Chapter 65: 'Our Blades are Sharp'

POV: Thobo Mott;

Street of Steel, King's Landing.

Year 289, the eighth day of the third moon. Some three weeks before Balon Greyjoy declared his rebellion to all of Westeros...

The master smith had awakened an hour before dawn, as was his custom.

He was almost always the first to start and the last to finish in his forge.

For five years now, Mott's workshop had been in operation here in King's Landing. The first years were hard, there were already many established blacksmiths and forges in the kingdom's capital, but Thobo rolled up his sleeves and managed to make his work stand out.

He had invested a lot in this business.

His shop was the largest on the entire steel route.

His forge was built mainly of wood and plaster. Its upper floors towered over the street and Thobo lived above his shop. The double doors have an ebony and dam wood carving of a hunting scene. Two stone knights armed with red armor in the shape of a griffin and a unicorn guard the entrance.

The building itself was worth almost 1,000 gold dragons.

Thobo had recently turned forty and had been born and raised in the free city of Qohor, one of the nine free cities of Essos.

A city famous for its metalworkers. Some of the best blacksmiths in the known world could be found there. Thobo had studied and served his apprenticeship with the best master blacksmith in the city. At the age of twenty-five, having completed his apprenticeship of over thirteen years, he set off to travel to other cities. He had been to Braavos, Pentos, Tyrosh, Norvos, and Volantys, studying all the different styles of craftsmanship in that area. Finally, right after Robert's Rebellion, he came to Westeros and opened his forge.

Thobo wasn't afraid to call himself the best blacksmith in town... He was one of the few blacksmiths in the world, who could be counted on the fingers of one hand, who knew how to work and recast the steel of Valyria.

He guarded his secrets jealously. Most importantly, he hid from everyone the fact that he knew how to use magic, however minimally.

He had spent years studying the ancient and high Valyrian, searching for texts and knowledge that could enrich his own.

All the spells he knew were explicitly centered around his work. He had also gotten his hands on texts of forbidden and very obscure Blood magics... but he was not interested in learning them.

To him, his work was an art. An art that deserved respect and dedication.

All else was futile means.

In recent weeks, Tobho had been more excited than ever. A new challenge had presented itself at his doorstep about ten days before.

A mercenary from the North with a very dangerous, but polite and respectful look had entered his forge seeking his help.

The man wanted his slightly damaged sword reforged and refurbished.

A common job, one he would normally delegate to one of his three oldest apprentices.

However, the blade was unique. The finest worked non-Valyrian steel Tobho had ever seen.

He was certain that no one, not even in Qohor, could pull off such a job. At least, ''no one he knew''.

The undulating patterns of the metal were unique, a sign that the metal had been worked with a unique steelmaking technique.

Tobho didn't know how much time he had wasted observing and analyzing that blade. Time slipped through his fingers like water.

He could spend hours standing still, scrutinizing every millimeter of the metal.

All his attention was focused there...

That morning, too, the master blacksmith would spend experimenting with a technique capable of reproducing that masterpiece.

He knew it would probably be another day of failures, but he didn't care.

He would try again and again for years, wasting hundreds of gold coins on steel if he had to.

Gold, time, and hard work were prices he would pay without qualms. All for the sake of art.

In that short period, he had already managed to identify certain qualities of that steel.

Its main quality was the alternation of layers with a high carbon content, which gave the blade an aggressive cut, and a low carbon content, which gave it strength.

In short, the blade was both more flexible and stronger than any other common forged steel on the continent.

The metal worked in Thobo's hands was razor-sharp, light, flexible, and strong.

Only the steel of Valyria was superior, but that was mainly because of its magical qualities...

If Thobo could acquire the ancient forging spells that had been lost after the disaster at Valyria and apply them to that steel, he was certain he could produce the finest blade ever made by man.

After another couple of hours of work, the bell at the entrance rang.

The mercenary who owned that sword had just entered.

"Good morning, Master Mott." Said the figure with his face concealed by a velvet hood.

"Good morning, Ser! Please come forward and take a seat.

JANYRA!" Thobo thundered quickly, summoning one of his assistants to service the forge.

"Yes, Master Thobo! I'll be right with you!" A slightly shrill voice that sounded like it belonged to a young woman answered from upstairs.

Janyra, a thin, modest-looking assistant walked down the stairs with celerity. When she arrived, the girl immediately bowed to the two men and said:

"Greetings distinguished customer, Master Thobo... How may I serve you?"

"Janyra, immediately prepare my private study to receive our illustrious guest. I also want the best food and drink available to us to be served...

Right away Janyra! Don't look at me like that!

Just do what I ask you to do! The shop owner ordered, startling the young woman.

"YES, MASTER! Everything will be ready as soon as possible!" Janyra snapped, heading for the kitchens and pantries.

This was the first time in five years that Master Thobo had invited a customer into his study, so Janyra stood in shock and motionless for a few seconds.

"There was no need for so much trouble, Master Mott." The mercenary.

"No trouble at all, Ser.

Please, while you're waiting, take a seat on that couch, and I'll be with you as soon as I can." Mott.

About ten minutes later...

The mercenary, along with the shop owner, was enjoying an excellent red fruit juice and nibbling on a few pieces of spicy cheese dipped in golden honey.

Thobo's hospitality was noble.

"More juice, Ser?" Thobo.

"No master, thank you for the offer. I had already had breakfast this morning, so there was no need to bother so much.

Besides, I am not invested with the title of knight, Master...

If you like, you can call me Edward." Said the man with the physical features of the North.

"Alright, Edward...

I regret to inform you, my esteemed guest, that I have not yet been able to repair your sword.

I could fix it today, but I don't want to affect that work of art.

I can't guarantee you the kind of service that will maintain the

qualities of that blade, Edward." Said Thobo in an honest and sorry tone.

"I understand master... Don't worry, I expected a similar result." Edward.

"If you don't mind me asking, Edward... How did you manage to get your hands on such a weapon? Although damaged, I can tell that the blade is freshly forged... It must have been forged no more than a year ago.

Who is the master smith who created such a masterpiece?

Of course, you don't have to answer me, Edward. but know that I am even willing to pay an egregious sum for this information." Thobo.

"... You may obtain such information, Master Thobo...

And you won't have to pay any money for it." Edward.

"... I know the value of this information, Master Edward.

I mean you no offense, but since the age of four, an iron rule of this world has always been clear to me.

[No meal is free.]

So, Edward, name your price." Thobo.

"No offense, master Mott.

Forgive my lack of clarity of purpose...

"Before I name my price, let me give you a small gift.

Consider it a gesture to repay you for the hospitality you so graciously offered me." The man placed an unopened roll of paper on the table.

Thobo bowed his head in thanks and then prepared to read the offered document.

All of the blacksmith's attention was absorbed by the symbols and drawings inside the paper.

After about thirty seconds, Mott began to speak his thoughts aloud.

" This... Brilliant!... But yes, if folded several times, the impurities of the metal will be more evenly distributed...

However... " Thobo looked up at the man in front of him.

"... Yes master, you had the right insight.

That is only a small part of the original formula, of Damascus Steel." Said the man slightly amused by the pleading face the craftsman in front of him showed.

"...Damascus Steel?! That's the name of that metal?...Mmm This is the first time I've heard of it... What is the price of getting the missing parts?

If it is within my means, I will pay, I swear by the Black Goat." Mott.

"The price, master Mott... is {Loyalty }." Edward.

"Loyalty? Could you be more precise, master Edward?" Mott.

"Of course, I could, Master Mott...

What I am looking for... what my ' Master ' is looking for, is a man with your talent and devotion in the art of forging.

My master is willing to offer you all his secrets in his possession on Damascus Steel.

He will offer you wages worthy of your work, while also offering employment to any of your associates you choose to bring with you.

Accommodation, food, medical care, and security of the highest quality are guaranteed for all.

You will be provided with a huge forge and workshop, with all the materials, tools, and labor you will require. You will even be in charge of a team of master blacksmiths from all over the world.

Over 50 blacksmiths and more than three hundred apprentices...

Your task will be to instruct, monitor and research, and experiment on the noble art of forging...

You'll even have a team of researchers focused on studying and researching { Magic }. Nothing or at least 'nothing requiring human sacrifice' will be forbidden there.

But to achieve all this, Master Thobo Mott... the price to pay is loyalty.

Total and unquestioning loyalty to my master...

A ship is anchored in the harbor ready to leave at any time, should you accept.

Know, however, that when you reach that place, you will not be able to leave it for at least seven years.

... So, master,

now that you know the price. Are you still willing to pay it?" Edward concluded.

"... Is everything you told me the truth, master Edward?...

Won't the study of magic be prohibited?

... I must warn you that the cost of materials... "Thobo was interrupted.

"You have my word, master.

Here... these are for you.

A small advance if you accept. I hope this modest sum can give you proof of my master's financial means." Edward said, opening a small pouch overflowing with precious stones.

Diamonds, rubies, and sapphires the size of almonds slid onto the table.

Mott's eyes widened.

At a glance, those stones together were worth at least ten times the value of his shop...

About three hours later...

"Gendry!!! Gendry where are you?" Master Thobo called.

The almost six year old boy snapped towards his master.

"Yes, master Mott! Here I am!

Sorry, I was cleaning the workshop." Said a child hastily as he ran towards the man who was calling him.

"Never mind the lab!

Gendry, listen to me carefully.

Tell Will and Damond to gather everything, including your personal belongings.

Get your tools, clothes, and any raw materials from the storeroom.

Everything must be ready to be loaded onto a ship tomorrow at dawn." Gendry thought he had heard wrong, so he asked.

"Master, I think I..." Gendry was interrupted.

"Yes Gendry, you heard correctly.

Tomorrow we will leave King's Landing." Thobo.

"...B-But... Master, what about our orders for this month?

The weapons and armor from the shop?" Gendry.

" I'll leave the advances already paid to the City Guard.

Just leave that pile of faulty ironmongery here." Mott.

Gendry's eyes widened again when he heard the words 'Faulty Ironmongery'... Inside the shop, there were items including weapons and armor worth at least 400 gold dragons...

"... But where shall we go, master?" Gendry.

Thobo turned back to the youngest apprentice and protégé, and said simply:

"To Gauntlgrym, Gendry... We are moving to Gauntlgrym."

End POV.

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POV: Domeric Bolton;

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Torrhen's Square.

Year 289, the thirteenth day of the fourth moon.

Nine days after a certain 'Master' met in person a master smith from King's Landing...

The new Lord of Dreadfort, Domeric Bolton, the only son and direct heir of Roose Bolton, had just arrived at the gates of Torrhen's Square. It had taken him and his escort of fifty mounted men-at-arms less than ten days to cover over 400 miles. That was the distance between Dreadfort and Castle Tallhart.

Lord Eddard Stark had also requested military aid from the House of Bolton, and Domeric, like a good and faithful vassal, had answered the call.

His army, consisting of about 2,000 units: 800 cavalry, 700 pikes and spears, and 500 archers and crossbowmen were already on their way to Winterfell. Although the Northern network was efficient and functional, it would have taken his army, led by its first commander Locke, at least another three days to reach the Stark forces.

Domeric would join the northern army along with House Tallhart.

He had time to respond to the invitation of his childhood friend, Duncan.

More than three years had passed since their last meeting, although they had kept in touch through correspondence.

Domeric was mostly busy studying and carrying out his duties as a Lord. Too great a burden for a boy of his age.

Luckily for him, he had three good advisors in his hands: Adoamros, Maester Wolkan, and his mother Bethany Bolton-Ryswell. His aunt Barbrey, Bethany's younger sister, also helped him by visiting him two or three times a year when she could.

Domeric worked hard to learn everything a lord needed to know to manage his house and lands properly. The hardest part was of course acquiring the cruelty, ruthlessness, and firmness that every Noble must have to gain the proper fear and respect worthy of his title.

For the first time, about a year ago, Domeric took the life of a man with his hand. A marauder, thief, and murderer of his lands who had slaughtered a horse breeder and his family to steal a dozen horses.

When the moment came, Domeric's hand did not tremble... but he could not sleep that night.

He had written to Duncan for help, and his friend had returned the call. He had answered with a letter... a long letter with dozens of names on it. On that paper were written the names of all the victims who had died at his hands or on his direct orders.

One line that struck him the most was:

[ I have no regrets about doing what had to be done... however, many of their faces continue to appear in my dreams.

Almost every night, Domeric.

I can still hear the voices and cries of each of them... the only thing that silences those voices are the cries and cries of their victims for justice.

The day those voices disappear completely Domeric, is the day we too will have become monsters like those criminals].

About five minutes after a horn signaled the presence of Domeric's group...

"Welcome my honored guest.

It is my honor to welcome in person, the great, powerful, and feared, Master of Dreadfort, Lord of the Noble and Ancient House of Bolton, and Protector of the Hills of Solitude...

Torrhen's Square welcomes you, Lord Domeric Bolton." Said a voice belonging to a boy with white hair and green eyes. The tone and look of the speaker were serious... but if you paid attention, you could detect a trace of irony and mockery in his gestures and voice.

Domeric did not flinch, and stepping forward, replied in full tone:

"No, my Lord... The honor is mine alone.

This will be the day I tell my future grandchildren...

The day their Grandfather had the pleasure and honor of being greeted by Duncan Tallhart himself.

The rightful heir to Torrhen's Square, the hero of the North, the one who won the battle of the 'Snow Mill Massacre' at the tender age of five, who destroyed the fearsome 'Brave Companions' at the age of seven, the hero who led and won the battle of 'Golden and Silver Snow', the scourge of the Iron Islands, the one who defeated Lord Denys Drumm in a duel, and last but not least, the possessor of 'Red Rain'. ... the great 'Bloody Snow' himself... "

"... I think you forgot in your ovation, the duel with the commander of the 'Brave Companions'..." Bloody Snow.

"Ah, right! How careless of me!

I beg your pardon, my Lord Bloody Snow." Domeric replied, bowing like a guinea pig.

"... Ahaha... Sorry, brother." Duncan's sister Eddara, who had recently turned nine, couldn't hold back a laugh at the spectacle.

She, her twin brother Benfred and their cousin Elminster, were a few steps behind Duncan.

The two boys maintained eye contact for a few more seconds before they too burst out in laughter.

"Ahahaha! Welcome my friend!

Thank you and all your retinue for traveling such a long way.

Come... Let my family greet you as well." Said Duncan stepping to the side to advance his guest.

"Ahah! Thank you, 'my Lord'." Domeric advanced a few steps.

The first person who caught his eye was her, the girl who had first laughed at his little play, Eddara Tallhart.

A young girl of nine he hardly recognized. It had been four years since their last meeting, and Duncan's sister was only five years old then.

Light honey-brown eyes, silky long wavy hair combed to the side in an exquisite hairstyle, smooth pink skin free of blemishes, a thin, gentle nose, red lips that matched the proportion of her face perfectly. Eddara smelled of cinnamon and vanilla. The girl wore a pretty dress made of pink silk with streaks of wool and velvet. It was certainly one of Flint's high-class gowns from the Widows' Head.

Lady Lyessa Flint had recently launched new styles of gowns in the Westeros and Essos markets. Widow's Head was famous for its wool production. Now it was also famous for its workmanship.

No one could create better works of wool than House Flint.

Domeric knew that there, too, the hand of House Tallhart was behind it.

House Bolton, Stark, Mormont and Reed, were still the only Houses in the North that did not have an effective monopoly in some sector of the market. Even House Magnar on the island of Skagos had started trade-in ivory and pearl products.

Many Lords of Westeros began to request handles and grips for their weapons from House Magnar. It had become the fashion of the moment.

Of course, the best businesses remained those in the hands of House Umber and his Aunt Barbrey. With alcohol and salt, a real fortune was made. The year before, a foreign militia of a thousand mercenaries, hired by who knows who, tried to attack the production laboratories of Last Hearth... All this in the middle of winter... I don't even need to say how it happened.

Suffice it to say that the Umber didn't even think it necessary to bore their Lord Protector with such futility.

No one had yet dared to try their luck with Barrowton.

In the spring, House Bolton, Reed, and Tallhart were to begin collaborating on a project to produce medicines and herbs.

Even with the sale of several tons of iron and cast iron at a price above market value, House Bolton was falling behind many other northern houses in wealth and prosperity.

Not that Domeric cared that much...

From his point of view, the North had never been so united and prosperous before. Possibly House Stark and House Tallhart had already caught up with House Tyrell in gold and coffers.

The North was currently outselling the Reach.

While not the richest, House Bolton was still one of the most powerful Houses in the North.

But all the wealth in the North certainly couldn't buy the jewel that was in front of Domeric right now...

"Lady Eddara, it is a pleasure to meet you again.

My Lady, you are beautiful and radiant. Surely there must be some truth to the rumors of your brother Duncan's parentage.

Surely such an ugly, cold being could not be related to such a creature blessed by the Old Gods." Domeric said, making a perfect Lord's bow and gallantly kissing the hand offered to his by the maiden.

"HEY!!! How dare you?! Damn you!!!" Reprimanded a voice behind Domeric's back.

"Ahahahahah!... Thank you, Lord Bolton... Emm

You look very dashing yourself, my Lord. I too am pleased to meet you again." Said the young Eddara smiling and blushing at the same time.

The two youngs of noble origins stared into each other's eyes for a few moments of profuse and awkward silence... Both Duncan and Benfred were beginning to be quite annoyed by the situation.

"... I beg your pardon, my Lady, I really must let go of your hand now." Said Domeric making a small gesture of apology.

"No offense, my Lord... " Eddara.

"Lord Benfred, it is a pleasure to meet you again, my Lord." Domeric.

"... My pleasure, Lord Bolton..." Replied a wary and annoyed Benfred.

"And you little one, you must be Elminster, am I right?" Domeric.

"Yeess! Hello Bolton!" Replied an almost-four-year-old boy.

"Ahaha. Greetings to you too, my Lord." Domeric.

About ten minutes later...

"Now that I am protected by the Laws of Gods and Men, may I ask you a question, my friend?" Domeric.

"... My sister Eddara is already betrothed to Lancel Lannister, I'm sorry Domeric." Duncan.

"What? The son of Ser Kevan Lannister and nephew of Lord Tywin?" Domeric.

"The very one." Duncan.

"But Lancel is supposed to be what? Seven years old?!

You've already bound your little sister in a forced marriage to the Southern Lions?" Domeric.

"... Well, not exactly... The two will have to get to know each other first... Why am I telling you this?! It's none of your business, Domeric! Besides... I was hoping you might marry Sansa Stark in the future..." Duncan.

"Sansa Stark?! Pff... What are you trying to change the subject?

Why would Lord Stark give me his first daughter in marriage?

With Lord Eddard's ties to King Robert it's more likely she'll marry Prince Joffrey." Domeric replied, taking a sip of mead from the cup.

He and Duncan were facing each other in the penthouse study of the heir to Torrhen's Square.

"Trust me, Domeric. Soon, House Bolton and House Stark will be closer than ever.

As is a 'sword and shield' if you will. Ahahahah!

That was a good one, I'll have to write it down to rub it in my Uncle's face." Duncan.

"I have no idea what you're talking about.

What I do know, however, is that House Stark would have everything to lose and nothing to gain by forging blood ties with their poorest vassal... and for that matter, with the one who has been most in conflict over the last few centuries." Domeric.

"Mmmm... You have a point, my friend.

But how, doesn't your Aunt Barbrey give you adequate pocket money?

I'll have to scold her properly the next time I meet her.

Ahahahaha!" Duncan.

"I wouldn't laugh too hard if I were you... My mother came back from Barrowton not too long ago... I'm still not sure of the reasons, but the soon-to-be ' No Longer Widow of Barrowton' is angry with you, to say the least.

Not even the dungeons of House Bolton terrify me as much as my Aunt in a rage. Ahahahahah! " Domeric.

"... I know... I know Lady Barbrey's mad at me.

I still have her letter in that drawer. My hands were shaking when I finished reading it... But, uh...

I still have some leverage to use as a shield in the face of your aunt's sharp claws." Duncan.

"... If you say so...

So... If I'm not mistaken we're leaving tomorrow morning with your father's forces, is that correct?" Domeric asked.

"Yes, correct." Duncan.

"So we have plenty of time to talk about Bloody Snow's latest adventures...

I would say we start with your journey to Dorne, my lord.

Tell me, Bloody Snow...is the fame of Princess Arianne Martell's beauty and grace well deserved?" Domeric asked curiously, making himself comfortable in his chair lined with cushions and soft leather.

"... Well let's just say... that it's not exactly Arianne Martell that has impressed me the most during this long journey... " Duncan began to spill the beans.

About ten minutes of events were narrated later...

"AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! GODS!!...phew... I can't...

AHAHAHAHAHA!!... I can't breathe... Ahahahahaha!!... Help me... I'm choking!... AHAHAHAHAH!... "Domeric almost fell off his chair. The news of his crush completely unseated him, making the boy lose all semblance and demeanor worthy of his noble status.

"You can choke to death for all I care... " Duncan replied coldly.

Another three minutes of hysterical laughter later...

"Really Duncan? Really?!

Dacey Mormont?! And she put your butt on the floor too?!

Ahahahaha... no! help! I can't start laughing again, my ribs hurt." Domeric.

"No... The answer to your query, [Can I see Red Rain?], is no." Duncan.

"All right, all right. I swear I'll stop... phew...

Word of Lord Domeric Bolton." Said Domeric quickly.

"... If you're done with your nonsense, I'd like to start discussing business... That is if House Bolton would like to see a few more pieces of gold and silver among his coffers... " Duncan.

"... You have my full attention, my Lord. House Bolton is at your disposal." Domeric stood up and began to take his Lordly duties seriously.

About five minutes of introduction and pleasantries later...

"What? Why do you want to exclude House Bolton from the business of producing leeches and medicinal herbs?!

We had already reached a stipulated agreement between Lord Helman and my father, four years ago, Duncan...

I would remind you that Adoamros is still in the service of my House." Answered in a half angry and impatient tone, Domeric.

"I'm not cutting you out of the deal, Domeric... I am merely re-discussing with you the percentages of said trade.

House Tallhart will also lower its holdings to 2.5%." Duncan replied calmly.

"Going from a 33.3% to a 2.5% is not excluding for you?!

Why? Why do you want to leave 95% of the monopoly to House Reed?

This is at least a 250,000 gold dragon a year business!" Domeric.

"Because I want to propose something far more profitable.

Let House Reed have its income too, or they won't have the coinage to buy your products, Domeric." As soon as Duncan finished the last sentence, Domeric zeroed in and took a few moments to regain his composure.

"... Forgive my childish behavior... Please, continue." Domeric.

"Well... Now that your spirits have cooled...

Let me show you House Tallhart's gift for your twelfth birthday.

This is officially the first work produced by the forges of Gauntlgrym. Forged by the hands of master Thobo Mott himself...

I hope you are practiced with steadfastness and devotion in the art of the sword, Domeric." Duncan explained as he approached a piece of furniture on which rested an exquisite heart-tree wooden case, stained in the colors of House Bolton.

From the shape of the wooden craftsmanship, it looked like it held a longsword inside.

When Duncan placed the case in front of his friend, he asked in an amused tone:

"Domeric, could you please remind me how the ' Words' of House Bolton reads?"

"... Our Blades are Sharp. "

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