A week had passed since Renly first walked into Saltamere village, and in that time, Dragonstone had started to feel less like a tomb and more like a home.
It began with Borin, his swordmaster, watching him practice one morning. Renly had been swinging a light wooden blade, his movements sharper and faster than any boy his age had a right to be. "Right," Borin had grunted, tossing him a proper practice sword, lighter than steel, but solid enough to feel real. "We're picking up the pace."
"Isn't that too fast?" Renly asked, spinning the blade in his hand.
Borin snorted. "For anyone else? Yes. For you? It would be a miracle if you couldn't hit me in a week."
From then on, their sessions stretched from dawn to mid-morning: sword forms first, then archery out on the cliffs. On the third day, Renly drew his bow, breathed out, and sent an arrow straight into a target fifty yards away. Borin had just nodded, but his eyes had crinkled at the corners. "Lucky shot," he said, but he handed Renly a better bow anyway.
After training, it was time for lessons with Phelan in the solar. "Today we're talking about Aegon's Conquest," Phelan would say, spreading out scrolls across the oak table. Renly would listen, asking questions about the dragons, about the battles, about how a single man could unite seven kingdoms. They'd cover politics too, how lords made alliances, how taxes worked, and how they kept the peace.
But his favorite part was High Valyrian. Phelan would say a phrase, and Renly would repeat it, his tongue fumbling at first but quickly finding its rhythm. When he was writing in his notebook or walking the fields, he'd whisper them under his breath, turning the words over on his tongue to lock them in.
On the second day of the week, Renly had spent the afternoon watching the village kids play, tag, hide-and-seek, clumsy sword fighting with sticks, and role-playing as knights and dragons. They had energy to burn, but not much to channel it into. That night, he'd sketched out rules for a new game, based on something he'd played long ago: dodgeball. He'd introduced it as Stone-dodge, players threw soft objects at each other, and the last one standing won. The next day, he'd asked the weavers to sew a soft ball from leftover cloth, stuffed with wool, they'd promised it would be ready in a few days, still in progress now.
On the fourth day, Renly had pulled Phelan, aside in the solar, spreading out drawings of kite frames. "I've got an idea for something that could lift cloth into the air," he said, pointing to the curved design. "Think it might work?"
Phelan squinted at the drawings, stroking his beard. He traced a finger along the frame, then nodded slowly. "Fascinating. The principles of air resistance, something I've read about in old Valyrian texts. The wind pushes against the curved surface to lift it up, and the tail keeps it steady so it doesn't flip over. This is solid stuff, my lord."
Renly's face lit up with relief. "We could make them for the kids, give them something to play with, and maybe even use larger ones later to send messages across the villages."
Phelan's eyes lit up—no longer just the calm maester, but someone who saw the potential. "Larger ones for messages?" he said, leaning in closer to the drawings. "If we can get them to fly steady enough, we could send notes between villages in half the time it takes a rider. That's brilliant, could be the difference between warning them of a storm and being caught off guard."
He paused, stroking his beard again, a thoughtful look crossing his face. "You know… if this works, I could send a detailed sketch and notes to the Citadel. The archmaesters would be fascinated by the air resistance principles, they've only ever theorized about such things."
Renly shifted in his chair, his jaw tightening slightly. Inside, a flicker of worry sparked—stories of the Citadel's rigid hunt for anything that might look like magic, their drive to stamp out old powers. But he said nothing out loud, Phelan was his maester, part of that order, and Renly didn't want to plant doubt where there was none.
Instead, he ran a finger over the edge of the drawing, his voice quiet but neutral. "Let's see how it goes first," he said. "Get the kids flying them, make sure it works like we hope. Then… we can talk about Oldtown."
Phelan nodded, a small smile on his face. "Wise words for a young lord. We'll start with the kids' version first, get the weavers to set aside extra cloth once they're done with your soft ball."
He leaned back in his chair then, a thoughtful glint in his eyes. "You know what else, though? 'Filling our pockets' is putting it lightly. If these are well-made, we could sell them, not just trade, at the nearest markets. Lords' children would pay good coin for something new to play with."
Renly's face lit up. "That's exactly what I was thinking. And it's not just toys, either, I've got more ideas. Small things, at first, but things people will want to buy. The dragonglass jewelry is one, but there's others too."
Phelan raised an eyebrow, curious. "Oh? Do I get to hear any of these secrets?"
"Not yet," Renly laughed, tapping the stack of drawings. "First, let's get these kites in the sky."
One afternoon, Renly pulled out the crumpled note he'd tucked in his tunic, with the cover cropping and mobile boat ideas he'd dreamed up days ago. Now, with the delivery ship on its way, he finally had the resources to make them happen.
He ran his finger over the port layout on the table. Big ships couldn't dock at the farthest port's shallow waters, but with the new tools coming, they could repair the small fishing boats and send them out to meet the ships. The cargo? Dragonglass. Most people saw it as just a black rock now, but he knew he could change that, shape it into sharp knives, arrowheads, and even pretty jewelry. The target consumers are noble ladies, and anyone with a desire to purchase jewelry. Once they saw what it could be, everyone would want it.
His jaw tightened as he thought about the miners. Dragonstone was a volcano, he'd known that from his book knowledge, but seeing it in person actually drove the danger home. The black, porous rock, the acrid tinge in the air… their coughs weren't just from dust, they were breathing in toxic fumes from deep in the mountain. He added three new lines to his note: Dig ventilation shafts. Make face cloths. Limit shift times. He couldn't explain "radiation" or "sulfur dioxide" to anyone, not yet as a child, but he could fix it.
And the cover cropping? With the extra grain coming in on the ship delivery, they could set aside pea seeds right away. Plant them between the wheat rows this coming spring, and every spring after—holds the soil in place, yields extra food each year. Perfect preparation for the long winter that was still years off, but always looming.
He added two small checkmarks to the note: Ready to sort seeds in 3 days—plant annually starting next spring. If he was remembering correctly, and his guess at the timeline held, this summer would last nearly ten years—making it the longest anyone alive had ever seen. He had time, plenty of it, to get the fields thriving, the dragonglass trade booming, and the miners safe before the cold finally set in. That stretch of time didn't make his work less urgent, it made it more critical. He had to get it right while he could.
Between training and studies, Renly barely had time to set foot inside Dragonstone's walls. He went back to Saltamere twice that week—each time with three guards pacing alongside him, their presence quiet but constant as they traversed the winding road through the hills.
On his second visit, he checked on the new well, and then headed to the mine, the guards spreading out near the entrance to keep watch over the surrounding area while he went closer. He found Torvin, the mine foreman, wiping sweat from his brow outside the shaft.
"Still dusty as hell, my lord," Torvin laughed, but he coughed into his fist afterward, deep and raspy.
Renly's smile faded slightly. "I've got a plan for that," he said quietly. "When the tools and masons arrive, we'll dig extra shafts to get more air in there. And we'll give everyone thick cloths to wrap around their faces. Trust me, it'll help."
Torvin nodded, looking surprised. "Whatever you say, my lord. Anything's better than hacking up black stuff every night."
A day later, he took his horse for the one-hour ride to the middle village, where the air felt cooler and the fields were dotted with half-harvested crops. Two guards rode with him, their horses keeping steady pace on either side of his. They'd packed water skins and a small bag of rations, knowing the ride was short but never taking chances.
Renly walked over and nodded. "Good day. How's the fishing been this summer?"
She looked up briefly, dipped her head, then went back to her net. "Fair enough, my lord. But these nets are barely holding together, can't catch enough to dry for later." She pulled at the thin thread, which snapped in her fingers.
"We've got summer now, but we all know it won't last forever," she said, frowning at the broken thread. "The next winter… who knows how long it'll be? We need to stock up while we can, but with nets like these, how?"
Renly sat down on a nearby log, keeping a respectful distance. "I hear you, and we'll fix both. First, the nets: the delivery ship's bringing new tools in a few days, including strong cord and net-needles enough for every fisherman here to mend or make new ones. Then, that shared drying rack I've been thinking about, masons will build it big enough for all your catch, so you can dry plenty for when the cold comes."
He leaned forward slightly, his voice steady and calm as still water. "You won't have to worry about rushing anymore. We've got all the time in the world to get ready."
He pulled out his note, running a finger down the list. "And I've got another plan, we'll set aside pea seeds from the delivery to plant between the wheat rows next season. Keeps the soil from washing away, gives you extra food. Think you and the other farmers can get ready to plant in three days?"
Mara looked up then, her brow furrowing and her eyes narrowing slightly, not in disrespect, but in plain doubt. "Three days? My lord, that's… that's barely enough time to tell the other farmers, let alone get the rows marked out. You said we've got all the time in the world, so why the rush now?"
Renly's lips curved into the faintest of smiles, his eyes still steady as water. He tapped his note with one finger. "Because 'all the time in the world' is best used by starting early. Three days to get ready, then we plant when the first rain of spring hits. No need to rush the planting itself." He paused, then added softly: "Trust me. The timing will make sense soon enough."
Mara stared at him for a moment, still skeptical, but something in his calm certainty made her nod slowly. "Alright, my lord. I'll tell the others."
The farthest village, close to eastern port, was still too far to visit yet: three hours each way by horse, and Phelan had put his foot down hard.
"Not alone, my lord," Phelan had said, blocking Renly's path to the stables. "Over my dead body will you ride out there by yourself. I'm not the one who'll explain to the King how his brother got caught in a coastal storm."
Renly had backed off, but his eyes were already fixed on the horizon. "Fine. Not next week when the delivery ship arrives, we'll go together when I get back from King's Landing. And in three days, we'll start repairing the village's small boats. Once they're ready, we'll send them out to meet the big ships—loaded with dragonglass we've shaped into tools and jewelry. People will trade anything for it once they see what it can do."
Phelan's scowl softened into a nod at first—then his eyes went wide, and he leaned back a step. "The boat and dragonglass idea? Now that we've got proper tools to shape it, that makes sense. But wait—'when I get back from King's Landing'? What d'you mean, back from King's Landing? You didn't say anything about going there!"
He paused, shaking his head in surprise, then added, "And speaking of shaping it, how are we going to turn dragonglass into jewelry, anyway? It's sharp as flint."
Renly leaned back, a small smile playing on his lips. "It's exactly as you heard. I'm going to find crafters and polishers in Kingslanding, good ones, but ones who'll work for cheap. A lot of them are struggling to find steady work in the city, so they'll jump at the chance to come here and have a reliable job. No more guessing if the people we hire are up to the task, I'll vet every single one myself before bringing them back."
Phelan's eyes widened a little. "King's Landing? That's a long journey for a young lord. Perhaps… perhaps I should go in your place?"
"Worth it, but no, I need to go myself," Renly said, his voice firm but gentle. "I have to see the crafters, the ships, the market for myself. I can't make the right calls from here, secondhand."
Phelan nodded, though worry still pulled at his brow. "I understand your desire, my lord, but you have servants whom you can trust with this. Men who know the roads and the city better than you do."
Renly shook his head. "It was never a matter of trust. It's about seeing things with my own eyes, making my own deals. And I won't be going alone, I'll bring Borin and six other guards with me. We'll be safe."
He paused, then added, "While I'm there, I'll find a reliable ship, good reputation, not just someone we take on faith. We'll sign a contract: their big ship anchors in open water, our village boats act as tenders. Fixed transport fee, paid only after safe delivery. No upfront cash, no trusting strangers with our cargo."
Phelan's worry shifted a little, though it didn't fade entirely. "Meeting in open water… still risky. Pirates, greedy crews…"
"I know," Renly's expression hardened. "Which is why I'm picking the ship myself—check their records, talk to other merchants. And we'll send two boats at a time, with trained men on board. Enough to make anyone think twice."
Phelan nodded at that, but then his brow furrowed again. "Alright, so the ship's covered, but what about the crafters? You're looking for cheap and skilled. That's like trying to find a dry log in a rain-soaked forest, possible, but not easy to come by."
"Not if you know where to look," Renly said. "There's always some talented people out there who just haven't had a break. My guards will help me move around safely while I look, and if there aren't any good ones in King's Landing, we'll just head to another city to keep searching."
Renly added, "And we need to prioritize the mine ventilation. The miners are getting sicker. The masons can reinforce the entrance with air openings while we dig the shafts."
Phelan's expression grew serious. "I've noticed the coughs too. Good call, my lord."
That delivery, tools, masons, cloth for bandages, herbs for the miners' coughs, extra grain/seeds, and polishing stones for dragonglass, had been Phelan's doing. He'd sent a raven to King's Landing with the full list, warning that it wouldn't be cheap and they'd have to stretch the castle's stores to cover it. The reply had come back on the fourth day, sealed with Jon Arryn's wax. Phelan had read it aloud, his voice warm: "You were right to ask for it all. I'll cover the full cost, no need to stretch your stores. A lord who tends to his people deserves to do so without worry."
Renly had dropped the book he was reading. "He's paying for everything? Even the polishing stones for the dragonglass?"
"Every last coin," Phelan said, handing him the letter, sealed with the falcon of the Eyrie. "Read it again, my lord. Lord Arryn's a sensible man, noble to the core. The man's got a good head on his shoulders, and an even better heart."
The next morning, Renly was up before the sun, his hands still sore from carving kite frames the night before, his mind racing with plans. He pulled on his muddy boots and headed straight for the stables.
As he headed out the door, Phelan was waiting by the stable, holding the reins to Renly's horse and two scrolls. Standing beside him were four guards in dark leather armor, their horses already saddled and ready. Borin was among them, running a hand over his horse's mane as he kept watch over the courtyard.
"Raven from the port and one from the ship's captain, my lord," Phelan said, handing them over. "The delivery's on course, will be here by sunset. Everything's accounted for, including the extra seeds and polishing stones, and the captain says it's all paid in full by the Hand. The masons know their orders already, including the mine air openings."
Renly unfolded the scrolls as he mounted his horse, and the guards fell into formation around him, two on either side, Borin bringing up the rear, ready to ride out as soon as he gave the word.
"Good," Renly said, unfolding the captain's scroll. "We need to get that done fast."
The village was already alive when they arrived. Tommy and Lila were play fighting on the hill, arms full of sticks as swords they'd gathered with their friends. They ran up to him, yelling "Renly!"—kids didn't care about titles, before a woman's sharp voice cut through the air.
"Tommy! Lila!" It was Mara, hurrying over from the well. She laid a gentle hand on each of their shoulders, her eyes serious. "What did I tell you about how to speak to the lord?"
The kids' grins faded. They dipped their heads low, mumbled "My lord," and shuffled their feet.
Elara, coming out of the hut, dipped her head slightly, no slip-up this time. "My lord," she said, before smiling softly. "Good to see you back. The kids have been practicing their Stone-Dodge throws nonstop, and they're asking about that new game you mentioned."
Renly smiled. "Tell them it's coming, weavers are still finishing the soft ball. Once it's ready, I'll teach them the rules properly."
Renly's expression softened as he looked at the chagrined children. "It's alright," he said, but Mara shook her head.
"No, my lord, they need to learn. We can't afford to be careless with these things."
Renly nodded, anyways. Then he looked at the branches in the kids' arms and grinned. "Hey, I wanted to introduce you to a new toy today. Kites, and these strong sticks of yours are perfect for it."
"Kites?" Lila asked. "What's a kite?"
"Something that flies."
Renly didn't need to say more. The kids' eyes went wide, even Tommy, still a little sheepish from the reprimand, set down his branches and leaned in. For the next hour, the hilltop hummed with quiet focus.
First, he showed them how to lay their straightest sticks across his pre-carved diamond frame, tying each joint tight with twine until it held firm. Lila's small fingers fumbled at first, so Renly wrapped his hand around hers, guiding the knot. "Over, under, pull tight, like tying a knot, but smaller," he said.
Next, they laid the frame flat on a piece of bright blue cloth the weavers had left. Renly taught them to cut the cloth just a little bigger than the frame, then fold the edges over and stitch them down with thick thread. Tommy insisted on adding a strip of red cloth to the bottom "for a tail," so they cut three long strips and tied them to the lower corner, letting them dangle in the breeze.
By the time the sun had climbed higher in the sky, their first kite was done—lopsided in spots, with stitches that wandered, but solid. The kids sat back on the grass, covered in twine fuzz and grinning, watching Renly tie the main cord to the top.
By midday, half the village had kites. The kids, joined by a few curious adults, ran up the hill, laughing as their colorful creations soared into the sky, red, blue, green cloth's fluttering like a flock of strange birds.
Renly sat at the bottom of the hill, leaning against a tree, just watching. His thoughts were only on this—on the kites dancing in the sky, on the soft ball still being sewn, on the rules of Stone-Guard he'd sketched out by candlelight. In just a week, he'd given them something new to play with. Something that might outlast him. His name, this small, young version of him, could be forever cemented in their history through these simple, crude inventions.
The complication hit then, sharp and clear: in his past life, he'd never gotten to see his ideas take root, never pursued his dreams beyond half-finished sketches. Now, at an age when most kids were still learning their letters, he'd already done it. And with that small victory came the weight of what came next—of knowing everyone would be watching to see if he could do it again.
Borin walked up beside him then, watching the kites. "The captain wants to meet with you at the coast when they drop anchor, can't dock at the port, after all," he said. "He'll want to know where to send the rowboats to unload everything."
"Tell him to send the rowboats to the north cove, its shore's flat, easy to move things from the boats to the carts," Renly said, turning to Borin. "And go ahead and call for some of the village men to come help carry, we've got a lot to unload, and we don't want to keep the captain waiting."
"Then, unload the herbs first," Renly said. "Split them evenly into three, one for each village. Give half the bandage cloth to the miners for face masks. The tools: half go to the mine for ventilation shafts and the well diggers in the middle village, the other half to the port dock workers to fix the small boats and polish dragonglass. The masons can split into two teams, one to build well casings and the drying rack, the other to head to the port day after next to fix the docks and mine entrance."
"And tell the captain I want to meet with him at once, he's the one who requested it, after all," he added. "The ship's only bringing masons this time, which is fine, they know their orders for the mine and port already."
Borin grunted, crossing his arms over his broad chest, his usual way of showing he was listening closely. "Shall I pass along any messages to him when he comes ashore?"
"Actually," Renly said, a new spark in his eyes—one that had been building for days, ever since they'd first talked about the crafters, "instead of waiting to find another ship later and dragging this out, we'll board his ship to head to King's Landing. Saves time, and we already know he's trusted by the Hand."
Borin's eyes widened a fraction—rare for the stoic guard. "On this trip? Right away?"
"Once the masons are offloaded and the ship's ready to head back," Renly confirmed. "No need to drag things out. And you and the six other guards will come with me, of course, we'll take a small supply of dragonglass samples to show the crafters too."
Borin nodded slowly, his expression softening from surprise to approval. "Less to arrange, less to worry about. Smart move, my lord. I'll make sure the men are packed and ready by sunset."
Renly grinned. "Good. Now, let's get down to the shore, the rowboat's almost here to bring the captain ashore so we can work out the details."
He mounted his horse, then turned to Tommy and Lila and gave them a quick, quiet wave.
As the sun began to set, the ship dropped anchor with a low rattle. Renly could see the masons gathering on deck, their aprons folded over their arms, and sacks of dried herbs, extra seeds, bandage cloth, and polishing stones stacked beside crates of hammers and chisels. "Everything's here," he said to Borin. "All the resources we need. In three days, those ideas from before, they'll finally become real. The miners will breathe easier, the fields will grow more food, and dragonglass will be worth its weight in gold."
A small rowboat pushed off from the ship's side, cutting through the calm water toward the north cove. At the oars sat two sailors, and in the middle, the captain, weathered face lit by the last of the sunset, salt in his beard. By the time he stepped onto the flat shore, the village men Borin had called were already gathered, ready to help unload.
The captain was a man of the sea through and through, swaying gait, tar-stained hands, storm-gray eyes that never strayed from his ship. A rope bracelet with a ship's wheel charm wrapped his wrist, and he ran a thumb over it every few seconds. Gruff but steady, he carried authority not from a title, but from knowing every part of his vessel like it was his own body.
Renly greeted the captain with a firm handshake, then gestured to the waiting crew. "We'll get your cargo off first, north cove's the easiest spot for the carts. My men know where everything goes." As the sailors and villagers began passing crates and sacks from boat to shore, Renly pulled the captain aside to talk.
He laid out his plan, how he'd been thinking for days about heading to King's Landing, how taking the captain's ship back would save them from dragging things out. The captain listened quietly, leaning on a wooden oar he'd grabbed from the rowboat, his eyes darting back to the ship anchored in the cove every few seconds.
"Begging your pardon, my lord, but why not just have me bring the crafters back with me this trip? You sent a long list for the delivery, could've added them to it easy enough." He paused, then muttered to himself, "She could've handled the extra weight, too, sturdy old girl never complains."
Renly shook his head, a small smile on his lips. "I thought about it, for days, actually. But I need to see their work for myself, talk to them face to face. Cheap but skilled crafters are hard to find, and I don't want to trust someone else's judgment on that. Plus, I need to find a reliable transport ship for the dragonglass later, can't do that from here, either."
The captain let out a rough snort, patting the oar like it was the ship's hull. "Fair enough, you've got a good head on your shoulders, even if you're still green around the gills. Only thing is, my men are tired after the journey here, and she's in need of a quick check-up before we set sail again. Can't ask her to carry us back without making sure her rigging's tight. My boys'll rest easy knowing she's sound."
Renly clapped him on the shoulder, then watched as the captain headed back to the rowboat and was pulled out to the anchored ship. As the last of the cargo was loaded onto the village carts, he turned to Borin, giving a small nod that said everything: Borin would stay here to oversee the unloading, the masons' work, the well and dock repairs. The other five guards would remain with him, keeping the cove and villages safe.
Renly gestured to two other guards, and the three of them walked up to the road where their horses were tied. By now the sun had fully set, and the first stars were beginning to peek through the dark sky. They mounted up and trotted off, the hooves of their horses making soft thuds against the dirt path. The journey to Dragonstone was short, just a quick ride through rolling hills dotted with olive trees and stone walls.
Before long, the castle came into view, its dark towers rising against the night sky, lit by torches at the gate. The guards there recognized Renly at once and swung the heavy doors open. He dismounted, handed his horse's reins to a stable boy, and headed inside, the guards following close behind.
The great hall was quiet, but as he passed the maester's tower, he caught sight of the raven roost through an open window, empty save for one sleepy bird, its head tucked under its wing. He knew Maester Phelan had sent the raven to King's Landing already, a message to let them know he was coming. It should reach the city by morning, its dark wings carrying word of his arrival across the water.
Renly gave a small, grateful nod and continued on. Light glowed under the door to his chambers, where his servant had already laid out a trunk for packing. He'd have everything ready by dawn, when he'd ride back to the cove to meet the captain and set sail, knowing word of his arrival would be waiting for him when he reached the city.