Return of House Mudd

Foundations of Stone and Loyalty

The fire in Hosteen's solar crackled softly, casting flickering shadows against the stone walls of Hammerford Keep. Outside, the rain drummed a steady rhythm against the windowpanes, filling the chamber with a dull, distant patter. It was the sort of evening that called for wine and quiet contemplation, but there was work to be done.

Hosteen sat at the heavy oak table in the center of the room, poring over the accounts and documents that detailed the full extent of his new lands. Stacks of parchment lay before him—records of taxes, feudal obligations, and reports from the villages and hamlets that now owed their fealty to him. He ran a hand through his dark hair, his brow furrowed in thought.

Across from him, Adden sat with a ledger open in his lap, scratching calculations onto a piece of parchment. The former village chief of Gravesham had once been a man of simple means, responsible for mediating disputes and ensuring his people survived through hard winters and lean harvests. Now, he was steward of all Hosteen's lands, the voice of the smallfolk in his court, and his most trusted advisor when it came to the daily affairs of the realm.

"112 villages," Hosteen mused, his fingers tapping against the wooden surface. "It is one thing to rule, another to govern. These people don't know me. They might fear me, but fear alone won't keep them loyal."

Adden nodded, his sharp eyes scanning the numbers. He had spent years in the dirt, working with farmers, tradesmen, and fishermen. He knew what burdens they could bear and what demands would drive them to rebellion.

"Aye, my lord," he said, his voice measured. "If you go about this as some lords do, bleeding the people for all they're worth, you'll have nothing but empty fields and full graveyards. The taxes must be fair. A gold dragon per village per month is manageable."

"That brings in 1,344 gold dragons a year," Hosteen said, watching as Adden made his calculations. "That will cover my obligations to Lord Tully."

"The taxes will cover the Tullys, aye, but there's more to consider," Adden replied. "These lands are not just coin to be counted. The roads are in poor condition, and some of the villages that came under your rule have seen better days. They were neglected under the Mallisters and the Freys and even the Blackwoods, and you'll have to prove yourself to them."

Hosteen sighed, leaning back in his chair. "That is why I intend to invest. Oldstones must be rebuilt first—it was the seat of House Mudd in the days of kings, and it will be the heart of my domain now. Masons, carpenters, and laborers will be needed by spring. We'll start with the walls, then the keep itself. No expense spared."

Adden gave him a knowing look. "A grand ambition, my lord. But a castle alone won't earn you loyalty. The smallfolk care more for their bellies than the banners that fly above them."

Hosteen smirked. "And that is why I keep you close, Adden. What do you suggest?"

"A surplus, my lord," Adden said without hesitation. "More grain than we need, stored safely so that in hard years, your people don't starve. Set up granaries, mills, and forges in the villages. Make sure the roads are paved and the bridges reinforced. If the people prosper under your rule, they will not forget it."

Hosteen nodded slowly. Adden spoke plainly, without the flowery words of courtiers or the arrogance of highborn lords. That was why he trusted him. He had seen how the man governed in Gravesham—fair but firm. His people had prospered under his leadership, and that was why Hosteen had taken him into his service.

"Very well," Hosteen said. "We will see to it. But first, the tax orders must be sent. I want the riders out before the week's end."

Adden dipped his quill into ink, making notes. "It will be done, my lord."

Hosteen reached for his seal, pressing the sigil of House Mudd into the hot wax on a series of orders for his new villages. By dawn, his riders would be carrying them across the land, ensuring that every village knew its obligations—and, more importantly, its protections.

The fire crackled softly in the hearth, casting flickering shadows along the stone walls of Hosteen's solar. The weight of his new station was ever-present, but in moments like these—pored over ledgers, maps, and accounts—he felt the enormity of his task settle fully on his shoulders. Across from him sat Adden, the former village chief of Gravesham, now his steward and trusted advisor on matters of the smallfolk. The man had an unassuming look about him, broad-shouldered and weathered, with streaks of gray in his beard that made him seem older than he truly was. But his mind was sharp, and his understanding of the land and its people made him invaluable.

"Now that the taxation has been decided," Hosteen began, tracing a finger along a ledger, "we need to discuss what can be done to rebuild Oldstones. The castle has lain in ruins for generations, but its foundation is strong. If we are to rule as the Mudds of old, we cannot do so from Hammerford alone."

Adden nodded but did not immediately respond. He glanced down at the tax records before them, running a calloused hand through his beard. "The tax is fair," he admitted. "One gold dragon per village each moon should be manageable for them, especially with the improvements we've made to their farming methods. But my lord, you must understand—these villages do not have men to spare for a great project like Oldstones."

Hosteen leaned back in his chair, folding his arms. "You mentioned this before. Explain."

Adden exhaled through his nose. "A small village has only so many hands, my lord. They tend the fields, raise the livestock, mend their homes, and build what they need to survive. If you take their men for labor, you leave them struggling to keep their own homes in order."

"Then the larger villages—"

"—Will not be enough," Adden interrupted. "Aye, they have more men, but not in such numbers that we could strip them away without harm. And we must remember the mills, my lord. The granaries. If we are to implement the farming machines you have shown us, then those must take priority. The villages need their men to build them, to ensure that when the harvest comes, the yield is properly stored and processed. If we were to take every spare hand from across your new lands, we still would not have enough to rebuild a castle. Not in any reasonable time."

Hosteen frowned, staring down at the maps before him. His eyes traced the lands he now held, the villages under his banner. What Adden said was true. These were not empty numbers—each village represented people, homes, lives. He could not simply demand labor without consequence.

And yet, Oldstones could not remain a ruin.

"We need masons, carpenters, stonecutters," Hosteen mused aloud. "Men who are skilled in their craft and willing to work."

Adden tilted his head. "Aye, but where will we find them?"

Hosteen drummed his fingers on the table, deep in thought. Then it came to him. "Displaced folk," he said. "The land is full of them. War, famine, failed harvests—there are always men without a home, looking for work."

Adden nodded slowly. "Aye, and hedge knights, freeriders, and mercenaries with no contracts. Some might turn to banditry if they are left with no coin. If you mean to do this, we must be careful. Desperate men can be dangerous men."

"That is why Tomlin will oversee it," Hosteen said. "He knows how to handle men, and he can tell loyalty from treachery."

Adden let out a breath. "Then summon him, my lord. The sooner he begins, the better."

Hosteen nodded and called for a servant. As the young boy rushed off to fetch Tomlin, Hosteen looked back at Adden.

"This will work," he said with quiet confidence.

Adden met his gaze. "For all our sakes, my lord, I hope you are right."

The door creaked open, and Tomlin stepped into the solar. The man was broad-shouldered, with the bearing of a seasoned warrior, his graying beard neatly trimmed, his sharp eyes taking in both Hosteen and Adden as he approached the table. His expression was neutral but expectant.

"You summoned me, my lord?" Tomlin asked, standing at attention.

Hosteen gestured for him to sit, which he did, his heavy frame settling into the wooden chair across from them. The fire cast flickering light on his face, making the deep lines on his forehead more pronounced.

"We have a task for you," Hosteen began. "One that will be crucial to the future of our house."

Tomlin's eyes narrowed slightly in curiosity but remained silent as Hosteen continued.

"We have spoken of rebuilding Oldstones," Hosteen said. "It cannot remain a ruin, and we cannot rule from a crumbling foundation. Adden and I have assessed our available labor, and it is clear that the smallfolk cannot provide what we need. Their work is required elsewhere—in the fields, in the granaries, in building the mills that will sustain our future. We cannot afford to strip them from their duties."

Tomlin nodded, his expression unreadable.

"So we must look elsewhere," Hosteen went on. "We will need men—skilled laborers, builders, masons, carpenters, stonemasons, blacksmiths, even scribes and architects. These men must come from outside our lands."

"Displaced folk," Adden added, folding his arms. "Men driven from their homes by war or famine, those looking for work and a chance at a new life."

Tomlin grunted. "There are not so many of them left, my lord. The last great war was the Blackfyre Rebellion, and that ended near twenty years ago. Most who lost their homes have since found new ones."

Hosteen leaned forward. "That is precisely the problem. Displaced men alone will not be enough. Which is why we must expand our reach."

Tomlin gave him a wary look. "And how do you propose we do that?"

Hosteen met his gaze steadily. "We will need to go beyond Westeros. We will recruit from the Free Cities."

That made Tomlin sit up straighter, his brows raising. "The Free Cities?"

"Yes," Hosteen confirmed. "You will take a small company of men and a sum of gold, which I will provide. Your first task will be to purchase three ships—preferably in Duskendale, where we can acquire them at a reasonable cost. Once you have secured the ships, you will set sail for Essos. Braavos will be our first and most important destination."

Tomlin frowned but remained quiet, letting Hosteen continue.

"In Braavos, you will seek out skilled craftsmen—masons, builders, engineers, anyone with experience in constructing fortifications and managing large-scale projects. They must be willing to travel and work for fair wages. Many such men exist in Braavos and the other Free Cities, especially those who have fallen out of favor or are seeking new opportunities."

Tomlin exhaled, rubbing his beard. "A costly endeavor, my lord."

Hosteen nodded. "Which is why I will also be writing to the Iron Bank."

That made both Tomlin and Adden look at him with surprise.

"The Iron Bank?" Adden echoed, sounding uncertain.

"Yes," Hosteen said. "I will send them a letter explaining our intentions and requesting their assistance. They hold influence in Braavos, and if they see value in our plans, they may provide introductions to the right people. Perhaps even help facilitate contracts."

Tomlin's expression was unreadable, but he seemed to be considering the idea carefully.

"This will take time," he said finally. "And considerable funds."

"I am prepared for that," Hosteen replied. "I am not expecting this to be done overnight, nor will I be reckless with our coin. We will pay what is needed, but no more than what is fair."

Tomlin tapped his fingers against the wooden armrest of his chair. "If we're looking for builders and craftsmen, why not visit Duskendale and the nearby villages first? Lord Darklyn's former lands have many skilled workers, and with the fall of his house, there are sure to be men in need of employment."

Hosteen gave him an approving nod. "That is exactly my thought. Before you set sail, you will visit the villages that once belonged to House Darklyn. Speak with the people. Let them know that there is work to be found in the lands of House Mudd. Some will be hesitant, but others will be eager for new opportunities."

Tomlin was silent for a long moment, considering. Then he nodded. "I can do that, my lord."

"When you return from Braavos, you will visit those villages again," Hosteen added. "There may be men who did not accept at first but will reconsider when they see that we follow through on our promises."

Tomlin leaned back in his chair, a thoughtful look on his face. "And what of other Free Cities? Braavos will be the first stop, but if we do not find enough men there?"

"Then you will continue," Hosteen said. "Pentos, Myr, Tyrosh—wherever you must go to find the craftsmen we need. But Braavos should be our strongest option."

Tomlin gave a short nod. "Understood."

Hosteen studied him for a moment before adding, "You will have the authority to negotiate contracts and hire men, but you are not to waste coin. Choose wisely. We need quality, not excess."

Tomlin gave him a look that almost seemed offended. "I know how to handle money, my lord."

Hosteen allowed himself a small smile. "I know you do."

Tomlin glanced at Adden. "And what do you think of all this, steward?"

Adden sighed, rubbing his temples. "I think my lord is ambitious. But if we are to build something lasting, then it must be done properly. The Free Cities are the best place to find the talent we need."

Tomlin grunted. "Aye, well. Let us hope they don't bleed us dry before we even start."

Hosteen smirked. "That is why you are going, Tomlin. I trust you to make sure they don't."

Tomlin huffed but nodded. "Very well, my lord. I will make the necessary preparations."

As the conversation continued, Hosteen leaned back in his chair, his fingers tapping lightly against the wooden table. His mind was already working through the logistics of gathering the workforce needed for Oldstones, but one particular thought had been lingering in his mind—a way to acquire more laborers without relying solely on volunteers or hired hands.

"There is another source of labor we must consider," he said after a moment of silence. "Prisoners."

Both Adden and Tomlin stiffened at the word. Adden's weathered face twisted into a grimace, while Tomlin let out a sharp breath, shaking his head.

"My lord," Adden began carefully, his voice laced with disapproval. "I cannot say that is a wise course of action."

Tomlin crossed his arms. "I agree. Prisoners are dangerous men, untrustworthy. If they're criminals, they've done something to earn their chains. And if they're debtors or political prisoners, then their loyalty lies elsewhere. You would be inviting trouble into our lands."

Hosteen frowned, folding his hands in front of him. "Not all prisoners are dangerous men. Many are simply unfortunate. Debtors, petty thieves, men who had no other choice but to steal to survive. And even those who have committed crimes—many would rather work for their freedom than rot in a cell."

Adden sighed, rubbing the back of his head. "And what of those who are not so willing? What of murderers? Raiders? Men who know only how to take from others? You think they will suddenly become honest laborers?"

Hosteen exhaled through his nose. "I would not take murderers or the worst of the lot, but there must be some among them who could be of use."

Tomlin grunted. "And who would decide which prisoners can be trusted? You? Me? The gaolers who would rather be rid of them? We might end up bringing vipers into our own halls."

Hosteen remained silent for a moment, considering their words. He had thought the idea a practical one—utilizing a resource that was otherwise wasted. But he could not deny that the risks were considerable. He did not need another threat growing from within his own holdings, especially not when he was working to build something lasting.

"I still believe some prisoners could be reformed," he admitted. "But I see your concerns." He let out a breath, his gaze shifting between the two men. "Very well. We will not recruit from the dungeons."

Adden and Tomlin both nodded, looking relieved.

"Instead," Hosteen continued, "we will focus on the already agreed displaced men Tomlin, when you visit the villages under former House Darklyn's rule, you will spread word that there is work to be had in my lands."

Tomlin nodded. "Aye, that I can do."

Hosteen stood, signaling that the meeting was over. "Good. Then you are dismissed. May your journey be swift and fruitful."

Tomlin rose, giving a short bow before leaving the solar.

As the door closed behind him, Hosteen turned back to Adden. "This will work," he said with quiet determination.

Adden gave him a tired but approving look. "For all our sakes, my lord, I hope you are right."