Over the past few days, while conversing with Gunthor and the common officials of the Stepstones, Wright discovered a serious issue—their way of thinking was entirely different from his own!
In Westeros, common folk were largely illiterate. Only a few, after earning merit and being knighted, had the time and opportunity to learn to read and write.
Take, for example, Ser Davos Seaworth. In the past, he had no trouble handling small skirmishes and delivering messages. However, as his rank within the royal fleet rose, his illiteracy became an increasingly significant problem. His sons, having received a proper education as he rose in status, could handle their responsibilities with ease, but Davos himself struggled with reading military reports. Now, every day, Stannis's daughter, Shireen Baratheon, was personally teaching the rough old knight how to read.
Alternatively, those who worked in a noble's household, having earned their lord's trust, could have their children learn alongside the noble's own. These individuals often became stewards or other administrative officers.
Meanwhile, literate nobles, influenced by their traditional education from an early age, still adhered to the same development strategies that had persisted for centuries. Their approach was simple: extract as much as possible from their lands while ensuring the common folk had just enough to eat and wear. Wright, however, sought to maximize the productivity of the populace—how much they earned should depend on their own effort.
This fundamental difference in philosophy created a significant problem: the tasks Wright assigned were often misinterpreted by the local rulers.
For example, the large reservoirs he had planned for each island were primarily intended to support future production, with household use as a secondary concern. Yet, when the local lords heard about the reservoir plan, they praised Wright's foresight but chose to build them near their own castles—transforming them into personal bathwater reserves rather than public utilities!
When Wright saw the reports Gunthor submitted, he was furious! Gunthor himself was guilty of this, and the other lords of the Stepstones were no different. Even Garlan Tyrell had made similar plans for Bloodstone Port! The only exception was his dutiful student, Ashara, who didn't interfere with her domain on Gemstone Isle and left it entirely in Wright's hands.
Pointing at the diagrams in the report, Wright snapped, "Lord Gunthor, your Castle will one day be the departure point for all ships sailing south. Lordless vessels will dock at your lands. And you're building this reservoir just to store bathwater for your household?"
Gunthor looked puzzled. "I am the lord of Crabkeep. Shouldn't the island's infrastructure first serve me? If the common folk need water for orchards, they can buy it from me. Isn't that how things should work?"
Wright had to resist the urge to slap him. Instead, he patiently explained, "The Stepstones don't have much land. I told you long ago that Crabkeep needs to cultivate vast orchards. Tyrosh will be establishing numerous wineries, and if your island lacks sufficient fresh water, you won't be able to produce enough fruit. How will you then supply Tyrosh's winemakers? Should I go to Dorne to buy fruit instead?"
Under Gunthor's current plan, how could his island possibly achieve high productivity? If commoners had to pay for water, they would buy less, leading to stunted and weak fruit trees. This reluctance to invest even the smallest resources into the peasantry was a mindset deeply ingrained in Westerosi nobility for thousands of years.
Technically, they weren't wrong—this was simply the way things had always been done. Even as Lord of the Stepstones, Wright had no authority to dictate policies within each lord's domain. However, this directly impacted the economic development of the entire region.
Wright asked, "Gunthor, do you trust my ability to make money?"
"Of course!" Gunthor replied. "We've known each other for over a decade. I trust you completely. Any family that follows you in business will undoubtedly prosper."
"Good," Wright said. "I'll be drafting an official notice. When the other lords return, you'll deliver it to them. Tell them to halt all construction on their lands until I return from Braavos. Once I'm back, I'll write a 'Development Outline for the Stepstones' so we can all make money together."
Gunthor had always followed Wright in business but had never witnessed the planning stages firsthand. Now, being involved from the ground up, he was excited. "Don't worry, Lord Wright! I'll explain everything clearly to the other lords and ensure they fully support your decision. But should we still purchase the construction materials?"
"Yes!" Wright affirmed. "I'm only adjusting the plan, not stopping material procurement. Now, fetch me some parchment. I have a few formal letters to write."
He drafted several documents.
The first was the aforementioned notice, ordering the lords of the Stepstones to suspend construction until he issued an official development outline. Gunthor would be responsible for convincing the other lords to comply.
The second letter was sent to King's Landing, addressed to the three Baratheon brothers. In two months, their Valyrian steel weapons would be ready, and Wright instructed them to come to Tyrosh to collect them personally. At that time, the city of Tyrosh would host an auction, featuring a Valyrian steel sword and the distribution rights for other Tyroshi products. Wright asked the brothers to help spread the word.
The third letter was addressed to Lys and Volantis. Wright had obtained King Robert's authorization to permit them to station official diplomatic representatives in Tyrosh.
Wright's full title was: Lord of Tyrosh and Stepstone, and Warden of the Narrow Sea. The Stepstones represented his domain, Lord of Tyrosh signified the capital of his lands and his noble rank, and Warden of the Narrow Sea granted him military command.
In times of peace, the title of Warden was largely honorary. In times of war, however, it directly conferred military command, allowing him to lead other noble houses' armies against invaders and preventing disputes over command authority.
There were three ranks of Wardens. The lowest, such as the Warden of the Prince's Pass, currently held by House Fowler. The highest was the King's Warden of the Seven Kingdoms, held by Robert Baratheon. In the middle were the original four Wardens of the North, South, East, and West, to which a new position had now been added—Wright's Warden of the Narrow Sea. By the king's decree, Wright was the highest military commander of the Stepstones.
As long as the King of the Seven Kingdoms was not present, Wright held absolute command over any conflict in the Narrow Sea, even over armies led by the other Wardens.
Storm's End was not qualified to host foreign diplomats—Tyrosh was.
Once the three letters were completed, Wright signed his name and stamped them with his seal. Gunthor carefully placed them in his leather satchel, then suddenly leaned in close and whispered, "Lord Wright, while you were away, many knights and soldiers from Dorne arrived. A large number of them are not wearing Dornish military uniforms."
"I know," Wright replied. "Prince Oberyn sent them. They are under Nymeria's command."
Gunthor frowned. "Based on my understanding of Dornish inheritance customs, the number of knights and soldiers following Lady Nymeria now far exceeds what her station would normally allow."
"That's fine," Wright said. "While I'm away, they can protect my wives." He had no time to dwell on Oberyn's intentions—his mind was occupied with the development of Tyrosh.
Having settled Tyrosh's affairs, Wright climbed onto the head of Odahviing and flew north along the Essosi coastline toward Braavos, where he would collect his funds from the Sealord.
The dragon's broad back was relatively stable. During the day, Wright used frost magic to form a table and chair, diligently drafting his development plans. He had promised to present a comprehensive strategy upon his return, and all the vassals of the Stepstones were waiting for his direction—returning empty-handed would be disgraceful.
---
Lysa Tully and her party were traveling by carriage. She feared the rough journey would be too much for her sickly son, so the convoy moved slowly, only now arriving at the Crossroads Inn.
As her three carriages, bearing the banners of House Arryn, prepared to stop at the inn's entrance, dozens of knights in silver trout-cloaked surcoats surrounded them, forming an impenetrable wall.
"Open the doors!" Ser Brynden Tully, the Blackfish, shouted. Several knights dragged the coachmen from their seats, others flung open the carriage doors, and the rest searched the vehicles thoroughly.
Ser Brynden had resigned from his seat at the Bloody Gate and ridden alone to the Riverlands. Along the way, he encountered Tully knights sent to track down Lysa.
He had given the matter much thought. His niece had committed a grave offense, and the king had ordered her execution, but this also concerned the honor of House Tully. As a member of the family, it was his duty to assist in such times—not to help Lysa escape, but to plead for mercy before the king, to at least spare her life and preserve some dignity for their house.
"Who is outside? My son is the Lord of the Vale!" a woman's shrill voice cried from within the carriage.
Brynden recognized the voice at once. He stepped inside and found Lysa Tully still nursing her seven-year-old son. Shaking his head in disapproval, he turned and leapt back down.
"Who else is in the convoy?" he asked one of the knights.
"Three coachmen, six Vale knights, four maids, and a great deal of clothing," the knight reported.
Finding no sign of Littlefinger, Brynden turned back to the carriage and called out:
"I am Brynden Tully. I'm taking you back to Riverrun. You three, get the carriages moving!"
The knights swiftly took control of the three carriages and set off down the River Road.
Lysa Tully hurriedly pulled on her blouse, clutching her son as she leaned out of the carriage window, her face twisted in rage as she shouted,
"Stop! Uncle, did my father send you? My son is the Lord of the Vale! I will never return to Riverrun!"
The surrounding knights exchanged bewildered glances. It seemed this woman still had no idea that her disgrace had spread across the entire continent, turning House Tully into a laughingstock.
"Keep moving! I'm getting in the carriage," Brynden Tully ordered. He dismounted, took a few quick steps, climbed into the carriage, and shut the door behind him.
"The entire realm knows about you and Littlefinger!"
Lysa clutched her son tightly and screamed, "What about me? My son is the Lord of the Vale! We're going back to the Vale—stop this! This is kidnapping!"
Brynden had half a mind to knock her out, but he forced himself to stay calm. He pointed at the boy in her arms,
"He is a bastard, born of you and Littlefinger. The king has stripped him of his title. He was born in King's Landing, and his name is now Robert Waters!"
"No! No! He's Jon Arryn's son! This is treason! You traitors will all die horribly!" Lysa shrieked, hysterical.
Brynden Tully's patience finally snapped. He slapped her hard across the face and roared, "Shut up! Do you even know what's happened in King's Landing while you've been crawling along the Kingsroad? If not for House Tully's honor, I would order your head struck off right now!"
"You cannot hit her! I command you to stop!" Robert Waters, indignant, tried to reach for Brynden, but Lysa held him tight. Half her face was already swelling from the blow.
"This is all a conspiracy by Denys Arryn! They've deceived the king and tricked you all!"
Smack! One slap landed on Lysa's face. Smack! Another on Robert Waters'. The carriage fell into silence.
Brynden gripped the hilt of his sword and said coldly, "Listen to me, Lysa Tully. After you left, King Robert gathered the lords of the Vale for a council. You are a red-haired Tully, but your son is brown-haired. Jon Arryn's hair color became the center of the dispute. Acting Hand of the King Wright flew to the Eyrie on dragonback and retrieved the family records, only for them to be destroyed—"
"Good! I'm glad they were destroyed!" Lysa cut in.
Brynden drew his sword, holding it before him. He could hardly recognize this woman as his niece anymore—she had grown fat, overindulgent with her son, hysterical, and entirely irrational.
"The new Hand of the King devised a plan. He summoned the High Septon to testify—Jon Arryn had golden hair! The king has already declared your son a bastard. You, Littlefinger, and the boy have all been sentenced to death. Your only chance to live is to come with me to Riverrun!"
Hearing this, Lysa began sobbing, pressing her son's head against her chest as she wailed, "Why! Haha! Why! I will not go to Riverrun! I'd rather die!"
"If not for my brother, I truly would have cut you down already!"
Littlefinger had been hiding in the second carriage. When the knights surrounded the caravan, he had mistaken it for a robbery and quickly concealed himself. The knights, assuming decorum in peacetime, had not thought to lift the skirts of the women during their search, allowing him to remain undiscovered beneath a maid's dress.
News had already spread throughout the Seven Kingdoms, and the people in the first carriage were speaking so loudly that Littlefinger, cramped in his hiding spot, could hear every word.
Clutching the maid's leg beneath her skirts, his face was deathly pale, sweat pouring from his brow.
The maids serving Jon Arryn and Lysa had all been placed there by him. They had been recruited from certain establishments and chosen specifically for their average looks. With careful training, they had been sent to serve as Lysa's attendants. Littlefinger was confident that as long as they were not tortured, they would never betray him.
According to his original plan, he only needed to wait a few more years before eliminating Lysa and the bastard, securing his place as Lord of the Vale. But now, everything had fallen apart—his wealth, his power, his glory—it had all turned to dust. He was now a wanted man in the Seven Kingdoms.
"What do I do? What do I do?"
For the first time, the ever-smiling Littlefinger was drenched in cold sweat, his mind a chaotic mess, unable to formulate any plan. He could only remain hidden and let the carriages carry him toward Riverrun.