What were the three essentials for any time traveler?
Soap, glass, and papermaking.
Westeros already had soap.
Even hedge knights could afford it.
Glass?!
The glass windows of the Red Keep were already beautiful enough.
Papermaking?
The art of papermaking was controlled by the Citadel, and paper was expensive to produce.
It was usually made by stretching out a sheet of parchment, scraping it smooth, and carefully trimming it, a process that took a great deal of time.
And so!
Baelon, “Beloved of the Gods,” the Prince That Was Promised, had received knowledge bestowed by the Crone through his extraordinary prophetic dreams.
Naturally, he knew how to turn waste into something useful.
He knew how to make paper from reeds, wheat straw, ragged burlap, and torn fishing nets.
And there were many kinds of paper.
After personally investigating the conditions and literacy rate of Westeros, Baelon cheerfully decided that he was going to make toilet paper!
There was simply no helping it.
Westeros’s literacy rate was appallingly low.
Even a great lord of the Stormlands, the newly appointed Lord Baratheon, Borros Baratheon, could not read a single word.
He had to rely entirely on the Maester at his side to read the letters delivered by raven.
And when it came to cleaning one’s backside, Westeros offered very few choices.
The common folk had moss, leaves, and straw.
The nobility were hardly better off.
Baelon simply could not endure those scraps of silk that, after being smeared with shit, were tossed into wooden tubs to pile up and ferment for several days before the maids washed them all together.
Then they were mixed together and reused!
Who the hell knew whose fingers and asshole had touched the piece of silk he was using?!
And deep within the tiny gaps of that fine weave, whose brownish-yellow shit was still lurking there?!
“Ugh… cough, cough!”
Nearly vomiting at the memory, Baelon hurriedly shook his head and did his best to blur those unpleasant recollections from his mind.
A row of neat, square red-brick factory buildings stood along the banks of the Blackwater Rush.
At the edge of the broad plaza of packed earth, three people in black, red, and green woolen uniforms stood at the crossroads, looking expectantly down the road.
The man in black was Poddo, steward of the toilet paper factory.
A golden reed-flower brooch was pinned to his chest.
The man in red wore a brooch set with a red garnet, marking him as a representative of the Red Brick Factory.
The man in green wore a brooch shaped like a bouquet of flowers.
Thirty or forty raggedly dressed people stood in the square.
Some had several bundles of reeds lying at their feet, while a few children clutched scraps of tattered burlap and broken fishing nets.
At the front of the line, several buyers dressed in plain black were swiftly weighing the reeds and handing out copper coins.
The people waiting in line watched the three distinguished stewards with curiosity.
What was so special about today?
Their curiosity was soon satisfied.
Prince Baelon had arrived.
No wonder!
The moment Baelon stepped down from his carriage, the three men who had been waiting for him hurried forward, grinning wide enough to reveal teeth stained blood-red.
“Prince Baelon!”
“Let’s go to the paper mill first, Poddo. Spare me the pleasantries!” Baelon smiled and acknowledged the commoners enthusiastically greeting him across the square as he strode into the red-brick paper mill.
“How have toilet paper sales been this quarter? And how is the procurement of raw materials going?”
“And what about the thirty-five workers in the factory? How are they doing?”
Poddo brought over a ledger he had prepared in advance and reported with obvious excitement, “Prince, this quarter, ninety-six houses across the Seven Kingdoms have purchased dragon… toilet paper!”
Baelon nodded, entirely unsurprised.
Nobles loved finding every possible way to distinguish themselves from the common folk and display their elevated status.
He picked up a roll of toilet paper.
It was yellowish and coarse, with fibers of varying thickness visible throughout the paper.
This was nothing like the snow-white, soft toilet paper Baelon remembered from his past life.
It was closer to thick yellow paper.
Before using it, one even had to crumple it in one’s hands a few times to soften it.
But compared with shared pieces of silk and burlap, these portable sheets of toilet paper that could simply be thrown away after use perfectly suited the tastes of the nobility.
And Baelon knew how to ride a wave of popularity!
He had attached the name of Valyria to the toilet paper.
On this continent, Valyria occupied much the same position that ancient Rome had in Europe.
It was the most prestigious name imaginable, practically made for selling things.
The Targaryens possessed the Valyrian Bloodline.
No one had a more legitimate claim to that prestige than they did.
With the greatest name on the continent behind it and the practical benefits of toilet paper itself, the product did more than sell well in Westeros.
It was exported to numerous other lands as well.
No noble who had used disposable toilet paper once would ever willingly go back to sharing burlap with others to wipe their backside.
Not only were all the respectable noble houses of the Seven Kingdoms scrambling to purchase it, but the craze for toilet paper had spread south to Dorne and even across the Narrow Sea to the Free Cities.
The construction of the toilet paper factory and the growth of export trade brought the Targaryens a steady stream of golden dragons while also helping stabilize public order in King’s Landing.
Thanks to the toilet paper trade, ships came and went constantly through King’s Landing’s harbor.
Many shops along the streets saw their earnings rise, while the poor could now earn a living by unloading and hauling cargo at the docks.
Poddo spoke with the air of someone eager to claim credit.
“Prince, one of the workers in the factory discovered that using slightly fewer reeds makes the paper stronger.”
“And lately, quite a few vagrants from who knows where, along with young people from the nearby villages, have started going into the reed beds to cut reeds as well.”
“The reeds we’ve purchased are already beginning to pile up in the warehouses.” He asked tentatively, “Do you think we should limit our purchases?”
“Make some of the new paper and bring it to me. If it’s up to standard, then according to our usual innovation reward, give that worker three golden dragons,” Baelon said.
“As for buying reeds?” He shook his head without hesitation.
King’s Landing was a vast city of five hundred thousand people.
Some of the stronger men could find work hauling cargo at the docks, and his factories provided a small number of additional jobs.
But there were still far too many people with no work at all.
Whether it was for the sake of playing his “My King’s Landing” simulation game properly or simply for his own safety, he needed to find those people a way to make a living.
So Baelon simply outsourced the collection of raw materials to the people of King’s Landing.
Everyone could get to work!
Go cut reeds.
Go gather scraps.
Earn yourselves a better life!
Nothing bound people more tightly than hope.
Once someone had something to look forward to, even if that hope was ultimately illusory, they could endure almost anything.
Once the unemployed had jobs and income, once they had tasted the comfort of a stable life, they would be far less willing to risk losing it.
“But recently, quite a few houses have made requests regarding the toilet paper. They want their house crests printed on it, and they’re willing to pay a higher price.”
Baelon nodded.
“Fine.”
Why turn down golden dragons when they were being offered?
Poddo:!
He actually agreed?!
If they painted the house crests on with pigments, wouldn’t people end up with colored asses?!
But if Prince Baelon had agreed to it, then surely he had his reasons!
Poddo thought that perhaps this was simply the taste of the nobility.
Clearly, he still had much to learn.
Without hesitation, he said, “I’ll immediately have someone purchase pigments and find painters. We’ll make sure to produce a batch of toilet paper bearing house crests before the next quarter!”
Baelon:?
Pigments?
An image instantly appeared in his mind of Borros Baratheon yanking down his trousers, proudly displaying his yellow backside and roaring with laughter in the middle of a storm.
Baelon:…
Unable to accept such a future, he proposed embossing instead.
“No pigments. Hammer small dots into a metal plate to form the house crest, then press the pattern into the paper.”
“Make a batch and give it to those houses for free. See whether they’re willing to pay extra for it!”
“Hmm…”
He pondered for a moment.
But what if the nobles preferred their house crests in their original colors?
He delivered one final, important instruction.
“Buy the best pigments you can find.”
He did not want Targaryens walking around with red or black backsides.
And certainly not for that to become the latest fashion among the nobles of Westeros!