"Oh?"
Tywin set down his quill and fired off a string of questions. "How many hectares of new land? How fertile is it? How many slaves are still unliberated?"
Most men would've been overwhelmed. Ser Steffon wasn't most men. He answered every question with crisp precision.
Tyrosh's share of the Disputed Lands was roughly the size of the old royal domain—including the Kingswood—plus the adjacent territory they didn't control. The soil ranged from medium to high quality, with almost no truly poor land. The plantations still held nearly a hundred and seventy thousand slaves, worked to the bone on scraps, kept just alive enough to suffer.
"Excellent, Ser Steffon. You've lived up to His Grace's expectations."
Tywin regarded him with rare approval. "Find yourself a house and rest. I'll report everything to the king and we'll discuss rewards and titles. You won't be disappointed."
"Thank you, my lord."
Ser Steffon—thin as a rail, with a weasel face that looked exactly like his father Walder Frey—grinned and glanced once out the window before excusing himself.
Most of the Crownlands lords had answered the call to war for exactly this: new land on the far side of the Narrow Sea. A chance to plant a branch of their family in the east and start fresh.
The Freys had never dared dream of something like that before. But ever since Dragon King Daeron rose like a storm, they'd clung to his leg and ridden the wave. Steffon had brought nearly four thousand men to the campaign—almost everything House Frey had left.
They'd bet everything on the right horse.
Click.
The door shut. Only the Lannister brothers remained.
Tywin's brief approval vanished. He turned his sharp gaze on his younger brother Tygett, who immediately started sweating.
"Do you understand that Gerion's capture in the Summer Sea is a disgrace to House Lannister?"
"We'll get him back," Tygett said quickly.
Tywin's eyes were like a hawk's. "To get him back we'll have to crush Volantis and possibly face the Ghiscari of Slaver's Bay. Do you have the strength and the will for that?"
He didn't wait for an answer. His voice turned cold. "If you truly had that will, you wouldn't keep defying me. You wouldn't be running off to filthy brothels and rolling around with cheap whores until you stink of disease."
Tygett had relapsed. Even in Tyrosh he'd led the way to the brothels, ignoring the sexual disease he'd already caught years ago. That crossed every line Tywin had left.
Tygett's face cycled through shame and fear before settling on miserable silence.
"If you can't break these filthy habits, the new land I planned to give you will go to someone else."
Tywin picked up his quill again, voice calm but heavy with disappointment. "Before the titles are handed out, if you haven't earned my respect, I'll give the opportunity to Stafford instead."
Tygett's head snapped up. "You can't—!"
Tywin slowly raised his eyes. "The merit belongs to Kevan. The decision is mine. What right do you have to tell me no?"
Tygett had nothing.
"Get out. You're wasting my time."
Tywin waved him away. "Figure out where you stand. Stop disappointing me and Kevan both."
"Yes… brother."
Tygett slunk out like a kicked dog.
The door had barely closed when Stafford Lannister and his son arrived.
Stafford was broad-shouldered with thick golden hair, wearing gilded armor. He wasn't tall, but he carried himself with quiet confidence.
"My lord, the rebellious Tyroshi nobles and merchants have all been executed."
Tywin gave a short nod. His gaze drifted to the tall mirror beside the door. In its reflection he could see the courtyard beyond the window.
Twenty richly dressed Tyroshi nobles and merchants hung in various states of torment—some by their wrists, some by ropes around their necks in a grim tug-of-war, others with fishhooks through their eyelids and lips, slowly spinning in the air.
This wasn't the first batch. The previous group had already bled dry and been fed to the dogs.
"A bunch of Tyroshi rats who thought their old privileges would let them do whatever they wanted under the new order."
Tywin's tone was flat, almost bored. To him this was just entertainment between paperwork.
People existed to be killed. If the stupid Tyroshi weren't terrified, they would never accept real rule.
"What about the slaves who caused trouble?" Stafford asked. "Should we show mercy?"
Tywin snorted. "Hang the ringleaders. The rest go to the slave camps. Hardest labor, worst conditions. If they don't appreciate freedom, they can remember what being a real slave feels like."
The slave camps were work gangs rebuilding the damaged parts of Tyrosh.
After arriving, Tywin had split slaves from their former masters. All slaves now answered to the governor's office. If a noble wanted servants, he had to hire them at set wages and pay on time. Tywin took his cut, then sold food back to the slaves at a profit.
The slaves were thrilled—they were free from personal ownership and could actually earn money.
But Tywin had different rules for nobles and slaves.
Nobles who paid three years of taxes in advance and stayed obedient were left alone. Anyone who resisted or schemed in secret got the rope treatment. Losers lost everything and went to the camps.
Slaves who rioted or followed agitators were executed on the spot as examples. Those who joined rebellions lost every "privilege" and were worked harder than any slave before them.
Under that iron hand, Tyrosh had gone quiet. No one dared cause trouble anymore.
Tywin was enjoying the taste of absolute power.
As for whether the cruelty would backfire?
He smiled coldly. If the Tyroshi could survive the first wave of Crownlands, royal fleet, and Lannister troops, they would face the second wave—the Dragon King himself.
Tywin was arrogant enough not to care if Daeron disapproved. As long as he didn't openly rebel, the boy would have to tolerate him.
After all, Tywin was the Iron Throne's largest shareholder. He had the ultimate safety net.
"Tell Tyrion I'm sending him five thousand slaves from the camps in batches. They'll help build his trading town on the Stepstones."
Even while buried in work, Tywin hadn't forgotten his second son was now his neighbor.
Stafford accepted the order with satisfaction.
---
Ginger Island.
Thunk! Thunk! Thunk!
Daeron swung his iridium scythe, harvesting neat rows of Ancient Fruit. He tossed the fruit of varying quality into small barrels and started the slow process of winemaking.
"So many barrels still aren't enough to process all this Ancient Fruit."
He stored the scythe and looked with satisfaction at the hundred-plus small barrels lined up against the mountain walls. Wooden and stone floors had been laid, railings added for safety, and even Christmas trees and lampposts for decoration.
"I should build some dehydrators and canning jars. Turn the extra fruit into dried fruit and jam."
He had no choice. He was simply too rich.
After Dragon-Tongue Farm reached capacity, Ginger Island had started pumping out gold. Ancient Fruit and starfruit came in wave after wave.
Unfortunately, as year five of the Long Summer progressed and the magic tide rose faster, special crops and wild plants were becoming more common across the realm. Low-quality produce from the two farms was losing its edge.
The good news was that more and more people were learning to control life force. Nobles and knights wanted high-quality crops to boost their vitality. Daeron still sold limited amounts.
And the higher the quality, the more demand there was.
"If I ever released the Ancient Fruit wine and top-tier crops onto the open market, the nobles would lose their minds."
Daeron smiled to himself.
Not just Westerosi nobles—every Free City in the east would go feral too.
But they didn't deserve that level of product.
Most of the special crops from both farms went to the Dragon-Tongue Knights and the Dragon Guard. The Constabulary Knights got occasional scraps.
If he flooded the market, it would ruin everything.
After finishing the farm work, Daeron popped a gold-star strawberry into his mouth and walked out of the field.
"Brother."
Jaehaerys had been waiting on the beach. He hurried over. "I was mining gems under the veins on Bloodstone Island and found something new."
"Lead the way."
The brothers reached the cave mine on Bloodstone in under fifteen minutes.
Drip. Drip.
Daeron looked around. The cave mine was basically a Skull Cavern—single level, no floors, just raw stone that needed careful digging.
Soon he saw what Jaehaerys had found.
Among the rocks and weeds sat a striking blue-purple ore. Two broken gemstones lay nearby.
"Iridium?"
Daeron thought it looked familiar, then shook his head. The white rune-like patterns made it more like a meteorite—the kind that usually dropped gems.
"Stand back."
He pulled out his fully upgraded iridium pickaxe, channeled life force into his arms, and swung four powerful strikes.
Boom!
The blue-purple ore shattered. Out tumbled several pieces of iridium, one amethyst, and a single Prismatic Shard.
"A Prismatic Shard?"
Daeron's eyes lit up. "Now that's a find."
He'd cleared the Skull Cavern and the Volcano Dungeon countless times and only found a handful of these. He'd been hoarding them.
The moment he touched the shard, a strange energy flowed into him. The young sprout of his Life Seed and the fire in his blood both stirred.
"Prismatic Shards might have more uses than I thought…"