"Master Tobho Mott?"
Aldric stepped into the cramped reception room on the ground floor, his eyes alight with a frantic, soot-rimmed energy. He gripped the armorer's hand with a strength that made the old man wince. "I have heard tales of the master smith of the Street of Steel for years. To have you within these walls is a stroke of fortune I did not expect!"
Tobho Mott stiffened, caught off guard by the Lightbringer's intensity. He managed to pull his hand back, his instincts telling him to drop to one knee, but Aldric caught his shoulder.
"None of that, Master Mott. I am no lord sanctioned by a crown, and I've little use for the scrapings of the capital."
Not a lord? Tobho's heart sank. The old fears returned—the whispers of his son Torred about traps and ransoms. He licked his dry lips, glancing toward Trick, the man who had escorted him from the city.
"Sir... Captain Trick and Ser Caden... they told me of a blade," Tobho stammered, his voice thin. "They told me that Flower-Cutter, a blade of Valyrian steel, was forged here by a master under your protection. I have traveled far to see such a man."
Aldric turned to Trick. "And what else did you tell the Master?"
Trick sipped his tea, unbothered. "At first, we told him the blade was a trophy. But the Master is no fool; he saw the grain of the steel and knew it was new-forged. Then he saw the Alliance Plows in the fields and followed the smoke to your door."
Aldric offered a slow, knowing smile. "You have the eyes of a true craftsman, Master Mott. The master who forged that steel is indeed within my lands. But he does not sit in the monastery; he is in the pits. Rest tonight. Taste our bread and sleep in a dry bed. Tomorrow, I will take you to him myself."
Once the smith had been led away by Gendry, Aldric turned back to Trick. "The gold?"
"Two thousand, six hundred, and seventy-three dragons," Trick reported. "We had more, but I left a hundred with Ser Caden in the capital. He'll need it to grease the wheels of the Gold Cloaks. I also gave a portion to the rural septs along the road—buying goodwill and news."
Aldric nodded. "Pass it to Friar John. Every copper goes into the Common Treasury. As the Dawn grows, we cannot have men skimming from the pot. Gold is a rot, Trick. It eats the soul faster than any fever."
"I saw that rot in the Great Sept," Trick agreed grimly. "High Septons draped in cloth-of-gold while the smallfolk outside ate their own shoes. They've forgotten the Seven."
"The Light has yet to reach them," Aldric said. "One day, I'll give their souls the scrubbing they require. What of the Sparrow? Did you speak with him?"
"He's moving," Trick whispered. "Infiltrating the lower ranks of the Faith. The current High Septon is old and blind with greed. The Sparrow thinks the time for a 'pure' church is drawing near."
"A blessing for the realm," Aldric noted, though his eyes remained cold. He asked of the capital, of the poison that had taken the boy-king.
"The streets say the Imp did it," Trick said. "A bowl of poisoned wine to avenge the North. Others say it was the Stark girl, Sansa, before she vanished into the night. Queen Cersei has her brother in the black cells. She's screaming for his head."
Aldric sighed, staring into the flickering hearth. He thought of Tyrion—the man who had shared his fire in the North. A hard road for a small man.
In the guest quarters, Tobho Mott walked beside his former apprentice.
"Gendry? How are you even alive, boy? I thought Yoren and his 'Wandering Crows' were put to the sword."
"Most were," Gendry said, his voice hard. "Yoren died defending us from Ser Amory Lorch. I was taken by the Mountain, then forced to serve the Northmen at Harrenhal. I escaped only to find the Brotherhood. They sent me here."
"You were lucky," Tobho sighed. "After Lord Eddard fell, the Queen ordered a culling of every bastard in the city. Even the babes in the cradles. If you'd stayed... well, you know who your father was."
Gendry shrugged, a bitter set to his jaw. "I have guesses. But I never saw him, and he never saw me. Why should I care for a ghost?"
"Robert was no king, and a worse father... but he was a kind man in his way. At least while he lived, the world wasn't a slaughterhouse. May he find rest."
"There is no rest for kings in the heaven I serve," Gendry said flatly.
Tobho didn't argue. He looked at the windowless stone walls. "This master... the one who reworked the Valyrian steel. Tell me, boy. Does he truly exist?"
"You'll see him tomorrow."
"You don't understand, Gendry. Valyrian steel is the sun of our craft. It is the pearl in the crown. I have sought its secret my whole life. Do you no longer strike iron? You look like a knight's squire now."
"I am still a smith," Gendry said, pushing open a heavy oak door. "But I am also an apprentice of the Dawn. This is your room. Sleep. The bells will ring for the common mess at sundown."
Tobho sat on the bed of fresh straw. The room was sparse—a table, a lamp, a simple wardrobe. It reminded him of his days as a drudge in Qohor, sleeping in the stables. He looked at Gendry, his eyes full of a fatherly concern.
"Listen, boy. Your Master... he has power, I see that. But a man who takes land without a king's leave is a rebel. When the war ends, the Iron Throne will bring fire to this valley. Don't go down with a sinking ship."
Gendry only smiled—a cryptic, confident expression that unsettled the old armorer. "Tomorrow, Master Mott. Tomorrow you'll see the ship we're building."
The morning mist was still clinging to the Gods Eye when Aldric led the party to the forge district. The air was already heavy with the scent of coal and the rhythmic thrum of the hydraulic hammers.
They passed the guards and entered the central forge. Gendry stepped forward, tying a heavy leather apron over his tunic. He picked up a rounding hammer and stood before the anvil.
Tobho Mott looked around, confused. He turned to Aldric. "Lightbringer... you said you would introduce me to the Master."
Aldric gestured toward the young man at the anvil.
"Gendry is the master who forged the Sun-Steel," Aldric said. "He is the one who reworked the Valyrian blades."
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