The peasant woman knelt tightly on the ground, her legs seeming as though they were welded to the earth.
Her tattered linen clothes were caked with mud, and dry, disheveled hair obscured most of her face.
Only her eyes—red, swollen, and filled with terror—occasionally peeked through the mess.
Suleiman stood before her.Though his physique was not particularly imposing, in her eyes, he loomed like an insurmountable peak.
"Why did you not come to my castle to seek an audience?"
His voice was no longer weak as it had been before; instead, it carried a majesty that was strange even to him.
The woman flinched violently, burying her head even lower.Her voice was as thin as the buzz of a mosquito.
"My Lord, I... I dared not. I feared offending you... feared you would blame me."
Suleiman was surprised.
"Blame you for what?"
The woman's shoulders shook violently, her body trembling as if some unspeakable horror were about to befall her.Sobs welled up in her throat again.
She kowtowed repeatedly, her head striking the ground with the rhythm of a pestle pounding garlic, driven by a despair that seemed bottomless.
"I feared you... feared you would punish me, punish my children..."
"My husband, Old Huck... he followed the Old Lord to Seagard and never came back."
"There is no grain left in the house. My two babes are about to starve. I... I just wanted to beg for My Lord's grace."
"But when I reached the gate, I was terrified of offending My Lord, terrified of punishment."
"I wanted to turn back, but standing here... thinking of how useless I am—I can't even catch fish, and when I stole from others, I was beaten..."
"My children are dying... I couldn't control my body, couldn't stop my tears."
"I didn't mean to offend you, My Lord. I... I deserve to die. Please forgive me, I will leave at once, I will leave..."
The woman spoke incoherently, her body shuddering more violently with every word.
She knew well how the nobles of Westeros viewed smallfolk like her—lowly as livestock.They were mere appendages of the land, existing only as animals, perhaps worth even less than some breeds of cattle.
They had no rights, no dignity; their lives and deaths hung on a single word from their Lord.A peasant who offended a Lord—or simply put him in a bad mood—could be whipped, exiled, or even killed.
Coming here was a massive risk; her inner terror had overridden all else.
Suleiman fell silent.
Watching this woman collapse under the weight of despair and fear, his thoughts churned.This was a cold, cruel feudal society with strict hierarchies, where life was as cheap as grass.
He understood her fear; that bone-deep awe and servility toward superiors was the truth of eight thousand years of history.
Suddenly, he realized how fortunate he was to be a minor noble in the world of Westeros.Even if his territory was destitute, he was still better off than ninety-nine percent of the commoners.
He took a deep breath, trying to make his voice sound as gentle as possible.
"I will not punish you."
Hearing this, the woman's body went stiff.She seemed unable to believe her ears, yet she still dared not look up.
Suleiman turned to the old butler behind him.
"Steward Nicken."
"Go to the granary. Get her two sacks of grain.And from the family vault, give her three copper pennies."
Old Nicken froze, his cloudy eyes full of confusion.His lips moved, as if to speak, but he eventually bowed.
"Yes, Young Master Suleiman."
He knew how empty the family granary was; their savings were nearly gone.Yet Young Master Suleiman wanted to give what little remained to a peasant woman?
It was unheard of.Simply allowing her family to live on the lands of House Rotfort* was the greatest mercy they could offer.
The old man sighed, full of questions, and hobbled toward the tower.
Behind Suleiman, the soldiers Lucian and Lauslin were completely stunned.Born as serfs on this land, they knew the Lord's attitude toward farmers well.
Forget grain and pensions; being beaten or executed for trivial matters was common.
Lucian had summoned all his courage to speak earlier, feeling he had used up a lifetime of bravery.He hadn't expected the Young Master to spare them, let alone grant favors to a peasant family of no value to him.
They stared at Suleiman's back, their eyes complex—a mix of shock, disbelief, and an indescribable gratitude.
They had never seen such a noble, one willing to listen to the suffering of serfs, let alone offer help.
The peasant woman finally raised her head, her eyes brimming with tears and shock.She glanced at Suleiman, then violently slammed her forehead against the ground repeatedly.
"Thank you, Lord Suleiman, for your bounty!Thank you for your grace!May the Seven protect Lord Suleiman!"
Her sobbing was no longer desperate, but filled with incredulous gratitude.
"May the Seven bless Lord Suleiman!May the Seven bless Lord Suleiman's House Rotfort!"
She had never imagined that in this moment of ultimate despair—having lost her husband, facing starvation with her children—she would receive such immense mercy from the Lord.
Two sacks of grain, three copper pennies... it saved them from hunger.It was a blessing she hadn't dared to dream of.
Originally, after giving up on seeking help, she had intended to go home, drown her two children, and then throw herself into the river—sparing them the pain of starvation and joining her husband in death.
Suleiman's tone was calm.
"Rise."
The woman knocked her head on the ground a few more times, then scrambled up clumsily on hands and feet, standing to the side.Her legs, numb from kneeling so long, had lost circulation; she swayed unsteadily, trembling with excitement and gratitude.
Suleiman looked at her, then at Lucian and Lauslin, making a decision.
In Westeros, he needed to survive; he needed power.His territory was too small, his subjects too few.
He had to rule them differently.
As a newcomer with no internal support or external allies, the loyalty of these people he saved was the only thing he could rely on.They were poor and weak, possessing nothing.
Precisely because of this, giving a few coppers to these desperate souls might yield unexpected returns.
"Lucian, Lauslin."
Suleiman looked at them.
The two immediately straightened their backs, shouting excitedly,
"Here, my Lord!"
Suleiman's voice lowered.
"The farmers who marched with the Old Lord... other than you, they all died in battle.You fought for my family.They died for my family."
The two lowered their heads, tears flashing in their eyes.
The old butler returned, clutching two deflated sacks of grain and pinching a few copper coins, looking visibly pained by the loss of wealth.
He handed the items to the woman.
"Take these.Remember, this is what you owe House Rotfort.Remember Young Master Suleiman's kindness!"
The woman took the grain and coins, kneeling once more to offer thanks.
"May the Seven bless Lord Suleiman!May the Seven bless Lord Suleiman!May the Seven bless House Rotfort!Lord Suleiman will surely be rewarded!"
Suleiman told her to return home, then turned to Old Nicken, his expression serious.
"Steward Nicken, handle three matters immediately."
"First, take inventory of everything remaining in the household:grain, coin, weapons, armor, livestock, farm tools...anything of value, including daily necessities.Make a list!"
"Yes, Young Master Suleiman," Nicken replied.
Suleiman paused, his voice turning heavy.
"Second."
"Compile a list of all the farmers who followed my father to Seagard.Provide a pension to every family.
If a household still has able-bodied men to sustain life, give less.If they have lost their only male breadwinner and are left with only women and children, give more."
"Third.Lucian and Lauslin, equip yourselves fully.Go into the village and assist Old Nicken in distributing the pensions.
If anyone dares to rob them, or dares to bully the families of those who died for my House—chop off their hand and nail it where everyone can see!"
Hearing the second and third orders, the panic on Old Nicken's face grew.
"Young Master Suleiman... My Lord, what are you doing?"
Suleiman gazed at the distant sky, speaking slowly.
"I need to know...""How many families have lost their support because of my House.
Calculate for me how much grain and coin is needed so that these families—at least while in my hands—do not starve to death."
Hearing this, Old Nicken was struck dumb.His mouth opened and closed, but no words came out.
He had lived a long life and seen countless Lords, but never one who cared for the lives of his subjects like this.
To spend the family's last assets to pension dead serfs?It was unprecedented.A waste.
In Westeros, subjects had no human rights.Lords could kill them, claim the right of First Night, and seize their wives and daughters at will.
Conscription was the peasants' duty, mandated by the laws of the Seven Kingdoms.If they died, their families had to cope or starve.
Why would a Lord concern himself with such things?
Lucian and Lauslin exchanged glances, their eyes filled with shock and emotion.
This young Lord...
He was unlike any noble they had ever heard of or seen.
Suleiman ignored Old Nicken's confusion.His gaze was sharp and determined.
Wealth was external; life was singular.
He knew he faced a massive predicament: poverty, weakness, isolation, and a terrifying future approaching.
In such a world, he could not rely only on himself.
He needed a group of people tightly united around him.
The only hope might hide within these seemingly lowly lives.
He needed to gather hearts, build trust, and let these subjects—who were about to face catastrophe—see a glimmer of hope.
And be willing to follow him for it.
This was the first starting point he would establish in this world.