"That's more like it."
Daeren smiled as well.
Among the six Kingsguard, Barristan, Ser Arthur Dayne, and Ser Gerold the White Bull stood at the forefront. They had discovered the mysteries of Life Force long ago and mastered it before the others.
Prince Lewyn, Ser Jon, and Oswell Whent possessed roughly equal talent. Their progress depended entirely on opportunity and personal effort.
Prince Lewyn was the maternal uncle of the Prince of Dorne. After his nephew Prince Doran took power, he had continuously sent him Special Crops to support his training.
That was how he had succeeded several years ago.
Oswell and Jon were likewise of noble birth, both hailing from great houses of the Riverlands. Yet they had become Kingsguard, and in an era when Special Crops were extraordinarily scarce and impossible to obtain on demand, it was difficult for their families to provide much support.
Oswell had it somewhat better. He was extremely close to Rhaegar and regularly sparred with masters like Ser Arthur Dayne and Prince Lewyn, allowing his accumulated experience to finally bring about a breakthrough.
Jon had it much worse.
He lacked resources.
He lacked time. His father, Aerys, was a nervous wreck who required the Kingsguard's protection around the clock. Even with the three of them taking shifts, there was never enough time.
Daeren had timed it precisely.
Now that Ser Jon was at his side, he had time to train.
Having heard that Oswell Whent had mastered Life Force, he would find it difficult to refuse these timely Special Crops.
"Prince, I shall set out at once."
Ser Jon knew he could not accept such benefits for nothing, so he rose and went to fetch a horse.
Daeren chuckled. "Remember, deliver the letter to Lord Hand personally."
Ser Jon hesitated for a moment, then untied two swift horses, leaving one behind for the prince to ride.
Man and horse departed, leaving behind only crushed leaves beneath hooves.
Daeren watched his retreating figure, his smile fading. "I hope you're a good man, Ser."
He had exposed his secret in exchange for a test of character.
If his teacher Tywin knew, he would certainly scold him for being foolish.
The human heart could not be tested.
"But I urgently need someone I can trust."
Daeren rose and picked up the slightly burnt rabbit.
The test was simple: would that letter first appear in his father Aerys's hands, or in the hands of its intended recipient, Tywin?
One was a prince second in line to inherit, favored by the King. The other was a powerful minister feared by the King.
The two privately maintained a relationship as teacher and student, and had even plotted to obtain a fief.
Surely that information was enough for Ser Jon to imagine a grand drama of a second son usurping the realm.
"Let's go fishing at the beach."
Daeren shook his head with a smile, showing no sign of learning his lesson.
The contents of the letter were unimportant.
If it reached his teacher Tywin first, it would prove Ser Jon was loyal to him. From then on, he would be one of his own people.
If not, it would prove the man was a dutiful and loyal knight.
Given the man's knightly honor, he would never reveal his secret.
Half an hour later.
The Red Keep.
The empty Throne Room was dim and gloomy.
Aerys sat upon the Iron Throne, leaning forward as he stared at the letter in his hand, an unreadable light flickering in his eyes.
Below, Ser Jon kept his head bowed low.
The atmosphere was heavy and frozen.
Looking down, Tywin stood expressionlessly to one side of the hall.
On the other side stood two ministers who had no idea what was going on.
After a long while, Aerys suddenly raised his head and burst into laughter. "Tywin, come see what kind of surprise my good son has brought me."
His laughter broke the oppressive silence.
Tywin's expression remained stern. Dressed immaculately in black, he stepped toward the Iron Throne.
The other two ministers stood opposite him and keenly noticed Lord Hand's gaze sweep over them.
"Your Majesty, what surprise might this be?"
Tywin asked blandly.
Aerys ignored him and turned to call out, "Grand Maester, come read it aloud for Lord Hand."
Grand Maester Pycelle hurriedly raised his head and shuffled forward on trembling legs.
"Would you like me to help you?"
Varys pretended to support him, though his words carried a hidden barb.
Before the arrival of a certain Littlefinger, no one in the Targaryen royal court aside from the Grand Maester, who despised eunuchs, would provoke Varys's hostility.
"No need!" Pycelle snorted and quickened his pace.
Varys smiled faintly, then shifted his gaze between King Aerys, Lord Hand Tywin, and Ser Jon of the Kingsguard, his expression deeply meaningful.
Prince Daeren's letter had not been handed to the King first by Ser Jon, but had instead been delivered through Lord Hand.
Interesting, wasn't it?
"Does the Master of Whisperers have something to say?"
Tywin's instincts were sharp, and he immediately fixed his gaze on the fat, pale eunuch.
Varys's round face stiffened as he hurriedly gave an awkward smile. "No, my lord."
He had no desire to court death and become the next example of Castamere.
Tywin turned back indifferently, though he had already marked the fat, pale eunuch as someone to be wary of.
"...the farm is well... grateful for Father's mercy... hoping to offer what little aid I can..."
Pycelle squinted with his cloudy old eyes and slowly read the letter.
Its general meaning was:
The estate was vast, the farm was thriving, and Daeren was deeply grateful for his father's generosity and care. He had specially acquired an item from distant Pentos as a modest offering to repay his father, helping him rule from the Iron Throne more effectively and win the love of the people, and so on...
It was full of flattering words, each one scratching exactly where it itched.
After Pycelle finished reading, he wiped the sweat from his brow with his burlap sleeve, thinking that Prince Daeren truly remained as consistent as ever in his style.
"My son was not raised in vain. He knows gratitude and repayment."
Aerys was overjoyed. "The letter says there is also a blueprint for something that can make a spinning machine ten times faster. Take a look and see whether it can be made."
"Hm?"
Only then did Pycelle pull a blueprint from the envelope.
Prince Daeren truly deserved to be called an excellent artist. The blueprint was vividly drawn, every component rendered in rich detail.
It was a spinning machine.
However, unlike the hand-cranked spinning machines popular among the nobility, this one was more compact. It had three additional spindles and a foot pedal at the bottom to drive the wheel.
A three-spindle spinning machine!
Its inventor was Huang Daopo, the famous textile worker and technological reformer of China's Northern Song dynasty.
The wife of Daeren's mentor in his previous life had owned one at home, an old item from her younger days.
Westeros was a feudal society with extremely underdeveloped productive capacity.
Commoners could scarcely afford to weave cotton or wool; even the cheapest coarse hemp cloth had to be worn sparingly.
To make a single roll of cloth, common women had to spend a long time saving up hemp thread, then weave it by hand into finished fabric.
Noblewomen had it far better. They generally wore dresses of wool, silk, and similar materials. They could buy finished garments or have tailors make them.
Still, most women of noble households learned needlework from childhood.
It was regarded as a virtue.
Hand-cranked spinning machines had also spread from Essos across the Narrow Sea long ago. They quickly became popular throughout Westeros and turned into a sought-after item that noblewomen rushed to buy.
By now, more than half of all noble households owned a hand-cranked spinning machine.
Of course, most had bought them more for appearances than practical use.
The three-spindle spinning machine on Daeren's blueprint added two more spindle shafts on top of freeing both hands from the hand crank.
Compared with a hand-cranked spinning machine, it was considerably more advanced.
He did not expect to make money through textiles. After all, productive capacity was what it was, and there were not enough materials to weave.
But they could make finished products and sell them to noble lords.
He could treat it as a chance for his old father to show off and enjoy himself before the nobles of the Seven Kingdoms.
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