The setting sun just floated above the sea, basking the sea red.The sea roared in anticipation of the moon, Gulls wheeled overhead, their cries sharp as shattered glass, while the briny air carried the tang of salt and seaweed. Godwin Harcourt saw the outlines of the ancient keep where his liege lords ruled for countless millennia. His boots crunching against the gravel path as he approached the hall of House Flint. His cloak, painted with countless salty sea winds, fluttered in evening sea wind, and his face showing determination to serve his young lord.
After a night's rest Godwin Harcourt entered the hall where Lady Laina Flint sat upon a high-backed chair of blackened oak. The hall was modest, its walls adorned with faded tapestries depicting long-forgotten battles, their threads fraying like the fortunes of House Flint. Fire was absent in the hearth, no longer needing to lit the fire to escape the chill of the winter. Laina's eyes, sharp as a winter frost, met Godwin's as he bowed low, his mailed gauntlets clinking softly.
"My lady," Godwin began, his voice steady as the tide, "I return from Shield Islands, where the young lord has entrusted me with tasks to strengthen our house. I am to start the production of soap, for your son obtained lord Hewett's cooperation in selling soap and his ships to transport it. "
"Godwin, do you know how to make soap?" Laina inquired Godwin Harcourt, "do you know what is required?"
"Yes, My lady. I have been instructed by the young lord. We can start to produce soap within a week, with the help of smiths recruited from the Iron Islands, in small quantities. It might take a month to produce soap in large quantities as long as we have more hands to work in producing soap."
Laina's tapped the arm of her chair, she turned to the treasurer Urian Lovell. "Lovell, can we use census to help here?"
Urian Lovell stood up and bowed "Yes, My lady. I'll send Dan and Tom as they are more knowledgeable in this matter."
"Then do so." Laina commanded the treasurer.
"My lady, may I plead on behalf of young lord?" Godwin Harcourt signalled he had something to say. "My lady, soap requires wood ash, animal fat, and flower extracts to produce. Young lord also wants to build ships and he has already employed a master shipwright. He also hired master smelter and master smith to bolster our realm." He pointed at Victar Saltforge, Dagmar Blackforge, and Gorold Ironhelm respectively, who in turn knelt down and bowed their head. Laina acknowledged them."To do these things the young lord requires timber, coal, cattles, and flowers. I beseech my lady to grant appropriate forest land."
"It seems my son was successful in roping in talented people." Laina glanced around. "We should also help him a little. Don't you agree?" She asked. "Our fief can provide him with timber, livestock and flowers but we don't have coal. Do you have any ideas on how we can get it?"
Gilbar Carnhide stood up. "My lady, The Neck has a particular type of coal that occurs in their bogs, called bog peat. House Peat has a large amount of this type of coal."
Laina Flint decreed thusly. "Flint Conglomeration will be granted 10,000 acres of forest for their needs. I and Gilbar will travel to House Peat in two weeks. Godwin, prepare a batch of soaps within that time."
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Far to the east of Flints Finger, the bogs and marshy terrain of the Neck stretched like a sodden tapestry, where the lands of the House Peat lay.They were one of the vassals of House Reed. Their dark, spongy earth glistening under a sky heavy with clouds, the air was thick with the scent of damp moss and the faint, acrid bite of peat.Lady Laina, Gilbar Carnhide, and Nira rode through this mire with the help of the local guides, their horses' hooves sinking slightly into the soft ground, the path flanked by reeds that swayed like sentinels in the breeze. Their destination: the modest keep of House Peat, a stout structure of moss-covered stone that squatted amidst the bogs like a toad on a lily pad.
Lord Peat, a short barrel-chested man with a beard like a tangled bracken, greeted them in his hall, its wall hung with tapestries depicting ancient battles against Ironborn raiders. His eyes, the color of the bog's murky pools, sized up his guests with a mix of curiosity and caution. While handing out bread and salt he asked "Lady Flint, to what do I owe this visit? What brings you to my humble fief?"
Laina's voice was a smooth as polished steel "Lord Peat, My son seeks to forge a new path for House Flint, one that brings prosperity to our lands. I come here to propose a partnership." Laina motioned Nira to present the soap. "This is soap made in our lands. It is not harsh to the skin like those lye soaps. It also comes scented with the smell of various flowers. If you were to accept selling us peat coal we will be happy to give you the exclusive right to sell soap in the lands of House Reed."
Lord Peat's eyes narrowed. "Soap you say? Neck has no need for such trifles. It will be nothing but vanity."
"Lord Peat, you may not fancy soap but every noblewoman in all of the seven realms will and do, including women of your house." Laina was determined to get her point of view across. " Which woman doesn't want to smell like flowers? Yes, you can achieve this with the help of lyseni perfumes. This soap is to be used when taking a bath. I can assure you after you take a bath using this soap you don't need to use lyseni perfumes to smell nice. I can guarantee soap will become a very prized commodity for noblewomen in no time as our soap costs only 70 stags as opposed to tens of gold you need to spend on lyseni perfumes." Lord Peat called for Lady Rosyn,his wife.Laina took a deep breath and continued. "It is also acceptable if you don't want to involve yourself with soap. I have a proposition for buying peat from your lands. We would like to pay half a stag per cartload."
Lord Peat thought deeply for a long time. "Let us break bread and I wish you to stay the night as a guest. I'll call the merchants that deal in peat tomorrow here. We'll also discuss the soap business then."
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The next day, Hall of House Peat was full of merchants headed the Lord Peat's call. Laina sat beside Rosyn Peat on the raised platform. Lord Peat addressed the gathered merchants.
" The Lady of Flint's Finger has a new ware to sell to you as well as she seeks peat from you. I'll let her explain."
Laina addressed the crowd and put forth her proposal. " Lady of House Peat, Rosyn Peat, can attest to both authenticity and efficacy of the soap. If you want to ask any more questions please ask."
"My lady, I am called Jorrel. How long can a bar of soap be used?" Jorrel Bogwade, a gaunt merchant, asked.
"If one uses it daily it can last upto one full moon."
"My lady, I am called Eddis. How many cartloads of peat do you require?" Eddis Marshfoot, another stout merchant, asked.
"We will start with ten cartloads. We will increase or decrease it later depending on what we need."
The discussion lasted long a time which included all the details and clarifications. In the end crannogmen merchants would purchase hundred soaps initially for 60 stags each. They would calibrate their purchase depending on how the soaps sell. They also accepted half a stag as the price for each cartload of wet peat. Moat Cailin was designated as the place where they would exchange and pay for goods.
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In the sweet summer of the south Colton Holt and his party reached King's Landing. King's Landing loomed like fevered vision on the horizon, its three hills rose like the hump of some slumbering beast,crowned with the Red Keep's crimson towers, the Great Sept's crystal dome, and the blackened ribs of the Dragonpit. The Blackwater Rush glittered like molten silver, its banks choked with ships—galleys with striped sails, cogs heavy with cargo, and fishing boats bobbing like corks. The city's walls, stained with soot and time, seemed to pulse with life, while a haze of smoke and dust hung over it like a beggar's cloak.
As they entered through the River Gate, the city's pulse quickened. The streets were a riot of color and chaos: cobblestones slick with fish guts and spilled ale, merchants hawking silks from Lys and spices from Qarth, their stalls draped in crimson and gold. Whores in gauzy veils called from shadowed alleys, their laughter sharp as knives, while urchins darted through the crowd, nimble as rats. The air was thick with the stench of tanning vats, baking bread, and the sour tang of unwashed bodies. Overhead, the bells of the Great Sept tolled, their notes clashing with the cries of gulls and the rumble of carts.
Colton led the party to the Street of Steel, where the clang of hammers rang like a war chant. Sparks flew from forges, painting the air with fleeting stars, and the heat was a living thing, pressing against their skin. They sought out Ironbelly, a smith whose forge was a cavern of fire and iron, its walls blackened and hung with axes, swords, and shields that gleamed like mirrors.
Ironbelly, a bear of a man with a beard like charred oak and arms thick as tree trunks, wiped sweat from his brow as Colton approached. "Ser knight, what brings you to my fire?" he rumbled, his voice like gravel underfoot.
Colton bowed slightly. "Master Ironbelly, we're from Flint's Finger, seeking craftsmen for our fief. Young Lord Rickard Flint offers a forge of your own, lodgings, and 80 gold dragons a year to join his Flint Conglomerate. Your skill with steel could arm our men and build our future."
Ironbelly's eyes glinted like the blades on his wall. "King's Landing's a gold mine for a smith. Why should I leave for some northern backwater?"
Hugh Wenman stepped forward, his voice smooth as polished stone. "Here, you're one of many, competing for scraps from lords who'd rather buy from Essos. In Flint's Finger, you'd be the cornerstone of a new venture. Our young lord's building a fleet, and your steel will build it, arm it."
Ironbelly scratched his beard, considering. " Alright, I'll come. But I want 150 dragons a year and my apprentices brought along."
"My lord would welcome your apprentices. He will even help them to establish their own smithy if you agree. Also if you can take additional apprentices from the Flint lands we can pay you 150 dragons." Colton replied.
Ironbelly nodded. "Then we will come with the contract by dusk." Colton notified Ironbelly.
Next, they sought Tobho Mott, whose shop was a marvel of Qohorik craft, its sign a hammer wreathed in flames. Tobho, lean and sharp-eyed, listened as Colton made his pitch. "Master Mott, your skill is legend. Join us, and you'll have a forge twice the size of this, with gold to match your talent."
Tobho's lips curled into a thin smile. "Flint's Finger? I'd sooner hammer iron in the Dothraki Sea. My customers are lords and kings, not northern fishermen. I'll stay where the gold flows."
Edric Seville tried to sway him. "Our lord's vision reaches beyond the North. His ships will trade in Essos, and your steel could be their strength."
Tobho waved a hand, dismissive. "Visions don't fill bellies. I wish your lord luck, but I'm rooted here."
Disappointed but undeterred, they moved to Salloreon, a wiry armorer with a shop cluttered with half-finished breastplates. Salloreon listened, his fingers twitching as if eager to return to his hammer. "I'll sell you my work—helms, greaves, whatever you need," he said, his voice quick and clipped. "But move to your fief? No. My wife's kin are here, and I won't uproot them."
Colton pressed, "Name your price for a steady supply. Our lord's gold is good, and our soap trade will make it better."
Salloreon's eyes flickered with interest. "Twenty helms, twenty breastplates, at 150 stags each. I'll deliver yearly, but I will stay in King's Landing."
"Agreed," Colton said, shaking his hand. "We'll send a man to collect the first batch in six months."
By day's end, they had secured Ironbelly, a tanner named Lysa with a knack for supple leather, and a carpenter called Old Tom, whose hands could coax miracles from oak. The streets of King's Landing faded behind them as they returned to their inn, the city's clamor a fading echo, their mission bearing fruit for the windswept cliffs of Flint's Finger.