wish to, Senator, We will not sit idly by while Naboo is occupied.  Until this situation is resolved, all options are on the table.  Mr. Gangari, what would you want in exchange for this?¡±

    Ah, so the girl was willing to make a deal with a (at least in her mind) devil.  Excellent.  I was worried that she wouldn¡¯t go for it.

    ¡°First, I want rights to the salvage and captured equipment, ships, and other assets from this operation.  Other than that, I¡¯m looking for a general letter of marque to engage pirates, rebels, lawbreakers and the like, both for myself and any subordinates or contractors.  Also, mercenary company rights, military basing rights, military equipment rights, rights to asteroids, moons and some unused terrain on Naboo for training, basing and ship-building, fueling rights, recruiting rights and so on.  And if you really want to go all out, a final removal of that tax on my produce,¡± I finished with a smile.  ¡°The details are all in the document I¡¯m sending you.¡±

    ¡°So you want the right to establish a private army,¡± Amidala clarified disapprovingly.

    ¡°That¡¯s right.  And an arms company.  Though the force would also serve to protect Naboo.  As we¡¯ve just seen, that is more necessary than previously thought.  And it can do so without increasing taxes or building a formal military, reducing the risk of future military adventurism.¡±

    ¡°And what is to prevent you from turning this army on Naboo?¡± she questioned.

    I smiled.  ¡°Well, the fact that it will be mostly made up of Nabooians,¡± I answered.  ¡°I doubt they¡¯d look fondly on attacking their homeland.  Not to mention what the Republic might do.¡±

    She nodded slowly.  ¡°Very well.  We will consider our options, both diplomatic and not, and render our decision tomorrow morning.¡±

    Oh, Amidala.  You should have realized by now.  Warfare is diplomacy, just by other means than words.

 Chapter 49: You Get What You Pay For

    <u>Chapter 49: You Get What You Pay For</u>

    The next morning when Amidala left for the senate, Jon and I hired a speeder.  We stopped by one of the storage units I¡¯d had rented months ago as sites which I could pretend were supply caches if it proved necessary.  There I summoned up a reinforced case, fitted with repulsorlifts to make carrying it seem easier (thus avoiding revealing our strength), and filled it with Aurodium gems.

    At about six hundred thousand credits a gram, and twenty grams per cubic centimeter, a single liter of Aurodium was worth about twelve billion credits.  My case held a hundred liters, or about one-point-two trillion credits worth of Aurodium.  This was the kind of wealth that might be a planet¡¯s national reserve, the backing for their currency, trade deals and government.  And it fit inside what was essentially a medium sized suitcase.

    It was pretty weird, but very convenient.

    Since we were carrying crazy levels of cash, I also summoned up some self-defense equipment.  Jon and I weren¡¯t licensed for weapons on Coruscant, so we couldn¡¯t go armed to the teeth.  But with each of us getting subtle body armor, Valyrianized beskar flick-baton, and a dozen rods to throw, we¡¯d be able to make a fight with dozens of attackers look believable.

    After that, we headed over to the First Bank of Coruscant (FBoC), one of the few places with the ability to deal with such a quantity of bullion.  We weren¡¯t actually converting the Aurodium to credits; that would have taken a long time, something we didn¡¯t have.  Instead, we were depositing the Aurodium as a surety for an equally valued loan from FBoC; they would then handle selling off the Aurodium, taking a cut on the total transaction and paying off the loan.

    Suffice to say, it was a nice bit of financial manipulation, but it worked.

    As we were finishing up, I got a message on my pad from one of the handmaidens.  ¡°Valorum useless.  Queen called No Confidence.  Merc plan is ON. 1T budget, hit the purse and home.¡±

    Alright! I thought with a grin.  I turned to Jon.  ¡°We¡¯re on.  I¡¯d like you to visit the Coyn office, I¡¯ll meet with the Nova Guard.¡±  As a result of their furry physiology, long potential life-span, and high rate of combat-related deaths, the Coynites believed that long manes were a mark of martial distinction and wisdom.  Jon, who kept his hair long enough for a short que, was thus a better choice for them than my own relatively short haircut.

    As for the Nova Guard, they were based out of Ailon and made up almost entirely of that species.  The Ailon were a near-human alien species which had a religious belief in survival of the fittest, and saw combat as the best judge of said fitness.

    As such, many of their best and brightest served in the Guard in hopes of challenging themselves, and proving fit for the best mates.  This sort of Spartan breeding program, along with some genetic manipulation in their early history, led to Ailon soldiers being significantly stronger, tougher, faster and more enduring than other races.  Physically, they were about six foot two, or a hundred-eighty-seven centimeters.  Their skin was a redish brown, and contained a type of coagulant in the dead layers that would rapidly clot on any wounds.  Their faces were within modified human range, with thicker and more angular bone structures, and a second transparent eyelid.

    They were bred for war, well trained to be not just excellent warriors but excellent soldiers.  Nor did they skimp on equipment.  Full body armor, enclosed for space and NBC (nuclear, biological, chemical) operations, and a collection of ceremonial and modern weaponry, vehicles, artillery and the like were all part of their arsenal.  Together with their training and sheer physical capacity, they were among the deadliest soldiers in the galaxy.

    Overall, they had a reputation similar to the Mandalorians, though more focused on direct combat as part of an army than the sort of independent special-operations work that the Mandalorians were famous for.

    Oh, and the Guard was about a billion strong.  Basically, they were the best option for a wealthy polity that needed an army in a hurry.  Even if only a tenth or so of the mercenary army wasn¡¯t deployed at any given time, I should still easily be able to hire twenty million and a few battle fleets to take on the Neimoidian controlled Trade Federation.

    To make things even better, they were located in the Galactic Core region, only a day or two away from Cato Neimoidia and its sister colonies with a class-one hyperdrive.  The biggest problem with scratch operations launched at a moment¡¯s notice (and a week, in military terms for an invasion, is definitely a moment¡¯s notice), was supply lines and transportation.  But the short distances would simplify that immensely.

    I had previously contacted the Nova Guard by what was essentially email, mentioning that I was potentially going to be making an order somewhere in the neighborhood of one-hundred-fifty to seven-hundred-fifty billion credits.  As a good faith gesture, I¡¯d already deposited a hundred million credits, and that was just to show I was serious about the meeting.

    So it wasn¡¯t much of a surprise when I had an immediate meeting with General Alik Kror, the chief of the Nova Guard¡¯s Coruscant offices.

    ¡°It¡¯s good to meet you, General Kror,¡± I said, grasping his arm as was Ailon tradition.

    He seemed glad at that mark of respect.  ¡°Likewise, Lord Gangari,¡± he replied while we both began to squeeze, a sort of greeting strength competition.  I increased the pressure, showing off my strength to his impressed surprise.  Of course, I didn¡¯t go too far, stopping when it was clear I was stronger.  He laughed.  ¡°I think we¡¯ll get on just fine, Lord Gangari.¡±

    I chuckled.  ¡°I certainly hope so, General.¡±

    He led me to a secure meeting room.  An aide put down a platter of drinks and snacks.  ¡°So, what exactly can we do for you?¡±This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work.

    ¡°I¡¯m here representing Queen Amidala of Naboo.  We¡¯ve recently been blockaded, then invaded, by the Trade Federation,¡± I began.

    He nodded.  ¡°I heard about that.  Terrible day for the Republic, when a sector capital can be taken over by some trading company.  So, I assume you want us to retake the planet?¡±

    I shook my head.  ¡°Not quite.  Due to distances and travel speeds, we¡¯re actually looking at Coyn for that operation.  No, we want to hit those damn Neimoidians back.  We want you to seize or destroy Cato Neimoidia, Deko Neimoidia, Koru Neimoidia, and Neimoidia itself, or at least every asset in space.  We¡¯d also like as many Trade Federation executives captured and extradited to Naboo as possible.  Any intelligence, meeting notes or recordings of their illegal actions, especially related to Naboo, would also be appreciated.¡±

    He rocked back a bit, impressed with the scope of what we wanted to achieve.  ¡°That¡¯s technically possible,¡± he allowed.  ¡°But it¡¯s a pretty damned big operation; not something we¡¯d do on credit.  And we¡¯d need legal cause.¡±

    ¡°Queen Amidala can provide the legal authority.  Or at least close enough to keep everyone in court beyond the point where we¡¯re dead and buried,¡± I assured.  ¡°The specifics as to how, and relevant precedent and laws are in a document I have on my pad.  As for the operational costs, we¡¯ve got the liquid assets to go up to a hundred and fifty billion credits per purse world, two hundred billion for their homeworld, and another two hundred billion for targets of opportunity in the surrounding area.  After the war is over, we¡¯d like a ten-year contract at ten billion a year to protect Naboo.¡±

    He nodded slowly.  ¡°I¡¯ll have to go over what intelligence we have, but that at least sounds feasible.  Why don¡¯t you send over the legal documents, and I¡¯ll have one of our law-droids go over it while we continue to discuss the details.  And if you send the objectives too, then my aides can start working out which units are best suited.¡±

    I sent over the documents to his pad.

    ¡°Great, that should be a few minutes,¡± he continued.  ¡°Now, did you have any specific requirements in mind for the force composition?¡±

    ¡°I was going to leave that to you.  You have the objectives list, after all, and I imagine you¡¯re much more capable of deciding what you need to complete the mission.¡±

    He grinned.  ¡°Good, good!  I always worry, the customer often needs ¡­¡± he trailed off for a bit, looking for the right word.

    ¡°Finagling?¡± I supplied.

    ¡°Yes! Finagling,¡± he agreed.

    I shook my head.  ¡°No, you¡¯re the experts here.  Now, if it was ground operations, and I was familiar with your equipment, I might have more to contribute,¡± I said with a grin.

    ¡°You¡¯re a soldier?¡± he asked.

    I put my hand out and wiggled it back and forth.  ¡°Sort of.  I¡¯m a lord, but on Planetos, out beyond Republic space, not on Naboo.  There, lords are expected to command their territory¡¯s military forces.  I¡¯m also a knight, which a non-hereditary appointment dependent on individual martial skill, often awarded after some significant feat.¡±

    Now he was interested.  ¡°And what were you knighted for?¡±

    ¡°A combination of skill and actions.  I saved the life of my lord¡¯s son, giving him emergency medical treatment after he fell from a tower he¡¯d been climbing.  I beat one of the best warriors in a duel when he was armored, had a proper sword, and I only had a practice one.  And I was well known for my shooting.¡±  I wasn¡¯t going to be shy about this; Ailons were matter-of-fact but still proud of their feats.

    ¡°So how did you win this duel?¡± he questioned, leaning forwards.

    I grinned.  ¡°Well, I knew he¡¯d be expecting a sword-fight.  So I dropped mine, got in real close as he tried to draw his, and threw him to the floor.  Then I broke his knee, and smashed his head in with my boot.¡±

    ¡°Hahahaha!¡± Kror laughed.  ¡°Clever!  Now, I noticed you said ¡°my lord¡± earlier; by that I assume you were not yet a lord yourself?¡±

    I shook my head.  ¡°No, that came later.¡±

    He grinned, satisfied with his cleverness.  ¡°And was this also meritorious?¡±

    I smiled at him and nodded.  ¡°Yes.¡±

    ¡°So what did you do for that?¡±

    ¡°Well, the king of our nation, Robert, came to power after a revolution against the previous dynasty.  The prior ruler was utterly mad, burning people alive for his own amusement.  But some of the old king¡¯s family escaped, and his son had formed an alliance by marrying the old king¡¯s daughter to a foreign warlord.  Though the warlord¡¯s ground army was strong, his navy might was weak, so we weren¡¯t overly worried.  But it was still undesirable to have them there in the background constantly plotting.¡± I paused for a moment to take a sip of water.

    ¡°The alliance couldn¡¯t be allowed to stand,¡± I continued, ¡°and leaving these remnants of the old dynasty alone was an unacceptable risk.  Still, the girl was a teenager, and had little control over her life.  My lord, who was serving as the chief minister at that time, believed a straight assassination was dishonorable, though King Robert disagreed.  So I was sent out with my squire to end the threat, by some mix of killing, capturing and negotiating with the warlord and the members of the previous royal family.¡±

    He snorted.  ¡°Quite the mission.¡±

    ¡°Oh, I know,¡± I agreed.  ¡°Anyways, the Warlord¡¯s people had a habit of deciding things like leadership by ritual combat and warfare.  So after months of roaming about enemy territory, we finally came up to him when he was travelling.  Tens of thousands of warriors at his back.  And I challenged him to personal combat, with the old king¡¯s son and daughter on the line.¡±

    Kror laughed.  ¡°The stones on you!¡±

    I shrugged.  ¡°He could hardly deny me, not without dishonoring himself.  But neither did he really want to fight me.  So first he challenged my skills.  Impressed, he offered me a place in his host, which I refused.¡± Kror was into the story by now, nodding along.

    ¡°Then he required I prove myself against a treacherous knight from my own nation, a man who had sold others into slavery then fled from the law.  But despite his crimes, the man was a champion in our war-games and a master of the spear.  We fought.  He died.  Again, I was offered a place, now as a high officer with riches and land.  Again, I refused,¡± I said, building up the tension.

    ¡°Then I faced the Warlord.  He ordered we fight with swords, unarmored.  But after seeing what I did to the slaver, he decided to stack the deck, and called out his three Bloodriders to help him.  Sworn as ¡°blood of his blood,¡± they legally counted as the same person in many respects.  They were his personal bodyguards, and among the best warriors his people could offer.  But I had to face them, or else try and beat then entire army at his back.  Four on one, but I managed to kill them.  Then I killed the prince, and we took off with the princess while the army¡¯s officers were arguing over who was now in charge.  When we got back, Robert made me one Lord of one of the largest territories, and made me responsible for the princess¡¯ keeping.¡±

    ¡°Damn!¡± Kror exclaimed.  ¡°That was brief, man, but I can only begin to imagine how difficult it must have been!  If you ever tire of serving royals, you should come over and be a freelance special operative for the Guard.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re flattering me, but thank you,¡± I said.  And he was; until they¡¯d seen my skills first hand, any such offer was just flattery.  Still, the small-talk had served to make both them close with me, and me closer with them, so it was successful.  Soon enough an aide came in, with a report from the legal droid.

    Kror flipped through it for a few minutes.  ¡°Alright.  Well, it looks like the legal basis for the action is there.  And the funds were in the escrow accounts as described.  I look forward to our victory, Lord Gangari.¡±  He reached out to grip forearms again as I mirrored his movements.

    ¡°To our victory,¡± I replied with a grin.

 Chapter 50: Take It! Take It All!

    <u>Chapter 50: Take It! Take It All!</u>

    Between all the different military forces gathering and travel time, we had ten days to wait before the strike forces engaged the enemy.  Most of that was on the Coyn forces, which had the furthest to travel.  Coruscant was eight days from Naboo if travelling on the royal yacht, so we had two days to kill.

    Emphasis on kill.

    Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan, re-assigned to Amidala¡¯s protection detail, turned away no fewer than five assassination attempts: a bombing that was detonated by electronic countermeasures while still in the assassin¡¯s hands; a fake Coruscant Police officer with a gun who tried to take out Amidala in the aftermath; a poisoning attempt from a suborned embassy wait-staff member; a sniper attack; and even a remotely piloted vehicle ramming.

    And that was just the first day.

    Luckily the Ailon Nova Guard had a couple dozen soldiers on the planet who were between contracts and were willing to hire on as bodyguards.  Crew-served weapons, snipers, and portable shield generators made a big difference, and the attacks stopped.

    The media though were a bit harder to dissuade, and they were going nuts.  Amidala was a beautiful young queen facing an evil, alien, faceless mega-corp.  She had taken down Valorum.  And she was now getting attacked by assassins while being protected by Jedi Knights.  It was basically a real life holo-vid.

    It really sucked for Jon, Shmi, Anakin and I.  I¡¯d been looking forward to seeing the sights on Coruscant, maybe sticking around for a bit and seeing if there was any interesting gear to copy, or excellent individuals¡¯ patterns to acquire for my magical-ship projects.  But the situation was just too dangerous.

    But finally, thankfully, it was time to leave.  In an effort to keep everyone important alive, General Kror kindly offered to loan us his personal transport, a fully tricked out heavy corvette, as escort.  Normally, the corvette only went where the general did.  But Jon and I had gone over the second day and sparred with some of their office¡¯s off-duty soldiers as a way to get rid of a bit of stress, and ran through their virtual shooting houses a few times.  Even with our enchantments on ¡°training with normals¡± mode, we easily kicked ass, and seriously impressed the Nova Guard who were present or saw recordings.

    The loan of the corvette proved prescient, as the ship needed to disable a ¡°rogue¡± fast courier that was on a collision course with Amidala¡¯s yacht.  But we made hyperspace safely.

    =================================

    Suffice to say, I was fucking ecstatic when Amidala was finally able to declare the Trade Federation a criminal organization and the mercenaries attacked.  Five fleets struck simultaneously, the Nova Guard naval ships hitting the Neimoidian worlds while the Coynite forces invested Enarc, and a pair of cruisers with escort squadrons diverted to take out the Lucrehulk droid controller over Naboo.

    We arrived just in time for our mercenaries to have established orbital superiority over Naboo, and for Amidala to be able to give an emergency address to the Nabooians, telling them to cooperate with the mercenary Coyn forces who were re-taking the planet.

    Over the next hours, reports came in over the holo-net.  Cato Neimoidia, Deko Neimoidia, and Koru Neimoidia had been more heavily defended than expected.  Fighting was ongoing, and many of their orbital manufactories, ship-building facilities, and habitats were refusing to surrender.  Some, where the droids had control, actually scuttled, self-destructing rather than falling into enemy hands.

    Still, losses among the Ailon Nova Guard were light, except for in the Deko Neimoidia system where a suicidal ramming attack had critically damaged a heavy cruiser¡¯s engines.  Seriously slowed, it hadn¡¯t been able to stay at range and was swarmed by droid fighters.  Rather than disengage, the admiral ordered his ships to engage and protect the cruiser.  Instead of an extreme-range laser and capital-ship weapon duel, an engagement that the Ailon were well equipped to handily win, it became a short ranged-brawl, exactly the scenario that they wanted to avoid, and losses among the combat fleet were heavy.  Still, the transports weren¡¯t damaged, and landing operations were beginning.

    Neimoidia itself had surrendered, apparently assuming from the Ailon acting ¡°under Judicial authority¡± by using Amidala¡¯s codes that this was a general Republican action against the Trade Federation, and thinking themselves doomed.

    Closer to home, Enarc had fallen fairly quickly, surrendering after the enemy flag-Lucrehulk was destroyed.  Apparently the other Lucrehulk captains were less fanatically loyal, and more interested in saving their own hides.  As a result, the Coynite fleet had taken the system with most of its infrastructure intact, and captured three Lucrehulks with most of their complement relatively undamaged.  A nice bonus.

    While Naboo¡¯s orbit had been taken fairly bloodlessly, the situation on the ground was more complicated.  While the infantry made up of B1 droids was dependent on the control ship¡¯s computers for their actions, the tanks were crewed by OOM droids.  OOM¡¯s were the predecessor to the B1, with similar physical and mental capabilities.  But they were each equipped with their own droid brain, and were thus immune to being knocked out by the lack of a control signal.

    When the droid army deactivated, a few tens of thousands of resistance fighters distributed throughout Naboo¡¯s urban areas sparked a general uprising.  At the same time, the panicked Gunray ordered all remaining forces, most of which were hovertanks, to converge on the palace and protect him.  While most of the six thousand, two hundred and fifty tanks (less a few combat losses) were far too far away to be useful, they did head towards the palace at full speed and fired back more or less indiscriminately if they were attacked en route.  Thousands had died as a result.

    Then Gunray ordered the two hundred or so in Theed¡¯s vicinity to occupy all streets leading to the palace, and fire on any advancing concentration of vehicles or people, killing thousands more.  Nor was this fire particularly limited in collateral damage; heavy laser cannons, repeating blasters, and missiles all ranked fairly highly in damage output and overpenetration.

    Coynite ships in orbit were already using precise space-to-ground laser strikes to destroy any tank in the open, but the damage was done.  In response, the surviving tanks were seeking shelter under arches where available, or under roofs by crashing through walls when other cover was not available.  The palace, with its wide open spaces, was infested with tens of the tanks, and a few hundred surviving OOM infantry.  Gunray meanwhile had taken every Nabooian he could get his claws on, and was holding them hostage.

    Over the next few hours, newly arrived Coynite ground forces retook control of Naboo¡¯s surface, fitting many of the deactivated droids with restraint bolts that would de-activate them even if another control ship showed up and destroying the remainder.  The palace was under siege, with Coynite armor and infantry holding a tight cordon while nearby civilians were evacuated.  A full strike-group was in orbit above the palace to make sure that Gunray couldn¡¯t escape on a shuttle or one of the Nabooian fighters.

    =================================

    A couple days later, and the situation was much clearer.  Gunray was trapped.  Royal Naboo Security Force officers assigned to the Palace had gotten into contact with the Coynite mercenaries, and made sure that all approaches in and out were covered.  Some secret entrance/exits weren¡¯t actually revealed, but guarded by RNSF officers with borrowed weaponry.  Mobile AA was set up, and there was also the fleet overhead.

    The only way he was getting out was if we let him out.This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

    I was worried Amidala would do just that.  There was just no good way to get the hostages out safely.  The Coynite commanders knew it, and told Amidala the truth when she asked.  Since many of the prisoners were Amidala¡¯s friends, senior advisors and the like, she was loathe to order an assault.

    On the other hand, we¡¯d been ducking Coruscant¡¯s calls for just over a day.  Palpatine had been elected and subsequently sworn in as Chancellor.  Out of magnanimousness?  Foolishness?  Some political deal?  I didn¡¯t know the reason, but he had ordered my little Proscription, my legal harrying of the Trade Federation, to stop.

    Fuck that noise.

    I had paid a few billion to media consultants, lawyers, and lobbyists on Coruscant to cover for my actions, and those of my mercenaries during this period.  Entire convoys of loot and high value captives from the Neimoidian purse worlds were already en route to Naboo, where they would be subject to Nabooian and Chommell Sector laws; the Federation wouldn¡¯t be getting any of it back.  If it was valuable and not bolted down, it was seized.  If it was bolted down, it was unbolted.  And if it was on a structure that could be towed, well, they towed it.

    If I had my way, the Trade Federation prisoners wouldn¡¯t be seeing a Republic court until they¡¯d already been convicted on Naboo, and squeezed for every millicred we could get to take ¡°death by firing squad¡± off the table and allow a guilty plea for a ¡°life in prison¡± deal.  That way, even if the Republic filed for extradition, if found ¡°not guilty¡± of their crimes that fell under galactic rather than local jurisdiction, they¡¯d just get shipped back to rot on Naboo.

    As it was, a secure report from the Ailon Nova Guard¡¯s intelligence officers that I made sure Amidala didn¡¯t see included some of the ¡°in-flight entertainment¡± that the Neimoidians were ¡°enjoying¡±.  They seemed to be unable to stop playing games like ¡°the person with the most useful information gets to eat, drink, have a functioning toilet, control their thermostat, sleep, etc.¡±  And man, they were really getting ripped off on those in-flight prices for food and drink ¨C a billion credits for a bag of chips?  It was practically robbery!  Suffice to say, the Neimoidians, a group of soft business executives used to luxury, were generally being very cooperative.

    With any luck, I might even make a profit on this whole endeavor, even after giving the mercenaries their cut of seized assets.  If we got access to the Trade Federation¡¯s war-chest, the information required to access their cash reserves, I might make a lot of profit.

    But we were operating under Amidala¡¯s authority, and as soon as Amidala officially received the order to cease, she¡¯d have to stop and give the same order to the rest of us.  Key word officially.  So we had a ¡°handmaiden¡± playing communications officer, and just straight up lying when asked to pass the encrypted message.  Amidala had been ¡°unreachable,¡± either in the field, or under a comm-jammer, or just not where the officer expected, for a full thirty hours by this point.

    To make things better, the ¡°handmaiden¡± wasn¡¯t; she was a summoned copy of a trained communications officer for a company I owned, dressed up and made up in that thick white makeup like a handmaiden.  Since handmaiden identities were kept secret, and they were basically indistinguishable due to their make-up, it was far too easy.

    Oh, at first Palpatine would suspect Amidala, but a secret review would show all handmaidens accounted for, and facial recognition would show the suspect handmaiden not matching any of the actual handmaidens¡¯ faces.  Putting that makeup onto every female who might be the fake handmaiden was impossible, and the makeup was designed to defeat facial recognition in the first place; there was little chance this could be traced back to me.

    It was just terrible that the Trade Federation spy prevented the Chancellor¡¯s orders from reaching Amidala, wasn¡¯t it?  Yet so ironic that those very orders were ones that would have stopped the Federation¡¯s destruction!

    In other words, short of Palpatine coming out to Naboo in person we planned to keep going.  But I¡¯d taken the time while on Coruscant to summon a few Ravens, and they were keeping an eye on our dear Senator-turned-Chancellor.  He had just boarded a Judiciary diplomatic corvette, and left with a small Republic Security Force flotilla.  Normally he might have taken a fast courier, but we were reporting intermittent combat and it seemed he didn¡¯t want to risk Trade Federation ships, or our mercenaries, being too trigger happy.

    That was good; the flotilla was at best half as fast as a courier.  Assuming they all had 2.0 hyperdrive ratings, we had about sixteen days before their arrival.

    Which meant I couldn¡¯t wait forever for Amidala to make up her mind.  I wanted the actual crisis part of the Naboo Crisis over, and the kangaroo court part of it to begin.  Plus, I¡¯d noticed Amidala wasn¡¯t the type of person that did well with sieges, or waiting in general.  She wanted action.  Whether that action would be letting Gunray off, or storming the palace, I just couldn¡¯t tell.

    And, best guess, there were between seven and ten trillion credits in accounts that needed access codes only Gunray could provide.  The secondary access method required too many members of the Trade Federation¡¯s Executive Board, and we just hadn¡¯t captured enough.

    We¡¯d gotten lucky with Neimoidia¡¯s surrender, but the planet was seen as a shit posting, and thus didn¡¯t have any truly high-ranking personnel present.  The Nova Guard did a good job on Cato Neimoidia, taking many high-level executives, including a couple members of the Executive board prisoner, and also snagged computers, personal droids, and physical files.  A few top execs might have still been hiding in secret chambers, and a couple transports managed to escape, but it was a fairly clean sweep.

    Deko and Koru Neimoidia were decent catches.  A reasonable crop of executives, computer network managers and the like from offices and private residences.  Enough computers and droids to give a good idea of business dealings.  Some research project results, some important sites and the like.  But the intense fighting on Deko gave time for more of the most decisive among the most important executives, the sorts with private hyper-capable transports, to flee.  Koru¡¯s fighting, while not intense, had left a gap in the blockade with similar results.

    In short, we had enough to get a lot out of the Trade Federation, but with Gunray we¡¯d have everything.  Or at least, just about everything liquid, and a hell of a lot of the physical assets via control codes for space stations, ships, and droids.

    So yeah, I really wanted to capture Gunray.  There was just something different about spending pirated legitimately seized credits, versus those gained by selling summoned super-high-value materials.

    Which is why I went to Amidala with a plan.

    =================================

    ¡°So, let Us be clear.  Your plan is to walk into Gunray¡¯s clutches as a negotiator, neutralize his bodyguard droids with a covert ion pulse grenade, threaten his life, and obtain a general surrender?¡± Amidala asked.

    ¡°Yes, Your Majesty,¡± I replied.

    ¡°We doubt you are doing this without some benefit, Mr. Gangari,¡± she said exasperatedly.  ¡°Well, what is it?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not sure I should say, Your Majesty, in case things go poorly.  But it will happen after he shuts down his droids, and won¡¯t cost Naboo anything.¡±  Specifically, I was going to get those financial access codes by hook or by crook.

    She sighed.  ¡°Very well.  Just try not to do anything that would end with you in front of a court.  As satisfying as it might be for Us, it would doubtless be an embarrassment Naboo can ill afford.¡±

    I grinned.  ¡°Your Majesty!  You¡¯re starting to care about me!¡±

    ¡°We most certainly do not!¡± she hissed.  She really wasn¡¯t, from her emotions.  ¡°You are dismissed, Mr. Gangari.¡±

    Minutes later I was on the ground, then approaching the Palace under flag of truce.  The droids ordered me to stop.  After a lengthy wait, one eventually came up and searched me for weapons, then passed me on. It let me keep my datapad, pen and communicator, as I argued I needed those to be able to negotiate.  They were all scanned, but none of them were weaponized, so there was nothing to see.  Plus, the ¡°ion charge¡± was really a spell.

    Finally I was led to Gunray, who had appropriated the secondary throne room.  Designed for more private audiences, it had thick doors, and windows that looked out into an enclosed courtyard.  A couple of Neimoidian lackeys were there as well, along with two dozen OOM¡¯s with blasters.  The doors were shut behind me.  Between the guards, locking themselves in the relatively cozy room, and the emotions I could sense it was pretty damned obvious that Gunray was panicked, paranoid, and basically losing it.

    As soon as the doors were shut he looked at me, glaring.  ¡°So, what did you come to say?¡± he spat.

    I lifted my datapad, looked at it, and then activated the ¡°ion charge¡±.  Every bit of unshielded electronics in the room, droids included, shut down, with only my personal pad left working.  In a flash, I was next to Gunray, and had him by the throat.  His lackeys looked on in horror, one literally wringing his hands.  I¡¯d always thought that was just an expression.

    ¡°No! No, you can¡¯t!¡± he choked out in his fear.

    ¡°I believe I just did, Viceroy,¡± I said pleasantly while giving my best crazy-motherfucker smile with psycho-killer eyes.  ¡°Now, you have two options.  One, you tell me how to disable the droids, and you will stand trial.  Two, and this is the option I prefer, I hurt you until you tell me how to disable the droids.  And then I flip a coin.  Heads, I keep hurting you until our forces clear the building and find us.  Tails, I just kill you.¡± I blasted him with mana-driven mental compulsion, making him pick option one.  I wasn¡¯t sure if he was normally strong-minded or not, but either way with the fear and panic in his system it was easy for my spell to take hold.

    ¡°Option one! Option one!¡±

    Soon the droids were disabled.  Shortly after that, I had all the codes.  After the mercenaries took their cut, and I paid a chunk of Naboo¡¯s reconstruction costs, I still profited to the tune of five trillion credits.

    Now that is what I would call a successful operation.

 Chapter 51: Triumph

    <u>Chapter 51: Triumph</u>

    The Trade Federation was finished.  Roughly forty percent of the company¡¯s physical assets were seized, their liquid assets drained into my coffers with what little remained frozen, and the records found of all their evil deeds.

    Already their subsidiaries were attempting to break off.  Other parts were going into immediate bankruptcy.  Crews were seizing their own vessels, turning them into authorities willing to pay a portion of the ships value in prize money.  Some captains were taking off, going into Hutt space, or elsewhere, just beyond the Republic¡¯s grasp.

    The rats were fleeing the sinking ship.

    We¡¯d won.

    Of course, I didn¡¯t think that this was the end of it.  The dark-sider on Tatooine indicated that forces (or Forces) beyond a shady mega-corp were at work.  He was still out there, and I doubted that he¡¯d forgotten me or Jon.  Not to mention the dark-sider¡¯s master, assuming he wasn¡¯t working as a mercenary or bounty hunter.

    But it would be much harder to hit Naboo in the future.  For the next decade, a half-million strong detachment of soldiers and sailors from the Ailon Nova Guard would be helping to secure the system.  And by the time the Nova Guard was cycling out, my own forces would be cycling in.

    No, I suspected that if someone were intent on making trouble, either in general or for the Republic, they¡¯d do it elsewhere.

    My actions had had something of a destabilizing effect.  The mega-corps were on notice.  Their spending on corporate security was increasing massively every day, and the stock price for reputable private military contractor (PMC) companies and military industries was soaring as both irate governments and oppressive companies considered more direct action.

    After a final victory parade, it was all over.

    =================================

    Following the retaking of Naboo, I had a load of shit to take care of.

    Distributing the loot took months; I pretty much sold off all of my portion of the seized equipment.  I only got about a third of the theoretical value, but I just didn¡¯t want to have to take care of it, or risk any backdoors in the codes or other surprises people might hit me with.

    It wasn¡¯t like money was a thing for me, after all, and even if I did have to care about money, I had somewhere in excess of seven point five trillion credits after totaling up my haul.  I could buy basically anything.  And I did.

    I wanted to establish my own PMC, a private military company, to be my presence in the Star Wars plane.  I was familiar with Revan¡¯s adventures, after all; as epic as they were to watch, conflict of that scale was a pain in the ass to be a part of.  I was a crazily powerful mage, already at the ¡°planetary destruction¡± level, and quickly climbing in power.  Plus, I was, as far as I could tell, biologically immortal.  So the question became, what did I do with my power.

    Now, I was not a saint.  I didn¡¯t want to make peoples¡¯ lives perfect; in fact, I was of the belief that struggle is part of what made a person, tempered them.  Nor was I selfless; I wanted to live well, with wealth and power and minions.  But I wasn¡¯t above (or below) being benevolent.  I had plans to liberate the enslaved and oppressed, both on Planetos and in the Star Wars Galaxy.

    But to do that, my to-do list was pretty large.  I wanted ships designed to use magic from the keel up, as well as visually similar versions for my general mercenary crews, and both natural and summoned forces to crew them.  I wanted to figure out how to get technology to work in other dimensions, or figure out work-arounds.  I wanted to come up with some sort of mind-enchantment interface for my people to use, as well as mind-machine and machine-magic interfaces.  I wanted to figure out how to make purely techno-magical spirits based on droid minds.  And I wanted to develop automated enchanters to apply all the upgrades without my attention.

    Those were only the technical challenges.

    One of the big issues with magic and ships is that there is no background mana in space.  So I needed either long-range links to planets which did have mana, or to create live-ships that generated their own.  I preferred the second of these options; it was just tidier, plus it didn¡¯t leave vulnerable planets as difficult to protect power sources.  That meant I needed designers who were skilled at building habitats.

    But since I was building warships, I needed ship designers.  Further, I needed a lot of ship designers.  I wanted ships ranging in size from fifty meter long patrol-boats, all the way up to eight kilometer long dreadnoughts.  Hells, in the future I wanted to build ships capable of holding entire nations worth of people in civilian comfort.  My largest ship, what I was calling a ¡°planet class¡± was slated to come in at around a hundred-twenty-eight kilometers long.  With an internal deck area of ninety million square kilometers, it could support a population of up to ninety billion souls at maximum capacity.

    Nor would a single ship design suffice for each size.  I wanted all the varieties.  Apart from dedicated civilian Liveships, I wanted general combat ships designed for the battle-line.  Lancers, with a focus on longer ranged weapons like lasers.  Sabres using mid-ranged beam weapons.  Brawlers, designed to get up close and slug it out.  Escorts with a large number of lighter weapons to take out fighters, missiles and the like.  Missile and torpedo ships.  Destroyers with super-heavy spinal weapons to hunt enemy capital ships.  Carriers with swarms of drones, fighters and bombers.  Assault ships, designed to carry out orbital assaults on ground targets or massive space-structures.  Fast scouts and couriers.  Stealth ships, Q-ships designed to blend into civilian shipping, raiders to operate long-term behind enemy lines.  Armed merchant Indiaman ships to carry goods, transports to carry marines and soldiers, and support ships to carry out repairs, mine minerals and the like.

    That was just for ships.  I also needed fighters, bombers, gunships, landing craft, tanks, armored personnel carriers, power armor, un-powered armor, and weapons for all of the above.

    And, since people I simply hired weren¡¯t going to cut it with regards to loyalty, I needed minimally magical versions of all of the above so that the people I properly recruited, rather than simply summoning, could carry out operations too.

    To actually use the equipment, I needed people.  Crews, engineers, pilots, navigators, weapons officers, sensors officers, EW specialists, loadmasters, negotiators, pursers.  I need officers and commanders, everything from junior NCO¡¯s on up through full fleet admirals.

    And I needed the infrastructure to support that.  Not just physical; I needed administrators, educators, trainers, bureaucrats, and recruiters.  To find the best people to serve as summoning templates, I needed competitions, and people to run those.

    In short, I had a pretty fucking massive amount of work.

    =================================

    Blissfully, most of it could be delegated.  There were head-hunting firms that I hired to acquire the human resources I needed.  I payed top credit, and hired the best.  To make sure I got clever young folks too, I made sure to have numerous competitions.  I hosted design competitions at various universities and digitally over planetary networks.  Then I made sure to greet everyone personally, take a copy of their pattern, and created summoned groups to do the more sensitive or magically-oriented work in parallel.If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.

    I hired PMC¡¯s myself, people that specialized in training modern military forces.  I started to summon the limit of Paragons, eight hundred at first then more later, and sent many of them off to different war colleges and training courses set up within the Galaxy.  As they came back, they often brought back promising recruits, whether just for a visit or on a more permanent arrangement ¨C it didn¡¯t make much difference to my summoning capability.  And I made sure we cross-trained in the various specialties.

    A few months in, and I had the bare-bones of a major research shipyard.

    Even with all the delegation, it was a lot for me to keep track of.  I had to interact a lot with the design teams, especially the summoned ones, on how exactly my magic worked and what it could do.  It would have been impossible if it weren¡¯t for my Blue mental upgrades.  I may not have thought significantly better or differently than before my Awakening as a mage, but I sure as shit thought faster and more.  But even thinking a dozen times as quickly and using pre-cog to jump between conclusions while skipping the actual thinking in between it was hard to keep up.

    My work load only increased when I realized a little over a year after my arrival that I was no longer trapped in the Star Wars plane, and could once again access Westeros.

    Harrenhal had done well in my absence and rule-by-Raven; there weren¡¯t any real crises, thankfully.  The ice-demons were still North of the Wall; I was planning on a culling once I had orbital support available.  My army had expanded, the Hounds, Ravens and Horses doubling in population, while my military leaders had trained twenty regiments worth of reserve footmen.  When my PMC was sufficiently set up, I was planning on establishing a training center on my lands and updating them to a more modern standard.

    But the biggest part of my workload, and definitely the hardest, were my own projects; namely, the work I did developing new magic as needed for the grand plan.

    So the first, and perhaps most important part of the magic was getting advanced technology to function regardless of dimension.  Since a liveship generated a limited amount of mana, that mana was a finite resource.  In other words, the more I used magic when unnecessary, the less magic I had available to both tap myself (assuming I bonded with the ships and got direct mana-taps working, both of which I planned on), and the less magic there was available for the shields, weapons, sensors, drives, etc.

    Also, some parts could generate a lot of mana.  Of all the mana sources, Red and Blue were the hardest to come across on a ship without access to high technology.

    Green was available because I had the ships be as organic as possible.  The ship grew food for the crew, absorbed internal light waste, recycled carbon dioxide into breathable air, and transported the ship¡¯s water.  Plus it meant that many parts of the ship could self-repair slowly even without magic; regeneration spells were, generally, more efficient than reconstruction ones as well.  Enchanted exotic high-strength biomaterials were almost as good as enchanted exotic metals, and I¡¯d modified the plants to naturally grow enchanted dragon-bone to provide mana-batteries, magical conductivity, and structural reinforcement.

    Similarly Black was available from the natural reclamation of bio-waste.  Ships were highly structured and orderly, thus there was a lot of White available.

    Some Blue was available due to the complexity of the ship.  But the computers, libraries, sensors and the like were great sources of Blue, and only available if high technology was too.

    Red though was the worst.  The best source of Red mana was a high-energy reactor.  But those were high technology, and would fail if sent into a different plane with other physical laws.

    After a lot of experimentation, I figured it out.  It turned out that there was a White/Red equivalent to the Valyrianization process that bound in the original dimensional rules that a part functioned under while weakening any local rules that were different.  I called it the ¡°Dimensional Compatibility¡± enchantment.

    I was pretty ecstatic to get that functioning.  After, I seemed to be on a roll.  Mind-magic interfacing was pretty easy; I just needed to have an enchantment that could read thoughts, and then have it operate triggers in a different enchantment.  Feedback could be direct into the user¡¯s mind, or indirect with lights, noises or the like.  Machine-magic interfaces similarly were pretty simple, just operating by reading and sending signals through switches as needed.

    Now, I make both of those sound really easy.  They weren¡¯t.  It¡¯s sort of like describing a lightbulb as a thin metal filament heated until it glows, but in a way that isn¡¯t significantly damaging the filament.  Sure, that¡¯s technically correct.  But if you told Edison it was that easy, he¡¯d laugh at you and point out that there¡¯s still a few hundred failed lightbulb experiments before you get it working.  Mind-magic and magic-machine interfaces were kind of like that; a lot of failed experiments before I got it working.  If it was the only thing I was working on, I might have achieved a reasonable version within a few months.  Given all the other demands on my time, it took over a year, and another two before I was comfortable with their performance with most of the bugs ironed out.

    Mind-machine interfaces, it turned out, already existed.  The problem was that these neural interfaces just didn¡¯t work that well.  Few humans could keep up with the sensory overload.  I needed an intermediary.  Luckily, I already had an idea that should help.  I was planning on making techno-magical spirits, or (techno) sprites as I decided to call them.

    Basically, a sprite was what you get if you take a droid brain, and make it exist as a purely magical structure, capable of lightly interacting with human minds, machines, and spells.  It took a full two years of study to figure out enough about how droids worked to get the spell working.  Without mental acceleration, it would have been at least twenty.  And even then, I generally needed a droid to serve as the template for my sprite construct.  The spell worked on Blue for the ethereal mind with a bit of White for permanence and structure despite lacking physical form, though even then sprites still needed to be hosted by a human or sufficiently advanced computational device/droid.

    But when I got the spell working, it was awesome.  It opened so many doors.  First, I had fully functional mind-machine interfaces, ones I could use not just with my own magically loyal forces, but anyone in my organization.  And it didn¡¯t just improve efficiency for pilots and the like; no, they drastically improved productivity for anyone working with computers.  My designers were suddenly getting easily twice as much work done as the time it took for their CAD programs to get their ideas just right went from days to minutes, allowing them to focus on other parts of the problem.

    I could put sprites in as controllers for magical drone ships, improving fighter performance, and as managers over individual weapons systems too.  They managed my auto-enchanters, a lot of the administrative work, and could be loaded with astralized code, such as HUD aim-assist programs, functional programs like Word, Excel and CAD, ¡­ basically, they were fucking awesome.

    Between the mind-machine-magic interface circle, I was finally able to give my summoned designers and engineers working on the magical ship products the ability to (even if minimally) modify enchantments.  They were fucking inept compared to me, but they were thousands and I one; the fraction of my time spent troubleshooting small magical quirks went down exponentially, and I was much happier.

    My own personal sprite, Jeeves, was a great assistance to everything I did.  While I had auto-enchanters that could make sprites, and used those to generate the majority of the sprites that were used by my people, Jeeves had been a special project, made with the most advanced droids I could get my hands on.

    The core of Jeeves¡¯ personality was an FIII Footman, a model of droid last manufactured four centuries previous.  They were designed to be the best possible assistant; valet, bodyguard, assassin, they did it all, and with the utmost loyalty.  Short of HK-47, it was the best I could get, and I doubted HK¡¯d agree to be my virtual secretary and assistant even if I could find him.  Jeeves¡¯ computational muscle came from the second part; a super-powerful AI I¡¯d specially commissioned, but never activated.

    I couldn¡¯t actually create Jeeves straight out.  The AI was too complex, the processing power too high.  Instead, I flew into a part of empty space, somewhere I wouldn¡¯t be disturbed.  Then I constructed a massive twisted mass of dragon-bone in the three-dimensional projection of the spell-pattern I needed.  That served as the support for the sprite creation spell, and after charging had enough extra mana that I could actually realize the spell.  I could have literally glassed a planet with less energy.

    It was a huge pain in the ass.  But when it was done, I had Jeeves¡¯ kernel, which I then enhanced with as strong a set of mental acceleration enchantments as I could manage.  Jeeves was amazing, capable of truly stupendous levels of multi-tasking and modeling.  I¡¯ll admit freely, he pretty much ran my PMC while I was researching.  And in a bit of a blow to the ego, the improvement was shocking.

    I¡¯d been tempted to call him Jarvis, or Sebastian, but decided to go with the classic name instead.

    Techno-magical singularity and transhumanism.  I was down for that.

 Chapter 52: Open for Business

    <u>Chapter 52: Open for Business</u>

    With the massive jumps in capability accomplished, I got down to designing magical counter-parts to mundane capabilities.  Environmental management, sensors, controls, engines, teleportation drive, weapons and the like were all achieved. Somewhere along the way I even figured out short-ranged direct mana taps, so the ships could access their underlying mana capacity rather than just what was available ambiently.

    Some of the magical ship systems were so much better than the mundane version that they were definitely used.  Like long-range nearly lag-free sensors based on direction and teleportation of EM signals combined with scrying spells.  Some were cheap enough, often due to permanent enchantments, like precognitive targeting packages or Valyrian treatment to the outer hull and some structural struts.  Some, like molecular environmental filters, were only worth it when the dragon-bone mana-capacitors were full, or it was an emergency; they were good backups, but definitely back-ups.

    But others were more problematic.  Teleportation jump drives were far faster than hyperdrive, and without being limited to hyper-lanes.  But they were technologically limited to blind jumps, jumps to known magical beacons, or jumps within safe sensors range as sensor-drift could be problematic at long range; blind jumps were always dangerous and to be avoided under risk of telefragging.  The jumps also drained crazy amounts of mana; a ship generally needed at least twenty times as much mana to jump as it was capable of generating, more typically about twenty-five times as much mana.

    The problem was that any ship would then arrive with massively depleted mana stores on the other end, making it highly vulnerable.  Furthermore, the ship would need to have gigantic mana capacitors, taking up about sixty percent of the ship¡¯s volume just for the jump drive.  Generally speaking, my ships used between thirty and thirty-five percent of the volume for structural elements, ships systems, reactors, engines, weaponry, spare parts storage and the like.  Basically, the space not dedicated to essential systems would be cut down by a factor of six to twelve, and that very same space reduction would reduce mana generation to the same fraction, making jumps take a long time to charge.

    As a result we came up with a structure and two new ships.  The structure was a beacon, a massive mana-capacitor capable of teleporting a ship to some location; they were often included as part of my larger star-base designs.  Heighliners, named after the transport ships used in Dune, were T-jump capable ships that were basically mobile beacons; they could also act as giant carriers for smaller ships for longer journeys or explorations.  Finally Explorers were independently T-jump capable ships, optimized to operate with small crews, and redesigned to be less armored and armed, freeing up space for living/mana generation.

    One important discovery we made was that the benefit gained from lands I had claimed with respect to mana cycling rates were only for lands I had claimed.  I was down to about four seconds per cycle.  But unclaimed ship-spaces depended on the ship¡¯s total mana, and generally cycled at one-third as fast as I would have with the same mana supply.

    Thus a patrol boat took about an hour per mana charge cycle, and a frigate about five minutes, but Explorer versions of both varieties needed roughly seventy-five charges to jump.  That was roughly seventy five hours and five hours, respectively.  For jumps relying on sensors, a ship needed to jump once every fifteen minutes to match a 2.0 hyperdrive on a known hyper-route.  In other words, Explorers and Heighliners pretty much had to be claimed to function better than hyperdrive, and military ships would have their magic recharge up to nine hundred times faster.  That was a big difference.  Fast jumps from a beacon for a limited number of quick-reaction ships was still a very viable capability though.

    Three years after freeing Naboo, the designs for equipment for both the magical and general parts of the PMC were ready.  Well, everything up to Frigate-weight at least, even if the options for infantry were a bit less than I would have liked.  But I was claiming what I had considered a fairly respectable nine hundred and change mana a day.  For claiming ships, it just wasn¡¯t enough.  At that rate, a single frigate would take over two days to claim, and I was planning on having thousands of the things.

    Even without the mana recharge improvements, my magical ships were significantly better armed, armored and shielded than my less magical ships, which were themselves significantly superior to even the best of my competition.

    The magical shields and weapons were of course amazing; teleporting anti-matter bombs onto enemy ships was practically cheating, after all (which was why I reserved it¡¯s use - didn¡¯t want to give Jedi/Sith any ideas), and while my ships had mana my projectile shields made them practically invulnerable. But even when the active magical defenses were exhausted, the underlying enchanted conventional weaponry, shields, armor and other systems were far better than what anyone else had.  It was just that with high mana availability my ships were monsters.

    But I wasn¡¯t able to claim lands faster than I already was, not safely, and so I had to let it be, and construct most of my navy with hyperdrives.

    Honestly, it was just my perfectionism that caused me to complain.  My ¡°conventional¡± (-ish) ships that used some magically enhanced materials and stable enchantments - but not much more than that ¨C were still significantly superior.  Honestly, galactic ship-building was just fucking wasteful.  Anyone who¡¯d been on a civilian ship back on Earth would consider the galactic-norm spaces over-generous, let alone someone used to something really packed like a submarine.  Wide hallways, fairly large rooms, and don¡¯t even get me started on those ridiculously oversized hangars.  Not to mention the galactic pre-occupation with exposed, transparent command bridges.

    None of that shit on my ships ¨C I kept my crews safely behind thick armor plating, thank you very much.  If they needed to see outside, well, that¡¯s why people invented cameras. While my Liveships weren¡¯t subject to quite the same level of spatial optimization, given up to nine thousand square feet of livable space per person (though that included hallways, common and work spaces), my military ships were much more efficient.  Carefully planned personnel quarters with folding furniture and other clever solutions kept it reasonably comfortable but massively reduced the amount of space needed per person.

    I loved innovations like that, and like using tractor-beams to launch and retrieve fighters and bombers from densely packed racks.  It meant that my ships could have a full crew, a marine detachment (with integrated vehicles), and a fighter complement.  Hell, just one of my three-hundred-meter long frigates carried a full three fighter wings for a total of one hundred ninety two attack-craft, plus two marine battalions with their attached vehicles.  And that wasn¡¯t even a dedicated carrier variant, just the normal attached complement.

    =================================

    With the ship designs done and prototypes tested, at least for the patrol-boats, corvettes and frigates, it was time to kick things up a notch.  My (you-can¡¯t-tell-it¡¯s-not!) conventional patrol boats outmatched a typical corvette, while my magical ones could match up against a frigate.  Similarly, my conventional corvettes matched frigates, and my frigates cruisers.

    So I could finally start recruitment and mass construction, eventually hiring my ships out for anti-piracy operations in a year or two as crews and vessels were ready.  It was a long ways to go to get to that point, and I was pretty ecstatic I¡¯d reached it.

    I planned on being a mostly space-borne force.  Generally speaking I wasn¡¯t particularly interested in extended ground operations.  Now, this was when most ships would, with full complements, have more marines than navy personnel.  To be clear, I wasn¡¯t against attacking pirate bases, orbital drop assaults, raiding specific targets and even short-term invasions.  Essentially, for me if it ¡°extended¡± past an orbital assault with power-armored marines and limited special operations, getting into the kind of ground campaign that required actual permanent bases, then someone else could do it.

    Basically, think of the Iraq war; I willing to do the push to Baghdad, so long as my people didn¡¯t have to deal with what came after.  That shit was just fucking horrible, so screw that.  Plus it meant a lot of logistics and wider-scale organization; at least for a while my forces were limited to my marines and those were purposefully lean.  My force was built to kick ass, and kick it fast.  Not long-term boots on the ground occupation, counter-insurgency or year-plus guerilla wars.

    Of course, clients liked to be able to ¡°one-stop-shop.¡±  They didn¡¯t want to hear ¡°we don¡¯t do that¡±.

    Luckily, I¡¯d built up a pretty good relationship with the Nova Guard.  Admittedly, mostly by kicking the shit out of their unit champions in sparring.  But while they had a navy, a pretty damned good one actually, their ideological militarism lent itself more towards ¡°elite infantry¡± than ¡°aloof navy¡± archetypes.

    The Ailons had been in the system, helping maintain Naboo¡¯s sovereignty over the past few years, so they were aware of the fairly ludicrous amounts of money I¡¯d spent getting the latest manufactories, production rights for advanced weapons and systems, and R&D facilities and researchers to improve the same.  They were willing to at least listen when I offered a partnership for them to fulfill any extended ground operations that my future contracts required.Stolen novel; please report.

    At first, the Guard officers weren¡¯t overly impressed with my prototypes.  Generally speaking, dagger-shaped ships were preferred for dedicated combat craft.  It reduced the ship¡¯s profile from the side and front, reducing enemy hits at long range because of the smaller target zone.  Further, it allowed the ships to concentrate their shields and armor on smaller areas, reducing damage.  It also allowed the majority of turrets to fire in a chase configuration, while maintaining close to fifty-percent of the total guns for broadside fire.

    But my ships depended a lot on the interior spaces to generate mana.  So, instead of a dagger shape, they were optimized more along square-cube considerations.  The square was the area that needed to be protected, so called because the surface area increased in proportion to the square of the length.  The cube was the volume generating that protective power, increasing in proportion to the cube of the length.  For square-cube ships, a sphere is the ¡°optimal¡± geometry.

    However, spheres have fucking terrible firing arcs.  Instead, my ships were fairly cuboid, with length-width-height proportions roughly equivalent to the golden ratio.  The ship tapered slightly from back to front, and was actually faintly twisted by about fifteen degrees along the central axis; that improved the hull strut stability versus damage, and allowed the main weapon turrets along the top and bottom centerlines (which stretched from the middle of top/bottom-lines rear of the ship to front) to fire directly forward, as well as to either side.  As such, the throw weight in either chase or broadside configurations was optimized, with only a few point-defense systems unable to bear.

    But my vessels didn¡¯t have the sharp lines favored by top-of-the-line warships, or the spherical/conical construction favored by efficient-and-affordable warships, and so my mercenary friends were skeptical.

    But then I demonstrated my ships in a live test.

    First I showed off their crazy acceleration, up to four thousand gravities for the patrol-boat (PB), similar to a state of the art fighter, thirty-five hundred g¡¯s for the corvette, and three thousand for the frigate.  They were stunned.  That kind of speed meant my ships could pretty much always pick when a fight occurred and how long it lasted.  It also meant my ships would have a much higher dodging volume, making them harder to hit in long distance combat.  Of course, my less conventional ships could each manage a thousand more g¡¯s; I was just keeping that restricted from use, as it was too unbelievable and I didn¡¯t want industrial spies crawling out of the woodwork.

    After that we moved on test-firing.  My ships were designed to be heavily armed for their class just with regards to size and number of weapon emplacements; once the benefits to firing rate and damage due to enchantments and magically processed materials were included in the calculation, they were monsters.  The PB¡¯s and corvettes were armed with a mix of lasers, missiles, and torpedos, while the frigate was not only practically bristling with the former weapons, but also boasted several heavy beam turrets and heavier missiles designed to damage larger ships.  All classes included ion cannons to disable ships and allow boarding.

    My guests were impressed, but what really sold them viscerally was the demonstration where their ships tested the shields.  When the shields were finally depleted, they tested the armor and when that finally failed found out how good the damage control systems were.  The biggest thing for ground troops is always whether the ship will keep them alive.  Going into a naval fight where you¡¯re essentially sitting inside a metal can getting shot at, worried that you¡¯ll die in fucking space without even having a chance to fight back sucks.  When that¡¯s your experience of ships, you end up subconsciously valuing ones with high survivability.

    Lt. General Ademi, head of the Nova Guard detached to defend Naboo turned to me.  ¡°I can offer you a very good price for the technology that allowed that.¡±

    I shook my head.  ¡°I¡¯m sorry, General, but it relies on some exotic materials from a polity in wild space.  I¡¯m personally acquainted with them, but they¡¯re fairly isolationist.¡±  I loved that the Star Wars galaxy was schizophrenic enough for that to be a legitimate argument.  The Force occasionally did weird things to materials.

    He sighed in disappointment.  ¡°I don¡¯t suppose you¡¯d be willing to act as an intermediary?¡±

    I smiled.  ¡°I¡¯m already buying all available supplies, and am hardly interested in bidding against myself.¡±

    ¡°Damn,¡± he muttered.  ¡°Nonetheless, you should think about producing or at least licensing out the underlying design.  Even with more commonly available systems performance, you¡¯re still packing far more ship into the same space.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll have to think about that,¡± I said, but there was no fucking way I was giving up any of my advantages.  As it was, the interior of my ships was classified, and every one of my ships had sprites who were pretty damned good at info-war to catch any spies and destroy any recording devices.

    ¡°I¡¯m already employing two hundred thousand people in the shipyards,¡± I continued, ¡°and that¡¯s with the most advanced automation and droid labor available too.  We¡¯ve got three hundred twenty frigates, twelve hundred eighty corvettes, and five thousand one hundred and twenty patrol boats under construction or in the que in this system.  And that¡¯s just a start; in five years I hope to have ten times that coming off the shipyards every year.¡±

    Not that I¡¯d have the people to fully staff them; on Naboo close to six million had volunteered to join GSD (Gangari Security Directorate).  Roughly half had passed the entry requirements, and I was expecting up to a third to fail the training.  That left about two million new personnel, or not quite enough to fully crew the currently building ships, let alone next year¡¯s allotment, or the year after that.  I was already planning on filling in the gaps with the final generation of summoned troops.

    Apart from the Paragons based on Ser Barristan¡¯s pattern, I¡¯d added Aces, patterned off of expert pilots, Sailors, and Marines.  I had ten to hundreds of thousands of them as needed to serve as training cadre.  As the ships were ready, I¡¯d summon up the latest generation of specialists to staff my magical fleet, equal in size to the mundane one, which I was forming in secret.

    One issue with using these various summoned specialists was that they had skills but not experiences.  In other words, the summons didn¡¯t, couldn¡¯t have the actual memories of the original.  I wasn¡¯t copying identities, but patterns.  Otherwise the summoning would fail; if I was lucky it would fizzle.  Unlucky, and it could destructively resonate with the original, which was just as messy as one might fear.  Another issue was that I¡¯d never be able to find even better versions if I stuck with the people that I found in the beginning.  And finally it was just sort of weird; although they weren¡¯t complete copies, they were often sort of like identical twins.  Their thought patterns were far too similar, which was I supposed a strategic weakness as well.

    ¡°Just, keep the offer in mind,¡± General Ademi said, still not done trying to get his hands on my ships.  Honestly, I didn¡¯t even have a use for more money.  All my purchases had come in just under a trillion credits.

    In that same time, I had developed the first fully functional neural interface through applied magical sprite assistance.  While the top-quality ones were reserved for GSD¡¯s usage, I had a factory complex that made a billion interfaces a year.  That might sound like a lot, but the galaxy had over a hundred trillion people.  And a whole lot of them wanted to buy my interfaces.

    I didn¡¯t sell them, I auctioned them with the billion highest bidders getting one for the price of whoever bid one spot too low.  Last year, the price was at an astounding nineteen thousand credits each, of which I made a profit of about fifteen thousand after tax and expenses.  Times a billion, and that was fifteen trillion credits.  Our long-term projections once the price stabilized ranged from one to ten trillion credits a year of profit.  That was without introducing premium models that demanded a higher price, or increasing production.

    Apart from the neural interface, I could enchant droids to be precognitive so of course I did so.  There was a simple equation: high frequency trading + precognitive droids = shitloads of money.  I¡¯d parked a few trillion in the accounts to automatically trade back when we looted the Trade Federation.  Every time I checked, Gangari Holdings (or rather its shell companies, straw-men and the like) were worth more.

    I was rapidly closing in on owning an appreciable fraction of the liquidly traded galactic financial instruments.  Oh, I was still at the fraction of a percentage level, and that was only a small fraction of the total galactic wealth, but it was still pretty fucking crazy.  As that fraction grew, I would come to exert a degree of control over the entire galactic stock market, able to manipulate stock prices to damage my enemies.

    General Ademi seemed to sense my disinterest in money and changed tack.  ¡°And if you aren¡¯t interested in money, we may be able to work out some other deal.  An exchange of military technology, perhaps.¡±

    Actually, that was interesting.  I was willing to bet that over the millennia as operators of one of the largest active militaries and mercenary armies in the galaxy, Ailon had collected a number of useful archeotech relics from precursor civilizations which were beyond anything people could do in the current age.  Relics might be ultra-rare objects for others, but for me they were just templates waiting to be copied by magic.

    ¡°I¡¯ll definitely consider it,¡± I allowed.  ¡°Especially if you have particularly interesting archeotech or relics.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll see what I can do,¡± Ademi answered with a smile.  ¡°Well, assuming your men are up to standard, and from our evaluation of your training programs I have no doubt they will be, I can say we¡¯d definitely be interested in collaborating on contracts that require a permanent ground presence.  In the future I¡¯d also like to talk about hiring your ships as fleet auxiliaries.  You don¡¯t have the cruiser weight ships that we prefer for planetary missions and fleet battles, but your ships are perfect for protecting supply convoys, interdicting commerce, and counter-piracy operations.¡±

    No shit, I thought, that¡¯s what they¡¯re designed for.

    ¡°That¡¯s great!¡± I exclaimed.  And it was; even the fact that we could advertise a partnership with the Ailon Nova Guard meant that customers would feel more confident hiring us.  ¡°So how do you want to do this?  I see pretty much three ways; I could contact your office as needed, and get individual quotes, but that might slow down any bids I give out.  You could give me a pricing calculator, maybe a droid that you¡¯ve trained to do so, and I could give the bids directly, then contact you if I get the job.  Or, if you prefer, I¡¯m happy to host a unit of the Guard in Naboo; they can cross-train with my troops, and I can pass RFQ¡¯s to their CO.¡±

    ¡°For as long as our current contract lasts we¡¯ll go with the third option since we¡¯re here anyways,¡± he replied.  ¡°After that we may keep doing that, or change it as needed.¡±

    =================================

    A year later and my first wave of ships were completed and crewed with fresh graduates from my training programs.  I suddenly had eighty conventional frigate detachments (and as many magical in reserve), each consisting of four frigates, sixteen corvettes and sixty four patrol boats.  Between the ships, the thousand-strong space fighter regiment, and a full division of sixteen thousand drop-capable power-armored marines with integrated armor and air support, each detachment was designed to operate independently against anything short of the most massive targets.

    It took a few years, but we got there.  GSD was open for taking contracts and giving bids for contracted services.

 Chapter 53: Reputation

    <u>Chapter 53: Reputation</u>

    I had a problem ¨C I needed clients. Well, need may have been a strong word; my expenses were a rounding error on the combined income from my neural interfaces and precognitive droid traders. But it was sort of like playing SimCity, or Roller-Coaster Tycoon; I wanted customers because that was part of the game. Plus growing my company, keeping it in use, building a reputation - all of those were non-financial valuables.

    Now, for some work, a company would put out a tender, in other words a list of objectives they wanted met. Then I, or more accurately some bidding specialists in GSD, would put together a bid to meet that tender. The company would look through the exact offer specifications and the cost, and pick whatever they liked best.

    That was not my sweet spot. That was the sweet spot for rent-a-cop companies and generic security providers. Most tenders were for site security, low-moderate risk convoy protection, corporate executive protection and the like. Basically jobs that needed a modicum of performance, but where there wasn¡¯t much differentiation between one group or another.

    GSD was set up for full on fleet-borne military operations, the absolute top-tier of PMC activities. And even within that segment my forces fell into the ¡°elite¡± bracket both in effectiveness, unit size, and in cost. Our sweet spot was being hired to win wars, smash pirates, slaughter rebels, and provide praetorian guard services for uneasy rulers. At our level, there was absolutely differentiation. There were some conflicts that basically had open contracts for privateers and mercenary forces; although messy and often underpaid (especially for units of GSD¡¯s quality), those were (when available) a good place to build reputation and gain experience.

    But for the really good gigs that I wanted, the client came to the company. Oh, they¡¯d often shop around, compare prices, but at the end of the day they knew what they were interested in.

    And a big part of that was reputation. Something GSD did not have.

    So we needed to build some. Best way to do that, I figured, was to show off. Pick some known pirate system, or some slavers, or whatever, and go kick their shit in. Record a lot of it, and distribute it. Hire some media people to make a splash.

    I was hoping that after a few successes, GSD would be hirable. After all, while Amidala¡¯s re-election was pretty much irrelevant to knowing a government leader likely to hire my troops since she was such a bleeding heart liberal peacenik, Palpatine was much more pragmatic and had just been re-elected Chancellor. We¡¯d had pretty mixed interactions previously, but with the state of the galaxy he could definitely use the manpower on any of a dozen hot-spots and the political optics of using Nabooian contractors to solve problems meant that the successes would be more attributed to the Chancellor¡¯s actions than otherwise.

    And I also just really wanted to fuck up some villainous assholes. I¡¯d spent years building this great big toy system, and I wanted to use it (though only for good ¨C I was a responsible warlord). Effectively, I was hiring my own company (since I was paying their paychecks and combat bonuses) to generate some PR and satisfy my sense of justice. Of course, I didn¡¯t admit to that publicly; PMC¡¯s were one thing, but when they started acting independently people saw them less as private military contractors, and more as private armies.

    But first, I needed to figure out what I was bringing to the fight. That informed the sorts of targets I was looking at: how big, how well defended, etc.

    I decided that wherever I hit, I was bringing the full first fleet, a total of sixty four frigate detachments with me. That left sixteen detachments for garrison/asteroid patrol duty for Naboo or available for hiring. It also meant I had over a million marines available for ground operations. That was roughly an over-strength star-division, the organizational level one step up from a full army, though without the dedicated corps level air assets that would normally be carried on cruisers. A million people was a lot, but compared to the typical sector population in the tens of billions, it was still only a drop in the bucket.

    As for myself, I was taking along my own frigate group for my personal escort and headquarters. A single frigate with its corvette and patrol-boat escorts carrying a combined regiment of marines, it used the most advanced magical designs for equipment and the most experienced summoned specialists for personnel. After all, there was pretty much no-one (short of the strongest Force users) capable of killing me; I figured it would be good karma and good fun (sort of like a real life shooting game) to participate in the attack.

    In the end, it was pretty easy to pick a target. Other than Nazis, what was more acceptable a target than slavers after all? The Hutts, Zygerrians, and Senex-Juvex were too large and populous for me to take on. I might win the fight, but I¡¯d be like the proverbial dog that actually caught the car it was chasing, not knowing what to do next.

    On the other hand, the Karazak Slavers Cooperative, based out of the Karazak system in the Sujimis sector was within reasonable striking distance (less than six days). Their twelve thousand or so ¡°associate¡± ranked slavers and assorted underlings captured an estimated five hundred thousand to two million slaves every year, with a similar number estimated to be kept under yoke at Karazak for any given point in time.

    To make things even better, the Karazak system also hosted the Slaver¡¯s Syndicate, a Zygerrian-backed outfit.

    Although many of the slavers would be out-of-system, it was far harder to operate that sort of business without a base. With any luck, seized records, documents, and drives could be passed along to Republic investigators who could then target the slavers I didn¡¯t catch; if I was really lucky, they¡¯d be able to go after the end users who bought the slaves too. I was also perfectly willing to allow the slaves to try the slavers and slavers¡¯ families according to military tribunal. Any that were substantially abusive, raped the slaves, or participated in slaving other than using them as unpaid labor could end up in front of a firing squad for all I cared.

    With the target picked, it was time to come up with a plan and brief my officers.

    =================================

    I stood in front of a host of officers teleconferenced into a virtual lecture hall. I¡¯d already had the command-level planning meeting earlier. This general briefing was more so that everyone, including those all unit commanders of lower rank, were on the same page as to the general approach and objectives of the upcoming mission.This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

    ¡°There are three main hyperdrive jump vectors into and out of Karazak,¡± I began. ¡°This is actually pretty considerate of the damned slavers, because it nicely split our ships into four flotillas, each subdivided into four divisions of four frigate detachments.¡± My officers chuckled dutifully at the (honestly pretty shitty) joke; obviously the slavers had not had our convenience in mind when they settled in that location all those years ago. ¡°Commanding officers are per standard rankings, and are listed in the documents.¡±

    As a note, one may notice a lot of base-four math when discussing ship formations. The use of 4-point ship configurations was because it worked well.

    Funnily enough, geometry matters a lot to combat doctrine. On the ground, if a unit is triangular, ie made up of three main subdivisions, then it is probably designed for maneuver warfare. For example, a battalion with three mechanized rifle companies is triangular; sometimes there are more than three units, but as long as they are support, like with the addition of an armor and/or weapons company, the overall formation is still triangular. If it¡¯s based on fours, then it¡¯s probably designed for more static engagements, optimized for leapfrogging assaults or enfilading fields of fire.

    In space, there were not just two dimensions, but three, so those geometries changed. A tetrahedral (triangle based pyramidal) 4-point formation took the most basic three-dimensional shape (much like a triangle is for two dimensions). By orienting either one of the points or the planes towards the enemy, the whole formation could fire.

    Orienting so that one of the straight edges was pointed towards the enemy allowed the formation to maintain that full formation fire while a ship located at the center of the tetrahedron can also fire. For example, a corvette escorted by four PB¡¯s likely used a formation with one each forward and above or below the corvette, and one each of the rear and on the left or right of the corvette.

    That was a fairly optimal formation. Shifting directions of advance and rapid flanking envelopments were relatively easy with a 4-point formation, even for large formations.

    Compare that to the most common alternative, a six-point formation. Six-point formations were the three-dimensional formation equivalent to a ground-operations square. They were good for blockades, static defenses, and linear assaults. For blockades and static defenses, they tended to take a formation that looked like octahedral bonding sites, with an in-plane square centered around a central object they are defending or sieging, and another ship above and below that plane.

    For assaults, they tended to look like a fairly short triangular prism, but where the rear plane has been rotated sixty degrees, or sometimes a flat hexagonal plane facing the enemy. That allowed every ship to fire forwards (or broadside) as desired. The problem was when there were a lot of ships; the linear focus could make it complicated to change direction, and the formations weren¡¯t as efficient when splitting up into different groups.

    ¡°With three flotillas organized to block the three approach/escape vectors,¡± I continued speaking, ¡°we¡¯ll hopefully be pretty successful buttoning up the system. Oh, no doubt some of the slavers will escape, but try to keep that as low as possible.¡±

    ¡°Yes, my Lord!¡± the room rang out.

    I motioned for calm with a smile. ¡°Come on, people. I know you¡¯re enthusiastic for GSD¡¯s first real mission, but you¡¯re out of the academies now! You don¡¯t want future recruits reviewing this historical moment to see you failing to represent your ¨¦lan, right?¡±

    I got some more dutiful chuckles at this. It was a bit of a running joke that cadets had to be taught to respond in a ¡®motivated¡¯ fashion (lots of Sir-Yes-Sir!-ing), then graduates had to be taught not to.

    ¡°So, we¡¯ll have each approach covered by sixty four frigates, two hundred and fifty six corvettes, over a thousand PB¡¯s, and sixteen thousand hyper-capable fighters. All of those ships will be deployed when we jump into Karazak,¡± I stressed. ¡°In the orders packets there are modified formation positions and a schedule of timed micro-jumps. Simulations indicate that will set up bands of interference, preventing slaver ships from jumping out. Make sure you¡¯re ready to carry them out, and keep on the ball for any updates to those orders from your command as the simulations are refined by real-life results.¡±

    I paused for a moment for people to process that. ¡°Once in system, the plan is currently for those three flotillas to cover the assigned zones while the fourth flotilla is available to engage any enemy ship concentrations. If it doesn¡¯t cut engines and power down, you make it. The overall goal is to achieve total space superiority. But the zones can change depending on the circumstances; especially if they have capital ships or organize their fleet, the blocking flotillas may be ordered to carry out an attack or envelopment.¡± A map of Kazarak was behind me now, the zones with arrows showing flotilla movements on them.

    ¡°Now when possible you¡¯ll be using ion cannons to reduce accidental deaths among any captives on the slavers¡¯ ships. Strike craft are being issued ion warheads for missiles and torpedos for that purpose. But at the end of the day, I want everyone coming home. So if it¡¯s between killing a ship or taking casualties, I want that ship dead.¡±

    Now the picture shifted to the best guess intelligence on positions of space-bases and orbital infrastructure. Defenses were highlighted. ¡°This is intelligence¡¯s best bet on where and what they¡¯ve got that¡¯s off planet. It¡¯s only eighty five percent confidence though, so take it with a grain of salt. You¡¯ll be taking out defenses with ship based strikes as reasonable, then conducting marine landings. Priority is on our safety, followed by that of the slaves. Significantly lower, but still priorities are information on slaving activities which can mean taking slavers prisoner, then minimizing damage to prize ships and bases, followed way, way down by protecting the slavers lives in general.¡±

    Again, they chuckled. ¡°After the areas have been cleared and secured, the mission will change entirely to relief and succor for the newly freed slaves. A number of droids have been loaded with medic-psychologist programs to assist in that process; they are marked with a green-white-green band. As for getting the slaves out, the marines gallantly suffering the horrors of tight-packing procedures for a week will give the fleet the capacity to evacuate up to three million freed slaves. If the estimates are wrong, we¡¯ll secure the system for as long as it takes to get everyone out safely.¡±

    I looked at them intensely, wanting to drive this next point home. ¡°Now one thing I want to emphasize: we are not just there to free the slaves and help them physically and emotionally. We¡¯re also there to take as many pounds of flesh from the slavers as possible. So before any of the freed slaves leave, do your best to get accurate accounts of how they ended up enslaved, and what happened during that time period. We want testimony and medical records for trials.¡±

    This next bit was a bit dodgier. I may have gotten a relatively conservative and right-wing group of Nabooians as volunteers for my PMC, but that was relative to the fact that they were still Nabooians. I hoped their training had knocked enough of the pacifism out of them. ¡°Any slave that passes the psychological screening will be allowed to volunteer for tribunals. The tribunals will be carried out according to our abbreviated code of justice, and overseen by droids with all appropriate legal regulations and programs installed. Priority of trying slavers will be done on a point-based approach to ensure maximum efficiency; the points are accounting for the surety of the case, the egregiousness of the violations, and the time required for the trial. Interrogation and prosecutor assistance droids are capable of making the calculation.¡±

    I smiled sharply at them and clapped my hands. ¡°Alright, let¡¯s do some good work, and make history with our first mission of many. Dismissed!¡±

    And with that, the conference was over.

    It was time to go to war.

 Chapter 54: Liberation of Karazak, Part 1

    <u>Chapter 54: Liberation of Karazak, Part 1</u>

    My four flotillas jumped into the Karazak system in an impressive display of astro-navigation.  Getting separate forces through different routes, but having them all arrive at the same place at very nearly the exact same time was a challenge.  And it was a mark of how well my ships were designed, how good their computers were, and how well my people were trained that they managed it.

    As the sensors recalibrated after exiting hyperspace, my sprite assistant Jeeves quickly updated me on the situation in the Krazak system in a high speed burst of data. I was met with both good and bad news.  Good news? About ninety percent of the estimated total of Karazak forces were present.  Bad news? We¡¯d expected at most sixty percent to be in-system; the chance of some escaping, or of their causing casualties to my forces, was thus much higher.

    All in all there were about thirty-six hundred enemy ships in the system.  Most were forty to a hundred meters, small tramp freighters and transports.  About five hundred were in the hundred to two hundred meter range, more significant transports and raiders capable of taking and enslaving larger settlements, sizable civilian ships or stations with populations in the low thousands.  There were a hundred ships in excess of two hundred meters, relatively massive transports or heavy raiders.  Two of these were Carrack-class light cruisers, or in my GSD¡¯s designation heavy frigates.  As their flagship there was a single Vainglorious class cruiser, a somewhat dated design from Rendili StarDrive that was nonetheless about twice as long and six times as massive as any of my frigates.

    The enemy ships¡¯ sizes were somewhat misleading for a comparison of force.  Few were dedicated commerce raiders, designed for their mission of slaving and piracy, while even fewer were warships which sacrificed storage for more armor, weapons, and other combat equipment.  The enemy were mostly retrofits of previously stolen civilian ships, and often not very good ones at that.

    It¡¯s sort of like the difference between a technical, a pickup truck with a light machinegun mounted on the back, and a properly designed armored car.  They both might even mount the same gun, but the armored car is properly bulletproofed, and resistance to things like mines is taken into account.  Both can easily fuck up someone in a normal car, but the armored car tends to beat the technical.  Compared to them though, we¡¯d shown up with the equivalent of tanks.

    Further, what a lot of people don¡¯t realize about ships is that the maintenance is a bitch.  People think about ships as sort of like a gun, or a car.  In other words, that everything generally works, and if it doesn¡¯t it¡¯s an easy fix and probably non-vital.

    Not true (and, for the record, even relatively simple guns and cars need some tender loving care).

    A ship is more like a flying city.  Think about your nearest city.  Power outages, pot-holes, miss-timed traffic lights, poorly thought-out roads, sewage issue, plumbing issues.  All these and more.  And these small issues, like pot-holes, are the equivalent in a ship to miscalibrated guns (ie, they won¡¯t hit), or not being able to fire at all.  At the end of the day, a quality crew is the sort of thing you notice by how everything just works.

    Hell, back on Earth the US Navy was fairly famous for having war-games with allies where the allied ships needed to be towed back to their ports, or had all weapon systems fail, or any other fuck-up imaginable.  And if you think it¡¯s hard to keep a deep-water fleet functional, imagine doing so with a space fleet.  Those ships are in an environment (or, being space, lack of an environment) which will kill you if you fuck up badly enough.  The usual pirate crews of surly slaves, wash-out rejects who couldn¡¯t manage a living in a decent shipping outfit, antiquated droids (themselves often poorly maintained) and the occasional psycho didn¡¯t exactly make for the best maintenance crews.

    Suffice to say, I¡¯d have been surprised if they were functioning, as a whole, at sixty percent of their theoretical combat effectiveness.

    Furthermore, many of these ships traveled through general Republic spaces on their way to enslave, loot and pillage.  Which meant they had to keep to civilian-legal armament levels.  And not ¡°civilian-legal¡± like my ships, which flew under sectorial authority and with the Trade Federation¡¯s warrant for armed merchantmen which I¡¯d seized.  No, they were ¡°general public¡± armed civilian ships.  Granted, typically at the absolute maximum for that category, but still.  And many hadn¡¯t been updated yet after the laws on civilian armament got somewhat laxer the year before.

    Come to think of it, that may have been why they were in the Karazak system in the first place, to upgrade.

    With three of my flotillas doing their best to block the exits, that left me with a single flotilla of sixteen frigate detachments and my own frigate group to engage their forces.

    ========================

    After we entered the system, the slavers reacted with chaos.  Which was great.  A decent number tried to run our blockades, and got wiped out by my ships as a result.  My standard fighter, the Hyper-Capable Light Strikecraft (HCLS), could pull forty-five hundred g¡¯s, so the enemy had little chance of getting away.  With an eight-round concussion missile launcher, a four-round proton torpedo launcher, a twin light laser cannon turret, and a nose-mounted light ion cannon, each one was more than a match against the more lightly armed slave ships.

    My orders were to, wherever possible, disable the slavers¡¯ ships.  I didn¡¯t want to kill hostages unnecessarily.  That said, if it was between escape and destruction, I wanted those ships dead.  So when my light strikecraft proved insufficient, patrol boats, corvettes, and rarely even frigates would chase down the slavers who were trying to escape and disable them with ion cannons or precise laser strikes to the engines.

    As my command group were watching the evolving battle, I got a private IM through my neural interface rather than over the command channel.

    Jon: It¡¯s amazing.  Really, quite the mind-fuck.

    Jon, being one of my oldest friends and chief lieutenants, was much more enhanced than most of my people, even my fully magical command staff.  And I was enhanced even more than he was.  When we wanted to, we could process faster; it gave us the time to multitask, enough to have this sort of conversation mid-battle at least.  Not that we needed to pay too much attention to that anyways.

    Odysseus: How do you mean?

    Jon: It¡¯s just that any one of the slavers¡¯ ships could have taken Westeros.  Hell, they could have taken the whole damned planet.  Even one of the fighters would be enough to make someone a great lord, a king even if they could survive the assassins.  But now, here, they¡¯re just nuisances, no better or more dangerous than rabbits running from your hounds.Stolen story; please report.

    Odysseus: I know.  Isn¡¯t it wonderful ??

    Jon: Yes.  But so strange, too.

    Odysseus:  Jon, I think you¡¯ve just had a moment of perspective.

    I could see from his glare and flash of amused annoyance that he knew I was teasing him.  He pretended to fully focus on the battle-map projection as I smirked.

    The slavers were concentrating their forces, warned by the fates of those who had first attempted to flee past the hyper-space distortion envelope my fleet was generating.  They still had the bulk of their combat power available.

    My flotilla, designated for the main combat, accelerated towards their fleet as it was still shaking itself into order.  They were launching their own strike craft, a motley collection of some ten thousand fighters, haphazardly collected around their ships.

    Tactical computers designated the most efficient target selection.  I wished I could have kept to maximum range, whittling down their forces with laser fire as their own missed due to my higher acceleration and thus ability to dodge.  But ion-cannons were much shorter ranged, and they were only way to avoid tens of thousands of dead slaves.

    My own frigate, the Homer, was assigned to take on their cruiser.  As the only fully magical frigate in the fleet, mine was the only ship that could match the much more massive enemy with a guarantee of avoiding friendly casualties, and we carried enhanced weapons too.

    Soon, the battle-map was an absolute mess.  Sixteen thousand of my fighters were engaging ten thousand of the enemy ones.  My sixty four frigates matched off against the heaviest armed enemy ships, the two hundred and fifty six corvettes took on those which my frigates couldn¡¯t engage, while a darting swarm of a thousand patrol-boats swooped in and rapidly neutralized the shoals of smaller pirate vessels.

    It all happened so damned quickly.  My fleet could accelerate at two thousand g¡¯s, still have a thousand g¡¯s to spare for dodging, and that was just my frigates which were still slower than the escorts.  After a few minutes of acceleration, it meant that the time to actually fire on the enemy ships in that initial pass was vanishingly brief.  But like a jouster landing his lance in that moment when he passed his enemy, we made it count.

    We went underneath the enemy ships (oriented by the system¡¯s solar plane). We used the chance to fire off a blistering mass of ion-cannons.  But that was almost an afterthought compared to the massive swarm of missiles with ionic warheads that we launched.

    The missiles struck like a tsunami hitting a fishing fleet.  After that first pass, the vast majority of the enemy¡¯s smaller craft were disabled, their swarm of ten thousand fighters destroyed.  About two thirds of their corvette-sized fleet was down, shields broken, engines non-functional, control systems fried by the ion charges, as were forty percent of the frigate and larger sized ships. Those ships which had more civilian origins and less extensive defensive modifications fare particularly poorly.  Even those ships which survived the initial onslaught only did so barely.  They were all damaged if not crippled, massive banks of weapons unable to aim or charge, non-functional shield emitters leaving massive gaping holes where we could strike with impunity.

    My fleet shed velocity, coming back around for another run while the few ships of the enemy fleet that still had propulsion broke and scattered.  The Gangari flotilla which was blocking the closest escape direction sent half its ships out to intercept. Though it was hardly needed, it helped to strike home the message that the enemy was beaten, that their only chance for survival was surrender.

    ¡°Defensive flotillas are to move to stage two,¡± I ordered.

    Stage two was for after their main naval threat was reduced or contained. It included pacification and landings on the system¡¯s peripheral space stations, mining outposts and the like as well as disabled ships.  Half of the each of the three flotillas broke formation and began to scan over the asteroids with a fine toothed comb to make sure no hidden redoubt was missed. Meanwhile troops prepared to land everywhere the slavers were located.

    My flotilla was back in range.  This time, we closed slower, concentrating our firepower and one-by-one reducing the still-functioning enemy ships to floating tombs with all their electronics knocked out.

    My own ship was fairly clearly the flagship, broadcasting a much greater concentration of messages to my other ships.  The enemy was concentrating fire on me, hoping to take me down and cause an opening, but to no avail.  My ship¡¯s pilots not only operated in a perfect gestalt of mind and machine, but were also enhanced with precognition, as were the point-defense droid-minds.  We were hardly hit at all.  When we were, my magical projectile defense shields, anchored to a living vessel three hundred meters long, weathered the attacks with ease. It would have taken orders of magnitude more firepower to stress my ship¡¯s defenses than that damaged, aged slaver cruiser had.

    Moments later, the Homer¡¯s ion cannons, heavily enhanced with magic, spoke out and the slavers¡¯ Vainglorious cruiser finally fell silent.

    It was time for some fun.

    ========================

    I did what I could to make my marines the best troops available.  When they joined up, they got genetic enhancements, chemical treatments, even implants, all as necessary and possible to improve their performance.  They could hear and see better, react faster, think more clearly even in the most chaotic environments.  They could out-perform Olympic athletes in endurance and strength, and could keep fighting even with an arm blown off.  Improved coagulants and other modifications improved survivability, so unlike old-school berserkers they even had good odds of surviving the experience.

    They were equipped with a variety of armor and weapons enabling them to meet any challenge.  Typical marine infantry units were in a mix of General Infantry Powered Armor (GIPA), and Support Weapon Armor ¨C Quadruped (SWAQ).  A GIPA included a third of a ton of armor, carefully sloped, laminated and padded to maximize survivability, and all using magically-processed materials.  A SWAQ had over a half ton of armor on its bulky, intimidating, beast-like frame.  Both came with deflector shields, and could move at forty three kilometers an hour (26mph) pretty much indefinitely, with a powered jump of up to thirty meters, or over seven meters vertically.  In short bursts, they could triple that speed.

    A GIPA could carry what would typically be a crew served weapon, or one mounted on a light vehicle, as well as two small shoulder mounts that could each carry a grenade launcher, several small rockets, or a single missile.  The SWAQs had a modular weapon mount capable of mounting a support weapon (eg, a light cannon, or missile pod), as well as two independent light anti-personnel turrets.  Both came with vibro-claws to get into difficult to reach places, or engage at melee.  Enhanced sensors interacted with neural interfaces and thus the marines; they didn¡¯t just wear the armor, they were the armor, and had full access to all its computational power, combat programming, and other enhancements.

    They had extensive training and hypno-implanting.  Then they went through months of simulated combat scenarios.

    By the end of all that, they were crazily lethal, capable of striding across battlefields like death-dealing gods, slaughtering any ground or ship-security force that any other nation or PMC fielded.  Transported by APCs, backed by armor and fast-moving assault vehicles, they were man-for-man the single most lethal force available.  Of course, a lot of that was because a single one of my marines cost about as much as an old Trade Federation tank platoon.

    The best of the best qualified to be Paragon templates.  Similar to my original Paragons, who were largely based on Barristan the Bold and then magically enhanced to serve as my praetorian bodyguards, I had expanded my Paragon units to include all the specialties needed to fully staff my personal frigate and its escorts: praetorian bodyguards, pilot aces, various sailors and naval specialists, marines, etc.  The Paragon Marines (which still included some Barristan-templates for CQC specialists) were the absolute best marines that I could manage.  Massively enhanced physiques, flesh tougher than durasteel, capable of regenerating from most any damage, precognitive, magically shielded in a myriad of ways and more, going all out they were basically unstoppable short of orbital fire.

    Then I stuck them in similarly improved armor, and equipped them with improved weaponry.

    I had needed to figure out a limiter so that they didn¡¯t get complacent with easy victory.

    And I took a four-thousand strong regiment of them with me to clear the slavers¡¯ Vainglorious cruiser.

 Chapter 55: Liberation of Karazak, Part 2

    <u>Chapter 55: Liberation of Karazak, Part 2</u>

    A Vainglorious could hold up to thirty thousand crew, depending on the configuration and staffing levels.  Typically, they needed about ten thousand to maintain full functionality, with eight thousand as a bare minimum.  So whatever the case, it was likely my four thousand marines were going to be outnumbered.

    But outnumbered two-to-one was nothing much, even for my standard marines (which we were pretending to be).  Hell, twenty to one wasn¡¯t much either.  The only real risk to individual marines was enemy armor, heavy support weapons, or anti-vehicle grade defense turrets, and even those were more annoyance than true threat.

    But my marine units came with their own heavy weapons and armor.  Because marines were transported by ship, each ship¡¯s force had to be able to operate independently.  Thus each squad, the unit size transported on a PB, had at least three heavily armored, quadrupedal SWAQs equipped to provide infantry-scale heavy weapons support.

    Further, a squad rode in an APC called an AOAL (Armored Orbital Assault Lander, pronounced like ¡°owl¡±).  Capable of unassisted orbital drops, a hundred and thirty kph landspeed, shielded, and with an armored, stealth-supporting angular profile, these could easily pass for tanks with a turreted medium laser cannon and variable shell launcher as their main weapon.  Four modular mounts, typically with pods of small fire-and-forget missiles, each capable of a seven shot volley with a single reload, and a pair of small anti-personnel ball-turrets rounded out their armament.

    AOALs fit in the main corridors and cargo holds on most large ships (like cruisers), which were designed to be able to move heavy equipment when necessary.  My MBT (Main Battle Tank) was basically just an AOAL without the crew compartment, instead carrying more armor, more shields, and a lot more weapons, including a heavy instead of medium cannon, adding a medium missile mod as well as a pair of independently targeting light mortars or automatic grenade launchers, and a trio of gatling laser turrets.

    For the places my armor didn¡¯t fit, I had SUAVs, Single User Assault Vehicles.  SUAVS were the result of boarding and drop pod research.  After we¡¯d added shields, propulsion, and an exterior weapon to the pod, we were left with the question as to why not just use that as a vehicle, and no good reason not to.  A vaguely tapered, dagger-shaped, heavily armored and shielded coffin that used repulsorlifts for transportation, SUAVs were about two and a half meters (eight feet) long and could manage four hundred kilometers per hour in a standard atmosphere.

    They were highly modular, and came in many variants: general, heavy, artillery, fast, destroyer, anti-air, engineer, recon, swarm, etc.  The general variant mounted a light laser cannon turret with coaxial repeating blaster, as well as a pod of seven small fire-and-forget missiles.  Other variants traded for different armaments, extra armor and shielding, or improved engines and inertial cancellers for higher speed and dog-fighting capability.  In general, SUAVs were small enough to get most places you could fit a couch, while still being fast and heavily enough armed and armored for their formations to serve the same role filled by attack helicopters in a twenty-first century military.

    As part of their integrated heavy weapons and armor capability, a corvette would include two regular platoons, one tank platoon, and one SUAV platoon.  Including the third regular platoon distributed in squads over the four PB escorts, that made a single marine company.  They would typically also have an attached flight of four hyper-incapable medium strikecraft, and a scout squad equipped with stealth-optimized power-armor, both from the battalion¡¯s marine air support squadron and scout platoon assets respectively.

    The four corvettes and their respective PB escorts in a corvette detachment made up a battalion.  Typically one of the companies would be equipped with FAALs, Fast Armored Assault Landers.  Less armored that AOALs, but capable of speeds just short of mach 1, FAAL companies were designed to operate air-mobile for rapid strikes in difficult to reach areas.

    Unfortunately, the advanced state of galactic technology made in-atmosphere supersonic craft highly dangerous.  There were sensors that could detect the change to air caused by supersonic flight at ranges that extended past the horizon, and given the state of laser technology and interceptor missiles, anything travelling faster than that was basically just targeting practice for hostile anti-air.

    Regiments, hosted on a frigate and its escorts, added another two regular battalions to those carried in the corvette escort detachment, as well as a support battalion consisting of a mix of four companies selected from armor, SUAV, or marine strikecraft squadrons.  They also included a Special Boarding Unit (SBU) platoon specialized in combat boarding of operational ships, a much more difficult operation than boarding already disabled enemy vessels.  Typically a frigate would also have an attached squad from the division¡¯s Special Operations platoon, trained to operate independently, often with civilian equipment behind enemy lines, conducting reconnaissance, marking targets and potentially sabotaging defenses, capturing or eliminating high value targets.Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

    Suffice to say, compared to shitty pirates, few of whom were true infantry combat specialists, most armed only with weak personal sidearms, I had no worries that my regiment could end up out-gunned inside the slaver cruiser.

    ========================

    The ship was a big one.  Both to minimize the risk of any panicking pirates from managing some serious mischief (such as engineering a reactor containment breach or the like), and just as part of good practices, we needed to hit multiple zones at the same time.

    SBU, the boarding platoon, took the command deck.  They had specialized gear that allowed entry without causing decompression.  The pirate leadership was on that deck, and I wanted them alive to give up their money and contacts.  Four squads, all equipped to board and non-lethally subdue, made quick work of the limited resistance.  The SWAQ troopers¡¯ flamethrowers torched their guards, and the pirates were remarkably obedient afterwards.

    Near the command deck, but above and behind it slightly were the personnel access and emergency escape pods.  Three of the FAAL companies, supported by two companies of SUAV for that extra armored punch went in through there, quickly taking control of the hallways and junctions near the crew quarters.  Personal slaves were kept in quarters, so this unit ended up rescuing a lot of suddenly very happy sapients.  Since the pirates were at battle stations they faced little resistance.  With that zone secure, they then pushed into the engineering, sensors and weapons control compartments.

    This was the unit that I went in with.  And it was, honestly, a lot of fun.  Inside my powered armor, there weren¡¯t any of the smells of combat that I¡¯d gotten used to on Westeros.  Instead, it was almost like a really advanced VR experience of one of those arcade shooter games.  Watching through the HUD, with all the information overlays, stomping around in the armor, blasting away with my heavy blaster (set to stun) as various enemies burst out of cover, dumping flashbangs or concussion grenades as needed to pacify holdouts¡­

    It was a lot more fun than racing about King¡¯s Landing while being hunted by the Mountain, that was for sure.

    Eventually, we linked up with the two battalions which had entered through the main flight decks, one battalion on either side of the ship.  The riskiest part of their operation had been getting in the flight decks themselves, since internal turrets and armored vehicles were often used to secure those zones.  Luckily the ion cannon had knocked most of them out, and a Marine Aerospace Strike Squadron had come in ahead of the troop transports to blow the shit out of anything that remained functional.  After seizing the flight decks, those marines then secured the main cargo holds.

    Meanwhile, corvette based companies hit each of the two midship docking ports, conveniently close to the reserve power generators, and the power core via the engineering access behind the docking ports.

    Although a few pirates managed to hide out inside cupboards, crawlspaces, and other out-of-the-way areas until we could root them out, we¡¯d taken control of the ship in an astonishingly short period of time.  Honestly, it was unfair.  My forces were so much better trained, armed, and most importantly armored that it wouldn¡¯t have been a fight had I used regular forces.  Using my superhuman, heavily enchanted personal guard was just overkill.  A squad could have managed in a few hours, and even then I¡¯d only need to send that many to make sure no one managed to escape off the ship.  Sealed in, I had no doubt a single one of my marines could have wiped out the defenders.

    But it all made for a fantastic propaganda video.

    ========================

    The holovid began playing.  A man, famous enough that you might recognize the face and voice, but not so much that you knew their name at first glance, began speaking while scenes of combat flashed in the background.

    ¡°We live in a peaceful galaxy,¡± he said seriously.  ¡°But keeping that peace is one of the most violent jobs imaginable.  We can watch reports on the news-sites, but only those who were there know what it was really like.  This series is based on their stories and documentary footage.  This is The Liberation of Karazak.¡±

    The image faded to black.

    ========================

    The rest of the invasion went similarly.  Habitats, shipyards, and bases in orbit were boarded and seized.  Asteroid mining operations actually experienced widespread slave revolts as the news of our attack leaked.  They were doing pretty well for themselves when assistance arrived to clean up any remaining pirates.  Camps and towns on the ground experienced orbital drop assaults.

    By the end of the day, the Central Coordinating Committee of the Karazak Slaver¡¯s Cooperative and Clan Pr¡¯ollerg of the Slaver¡¯s Syndicate were in custody.  By the end of the week, they were under trial.

    We carefully followed the law and best practices with regards to how they were tried, using five person tribunals consisting of a pair from my Gangari Security Directorate forces who had completed basic legal training and three local citizens, with advice from legal droids.  But the recently freed slaves sitting on their tribunals weren¡¯t feeling particularly merciful.  Most of the slavers were sentenced to full interrogation followed by execution.

    It was big news galactically.  Partially because we got all the ledgers.  All the crooked contacts, bent cops, informants in transit control agencies, corrupt military patrol officers, and political friends.  All the eventual purchasers.  A full (or as full as possible) list of who was taken from where.

    Planetary governments fell.  Hells, sector governments fell.  And all while several seasons of The Liberation of Karazak played to a suddenly fascinated galaxy.

    Suffice to say, we¡¯d achieved the objective.

    Gangari Security Directorate was on the map.

 Chapter 56: Expansion

    <u>Chapter 56: Expansion</u>

    We were a victim of our own success.

    The Liberation of Karazak started out as a seven episode miniseries. It was pretty similar to Generation Kill, focusing on a single specific squad before, during, and immediately after the operation. The realism made it illegal to show in a little over a tenth of the galaxy as showing actual deaths for entertainment violated their obscenity or safe-space laws.

    In the parts of the galaxy where we could show it, a lot of people weren¡¯t interested. They either saw violence as something barbaric and beneath them (an especially common reaction for some species), or were pro-slaver, or anti-law-and-order, or had their own nationalistic governments and militaries to support. To make things worse, our PR campaign for it was a bit of a flop and had to be redone, doubling the already high advertising cost.

    But those who did watch it tended to like it. A lot. So the word of mouth was good. And it was a fairly unique product. Real combat videos tended to be messy, but between the sensor quality, sprites and AI ours was incredibly clean, and I¡¯d hired the very best to direct and manage the videos. The unit that was followed was one of many that had been specially formed for their natural cinematic quality when they were in training. And then any areas that needed to be fleshed out or modified were, whether using computer graphics or acting.

    Within a few months, about a trillion and a half people had watched it. We made an order of magnitude more credits off of those viewers than we did with all the seized slaver assets (though compared to income from manufacturing and stock-trading everything else was still insignificant).

    The demand for more was high. So we had spin-offs. Some focused on different units within the marines. Others focused on naval personnel. Others on recruits going through training. One, which proved to be the most popular in the long run, was a true-crime series focusing on the slaves, from capture, through rescue, and then the associated trials and punishments for the slavers.

    Twenty billion people had looked into our recruitment policies seriously enough that it was clear they were very interested in my company. Of those, social data mining analysis and automated background investigation showed that a little under a billion fit the potential recruit profile; ie, they lived in polities where joining GSD was legal, were likely to join if asked, and met the physical and psychological requirements.

    When we took Karazak early in 972 ARR (after Ruusan Reformation) it was four years after I¡¯d had to fund the hiring of an army to retake Naboo. I could now supply that army. Not the ones to take the Neimoidian worlds, at least not yet, but the Coyn force which I¡¯d hired at least was smaller than what I had under arms. By 973 ARR, I planned on quadrupling my forces, going from three hundred and twenty frigates in eighty detachments to over twelve hundred frigates in three hundred and twenty detachments. Karazak itself had become a new GSD construction and staging zone; it was a little out of the way, but the area around it wasn¡¯t developed or claimed by anyone whose rights we were acknowledging, so it was a good place to set up shop.

    So we were massively expanding, yes. But even that massively expanded fleet only needed some nine million people to staff. In other words, out of the billion likely recruits, I only really wanted some ten million or so (the extra needed to allow for recruits that fail training). The question thus became: how to select them?

    Luckily, I had a good solution.

    Our mind-machine interfaces continued to be a big selling item, and were now being produced at four billion models a year, with roughly ten thousand credit profit on each unit made. But the demand was extreme. Further, my analysts estimated a massive untapped market for super-realistic VR (including games) and less intensive productivity applications. In other words, a personal computer versus the industrial devices that were selling.

    The new pixie models, named as a lesser version of sprites, were the answer. Our first factories were already producing them, in enough numbers that I could use my potential recruits as ¡°beta-testers¡±. Subsequently, we¡¯d be making about ten times as many pixies as sprites, using a similar auction process with a thousand credit minimum to sell them. Gangari Gaming Corp, one of my (many) subsidiaries already had some pretty damned good simulators and war-games which I¡¯d had developed for internal training purposes. For the beta-testers it would be free to play, and in the future I was planning on running it on a freemium model (where paying for items could help, but wasn¡¯t necessary), including in-game marketplaces which accepted either in-game or galactic credits (though my company would take a cut on all transactions).

    Part of the plan was for the games to be addicting. Users couldn¡¯t get access to full-capacity Gangari Security quality equipment inside the games without having active duty or GSD veteran status. To make those perks even more alluring, the occasional limited-duration special event allowed them to get just enough of a taste. Using GSD power armor compared to even top-grade Mandalorian was basically the difference between driving a Ferrari versus some old clunker. Similarly, export pixies and sprites were limited to 90% and 95% synchronization respectively, compared to 99-100% with my internal sprite systems. For a real enthusiast, that extra power from the gear, that extra bit of realism in the game or training simulation could be worth it. Not to mention the fact that those games suddenly had real purpose, real meaning.

    On my side of things, we¡¯d be able to evaluate and recruit the very best, and might learn better ways to conduct training, new strategies, etc. Game modes which focused more on administration, trade, exploration, design, etc. were also under development to help with civilian job recruitment in the future. As I shifted the galactic economy into a true-blue highly automated post-scarcity state, I expected that internal VR economy would become just as important as real-life.

    Other than that, final designs and tests for the cruiser class were underway. At 600m in length, fully twice as long and eight times as massive as the frigates, the cruisers were really designed to serve as flagships for frigate flotillas, or as the backbone for naval combat fleets designed to engage and destroy other modern navies which served major star-powers. Each cruiser carried a regiment of over a thousand aerospace strikecraft, equal to that carried by an entire frigate detachment. Depending on the variant and mission marine complements could vary greatly, but standard cruisers intended for space/ground operations carried two divisions, a group of marine aerospace strikecraft, and a company of SBU. Together with their escorts, that meant a cruiser had a total of a full corps of forty-nine thousand marines to deploy as needed. It was a self-contained unit capable of projecting power against second and third rate galactic powers, and at least serving as a deterrent to the more powerful systems like Corellia or Kuat.

    ========================

    I bowed lightly after entering Amidala¡¯s private audience chamber.

    ¡°Your majesty, it¡¯s been too long,¡± I greeted politely, vaguely wondering what she was upset about now.

    Amidala fixed a gimlet stare on me, not that anyone without mystical powers could really tell given how she was all made up and in her ridiculous garb. ¡°Lord Gangari. We have heard about the GSD building cruisers.¡± As if that was meant to be some great surprise to me, some got-you! moment.

    I mean, it certainly took her long enough. I¡¯d been dangling that information out there for various spies to catch for months by that point. I¡¯m pretty sure there had been at least one article in a defense-oriented magazine; they¡¯d even got their hands on some of the exterior image mock-ups which we¡¯d leaked to only the best information gatherers.

    Could I have managed a near-perfect information blackout? Yes, easily, especially with my sprites. But that sort of thing makes spies (and those who command them) very nervous. After all, why that level of secrecy, something almost impossible for any other to manage on that scale, unless it was nefarious?

    ¡°Yes, your majesty,¡± I replied calmly. ¡°Why, were you interested in hiring some?¡±

    She snarled at bit at that. ¡°Hiring some!¡± she exclaimed, as if she¡¯d never been more offended in her life. ¡°I demand that you cease, immediately!¡±

    ¡°And why would I do that?¡± I asked. Really, I was quite interested in her answer.

    ¡°These cruisers represent an unacceptable escalation. Your stations and existing ships are more than sufficient for defensive and anti-pirate purposes. Those frigates of yours are already more than We believe is necessary. The only purpose of cruisers is to project force, and We will not permit it!¡±Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

    Wow. Wow. ¡°May I remind your majesty that Coyn and Ailon Guard both used cruiser-weight ships to liberate Naboo. In fact, that both used ships above cruiser weight?¡±

    She was taken aback by that for a bit.

    She was right, by the way. Cruisers were designed to project power. They were politically equivalent to third-rate ships of the line back in the age of sail. Not enough to make you a top national power, or even a second rate one until you had enough of them, but something needed to hold your head up in any way when speaking to those who did have proper ships. And enough to bully your neighbors who didn¡¯t have such ships, at least a little. In more modern times, cruisers were not the equivalent to having aircraft carriers and nuclear submarines. They were the equivalent to having attack subs and amphibious assault ships, those little pocket-carriers that were much smaller than a proper aircraft carrier but could launch enough helicopters and VTOL jets to support limited contested landings.

    There was a threshold in shield capacity and weapon power where suddenly typical light defenses, the sort of thing used at the vast majority of stations and small-to-mid sized planets, became minimally effective. Cruisers crossed over that magic threshold, and even small numbers of them could dominate most polities. Naboo, for example, would likely have lost its orbitals to a conventional cruiser squadron before my arrival, and Naboo was a relatively wealthy sector capital (if perhaps less militant than most).

    Frankly, we¡¯d only managed the Karazak invasion because my ships were so much better than they should have been for their size, and because the Karazak slavers were almost entirely ship based. Normally, that sort of mission would have needed cruisers. I wanted to take on harder targets in time, the sorts that kept proper battle-fleets. And for that, I needed not just more ships, but heavier ones.

    Plus cruisers were really the smallest ship that could do bulk-freight in the armed merchantman variant, or serve as small mobile yards for mining and manufacturing, or do any of a dozen other tasks.

    Finally (and now armed by a legal argument whispered in her ear by one of her handmaidens) she rallied. ¡°That is immaterial, and just serves to prove Our point. The liberation of Naboo and the operations against the Trade Federation constituted full military action. Coyn and the Ailon Guard are both not just sources of mercenary forces, but member-states of the Republic. Their forces, while for-hire, are nonetheless duly constituted system defense fleets. Furthermore, their heaviest naval assets are only hirable by those, like Ourselves, who are themselves legally entitled to do so. Gangari Security Directorate is not a governmental entity, nor is it entitled by Republic law to possess capital ships.¡±

    I grinned. ¡°I am forwarding your majesty certain documents. You will see that per 182.76.14 subclause A, the Judiciary has ruled the Karazak a legitimate capture from enemies of the state, and awarded it to the Gangari Security Directorate. Per 241.83.17 subclause C, as citizens of standing of Naboo we applied for, and were granted, the right to treat Karazak as a high-risk colony, and per 73.9.84 subclause B are allowed to possess capital ships. Per 732.18.9 subclause F, as a state with the right to possess capital ships, in good standing with the Republic, and with Judiciary approval, we are allowed to hire such forces for military engagements, pursuant to the laws of the Republic.¡±

    A handmaiden quickly scanned through the forms I¡¯d sent her, checking their digital signatures. Then, with shocked awe and horror on her face, she turned to Amidala and nodded.

    Amidala looked at me. ¡°How?¡± she asked with wonder. ¡°How did you manage that?¡±

    She had a point. The bureaucracy should have kept those requests tied up in red tape for decades. Suffice to say, those who could be bought were bought. Certain people had not been sufficiently discreet with their indiscretions, especially since GSD, due to my sprites, represented perhaps the single greatest intelligence gathering and analyzing entity in the Galaxy. And for those who were neither financially nor morally corrupt, well, either their backers were, or they were promoted somewhere they couldn¡¯t cause me mischief.

    I allowed my grin to break into a wide smile. ¡°Suffice to say, majesty, that while your concern is appreciated, it is unnecessary.¡±

    She sank back with a sigh. ¡°Gangari, what do you even want them for? What are you planning? What are you going to drag Naboo and Our people into?¡±

    I looked at her seriously. ¡°Safety and security from any power that my anti-slavery operations may anger. Larger armed merchantmen for trade and convoy protection. Mobile shipyards and manufactories. And yes, in the future when GSD is large enough and strong enough, maybe we¡¯ll do something about Senex-Juvex, Zygerria, Hutt space, and every other festering den of iniquity. But for now, I¡¯m well within my rights.¡±

    She closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them. ¡°Very well. It seems We cannot stop you. But We beg of you, Odysseus, do not be hasty. Peoples¡¯ lives are not a game, no matter how wealthy you are. And this is not an age where men build empires by war.¡±

    I shook my head at her naivete. ¡°I will bear your words in mind, majesty. But kind words did not defeat the Trade Federation. Nor do moral platitudes protect those stolen or born into slavery. And for all that things are quiet in the Republic, and have been for centuries, the base realities of war never change.¡±

    There were still a few platitudes and bits of empty ceremony, but my audience was at an end.

    ========================

    We weren¡¯t just occupied by an orgy of expansion. After Karazak, and some associated follow up raids on slaver satellite bases, business was good.

    That year, GSD had two major military operations. First, we were hired by the Jedi of all people to end the Open-Closed war. They had sent a knight to investigate a signal on Carnelion IV, a planet thought destroyed in a vicious civil war. Unknown to the galaxy at large, though reduced to a post-apocalyptic remnant, the locals were still fighting. Knight Kiri Sera¡¯s ship was damaged by the debris in orbit, and she was stranded. She managed to get a new distress signal out, but extraction from an active war zone was pretty difficult. Mostly because the Jedi didn¡¯t have many ships with sufficient shields and armor to safely enter the planet, and none were available at the time.

    Our old ¡°friend¡± Qui-Gon, since raised to the Jedi High Council, liked to keep an eye on me and my operations, so he was familiar with GSD¡¯s naval capabilities. In their reduced state, neither of the Open nor Closed armies were in a state to resist our rescue operation, and the Jedi were able to negotiate a peace under the shadow of our ships.

    Our second operation was on Haruun Kal. The planet was only marginally inhabitable, with super-aggressive force-fueled fungi that attacked electronics and massive clouds of toxic gasses. The only true natives were the Korunnai, Force-sensitive (because no one else could survive in that place) tribesmen descended from a Jedi vessel which crashed thousands of years ago during one of the wars against the Sith. They were why I was interested ¨C I wanted to start bulking out my military with Force sensitives, and the Korunnai represented a large pool of possible recruits (at least, large in terms of force-sensitives). Notably Mace Windu, Master of the Jedi Order, was Korunnai.

    Unfortunately for the Korunnai, but luckily for me, they were locked in a seasonal war against the Balawai, or Outsiders, offworlders who were interested in harvesting certain spices and drugs local to the planet. Thyssel bark, a hallucinogen thought to be able to give Force-visions, was particularly valuable.

    There were only about a million of these Balawai on the planet, and it wasn¡¯t hard to chase them off. A few hundred Korunnai youths interested in change, technology, or adventure joined up, and began training under the mana-summoned copies which I¡¯d made of Force-Adepts from various sects.

    My Force-sensitive population was growing rapidly. My hobby, or at least one of them at that time, was tracking down and getting the patterns for as wide a variety of Force Adepts as possible. Given the massive resources I was able to devote to the task, it was no surprise I was highly successful. I had over a hundred unique patterns in a mixture of Jedi Masters, Matukai Martial Artists, Keetael Huntmasters, Luka Sene Mentors, Mind Walkers, Dagoyan Masters, Guardians of the Whills, Disciples of Twilight, Salai Kasi Adepts, Teepo Paladins, Theran Listeners, H¡¯drachi Seers, Wardens of the Sky, Jal Shey Mentors, and Zeison Sha warriors.

    Many of these organizations were somewhat persecuted by the Jedi, whether through direct theft of their more powerful children, or through more subtle legal discrimination at the behest of either the Jedi Council or local Sector Watchmen. While some, such as the Miralukans, were often quite happy to join the Jedi, others, such as the Zeison Sha disliked the Jedi and their kidnapping ways. I was always happy to give sanctuary, support (whether financial, legal, or a frigate detachment to shadow visiting Jedi ships), and training to any Force-sensitives who were willing to align themselves with me. With hundreds of summoned trainers, and thousands of Force-Sensitive recruits (even if most weren¡¯t strong enough to hack it as Jedi), Gangari was quickly becoming one of the largest organizations for Force-Sensitives.

    I was keeping it as quiet as possible, but I knew the Jedi had notice and weren¡¯t exactly pleased by the situation. Still, Force Sensitives were just too useful. Whether it was the slight edge they got in combat, or being superior negotiators, salespeople, strategic planners, empathetic managers/human-resources staff, inspired inventors, or just passively lucky, I wanted their talents.

    The ex-slave, Anakin Skywalker, was one of the strongest force sensitives. In fact, he was on the pilot¡¯s track in his training and education, and was one of the top performers in the flight simulator; he was among the top in his age group for lightsaber combat as well. Unfortunately his strategy and tactics needed some work, but as a pilot alone he was consistently in the top five, and when he commanded strikecraft in wargames they were most often victorious (if with higher casualties than might be desirable, the boy needed to learn that not everyone was nearly so skilled as himself). I¡¯d already offered him a slot in the Academy and (assuming he passed) an officer¡¯s commission for when he turned sixteen (the minimum age for recruitment, and even then it needed a waiver).

    ========================

    But as much as we grew in 972 ARR, that was only the beginning.

 Chapter 57: Supersize

    <u>Chapter 57: Supersize</u>

    In 973 ARR, business continued to expand.  GSD-protected convoys were highly desired, and it wasn¡¯t uncommon for us to get hired to clean up the spacelanes, wipe out particularly elusive pirates or slavers, or provide naval support for Ailon Guard forces.

    There were three more remarkable operations too.  The first was actually pretty minor, simply a quarantine of Engebo V.  That planet had been overtaken by skekfish, a hybrid carbon-silicon based lifeform also known as the ¡°knife-fish¡±.  Aggressive, deadly, equipped with razor sharp scales, and capable of burrowing through solid rock, skekfish grew from egg to adulthood in a day, had to eat meat once every 48 hours, bred prodigiously, and had eggs that could last centuries before reactivating.  In short, they were an obviously engineered bio-form MWD designed to permanently depopulate entire worlds.

    I, of course, made sure to get their pattern.  Not out of any intent of using it, just¡­ for the hell of it.  Maybe someday I¡¯d need them.

    The other two operations were much more politically significant.  One was a combination humanitarian/combat mission to Radnor.  They had had one of their bioweapon programs sabotaged and had to quarantine one of their two capital cities.  During the chaos the Avoni, natives of a different planet in the same system, invaded.  GSD intervened in return for staging rights, weapons research, and outright ownership of many of the asteroids and even some of the system¡¯s moons.

    The Avoni found themselves seriously sanctioned, and my forces seized all of their space assets in the system.  Jeeves, super-effective sprite that he was, even managed to get the Radnori populace so behind my company that they passed laws subcontracting their future military defense to GSD.  We were obligated to provide a certain level of protection, but they now had a fixed percentage of their GDP set aside to pay us.  In short, GSD was becoming even more legitimate in the eyes of the galaxy, even if Radnor was on the edge of Republic territory in the mid-rim.

    But the reason I was happy to get involved in Radnor was mostly its location.  It was directly on the Corellian Run hyperlane, and was located just one sector away from the lower regions of Hutt space, including that miserable dust-ball Tatooine.  That made it a prime staging ground for any eventual operation against the Hutts.  The Corellian Run was also one of the eight largest hyperlanes leading out of Hutt space.  In fact, it was the largest hyperlane that the Hutts had direct access to, though the fact that it was on the galactic-southern Hutt border made fewer ne¡¯er do-wells use it than might happen otherwise.  But it was still a popular route for when Hutt-based pirates and slavers wanted to go towards the galactic core.  I had eighty full frigate detachments based out of the system do ¡°stop, search and seize¡± missions on suspected smugglers, pirates and slavers.  By the time they wised up and started using other routes, mostly through Llanic (a nearby shadowport that only added a day or two to travel times), we¡¯d reduced total traffic through Radnor by twenty percent, and were still catching morons who thought they could sneak past.

    The Hutts were pretty incensed.  Not only was I cutting into their bottom line (minimal as my effect was after they started moving along the Llanic Spice Route instead), but I¡¯d definitely buttoned up any future Hutt expansion.  They thought in centuries, after all, and given the Republic¡¯s weakness and corruption assumed (rightly, I suspect) that they¡¯d be able to swallow up many of the politically unimportant Outer-Rim sectors on their border.  GSD basing a small fleet out of Radnor ended that possibility for decades if not centuries.

    The retaliations weren¡¯t unexpected.

    At first, the Hutts sent assassins.  But after the tenth time a courier showed up to the responsible party with a head in a box, that stopped.  Honestly, that I didn¡¯t mind at all.  Removing criminal assassin/bounty-hunter types was a public service, and there was no chance they could take me.  But then my intelligence forces intercepted a dozen little strike squads who meant to simultaneously remove my greatest supporters on Radnor, and that could not stand.

    Among my forces were those who managed to qualify as ¡°Daggers¡± (<u>D</u>irect <u>A</u>ction <u>Gr</u>oup), designed for classic deniable wetwork.  Often Force-sensitive, somewhat sociopathic and highly capable to begin with, then further conditioned and trained, they were among the best of my forces.  Among my fully magically enhanced Paragons I had created a regiment of summoned beings based on the best of the Daggers.  I sent the entire regiment, and told them to make a point.  The Desilijic cartel practically evaporated, and those Hutts who took over the power-vacuum afterwards never repeated those mistakes.

    I also got involved on Mawan.  A core world, Mawan had fallen, its people divided under the aegises of several semi-criminal factions.  Mawan was an interesting case for my forces to deal with.  As a core world, other polities¡¯ interests prevented a true conquest; that was part of how the place became such a mess in the first place.  Instead, we used sprite-derived intelligence-driven commando raids of the primary criminal actors and organizations, while supplying deniable weapons, overt training and intelligence for native factions that were both morally acceptable and pragmatically willing to deal with my company.  In the aftermath, Gangari corporations stabilized the economy, largely taking it over in the process.  By manipulating the new legal framework, and instituting a ¡°meritocratic democracy¡± that allowed votes largely by financial power, I expected to have full de-facto and de-jure control of the system within three years.Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

    Mawan was good for two things.  First, it was practice in nation-building. While messy, it went much better than I had expected.  It turned out sprites were great for the sort of mass administration combined with surveillance that was needed to turn around a society which had gotten used to criminal coercion and corruption.  Second, and perhaps more importantly, it gave GSD a base and voice in the Core.

    With that, GSD was rapidly transitioning from a small but important colonial mercenary organization, to a real player in galactic politics.

    ========================

    The other important part of becoming a real player was having a real military.  Prior to 973 ARR, GSD¡¯s heaviest ship was a three hundred meters long frigate.  While certainly a warship, and due to design, technological, and magical-material advantages about as capable as conventional ships twice its length (and thus, by the length-cube volume relation eight times its volume), there was a certain size effect in peoples¡¯ minds.  Sort of like judging an army based on how many people it has.  In the same way that regardless of equipment and training disparities it was hard to imagine a hundred men beating off a thousand, or ten thousand, it was hard for people to think ¡°oh, a three hundred meters long frigate, that¡¯s a capital ship.¡±

    After all, even relatively middling planetary defense forces had access to the (poorly named) Dreadnaught-class Heavy Cruiser by Rendili StarDrive, which was six hundred meters long.  Never mind that due to the Dreadnaught¡¯s relatively narrow profile compared to my ships¡¯ golden-ratio derived cuboid that my three-hundred-meter-long frigate was still about two-thirds as massive as the longer Dreadnaught. And let¡¯s just put aside the fact a GSD frigate could likely take a half dozen of those relatively aging beasts in a fight (and that¡¯s before the frigate¡¯s 192 strikecraft got involved).

    It just didn¡¯t have the same impact.

    The GSD Cruiser (designation CA) that entered service in 973 definitely changed that.  At a full six hundred meters, it was already at the upper edge of the cruiser-length classification. It kept the ratios that meant it was significantly heavier than other ships of similar length, being, for example, about five times as massive as a Dreadnaught cruiser.

    Because I could have my troops float in their power-armor in null-gravity and exercise against the resistance of their suit motors in a special operation mode while using VR for training and relaxation, I could pack a lot of troops in a relatively little space, while still having oversized shields, armor, and weapons systems.  While other states weren¡¯t fully aware of a GSD Cruiser¡¯s advantages, they were generally aware (we were, after all, mercenaries, and GSD ships were used in Gangari VR games even if they were slightly nerfed).  That made people quite nervous.  I had five hundred and twelve of the cruisers at year¡¯s end, each with a full set of frigates, corvettes and patrol boats for escort.  That was more navy than most sectors, let alone what most systems could scrape together.

    That said, people weren¡¯t too nervous.  GSD was getting big and strong, true, but it was still sort of like being the best fighter out of all middle-school boxers.  Impressive, but compared to the real big-boys we were a small fish.  More militant core or mercantile powers had access to pretty heavy kit, after all.

    For example, Kuat Drive Yards made the twenty-five hundred meter long Procurator-class battlecruiser.  This was fully five times as massive as one of my cruisers, and the Kuati had various even larger derivative ships if purchasers thought the Procurator wasn¡¯t enough.  The Techno Union built thousand meter long Bulwark-class star-destroyers, and used a bulkier design philosophy somewhat similar to my own rather than Kuat¡¯s preference for dagger-shaped ships.  Although more armed merchantmen than true warships, the three kilometer diameter Lucrehulks, still produced by Hoersch-Kessel Drive, were also available and massed something like a hundred times what one of my cruisers did.

    The Inter Galactic Banking Clan went a different direction, and kept a fleet of thousands of 825m long Munificent-class ¡°star frigates¡±.  A proper cruiser (or, at that length, a heavy cruiser) tended to have significantly more shields and armor than a frigate to survive main fleet battles and capital-ship engagements.  In comparison, the ¡°star frigate¡± was lightly shielded and almost unarmored, but even more heavily armed, especially with high yield weapons capable of threatening star-destroyer shields and armor.  Despite their rather skeletal silhouette, a Munificent could carry up to a hundred and fifty thousand battle droids, and had external attachments for a couple squadrons of parasite droid starfighters.  With a crew of just two-hundred sapients and significant automation, the Munificents were cheap, almost semi-disposable ships that nonetheless represented a serious threat to defense stations and capital ships.

    Compared to these giants, my fleets were relatively minor.  But much like having ships-of-the-line back on Earth during the age of sail, having a cruiser, especially one of my own design and manufacture, was a mark of being at the least a second-rate power.  And while people knew the ships were in the pipeline, actually having them definitely improved GSD¡¯s standing.  Especially when that fact was combined with having practical control of a core world (Mawan), having a wealthy Mid-Rim Protectorate (Radnor), and an Outer-Rim colony (Karazak).

    It was sort of like managing to make myself the autocrat of Belgium in the early 20<sup>th</sup> Century.  Not really a first-rate power, but I could still hold my head up in the top political gatherings.

 Chapter 58: Interview

    <u>Chapter 58: Interview</u>

    Being more in the spotlight did have its downsides, though.  Such as holovid appearances¡­

    ¡°Joining us today is Gangari Holdings Owner and Chairman, Odysseus Gangari.  Lord Gangari, thank you for being on the show.¡±

    ¡°Glad to be here, Tom.¡±  I really wasn¡¯t.  I much preferred plotting galactic domination, or playing with all the new tech this galaxy had to offer, or doing magic.  But Jeeves told me it was important.  ¡°And please, call me Odysseus.¡±

    Tom smiled at my scripted reply.  His smile was a well-practiced thing, but the man definitely had charisma.  He had to, to be one of the top galactic network talk-show hosts.

    ¡°Thank you, Odysseus.  So to introduce you to those who might not be fully aware of your accomplishments, over the past years you¡¯ve had what many would describe as an amazing rise.  In 968 you first became a trillionaire by taking over Naboo¡¯s farms during the Trade Federation blockade.  Now, just five years later you have what could legitimately be called an empire.  Gangari Interfaces brings in trillions every year, while Gangari Financial, the fastest growing major financial entity, regularly stands at the top of the investment industry for yearly percent profit.  Billions, including my son, sign on every day to play your games ¨C and there will be some hard comments about that during the break,¡± he joked before pausing a moment for the crowd¡¯s laughter.

    ¡°But you¡¯re perhaps most famous personally for GSD, Gangari Security Directorate,¡± he continued.  ¡°GSD, which started off as a private military contractor, has been expanding basically as fast as you can recruit and train people.  By the end of the year you¡¯re projected to have some thirty-six million sapients on active duty.  Just one and half years ago GSD shocked the galaxy by successfully invading Karazak, held by notorious slavers.  This year, GSD protected the Mid-Rim Radnori from a bioweapon attack and invasion by their neighbors, the Avoni.  Not only did you manage that, but Gangari Holdings have come to practically control Mawan, a core world, after their civil strife came to a rather sudden stop; GSD intervention is strongly suspected by Republic Intelligence.¡±  Again, he paused, this time so that I could reply.

    ¡°It sounds very impressive when you say it like that,¡± I joked.

    ¡°And you don¡¯t think it¡¯s impressive?¡± Tom asked.

    I shook my head and grinned.  ¡°I¡¯m not that humble.  I know I¡¯ve managed to get a lot done.¡±

    He nodded. ¡°I¡¯d say.  So, what I want to know, and I suspect a lot of our viewers would agree, is what drives you?¡±

    I leaned forward, drawing him in, and looked at the camera over his shoulder for maximum impact.  ¡°I¡¯m going to be really honest right now, rather than telling you the same tired platitudes you normally hear.  Do I like to do good?  Yes.  Do I like to do well by doing good?  Also, yes.  But really, there are two things that have pushed me to accomplish what I did, and what I will in the future rather than living the life of the idle - if socially conscious - rich.¡±

    Now, I sat up straighter, spoke more firmly.  ¡°First, I believe in freedom.  For Gangari Holdings, even droids count as employees, not objects, and we refuse to do business with any entity which includes sapient slaves.  Second, I like to solve problems.  As for where those lead me¡­ well, sometimes that means inventing sprites and pixies, while sometimes it means funding private military contractors to take down slavers.¡±

    I could see that I¡¯d had a bit of an effect on even so jaded a personality as Tom¡¯s.  ¡°So freedom and problem solving led you to achieve everything you have.¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± I agreed.  ¡°That, and the luck and capability to be at the right place and the right time to actually achieve the things I have.¡±

    Tom leaned back a bit in his seat.  ¡°But what do you say to all of your detractors?  How do you address the various controversies?¡±

    I gave a short bark of laughter.  ¡°Which controversy?  There¡¯s a lot to choose from.¡±

    ¡°Right.  Nabooian landowners, upset that their farms were seized.  Those who did business with the Trade Federation, and saw their assets seized and sold off, many of the operations happening days or even weeks after the Chancellor sent orders for it to cease.  People calling the Liberation of Karazak illegal, or saying that the rapid trial and execution of so many sapients, criminal or not, represents a war-crime.  Those on Naboo, their Queen Amidala included, who feel like GSD violate their sovereignty, or that you took advantage of their need, or who are upset with GSD¡¯s militarism versus the pacifist policies which were preferred prior to the Trade Federation invasion.  There are complaints that Gangari Interfaces are a monopoly, and that Gangari Financial is anti-competitive or somehow cheating.  Then there are those who say that you have practically carried out a shadow-war to take control of Mawan, turned Radnor into a protectorate, and that you are building a not-so-small fiefdom.¡±

    ¡°It sounds pretty bad when you say it like that,¡± I joked.  ¡°I¡¯ve found that any time you really accomplish something, it upsets someone.  Do better at work, a work-mate competing for the same promotion is upset.  Rescue a system from slavers, well that upsets the slavers and those who used their services. And a lot of these complaints have been traced back to crime cartels, pirate organizations, expansionist despots butting up against polities that have talked about hiring GSD if necessary, that sort of thing.¡±

    ¡°So, are you telling the viewers that there¡¯s nothing to these allegations?¡± Tom asked.

    ¡°I¡¯d tell the viewers that if someone¡¯s looking to judge me, they should ask themselves whether they prefer the alternative. Should I have let the landowners keep the land, and left the Nabooian people to starve? Left millions in slavery? Allowed bioweapons to decimate a civilian populace, or left a core-world to fall to criminals?  My sprites and pixies have boosted galactic productivity fifteen percent; would they rather not have that? You may not agree with everything I do. If that¡¯s the case, I¡¯d advise two things. First, do better! Offer an alternative. I welcome the competition. Second, join a Gangari company. Prove yourself capable of leadership. Argue that your way is better in a planning session, and have that implemented instead.¡±This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

    Tom laughed. ¡°So your advice to people who disagree with you is to join you?¡±

    I smiled too. ¡°That¡¯s right. If they really know better than my experts, if they¡¯re the best, I want them working for me. Or competing against me, making Gangari do even better in return.¡±

    ¡°Wow. Well, I guess that makes sense. You¡¯ve always been very aggressive about recruiting people.¡±

    ¡°I have,¡± I agreed. ¡°In fact, the pixies, and all of our games started off as training tools. But people liked the training, and so we though ¡®why not offer this as a game?¡¯ Now, we regularly give job offers to top performers, whether that¡¯s in combat, production, R&D, planning, management, or financial services. We¡¯re not the first people to do something like that, but our games are the most realistic. Other companies have started using Gangari Game statistics as part of their hiring too. But I want to emphasize to anyone watching, Gangari is the best place to work. Better pay, better people, and we¡¯re growing fast, so lots of room for promotion.¡±

    Tom shook his head and sighed. ¡°Come on, Odysseus. If you put an obvious recruiting pitch like that without paying my producers for advertising, they¡¯ll get upset,¡± he said semi-jokingly.

    I raised my hands up in surrender. ¡°Sorry, sorry.¡±

    ¡°So, we¡¯ve addressed a lot of your controversies,¡± he began. ¡°But there are two that we haven¡¯t mentioned.¡±

    ¡°Go ahead,¡± I offered.

    ¡°First, your recruitment of Force-sensitives. The Jedi Temple has released statements that you may not be capable of providing sufficient training for their safety and that of the public. Others are worrying about a concentration of Force-Power outside the Republics control, or that this will reduce the already small number of Force-sensitives available to the Jedi who serve as the glue holding this Republic together. Finally, some parents have complained that their children are being groomed as soldiers. What do you have to say about that?¡±

    I¡¯d been warned by my intelligence services about this question ahead of time. In fact, this whole interview was to try and nail me down on this, and on what I was guessing he was going to bring up next, all in anticipation of it being the first domino in a growing media storm. Paid for by the strangest combination of Jedi PR and Hutt pawns. But I was prepared to counter, and had my own PR efforts ready to roll out in return.

    ¡°I think that I¡¯m offering an alternative. I respect that the Jedi hold the Republic together. I really do. But the way they do is, honestly, repulsive.¡± At this point, Tom would have intervened, ready to debate me, to make his Jedi sponsors look better. But I had magic on my side, and my own Force users, and there would be no such interference. The Jedi wanted me to talk about my recruiting Force-sensitives? I was happy to.

    ¡°They are a religion that has gained Republic support to interfere at all levels of life,¡± I continued. ¡°Children are taken away from their parents, so young they can¡¯t even remember them, then effectively brainwashed into being good, unquestioning members of the Jedi Order. Those who aren¡¯t perfect little monks are sent away as early teenagers, forced to become farmers or do extremely dangerous hyperlane charting work. The Jedi won¡¯t even take those who become active Force-sensitives later in life, worried that they might question or have other opinions.

    ¡°Now, bad as that is, the Jedi don¡¯t always do this with the parents approval. I¡¯ve found a number of occasions where resistant parents had their children seized due to local pro-Jedi laws. Other times, the parents have even gone into hiding, only to be tracked down by a local Jedi Watchman, and suddenly change their minds. I don¡¯t think I need to talk about how the Jedi are famous for, among other things, their mind-trick.

    ¡°But Jedi aren¡¯t the only Force users out there.  Gangari employs hundreds of Master and Knight level Force experts, from a wide variety of Light and Neutral aligned Force traditions. We can give the training needed, and don¡¯t care how old you are when you start. Our students don¡¯t fail out and become farmers, unless they want to pursue farming, but rather are trained depending on their strengths. Finally, when they finish their education, there are jobs available in any part of my businesses. They don¡¯t need to carry a lightsaber and risk their lives unless they want to, and if they do take a combat role we make sure they have armor, backup, medical, and psychological support which is superior to that provided by the Temple.¡±

    ¡°So there¡¯s no truth to these complaints then?¡± Tom proceeded to ask, still under my own mind-trick.

    ¡°None. And I¡¯d recommend to any parent who does have a Force-sensitive child, look into Gangari programs. We offer relocation support, education opportunities, training, jobs, and protection for every member of any family which would prefer to stay together than to lose their young.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re really throwing a gauntlet down with the Jedi,¡± Tom noted.

    ¡°I think that they¡¯re mostly well-intentioned. But there are some bad apples, and even the best of intentions don¡¯t cause good ends if they¡¯re built on a faulty foundation.  At the end of the day it comes down to freedom. And the Jedi are anything but free.¡±

    ¡°Strong words. Now, we have just enough time for this one last question.  Two days ago several thousand people wearing Gangari power armor attacked the infamous Desilijic Cartel across Hutt Space.  Estimates range into hundreds of thousands of casualties, including women and children.  You are suspected to have ordered these attacks as retaliations for assassination attempts against yourself and your political allies on Radnor.  Is there any truth to these allegations?¡±

    Yes.

    ¡°No,¡± I lied. ¡°We did supply a number of freedom fighters with export versions of our powered armor and communications infrastructure, as are available to qualified purchasers within Republic space. But their actions are theirs and theirs alone.¡±

    ¡°So you¡¯re saying you disavow their actions?¡± Tom asked.

    ¡°It¡¯s not for me to avow or disavow,¡± I replied. ¡°I think that such a great loss of life is a terrible tragedy. But I also think that all free peoples exist in a state of perpetual war against those who would see them enslaved. And that any free-slave movement has the right, if not the obligation, to conduct operations against slavers. As such, while I cannot condone their actions, I can¡¯t decry them either. The anti-slaver forces are significantly weaker than their enemies, and it¡¯s hard to fight a really clean war that way. It¡¯s a messy situation, and one I¡¯m not qualified to judge without being involved.¡±

    ¡°But will you be providing them with more support?¡± he questioned.

    ¡°That depends on how they use what they have; as it stands, the initial supply agreement included parts and consumables sufficient for five to ten years of irregular warfare. Right now, a number of Hutt worlds are looking into passing laws partially protecting slaves. I think it¡¯s far too little, but it¡¯s a step in the right direction, and it wouldn¡¯t have happened without the actions of these brave warriors of liberty.¡±

    ¡°And do you think that their choice to hit the Desilijic Cartel was informed by the assassination attempts against you?¡±

    I smiled, enough for everyone to know that yes, that was the case. ¡°I can¡¯t speak to that. Though they may have been grateful for our support.¡±

    Tom nodded slowly. ¡°Right. As a follow up, are you worried about any retaliation?¡±

    I just chuckled. ¡°I welcome assassins sent against me. My security is the best in the Galaxy. They¡¯d have better luck trying to take out the Chancellor. As for any attempts on my friends and allies, well, I¡¯m more than capable of making them regret it. Financially, of course.¡±

    ¡°Of course,¡± Tom agreed, a bit hesitantly.  Then, he rallied.  ¡°Well, thank you again, Odysseus, for being here.¡±

    ¡°My pleasure Tom.¡±

    And the interview ended.