5 Chapters further in all my stories here:
patreon.com/NiflheimA
Chapter 48
Robb Stark
"An assassin, right in our midst!" Rickard Karstark slammed his hand at the table, glaring at Stevron. "I knew a Frey would do no good!"
Before it could devolve any further, Robb raised his hand, stilling the room.
"Ser Stevron bears no fault in this matter." He says. "The Sorrowful woman has infiltrated herself through our own men, and has taken advantage of the chaos of the arrival of the army to infiltrate herself."
"It is also good news." Robb continues. "The fact that enemies like Tywin Lannister have taken to such cowardly measures speaks of their own lack of confidence, he is a man of pride, taking great care of his influence, and for him to hire an assassin, it means he does not believe he can win afield."
Were it a Faceless man, then perhaps it would have gone on differently. Obscure force sects and organizations often posed great danger to the unsuspecting Jedi or Sith due to their unique and unfamiliar methods, the enemy you do not understand is often more lethal than the one you do.
Aside from Stevron Frey and Rickard Karstark, Jonos Bracken, Tytos Blackwood, Roose Bolton, and Jason Mallister were also present.
"I have sent the Greatjon out to create some order while the news spread, I advise each of you to allow the spread of this information. Our enemies need to be vilified in the eyes of our men."
He received only nods in return, which was a sign to change the subject.
"To more important matters." He begins. "Have you put thought in your request, should your answer be yes, it would be a decision you cannot renege."
"There is no better candidate, my lord." It was Stevron who responded first. "You have proven yourself in battle, and you share the blood of both the ruling houses of the Riverlands and the North, the men are loyal to you and the lords fear you."
Robb turns to the others. "Do you share his views?"
At their nod, he feels the urge to sigh.
"Very well." Robb says. "The coronation should be arranged in three days. What can we do to prepare?"
*-*-*
"My lord, if I may speak without offense… I am but a humble man of soil and seasons, yet I fear the new way troubles me deep. I do not know the minds of the other folk I now toil besides, and the fields we share bear little of the order my father taught me. These new workings—these shared labors—I do not grasp them well, and I fear the land shall suffer, as might we all, if I speak not of it now."
When he first arrived at Riverrun, a big problem came to Robb's attention. The Lannisters had scoured the land thoroughly, men, women, children, and the elderly were slaughtered like sheep. Speaking of sheep, they didn't survive the Lannisters cruelties either, neither did goats, horses, chickens nor goats. Farms were left destroyed, villages ravaged, and those left alive had neither the food nor the time to rebuild and were left to die.
But opportunity might be glimpsed amidst a crisis, and in that spirit, Robb decided to leverage their situation to his benefit, most importantly, to leverage 1st's knowledge of history to implement reforms.
Despite the Maesters' Citadel having a negative effect on scientific progress, it did not mean that progress was entirely absent.
The four-field method already exists, tomatoes, potatoes, and beans had already been introduced and popular to different extents. And in terms of methods, while the quality differed from farm to farm, village to village, they did encompass a surprisingly advanced level of knowledge.
The issues he found however, were that the tools used were often fragile and made of wood, the dissemination of said knowledge was also limited, so some places ended up with a much higher yield than others, and infrastructure that should allow to more easily support a farm, like aqueducts and windmills were often considered too expensive by lords to build.
The biggest one, though, was that farmers are too stubborn and set in their ways to let anyone, be they their lord or king, to make them change their methods.
Or –at least—a farmer with his own lands and stability would be reluctant, but a refugee? Someone who is escaping from an impossible situation? That person would do much to secure his and his family's life.
It is why his army was accompanied by a whopping 20 000 refugees displaced by the war, most of which were farmers. And using his claim to Harrenhall and its extensive, fertile lands as leverage, he placed those refugees there, but with the condition that they follow his new rules.
To that order, he commissioned metal farming tools from scrap material, reserved the lesser quality captured horses for farm work instead of increasing his cavalry, and as a last step, he currently is implementing a system of collective farming with the help of Stevron Frey.
"What is it you find difficult to grasp?" Robb's icy voice seemed to bring some degree of trepidation to the man, but he gritted his teeth and replied anyway.
"I cannot fathom why we are not granted our own holdings," said he. "My kin have long toiled these fields, and fed ourselves from the fruits of our own labor, upon lands gifted us by our liege."
"Your point being?"
Robb let the silence stretch for a moment, letting the tension coil like a waiting viper. At last, with a steady gaze upon the farmer, he spoke.
"You want your own plot to rule however you see fit," he said evenly. "You've tilled the soil, earned your keep, and in better times, I would grant it. But tell me—how long since you last beheld those better times?"
The man chewed his lip before replying, "A year, mayhap more, my lord. Since the war came… so many have fled, so many fields lie fallow. We survivors are scattered, alone, and pressed upon all sides. Aye, we dream of a return to the old days, but each season steals a bit more hope from us."
Robb took in his words, inclined his head. "And in these times, who would help you plant your seeds, protect your fields from raiders, or ensure you receive fair shares of lumber, seed, or livestock? Will your kinsfolk stand unguarded, left to the next wave of marauders?" At the continued silence, Robb tapped his fist on the ruined throne of Harrenhal. "Let us not discuss that. Are you familiar with how you will be compensated?"
At the man's puzzled expression, Robb explained, "Each farmer who tills the land shall have obligatory plots to tend—much as usual. However, instead of simply leasing personal land, you shall be offered the right to participate, following the administrator's instructions, and work on other plots. In exchange, each worker shall receive a share of the total yield, along with tools to farm the land and shelter."
The man grew fearful, his unease betraying the threat he perceived to his livelihood. "Under the old ways, I had the right to claim everything I sowed."
"How much was that, usually?" Robb asked.
"We took whatever the land allowed—about eight bushels an acre, gods willing. Then the lord took his share, we saved some seed for spring, and what remained fed my babes and filled the pot, if the rats and rain didn't get to it first."
Robb nodded. "How many of you work the land?"
"Me and my two sons."
"With that number, you and your kin shall be paid the equivalent of twelve bushels an acre. Do you use your own tools?" At the man's incredulous nod, he continued, "Then that amount shall increase to thirteen. And if you're willing to lend your tools for others to use, that can be negotiated as well."
Fixing him with a level gaze, Robb made his displeasure clear. "Unless the old ways suit you more?"
The man quickly shook his head. "Nay, my lord."
"Good." Robb nodded once. "Next petition!"
He noticed that their conversation resolved many concerns and caused several petitioners to leave, questions answered. Yet many remained, and Robb braced himself for a long day of work.
Before he could begin, a commotion broke out at the massive gates of his new court.
'Finally' he thought. Ignoring the shouts and gasps, he used his senses to feel the presence of someone familiar—someone radiating relief and joy.
Through the gates came a cloaked girl with the red hair and blue eyes he knew so well. Beside her stood a towering man, carrying a large bastard sword. Sansa Stark looked up at him, tears filling her eyes.
"I'm back, brother." Her voice broke with a sob as she went from walking to running. "I'm back!"
She threw her arms around him, hugging him tightly. Robb felt warmth flood his being, relieved and overjoyed by the reunion—eager to see his family reunited at last.
"Welcome back, Sansa." he said.
He cursed his inability to show more emotion, returning her hug in a stoic manner.
"You were missed."