Goldengrove, the solar of Lord Mathis Rowan.
“My lord, a letter has arrived.”
Maester Corlin entered the study carrying two sealed messages.
“From whom?”
Mathis looked up from the reports spread across his desk.
“One appears to be from Lord Gawen, bearing your family’s seal,” the maester replied as he laid both letters before him.
“The other comes from Highgarden.”
“Oh?”
A smile appeared on Mathis’s face.
“So the boy has finally decided to write.”
“Thank you, Maester.
That will be all.”
“My lord.”
Corlin bowed slightly before withdrawing from the room.
Mathis opened the letter from Highgarden first.
The contents immediately darkened his expression.
King Aerys had been captured at Duskendale.
Truthfully, he had long questioned the king’s state of mind.
The realm had grown increasingly unstable under Aerys’s rule.
Once, Tywin Lannister had stood among the king’s closest allies.
Now the relationship between lion and dragon had deteriorated into open hostility.
Even so, Tywin had marched with the royal army to rescue his king.
Prince Rhaegar, meanwhile, had yet to summon the realm’s other great lords.
Mathis pondered the implications for several minutes before setting the letter aside.
He would discuss it in detail with his maester later.
The second letter proved far more pleasant.
As he read Gawen’s report, he could almost feel his son’s growing ambition flowing from every line.
The ideas were still unformed.
Still taking shape.
Yet in the kingdom’s current political climate…
Such ambitions demanded caution.
Mathis could only speculate about his son’s ultimate goals.
When he reached the section about commissioning a ship, the Lord of Goldengrove nearly laughed aloud.
Build a ship…
From an inland lord.
It sounded absurd.
Yet somehow…
Coming from Gawen, it no longer seemed impossible.
The news about strengthening ties with House Hightower pleased him greatly.
He was proud of his son’s initiative and relieved that everything had gone smoothly.
After all, securing that marriage alliance with Lord Leyton Hightower had cost House Rowan dearly.
Rhonda’s dowry had been extraordinarily generous.
Gawen’s friendship with Oberyn Martell came as a surprise.
But ultimately…
A welcome one.
Relations between the Reach and Dorne remained tense, just as Gawen had written.
Still, House Rowan had never been deeply entangled in those ancient rivalries.
“…You really do need a wife.”
Mathis let out a long sigh as he laid the letter down.
He wanted to secure a marriage for Gawen worthy of—or even surpassing—the one Rhonda had made.
Unfortunately…
Suitable matches were becoming increasingly difficult to find.
“Fortunately…”
“You’re still young.”
“We have time.”
Cersei Lannister, daughter of Tywin Lannister, would have been an exceptional match.
Unfortunately, the Lion of Casterly Rock had rejected Mathis’s proposal outright.
Mathis suspected Tywin intended to marry his daughter to Prince Rhaegar.
Alys Graceford remained another possibility.
House Graceford served House Tyrell, and she was her father’s sole heir.
Such a marriage would bring House Rowan additional lands…
Perhaps even an entire castle.
Yet the family possessed neither exceptional military strength nor significant wealth.
Then there was Ysilla Royce, daughter of Lord Yohn Royce.
House Royce was among the Vale’s oldest and most powerful noble families, renowned for their ancient bronze Runic Armor.
Mathis found that match especially attractive.
It offered numerous political advantages.
More importantly…
Lord Yohn Royce was a man whose honor was respected throughout the Seven Kingdoms.
Mathis had searched the Stormlands as well.
House Baratheon had only sons.
In the Riverlands, both Tully daughters had already been promised to Houses Arryn and Stark.
In the North…
Lyanna Stark was already betrothed to the younger Baratheon brother.
He had no interest whatsoever in looking toward the Iron Islands.
So his thoughts eventually drifted southeast…
To Dorne.
House Dayne.
One of the oldest noble houses still standing.
Its heir bore the legendary title Sword of the Morning, wielding Dawn—a blade said to rival Valyrian steel itself—and earned universal respect for unmatched martial skill.
At present, House Dayne had two suitable daughters.
Ashara Dayne.
And her younger sister, Allyria.
Mathis saw considerable advantages in such an alliance.
He believed Lord Dayne would likely be receptive.
Then there was House Martell…
And Princess Elia…
Exactly as Gawen had suggested in his letter.
That very day, Lord Mathis Rowan wrote two replies.
The first was addressed to the ruling Princess of Dorne—the mother of Doran, Elia, and Oberyn Martell.
Gawen,
I am pleased to know that you arrived safely in Oldtown and have settled in well.
I hope you will find both wisdom and the answers you seek there.
I have no intention of restricting your actions.
However, you should understand that if you require additional funds, it will take at least a month—perhaps longer—for them to reach you.
From this point forward, you must accept responsibility for your own decisions.
As for the ship…
That project is entirely yours to oversee.
If you intend to travel anywhere in Essos, inform me well in advance.
I am delighted to hear that your relationship with House Hightower is progressing so well.
Well done.
I am equally pleased that you have found a friend in Oberyn Martell.
From everything I have heard, he is an exceptional warrior.
He has also had serious conflicts with House Yronwood.
Indeed, I suspect that may be one of the reasons he is presently studying at the Citadel.
As for your marriage…
I have been considering that matter for years.
Several of my proposals have already been rejected.
You already know one of them.
Cersei Lannister.
Other noble ladies, such as those of Houses Tully and Stark, have already been promised elsewhere.
The connections you have made now allow us to broaden our search toward Dorne.
I shall begin sending letters immediately and will inform you as soon as I receive any replies.
Alys Graceford will remain an alternative.
There is also Ysilla Royce, daughter of Lord Yohn Royce.
Of the available choices…
She remains the one I favor most.
Fortunately, you are still young.
There is no need for you to concern yourself with this matter just yet.
I must also inform you of troubling news.
Not long ago, I received word from Highgarden that rebellion has broken out in Duskendale.
The king has been taken captive.
Tywin Lannister has marched to rescue His Grace.
House Tyrell is unlikely to call its banners…
But should that happen, I will have no choice but to answer my liege’s summons.
The realm stands upon uncertain ground.
Take care of yourself.
May fortune favor every endeavor you undertake.
Your father,
Lord Mathis Rowan of Goldengrove
After reading the letter, Gawen folded the parchment carefully and slipped it into his pocket.
He quickly reviewed the timeline in his mind.
It was now the autumn of 276 AC.
The Defiance of Duskendale was on the horizon.
The great Tourney at Harrenhal still lay roughly six years away, in 282 AC.
Robert’s Rebellion would erupt the following year, in 283 AC.
After Duskendale…
The Mad King would descend even further into paranoia.
Tywin Lannister’s relationship with the Iron Throne would shatter completely.
The Reach would inevitably be drawn into the resulting political upheaval.
That meant Gawen had only…
Five to six years.
Five to six years to reshape the balance of power within the Reach before the entire realm was consumed by war.
“An age of unrest…”
“An age of change.”
…
Archmaester Walgrave gently stroked the beak of one of his ravens as he spoke almost absentmindedly.
“You understand these birds as well as I do now.”
“Perhaps even better.”
“They adore the feed you’ve developed.”
“You’ve done excellent work.”
“It’s time for you to continue along your own path.”
“I’m grateful for everything you’ve taught me, Archmaester.”
Gawen smiled.
“I’m afraid I’ll have to devote more time to my other studies now.”
“I hope you aren’t disappointed.”
“Only a little.”
Walgrave chuckled softly.
“You would have made an excellent maester.”
“But you are the heir to House Rowan.”
“You have responsibilities beyond these walls.”
“Thank you…”
Gawen clasped the old man’s hand.
“For everything.”
“May I continue using that room?”
“Of course.”
Walgrave smiled with the easy warmth of old age.
“No one else has any use for it.”
The Rookery was among the oldest—and loneliest—buildings within the Citadel.
Only two archmaesters resided there.
Walgrave…
And Marwyn the Mage.
Many of its chambers had stood empty for years.
Returning to the abandoned room he had claimed inside the rookery, Gawen spread out several sheets of parchment and began sketching ideas for his ship.
To put it politely…
Shipbuilding was not exactly a Druid’s specialty.
He had crossed the sea many times in his previous life.
Not as a sailor, but simply as a traveler journeying from one continent to another.
As a result, he possessed a respectable understanding of naval design.
In this world, there were no gunpowder weapons.
Warships relied on scorpions, heavy ballistae, and, on occasion, catapults or primitive fire-projectors.
The ships themselves were relatively small, usually single-deck sailing vessels or compact war galleys.
Gawen had no intention of building a grand flagship.
The primary obstacle was painfully simple.
Money.
What he could build, however…
Was the world’s very first light frigate.
Relying on memories from his previous life, he spent day after day refining increasingly detailed blueprints.
Each morning brought a new idea.
A stronger hull.
A better sail arrangement.
A revised frame.
No matter how carefully he planned, there was always something else to improve.
Current Natural Energy: 152/180
Ship Blueprint Progress: 15%
During the same period, he thoroughly studied the Citadel’s Botanical texts and gradually learned how to substitute local plants for several rare alchemical ingredients.
He crafted his own ink.
An enchanted quill.
And durable, high-quality paper that suited his needs far better than ordinary parchment.
The equipment for his alchemical laboratory had also been commissioned from local smiths.
Since alchemy was an accepted field of study among certain maesters, the craftsmen understood many of the required tools.
As a result, Gawen obtained equipment of considerably higher quality without paying a premium.
The distillation apparatus had proven the most difficult.
The coiled pipes and large still demanded exceptional craftsmanship.
Fortunately, the Citadel’s master smiths completed them successfully.
Afterward, Gawen reinforced every component with runes to increase their durability.
The entire laboratory was installed inside the abandoned chamber within the rookery.
Walgrave offered no objections.
In fact, that forgotten room had gradually become Gawen’s true workshop.
His second project progressed alongside the first.
Golems.
Among practitioners of runic magic and ritualism, they represented one of the most fundamental forms of magical constructs.
There were two primary methods of creating them.
The first resembled meticulous programming.
Every movement, every response, every action had to be individually designed and supported by complex rune arrays.
It was incredibly precise.
And incredibly tedious.
The second relied on spirit binding.
Rather than scripting behavior, the creator summoned a wandering soul or restless spirit into a prepared body.
Once the ritual circle was complete, it acted like a beacon, attracting an appropriate spirit willing—or compelled—to inhabit the vessel.
The resulting construct retained the spirit’s skills and instincts.
Its memories, however, were erased.
More importantly…
Its loyalty belonged entirely to its creator.
The drawback lay in its unpredictability.
A spirit might answer immediately.
Or…
It might take ten years.
Furthermore, once animated in this fashion, additional runic programming could no longer be inscribed upon the construct.
After weighing both approaches, Gawen chose the second.
He built each golem’s body from the strongest wood he could cultivate.
Stonewood.
A rare species capable of absorbing magical energy, making it extraordinarily durable while preserving the regenerative qualities of living wood.
These trees grew to immense size.
As they aged, their bark naturally peeled away in enormous sheets, making the material highly prized for construction and fine craftsmanship.
Even the half-mask attached to Gawen’s druidic robes had been carved from Stonewood.
It took him an entire month to complete two bodies.
Not because the work itself required so much time…
But because countless other responsibilities constantly demanded his attention.
For now…
Two would have to be enough.
The finished constructs closely resembled human beings.
If dressed in full plate armor, few people would notice anything unusual.
He had already commissioned suits of armor for both of them.
Their quality hardly mattered.
Golems felt no pain.
They knew no fear.
Killing one with an ordinary sword?
Nearly impossible.
Perhaps a Valyrian steel blade might manage it…
Though even that was far from certain.
Axes, warhammers, and other heavy blunt weapons would be far more effective.
[Golems Completed: 2/2]
[Natural Energy Consumed: -80]
[Current Natural Energy: 72/180]
[Rebirth Incarnation Proficiency +25]
[Current Level 2 (81/500)]
Gawen quietly recorded the expenditure on his status panel.
Creating just two golems had consumed eighty points of Natural Energy—
The equivalent of nearly ten days’ worth of meditation.
At that rate, if he intended to build an army of constructs in the future, careful planning and energy management would become absolutely essential.
Closing the status panel, he looked out through the window.
Night had settled over Oldtown.
High above the city, the great beacon atop the Hightower had already been lit, its brilliant flame shining across the harbor.
There was still…
So very much left to do.
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