Baelor arrived at the Elder's manor with a sense of near-martyrdom in his heart.
The cold wind howled like a mischievous child, sneaking into his collar and sleeves with a biting chill. He tightened his coat and knocked on the gate of the Elder's manor.
The manor was surrounded by a wooden palisade, behind which stood a row of pine trees to block the wind.
Of course, their more important purpose was to shield the eyes of commoners from peering inside.
Once the gatekeeper learned Baelor's purpose, he went off to inform the steward.
The steward had a round face and a pair of large almond eyes that gleamed with moisture. He wore a white outer robe that resembled a long tunic.
"You want to work at the manor?" he asked, hands behind his back, looking at Baelor, who kept his head lowered.
After all, the idea of 'selling oneself' wasn't exactly pleasant, so the steward preferred to say 'work.'
"Yes, sir."
"Hmm. Do you have any family?"
"Yes, I have a mother and two younger sisters at home."
"Hmm. Working at the manor can exempt you from two years of taxes, or eight hundred catties of—"
But before the steward could finish, Baelor raised his head in surprise and asked, "Two years? I thought it was three years?"
"What?! Not willing to work and now you're wasting my time too? Are you playing games with me?"
The steward frowned, glaring at Baelor like he was ready to snap his neck and drink his blood.
For a moment, Baelor hesitated.
He knew that if he backed out now, not only would he fail to meet the Elder, but he might also anger the steward and make his family's life even harder.
"No, no, no, Steward! I'm willing. I want to work at the manor. But I must speak to the Elder. The people from Westeros—they plan to attack us. I've seen their king!"
The steward sneered. "You? Saw the king?"
"It's true! Please believe me, sir. They're luring our people away with high wages. Our grain harvest will fail this year, and famine will strike our tribe."
"Famine? If we've got money, can't we just buy grain?"
"But… what if they refuse to sell it?"
"Tch." The steward scoffed.
As the steward, he was well aware of the cooperation between the Elders and Braavos.
Braavos had more than enough grain. Why would they worry about shortages? But such things were never shared with the commoners.
"You don't need to worry about that. The Elders will handle it."
"Please! Just let me meet with the Elder once. It's very serious!"
Baelor suddenly dropped to his knees.
"Enough already!" the steward snapped impatiently. "You just want to tell the Elder not to let commoners work on the city wall, right?
I'll inform the Elder. Now go home and pack. Come to the manor tomorrow, and I'll assign you some work."
"Thank you, Steward. Please make sure the Elder truly understands."
"Yeah, yeah," the steward said, rolling his eyes. "Didn't you say you've got a mother and two sisters at home? Hurry and go say goodbye. You won't be able to return freely once you start working."
"I understand. Thank you, Steward."
Baelor turned and left.
The steward watched his thin figure walking away, eyes full of scorn and contempt.
"Idiot," he muttered.
Though quiet, the insult landed like a stone hurled at a dog.
The steward thought back to Baelor's appearance. Judging by that, the man's two sisters might actually be quite pretty…
....
The manor's master was Elder Terno.
Though he was already in his forties, he looked rather young.
A life of comfort and indulgence had kept him well-preserved.
At that moment, Elder Terno was seated in a cozy room with a fire crackling beside him, and two handmaidens attending to his foot bath.
Their service was clearly enjoyable—his eyes were half closed in pleasure.
But when he finished listening to the steward's report, his eyes suddenly opened.
"They're paying thirty iron coins a day and feeding them well, too?"
(Iron coins were the currency of Braavos.)
"Yes, Elder."
"So, in three months of work, those commoners could actually afford even more grain?"
"That's right!" the steward said eagerly, rubbing his hands. "Elder, we're the closest to those Westerosi.
Why not take advantage of this? Let's organize the commoners and demand higher prices from that little runaway king! What do you think?"
Elder Terno's eyes lit up—it was a brilliant idea. But he soon frowned with concern.
"But what if the other four families offer a lower price? Then we'll lose out."
Currently, around thirty to forty thousand Rhoynar controlled the Gohor region. These thirteen to fourteen thousand people were governed by five so-called Elders.
Terno's domain, being closest to the western Andal invaders, was the smallest—about seventeen thousand people.
If a price war broke out between the five families, there might be little profit to gain in the end.
"Don't worry, Elder. Leave this to me. I'll convince the other four. We'll join forces and pressure that little king together!"
"Good! Excellent idea! Go quickly!" Terno said, almost unable to hide the greed sparkling in his eyes.
"Right away!"
The steward backed out of the room with a fawning grin.
Terno leaned back, gazing at the ceiling, feeling quite content. He had actually known about Viserys's arrival in Gohor for some time.
After all, they had the backing of Braavos.
Likewise, he was well aware of Viserys's wall-building plan, and remained completely unfazed.
If Viserys dared to use force, Braavos would certainly intervene.
And even if Braavos was too far away to send troops in time, their hired sorcerers would ensure Viserys's army lost its way.
Because his domain was at the front lines, the other families had even lent him some of their own sorcerers to help resist the Andals.
Since their safety was secure, why not take this opportunity to fleece the Targaryens for all they were worth?
With that thought, Terno's mood improved significantly. Even the maid massaging his feet looked especially alluring.
Soon, the room filled with the sounds of pleasure and indulgence.
....
Meanwhile, Baelor made one final, thorough repair to his family's worn-down home.
He packed only a few sets of clothes before preparing to leave.
"Son… is this really worth it?" his mother asked through tearful eyes.
Baelor's own eyes shimmered, "We have no choice, Mother. If I don't do this, we'll all starve."
"Brother, will you come back?"
"Aya, don't worry. I will."
Standing at the door, Baelor let his gaze sweep across the room one last time, trying to carve every detail into his memory.
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