Chapter 8: Iron in the Hills - Part 1
POV: Corwyn Darke
The great hall fell silent when I finished speaking.
Thirty faces stared back at me—farmers, laborers, craftsmen, the core workers who'd proven themselves over the past months. They sat on benches arranged in rough rows, cups of morning ale forgotten, processing what I'd just proposed.
"Profit-sharing. The concept doesn't exist here. I might as well have suggested they could fly."
"Let me make sure I understand, my lord." Old Torren spoke first, as he often did when peasants needed a voice. "You're saying that if we work the mines, we keep... part of what we dig?"
"Forty percent. Split among all workers based on hours contributed." I stepped away from the raised dais, moving closer to them. No lord's chair for this conversation—I wanted eye level. "The remaining sixty percent covers tools, safety equipment, overhead, and my share as the landowner. But nearly half of every piece of iron ore we pull from those hills goes directly to the people who pulled it."
Murmurs rippled through the crowd. Some looked excited. Others looked suspicious. A few seemed to be waiting for the catch.
[ PROPOSAL: PROFIT-SHARING MINING CONTRACT ]
[ WORKER INCENTIVE: +40% MOTIVATION ]
[ TRADITIONAL MODEL VIOLATION: SEVERE ]
[ ESTIMATED RESISTANCE: MODERATE ]
Maester Harlan stood at the hall's edge, stylus moving across his tablet. Recording everything for posterity—or evidence, depending on how this went.
"My lord." A younger man raised his hand—Willem, one of the migrants from Stonebrook. "What's to stop you from... changing the terms later? Once we've done the hard work of opening the mines?"
Fair question. I'd expected it.
"Contracts." I held up a sheaf of parchment. "Written agreements, signed by both parties, witnessed by Maester Harlan. They'll specify exact percentages, payment schedules, and conditions. Break them, and you can take your complaint to any court in the realm."
Shocked silence. Lords didn't sign contracts with peasants. Lords gave orders and expected obedience.
"You'd put that in writing?" Willem's voice cracked slightly. "Against yourself?"
"I'd put it in writing because it protects both of us." I distributed copies to those who could read—perhaps a quarter of the room. "You get assurance that I'll honor my word. I get assurance that you'll honor yours. Everyone knows exactly what they're agreeing to."
Torren had acquired one of the contracts, his lips moving as he worked through the text. His expression shifted from suspicion to confusion to something approaching wonder.
"This says... this says if anyone gets hurt in the mines, they still get paid while they recover."
"Injured workers can't work, but they still need to eat. Their families still need support." I let that sink in. "A lord who throws away hurt workers is a fool. He loses their loyalty, their skills, and the productivity they'd provide once healed. It's bad business as well as bad morality."
"Modern workplace safety concepts, meet feudal economics. Let's see if you can coexist."
POV: Ser Gareth Stone
Gareth watched from the doorway, arms crossed, saying nothing.
The lord's proposal was madness. Sharing profits with commoners? Written contracts? Safety provisions? Every noble in the Crownlands would call Corwyn a fool, a revolutionary, or worse.
But the expressions on those peasant faces told a different story.
They weren't just interested—they were transforming. Men who'd spent their lives being told they were worth less than the tools they used were hearing that their labor had value. Real value. Measurable, compensable value.
"He's not just hiring workers," Gareth realized. "He's creating believers."
When volunteers were called for, ten hands shot up immediately. Then fifteen. Then twenty. More men than the mines could possibly need, all clamoring for the chance to participate.
Lord Corwyn—Cole, as Gareth had started thinking of him privately—handled it with practiced ease. He explained that initial operations would be small, only ten workers to start, but expansion would follow if the first phase succeeded. Those not selected now would have priority later.
The rejected volunteers didn't complain. They congratulated those chosen. They asked when the next round would happen.
"He's built an army without drawing a single sword."
After the hall emptied, Gareth approached his lord. "That was... unusual."
"Unusual good or unusual bad?"
"I haven't decided yet." Gareth studied the young man—really looked at him, past the noble clothes and confident bearing. "Three months ago you could barely hold a sword. Now you're restructuring the entire economy of your domain."
"Is that a complaint?"
"An observation." Gareth paused, choosing his next words carefully. "The other lords won't understand what you're doing. They'll see it as dangerous. Destabilizing."
"They'll see it as successful." Cole's voice held certainty that bordered on arrogance—but also something deeper. Conviction. "When Duskhollow's mines produce more than their neighbors', when our peasants are healthier and more productive, when our treasury grows while theirs stagnates... they won't care about the methods. They'll care about the results."
"And if they try to stop you before you achieve those results?"
"Then I'll have to be successful faster." Cole smiled grimly. "Speaking of which—the mines won't clear themselves. Gather the volunteers. We leave at first light."
POV: Corwyn Darke
The old mine entrance was exactly where the System had marked it.
I led the group of ten volunteers up the hillside path, Ser Gareth bringing up the rear with two guards. The morning was cool, mist still clinging to the valleys below, and the men's breath puffed white in the thin air.
[ IRON DEPOSIT #1 ]
[ QUALITY: HIGH ]
[ ACCESSIBILITY: MODERATE (COLLAPSED ENTRANCE) ]
[ ESTIMATED YIELD: 12,000 UNITS ]
The numbers glowed in my peripheral vision, overlaying the physical reality of tumbled rocks and rotting timber. The mine had been sealed decades ago—intentionally, it seemed, with deliberate cave-ins blocking the main shaft.
"Right here." I stopped at a section of the blockage where the System indicated weakness. "The collapse isn't natural. Someone closed this mine on purpose."
Willem stepped forward, examining the rubble with a practiced eye. "Why would anyone seal a working mine?"
"Good question." I picked up a chunk of rock, turning it in my hands. Rust-colored striations ran through the gray stone—iron ore, visible even to untrained eyes. "Whatever the reason, they didn't finish the job. The ore's still here. We just need to reach it."
The work began.
I'd explained safety protocols during the walk up—no working alone, regular rotation, anyone who felt dizzy should stop immediately. The men had listened with varying degrees of skepticism, clearly wondering why a lord cared whether miners got headaches.
Now, as we cleared rubble in coordinated teams, those protocols proved their worth. One man nearly stepped on unstable footing; his partner caught his arm before he could fall. Another started coughing from dust; he was immediately rotated to outer clearing duty.
"Basic workplace safety. Revolutionary concept in a world where peasant lives are expendable."
Three hours in, we'd cleared enough to see the original mine shaft. The System highlighted structural concerns—beams that needed reinforcement, sections where the ceiling might collapse without support.
[ MINING OPERATION INITIATED ]
[ SAFETY RATING: 68% (IMPROVABLE) ]
[ CURRENT WORKFORCE: 10 ]
[ PRODUCTION: 0 (CLEARING PHASE) ]
"My lord." Edric appeared at my elbow, face streaked with dust. I'd brought him along over Gareth's objections—the boy needed to see how operations worked from the ground up. "One of the men found something."
I followed him deeper into the cleared section, where Willem and another worker crouched over a section of exposed wall. Even without the System's overlay, I could see what had caught their attention.
A vein of iron ore ran through the rock like a dark river. Rich. Pure. Valuable.
"Gods above," Willem breathed. "Look at it."
[ HIGH-QUALITY IRON VEIN DISCOVERED ]
[ PURITY: 87% ]
[ ESTIMATED VALUE: 400-600 GOLD DRAGONS (WHEN EXTRACTED) ]
I kept my expression calm, but inside, satisfaction bloomed warm and fierce. This was it. This was the foundation.
"Mark this location," I said. "We'll focus extraction here first. Willem, you're in charge of this section—choose your team, set up a rotation, and start documenting yields."
"Me?" Willem's voice cracked. "I'm just a farmer."
"You were a farmer. Now you're learning to be a foreman." I clapped his shoulder. "Unless you'd rather go back to pulling weeds?"
He straightened, something new in his eyes. Pride, maybe. Or just the realization that he mattered.
"No, my lord. I'll handle it."
POV: Maester Harlan
The first ore samples arrived at the keep that evening.
Harlan examined them in his study, turning the rough chunks in candlelight, comparing them against reference materials from Citadel texts. The quality exceeded his expectations—rich iron ore, easily smelted, suitable for everything from farm tools to weapons.
"He was right. Again."
The lord's instincts—or knowledge, or whatever mysterious source guided his decisions—had proven accurate once more. The mines everyone believed exhausted held wealth that could transform Duskhollow's fortunes.
A knock interrupted his analysis. Lord Corwyn entered without waiting for invitation, still dusty from the day's work, a small leather pouch in his hand.
"The smith's assessment?"
"Excellent quality, my lord. Perhaps the best iron I've seen from local sources." Harlan set down his samples. "The real question is volume. One rich vein means nothing if we can't extract it efficiently."
"The men are motivated. The vein is accessible. With proper organization, we could be producing marketable quantities within weeks." Cole dropped into a chair, exhaustion visible in his posture despite his steady voice. "I need you to start reaching out to potential buyers. Smiths in King's Landing, merchants along the Kingsroad. Get a sense of market prices and demand."
"Selling directly? Without a factor or trading house?"
"For now. Later we'll establish more formal arrangements." Cole pulled a small pouch from his belt, upending it onto Harlan's desk. Gold dragons clinked against wood—more than Harlan had seen in one place in years. "Initial payment for the volunteers. Based on hours worked, as promised."
Harlan stared at the coins. "You're paying them already? Before we've sold anything?"
"I'm paying them immediately because I said I would." Cole's voice held steel. "Trust is built on kept promises, Maester. These men took a risk following me into an abandoned mine based on my word alone. The least I can do is prove that word is good."
"And every man who receives payment will tell his neighbors. Who will tell their neighbors. Who will tell..."
"You're building something," Harlan said slowly. "Not just a mining operation. You're building... I'm not sure what to call it."
"A new way of doing things." Cole stood, collecting the remaining coins. "One that values people as partners rather than tools. One that shares success instead of hoarding it." He paused at the door. "Is that so strange, Maester?"
"In my experience, my lord?" Harlan met his eyes. "Strange doesn't begin to describe it."
Cole smiled—a real smile, tired but genuine. "Then let's make it familiar. One mine at a time."
He left. Harlan sat alone with the ore samples and the lingering echo of revolution.
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