BtM Chapter 32: Rodrick IV

The bustling sounds of construction are starting to get familiar to Rodrick’s ear. For Rodrick, however, these familiar noises were an unfortunate obstruction to his role as sworn shield.

As always, he stood vigilantly before the prince at the side of a large clearing. The latter was mindlessly reading a missive, whilst men in armor or cotton belatedly passed by.

Sometimes, one of them would notice the prince and salute to his grace, yet none of them knelt. Prince Baelon thought it unwise to have his soldiers kneel, a man on his knees is a vulnerable one, and a vulnerable soldier is a dead one, so he substituted the act with a fist over the heart and a straight stand.

Women and children were scarce here, and why would they? This was not Kingslanding. No, they were currently in an outpost on some miles west of the city, on the same side of the Blackwater Rush, with the capital on the other side.

It was the first of its kind, in that this is the first settlement of its type, neither fortress nor town, it is what the prince calls a logistic base for his army.

Designed to accommodate thousands of soldiers, the settlement included a command center at its core, along with storage facilities, blacksmith forges, medical quarters, living quarters, dining facilities, training areas, and even a brothel—a comprehensive project deemed necessary by the prince to serve as a central base for his Legion.

It is an ambitious project, yet according to his liege, a necessary one. It is meant to be the foundation of a central base for what his Legion, and a culmination of years of preparation.

What began with workers paving roads for wages had evolved into a standing army, the first of its kind.

The prince mindlessly passes the letter to Rodrick, which he swiftly grabs and reads.

“Would you look at that, Aegon asks that I grant Sunstone to Daemon.” He laughs. “The boy is ambitious, I’ll grant him that.”

Rodrick just stays silent, even if the Prince tends to speak of his thoughts to him; the solemn giant never thought it his place to comment on them when they involved family matters.

"I'll grant his request. After all, what kind of older brother stifles his siblings' growth?" Baelon remarked to a scribe who had approached. "Parchment and ink, if you please." The scribe nodded and set about his task.

Resting his hand on his sword's pommel, Baelon observed. “This place is coming along nicely, when it is done, I daresay it will be able to house 5 000 men with ease, we should have 2 000 of the Crownlander forces based here.” He began walking toward the central building.

“Indeed, your grace.”

Currently, out of the original 8 000 purple cloaks, 1 500 were “honorably discharged” and were set to receive lands in Dorne or starting trades, most of them in fact found themselves still working with their previous comrades, receiving wages for handling the logistics of the legion.

Another 2 500 were scattered in groups of hundreds across the kingdoms, from the North to Dorne, these men are set to recruit workers for projects, building roads, redirecting rivers, or simply building castles and fortresses, paid for by both the lords and the prince/crown.

Out of the remaining 4 000, 2 000 were inducted into the goldcloaks in order to both replace the ones chased due to corruption and to increase their numbers, leaving 2 000 left to function.

Recruitment went up, of course. As the news of Dorne’s conquest propagated alongside the favorable conditions of joining the prince’s cloaks, many abled men came to join, replenishing the depleting 2 000 into roughly 6 000.

They entered the command center, in its hall there were well built men gathered around, discussing differing matters, yet they all stood and saluted upon the prince’s entrance.

“At ease, Sers.”

The Prince had used his status to knight all officials who performed with distinction; they were all technically nobility, though they lacked their usual pomp and conceit. They were veterans who were only accustomed to Baelon’s ways of waging war; you will hear no mention of honor or glory from their mouths, only methods by which they can achieve his goals.

The Prince naturally sat at the head of the table, the previous scribe silently coming towards him.

Rodrick extended a hand before he got too close, so the man simply nodded and handed the parchment and ink.

“Let us start this meeting then.” Baelon said, already writing.

The men simply nodded, letting a scholarly looking man to speak on their behalf.

“Yes, your Grace.” He says. “The construction of the base is still underway, the next shipment of lumber and steel had just arrived from the north, and with the mountain clan’s generous discount on your behalf, we were able to acquire them almost at cost, which really relieved the burden on our treasury.” He fidgets with a metal ring in thought. “And your father the King has also graciously allowed us to begin logging operations in the Kingswood for a time, so we have no qualms about acquiring the necessary resources.”

Another began to speak. “Yet, if I may, your grace.” The man spoke carefully. “We are rapidly depleting the reserves accorded to us, simply equipping the soldiers with essentials—boots, armor, supplies, food, backpacks, and tents— is prohibitively expensive, adding the cost of supporting the new rangers and building this base, we’re finding ourselves heading swiftly toward a lack of funds.” His voice trembled. “The proceeds from Ironman bay’s canal are stemming the tide somewhat, but if you were gracious enough to increase our budget, we’d be very grateful.”

Baelon doesn’t bother lifting his head from his writing. “No.” He says. “The Tully-Lannister deal’s deposit is already on its way, it should buy us time until the gold begins to flow. All you have to do is hold on for the next six moons, and all monetary problems should be solved.”

The man nods with a sigh, as if expecting the outcome. It was to expected, as Baelon is unusually accurate in his allocation of funds, they were probably attempting to secure more in order to make their jobs easier, more gold means less rigorous work, after all.

“Ser Quentyn’s ranger successfully chased all surrounding large groups of bandits and outlaws into the Kingswood.” Another man promptly continued. “Upon which they found our men waiting for them, we have managed to capture most of them, your Grace. What is to be done with them?”

Baelon finally seems to have finished penning whatever letter he was working on. “Lord Commander Qhoren has recently been complaining about overflowing numbers, he seems to be the first Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch in centuries to suffer from success.” Baelon laughs, yet the rest understand him well enough not to follow if they did not feel the urge to.  “Offer those with lighter sentences the option of conscription, we need as many able bodied men as we can secure. If nothing else, then the block or the black it is.”

“Understood.” He answers. “The most pressing concern we found are from the surrounding Lords, they seem adamant in causing trouble with our men, searching for any excuse to retaliate.” He says. “In numerous occasions, our men were forced to either retreat or contest the lord’s local forces. We evade conflict at every turn, much like you ordered, yet if this routine continues we will find our operations dampened within the region.”

The Prince smirks. “They have finally caught on, and are scrambling to stop the establishment of a standing army within the Crownlands.” He spoke. “Yet it is no matter, my father will announce in a couple months our position, officially denoting the Legion as a permanent peacemaking force within the Crownlands, they’ll have no choice but to change tactics at the time.” He explains. “All we need to do at the moment is establish a chain of logistics, and get familiar with the smallfolk, the Lords may be against the presence of our footmen, yet the citizens will feel more at ease.”

Another couldn’t help but ask what everyone thought. “What if they rebel, your Grace?”

Baelon nods. “That is an issue already considered.” He answers. “The Lords will try their damnest to reverse or resist the institution of the army, the smart ones won’t be blatant about it, yet they will try to either secretly subjugate or bribe their way into the local regiments leadership. There are a number of solutions that some of you are already prepared to undertake.”

Some of them nod in recognition. “Indeed, I think we are already prepared to integrate some hedge knights and second sons into commanding positions, they are unused to our ways of conduct, yet with a mix of some benefits and punishments we think we can assimilate them within our ranks. The issues may stem –however- from their houses of origin.”

Baelon expresses his agreement. “Indeed, in that regard I wish you to rely upon your experience in the Dornish Marches. I would wager many men-at-arms would salivate at the chance of higher wages and command over other men, impress upon them the glory of your exploits, regale them with war stories, and they’ll start wishing to be part of the same.” He says. “Feed them seemingly important information to impress their liege lords, making them think they have a spy within our ranks, and then slowly build their loyalty. When the official declaration of our position gets announced, richer lords will find themselves tempted with the prospect of standing armies of their own, and poorer ones with the protection assured by the Legions presence.”

“When the benefits of a standing army becomes apparent, then our problems will go away.” He says. “The lords will no longer have to send their men to their liege lords but simply pay scutage, once they notice their granaries full and their farmers tilling their lands in the midst of war, the lack of bandits and outlaws, the lack of conflict due to petty scruples, they’ll find that in exchange for House Targaryen’s hold over their lives –an authority already assured by our dragons, mind you- their attitudes will change.”

“Within the next months you all have one task, get ready.” He says. “Prepare for the day you’ll rise to a position enviable by most. Scheme your way into a lord’s favor, assure the loyalty of their smallfolk above even their own, the tighter the leash you’ll hold over them, the higher your relative position in the eyes of many.”

“You all started off as simple men, hedge knights with no prospects, respectable tradesmen, maybe even smugglers and thieves, yet in a few moons you will have the honor be part of the advent of a new tier of nobility, a societal class that can only be exceeded by the highest echelons of lords. I advise you to think on that.”

Baelon promptly stands up and heads for the exit, yet before he does so, he hands a letter to the previous scribe. “Send this to Bloodstone.” He says, his echoing steps reverberating within the chamber like an empty cave, the silence amplifying their sound.

Rodrick ignores the silence, used to people’s reaction to his liege lord’s words a long time ago; in fact he thought these people should have surely got accustomed too at this point.

Yet before he left, he couldn’t help but glance at the men’s astonished expressions.

Rodrick made sure to etch their solemn, astonished expressions in the core of his memory, one of his very few guilty pleasures is the ability to be privy to historical moments, after all.