Clink. The sound of gold coins in a pouch, striking the wooden counter resonated in the room.
Edric weighed it in his hand—heavy, honest currency. Across from him, a squire of House Staunton gave a short nod and turned to leave, bringing along with him a couple of sheathed blades and maces.
Edric tossed the pouch onto a stool with a metallic thud, wiped his hands on his apron, and turned—
The events at the squire melee had made him shine out and incited an arms race. This had tied his hands, as the steel couldn't be progressively sold at higher prices until it reached its true value as he had initially planned, though he still generated a great deal of profit.
Suddenly, a big shadow crossed the threshold.
He looked up. A Lannister? He thought. While he was happy, that a lannister came himself, a testament to the greatness of his craft, he was still confused. Many lords only sent squires or servants. That one had come himself—that was a statement.
"Ah—Lord Lannister. May I ask what has drawn you to my forge?"
"My brother Tywin is the Lord of House Lannister. I'm merely a knight. Ser Kevan Lannister." The man's tone was dry but not unkind. His cloak was crimson—not too bright—but trimmed in gold, lined with quiet authority. His face, all stern lines and calm weight, surveyed the smithy like a battlefield.
"Winning the squire melee. Drawing every noble eye. That earns attention—even mine."
"I've heard of your work." He continued. "I came to judge it myself."
Edric blinked. It hadn't exactly been intentional, but he liked the outcome all the same. "I'm honored, Ser Kevan. It's not every day that a knight of your standing visits my forge."
A flicker of something—approval, perhaps—touched Kevan's eyes. He glanced around again. "You set up shop not long ago, didn't you, Ser Smith?"
"Yes."
"And yet you have made all this?"
"I've found I can craft weapons and armor at an unnatural pace. Figured I should make use of the gift the Smith granted me."
Kevan nodded once. "Armor?... How long would it take for you to make a full suit of plate with that... Dark steel of yours."
Edric was already picturing it, the free publicity from a Lannister wearing his armor. "It would take a few days my lord. I've grown much better over the years.
Kevan looked him over greatly surprised. A master would take moons. Doubt settled in his mind. "Might I see your own armor? to have an inkling as to how my own would look"
"Of course." Edric hastily fetched his massive suit before placing it before the Lannister.
It was a big thing, as beautiful as it was dark and seemingly drinking light. The yellow brass hammer on the breastplate stood out boldly against the black metal, catching what little light the armor didn't swallow. It was a shame that such an impressive thing wouldn't fit him for too long, his body still steadily growing.
"That doesn't lool like gold," he spoke. "What is it?"
"Brass, Ser. We aren't all as wealthy as the Lannisters." he chuckled. "It will also stay on it longer as it is not as soft." He explained.
"I see."
"If you wish, I can give a quick draw to show you the general look of the armor."
"Please do," The brother of the lannister lord agreed.
Edric turned to his bench, already reaching for chalk, sketching a breastplate. He asked out loud, to pass the time. "Will you be in the melee, or the joust, ser?"
"At Harrenhal?" Kevan's mouth curled faintly. "In the Joust. What would men think of the lions, if they didn't participate in the biggest tournament in recent memory."
"I understand." The sketch was almost finished.
The drawing of the armor was elegant and imposing at the same time. The sigil of house Lannister had been layed on its breast plate along with two lion heads jutting out of the shoulder pads
Edric nodded approvingly, then paused, looking up from the sketch. "The price, though… it won't be small. Quite the contary in fact, my lord."
Kevan's gaze didn't waver, his eyed wandering over the sketch himself. Jaime talked about how Edric had shrugged every hit thrown at him like it was nothing, even from Gregor. "Name your price."
Edric held it for a beat, then smiled slightly.
"I'm sure a Lannister can afford it," Kevan added smoothly.
"One hundred gold dragons."
Hearing this, Kevan became surprised. It wasn't that he couldn't afford it, of course. He could arm one hundred men-at-arms of House Lannister with such an armor quite easily in fact. But a single suite of armor worth as much as another five-and-twenty suits combined was quite steep.
"One hundred?" he clarified.
"Yes, though you will not regret it."
Remembering the reputation garnered by the towering young man before him, he decided to accept nonetheless.
"Very well, one hundred. For that sum, I expect the very best. I will come take my armor personally. I trust that it will meet the standards you have set for me?"
"I assure you, Ser Kevan—I will hold myself to those same expectations. You will not be disappointed."
---
(A few hours later)
The hearthfire burned low in the hall of Harrenhal, casting long shadows across stone walls still scarred by dragonfire. The air was thick with the scent of ash and damp stone. At a heavy oak table strewn with parchment, Tywin Lannister sat in silence, quill in hand, eyes moving with the slow precision of a man used to commanding men and coin alike.
Kevan Lannister entered without flourish, his cloak still damp from the mist outside, boots leaving faint prints on the flagstone floor. He stood for a moment before speaking, waiting until Tywin finished the line he was writing.
"I visited the smith," Kevan said at last.
Tywin didn't look up. "And?"
"He is young. Turned a man not long ago. But there's something unnatural in what he does. The forge looked weird enough, but the work…" Kevan stepped closer, voice even. "He claims to forge faster than any man, and I have found no reason to doubt his words, what with all the weapons there despite him recently setting shop. The quality however— is far greater than anything from Lannisport as well."
At that, Tywin laid down his quill. His pale green eyes lifted to meet his brother's.
"Did you commission a suit of armor?"
"Yes, as per your directives."
"And how much have you paid him?"
"One hundred gold dragons. For a full suit, fitted and finished before the joust."
Tywin's expression barely shifted, but the silence that followed was deliberate.
Kevan continued, "It's dear, yes, but there's value beyond the steel. This Ser Edric—he's drawn a great deal of attention. Mountainsbane, former squire of Lord Robert Baratheon, best smith in the region, knighted by Ser Barristan the bold himself. Half the pavilions outside were talking of his weapons after the squire melee. Lords are whispering his name at every corner."
Tywin leaned back slightly, folding his hands. "Whispers don't win battles. Gold is spent better arming ten men than adorning one knight."
"Well, that might be true, but if every man has armor such as this, where is the prestige in owning it" Kevan admitted. "But this... this isn't simple vanity. The smith's talent is real, and if nothing else, wearing his armor is a declaration. There is no Valyrian steel armor, so why not settle for the next best thing."
Tywin was quiet for a time, his gaze distant, thoughts turning behind that fortress of a face. When he finally spoke, his tone was clipped.
"Once he is done, have him bring the armor himself, discreetly of course. We can't have Robert opposing us even if he has no reason to. I want to see for myself whether this blacksmith's work is worth its smoke. "
"I'll tell him," Kevan said. "He'll be pleased, I think."
"Whether he is or not is of no consequence," Tywin said. "But if his work is worth what you claim, We may have a use for him."
Kevan inclined his head. "Understood."
As he turned to go, Tywin called out softly, almost as an afterthought. "And Kevan."
He paused.
"You did well."
Kevan nodded once, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. Then he stepped back into the dim corridor, leaving Tywin to the crackle of fire and parchment.