Though it was officially called the "Castle" of Whitewalls, its current scale was closer to that of a modest town, far removed from its former glory.
Roughly speaking, House Whent currently controlled three major population centers: Harrentown north of the Gods Eye, Gods Eye Town to the south, and Whitewalls Town to the east.
This was in addition to the countless farming estates, holdfasts, and villages scattered across their domain. The lands surrounding the Gods Eye were incredibly densely populated.
This was the defining characteristic of the Riverlands: they lacked true cities, but their sheer volume of large towns and sprawling villages made them an economic powerhouse.
Guided by the castellan (and acting mayor) Ambrose Rivers, Arthur got a clear picture of the current state of Whitewalls.
The castellan's report was straightforward and bleak.
"Neo-Whitewalls" had been trapped in a state of stagnant, low-level development ever since the rebellion. They had been violently downgraded from a top-tier lordship to a third-rate backwater, and revenue generation was a constant, agonizing struggle.
The reasons were obvious. House Butterwell had poured the vast majority of its liquid wealth into constructing the original, magnificent white castle.
But Bloodraven had torn the castle down, carted off all the premium white marble, and confiscated ninety percent of House Butterwell's remaining treasury as a fine.
He took their elite dairy cows. He uprooted and burned their legendary vineyards.
Stripped of capital and their superior genetic stock, Whitewalls was instantly crippled.
Brynden "Bloodraven" Rivers had truly earned his reputation as one of the most terrifying, ruthless men in Westerosi history. Even now, decades later, speaking his name felt like invoking a curse.
Like Tywin Lannister, men obeyed Bloodraven not out of love, but out of absolute, bone-chilling fear.
Kinslayer, oathbreaker, sorcerer, albino, cursed with a blood-red birthmark, one-eyed, master archer, and undisputed Master of Whisperers. Bloodraven was likely the most "buffed" Hand of the King in history.
He was a master of the sword, the bow, the dark arts, espionage, and statecraft. He excelled at everything.
Tywin Lannister's brand of domineering cruelty looked like child's play next to Bloodraven.
Arthur considered Bloodraven to be the only true "supernatural entity" to successfully thrive and dominate the political landscape during an era when magic was supposedly dead.
Bloodraven simply did not care about his reputation; he would use any means necessary to achieve his goals.
He had undeniably saved the Targaryen dynasty and held the realm together, making him perhaps the most complex and controversial Hand of the King in history—the ultimate "tainted hero."
Even years later, when people thought of the Hand of the King, the first image that sprang to mind was often the pale, one-eyed sorcerer.
I need to find out what happened to all that white marble, Arthur thought to himself.
Stone of that quality didn't just disappear.
He knew the Inn at the Crossroads had some broken white stones incorporated into its structure, likely scavenged by the smallfolk or sold off cheaply at the time.
But the vast majority of the premium stone had to have been claimed by the Iron Throne. It was probably sitting, forgotten, in some massive royal quarry or warehouse near King's Landing.
As for the ancient weirwood beams? Arthur had zero interest in those.
Even when dead and carved into timber, weirwood still seemed to maintain some sort of latent connection to the greenseers.
Bloodraven didn't just spy on the Seven Kingdoms using a network of human informants; his true power lay in his ability to use the weirwoods themselves as his literal "thousand eyes and one."
The man's mental fortitude and magical power were truly terrifying. He was a master sorcerer operating in an era where magic had all but vanished from the world.
He was still a master skinchanger and illusionist, capable of altering his very appearance.
He was a man who had defied the natural decline of magic through sheer, overwhelming personal genius.
It was no wonder he eventually became the Three-Eyed Raven.
The current generation of Starks had several skinchangers among them, but they were born during an era when the global magic level was rapidly surging back to a high point. Compared to Bloodraven, who operated during the lowest ebb of magic in history, their achievements felt far less impressive.
---
Currently, the Whitewalls domain was entirely dependent on basic agriculture.
They still raised dairy cows and grew grapes for wine, but the yields were pathetic, and the quality was mediocre. They were trapped in a cycle of low-level subsistence.
Any income they managed to scrape together first had to go toward paying the Iron Throne's taxes before the Lord saw a single copper.
The Iron Throne's taxation system was heavily biased based on geography, operating on a simple principle: squeeze the weak and appease the strong.
The lush, central regions (the "Green Lands") bore the absolute brunt of the royal taxes.
The North, Dorne, and the Iron Islands paid significantly less. When Dorne officially joined the Seven Kingdoms under King Daeron II, they negotiated massive tax exemptions and special privileges as part of the treaty.
This blatant favoritism was actually one of the primary grievances that drove many lords to back Daemon Blackfyre's rebellion.
In the North, the Iron Throne's direct reach was essentially limited to the customs officers and the mint in White Harbor; their influence over the rest of the vast, frozen kingdom was almost non-existent.
As for the Iron Islands? They basically just did whatever they wanted on their miserable rocks.
The "Third Whitewalls" was the very first piece of land Arthur technically inherited, and he felt a deep, personal connection to it.
His mother was the final Lady Butterwell, and many of the servants, retainers, and smallfolk here had served House Butterwell for generations.
Arthur didn't need to perform any grand political theater to win their loyalty. Simply by not acting like a tyrannical, bloodsucking leech who taxed them into starvation, he immediately secured their genuine devotion.
Arthur publicly praised Castellan Ambrose for his years of dedicated service and presented him with generous gifts and well-wishes.
More importantly, Arthur implemented a new incentive system for the estate workers—essentially a base salary plus a commission based on production and sales. This immediate influx of coin and the promise of fair reward instantly ignited a wave of enthusiastic energy throughout Neo-Whitewalls.
The economic future of the entire Gods Eye region rested squarely on Arthur's shoulders.
After bidding farewell to the castellan, the servants, and the smallfolk, Arthur loaded several wagons with Whitewalls' local specialties—cheese and house wine—and resumed his journey.
Arthur rode forward, leaving the modest town behind. That was all that remained of Whitewalls.
The legendary dragon egg that had once been the pride of the Butterwells had been confiscated by the old sorcerer, Bloodraven, decades ago. It was a bitter pill to swallow.
Well, there's always the future, Arthur thought. When the time is right, I can start hunting for one.
As of right now, aside from the three petrified dragon eggs sitting in Magister Illyrio's manse in Pentos, the only places in the known world rumored to still hide dragon eggs were Dragonstone, the Red Keep, the Hightower of Oldtown, the Mountains of the Moon in the Vale, the cannibal-infested island of Skagos, the secret vaults of Braavos, and the smoking ruins of Valyria itself...
---
On the Kingsroad, the golden banners bearing the black bat of House Whent snapped in the wind. Seeing the sigil of a great house approach, the peddlers, merchants, and common travelers hurriedly scrambled to the sides of the road to make way.
People traveled by every means imaginable: horse-drawn wagons, ox-drawn carts, or riding astride draft horses, ponies, mules, and donkeys. If it could walk, run, or roll, it was on the road.
The peasant carts were piled high with apples, turnips, potatoes, and onions, all bound for the insatiable markets of King's Landing.
Even in their slightly weakened state, House Whent was still a premier noble house, and no commoner in their right mind would dare block their path.
They followed the Kingsroad south, riding straight for the capital.
The Kingsroad had massively improved trade and communication across the Seven Kingdoms, but the various Kings who followed Jaehaerys the Conciliator had only ever performed basic maintenance; no one had ever attempted to truly expand or modernize the network.
Within the Green Lands, the road was relatively well-kept, but once you crossed into the North, its quality deteriorated significantly.
---
The massive Old Gate of King's Landing stood wide open. A squad of Gold Cloaks, armed with spears and wearing their namesake heavy woolen cloaks, stood guard beneath the portcullis.
Spotting Arthur's heavily armed, well-ordered procession approaching, the guards quickly barked orders, shoving carts and pedestrians aside to clear a path for the nobles.
The vanguard of Arthur's escort rode through the gates, holding the Whent banners high. The silk flags snapped in the wind, the nine black bats looking almost alive.
"Make way for Young Master Arthur! Clear the path!"
"Make way for Young Master Arthur! Stand aside!" the guards shouted in unison.
Arthur casually observed the Gold Cloaks as he rode past. They truly lived up to their reputation as the most corrupt, incompetent military force in the Seven Kingdoms.
The City Watch was notoriously undisciplined, famous primarily for extorting the smallfolk and drawing pay for "ghost soldiers" who didn't actually exist.
Most of these men only joined the Watch because they couldn't find work anywhere else. Their actual combat effectiveness was a joke.
They were essentially just poorly paid mercenaries; expecting them to actually risk their lives to defend the city or uphold the law was laughable.
(Honestly, whether you relied on the traditional feudal levy system or this kind of paid, standing mercenary force, both had severe drawbacks. Ultimately, a military force was only as effective as the man commanding it).
"My lord, are you here to attend the King's investiture ceremony?" a junior officer guarding the gate asked respectfully.
"I am," Arthur replied, pulling his horse to a halt and looking down at the man.
The officer was exceptionally tall, with deep-set eyes, prominent brow ridges, and a broad, heavy jaw that made his head look a bit like a pumpkin. He had coarse brown hair.
Although he was technically an officer in the Gold Cloaks, his uniform looked worn and almost threadbare. This immediately suggested he was an honest man who didn't participate in the rampant extortion and bribery his peers enjoyed.
Furthermore, he had a solid, muscular build; he was clearly a man who actually trained for combat.
"What is your name?" Arthur asked.
"Jacelyn Bywater, my lord," the officer replied, looking slightly surprised by the noble's interest.
Arthur's eyes widened fractionally. This was Jacelyn Bywater? The future "Ironhand"? The one truly competent, honorable man Tyrion Lannister would eventually rely on to defend King's Landing?
In the original timeline, after Tyrion got rid of the corrupt, bloated Janos Slynt, Varys recommended Bywater for the position of Commander of the City Watch, noting he was one of the very few genuinely brave and capable men in the entire organization.
King's Landing truly is the main quest hub. It's just constantly spawning critical NPCs.
Of course, right now, the "Ironhand" still had both of his hands. He wouldn't lose his right hand until the Greyjoy Rebellion a few years from now.
Currently, Bywater was at the lowest point of his career. He was just a standard junior officer, not even a true captain of the gate yet. It was only after sacrificing his hand in battle that he would be knighted and promoted to Captain of the Mud Gate.
"Good day to you, Officer Jacelyn. It is an honor to meet you," Arthur said, offering a polite nod.
"Good day, Young Master Arthur," Jacelyn replied, his voice thick with genuine emotion. He had been a low-level grunt for years; it was incredibly rare for a highborn lord to treat him with such basic respect, let alone call it an "honor" to meet him.
He wasn't a knight, and he had no real prospects for advancement. To be acknowledged like this meant a great deal.
"I imagine we will see each other again."
"Safe travels, my lord."
Arthur didn't overplay his hand. True loyalty and friendship had to be cultivated slowly and naturally.
If he came on too strong, showering the man with gold or making grand promises right out of the gate, it would only make Bywater suspicious.
Besides, no one would think twice about Arthur's polite behavior. House Whent was famous for its chivalry, wealth, and grand, courteous gestures. Treating a common officer with respect was entirely on-brand.