Chapter 382: A "Destined" Encounter?
Melisandre spoke in Valyrian, and Egger understood nothing except the name "Thoros." Meanwhile, the shopkeeper who had retreated to the Night's Watch's side spoke to him with a face full of smiles: "Lord Commander, I am Tobho Mott. Your messenger already delivered the word... you've come to the right man. I dare not speak for all of Westeros, but I am certainly the only one in King's Landing who can reforge Valyrian steel!"
So this was the primary target of his trip, but Egger had no heart for conversation at the moment—his attention was fixed on the man in red.
Whether out of pure defiance toward Melisandre or consideration for the others present, Thoros answered in the Common Tongue: "The Lord of Light has sent me an oracle through the flames, Lady. He told me that we must hurry to the Wall to take part in His final battle with the Great Other... such an epic war naturally requires the finest equipment. So, we came here to scavenge."
Tobho Mott was not having it. Emboldened by a group of Night's Watchmen who looked capable of a fight, his voice grew much louder: "What epic war? Utter nonsense! Even if you were going to the heavens to slay the gods themselves, you cannot seize the gear I've reserved for the officers of the City Watch!"
But no one paid the shopkeeper any mind. Both parties sized up the opposing leaders with mutual surprise: Egger and Melisandre stared at the young, golden-red-haired noble beside Thoros, while the other side scrutinized the Lord Commander who had appeared before them as if falling from the sky.
After a moment, the young noble stepped forward toward Egger with a smile, bowing with one hand over his chest: "An honor to meet you here, Lord Commander. I am Beric Dondarrion, Lord of Blackhaven. These are my friends: Anguy 'the Archer,' who won the archery tournament during the Hand's tourney for Eddard Stark; Luke 'the Reliable,' a man of great strength and skill with the blade; and the boy watching the horses outside is my squire, Edric Dayne."
"Lord Dondarrion, it is a pleasure," Egger returned the courtesy, briefly introducing Nina and Qyburn while his inner mind was in turmoil. Beric Dondarrion? The Beric who was killed N times but wouldn't stay dead in the original timeline? He looked nothing like that image, but then again, in this timeline, he likely hadn't been killed even once yet. "I hear from Thoros of Myr that you intend to go north to support the Night's Watch?"
"Indeed," Beric said, looking spirited and full of vigor. "Lord Commander, we are practically brothers-in-arms by fate. We were just worrying about how to leave King's Landing for the North when we coincidentally ran into you. Surely... your ship has room for five more?"
Of course there was room. A few thousand pounds of saltpeter in jars might look like a lot, but it was far from filling the Blackbird. But for him to come to the Street of Steel to invite Tobho Mott and run into the very Red God believers and warriors from the original plot!
Was this a coincidence?
Only a fool would believe that.
Could it be that the mysterious R'hllor—having learned of his plan to melt the sword and his specific itinerary—had informed Thoros and Beric's group through the flames to wait for him here today? Was the god providing him with an expert archer and three elite warriors to maximize the power of the Lightbringer arrows?
That was the optimistic guess. There was a darker possibility Egger dared not dwell on: was the sudden idea to melt the sword even a product of his own free will?
Was it possible that R'hllor had planted the idea in his subconscious, guided him to Tobho Mott's smithy, and then gave Thoros an oracle to buy gear at the best smithy in the city just so the two parties would meet and the final missing pieces of the war effort would hitch a ride back to the Wall?
The theory explained everything perfectly!
He had lied to Melisandre, saying R'hllor instructed him to reforge the sword into ranged weapons. Could it be... that it wasn't a lie, but an accidental truth?
Like the classic brain in a vat problem, how was he to know if R'hllor was already influencing or even controlling his thoughts?
The thought sent a chill down Egger's spine, causing him to daze for several seconds, missing the next few words from the Lord of Blackhaven.
"My Lord?"
He hurried back to reality: "Oh, of course, no problem. The Night's Watch welcomes any able-bodied man from the Seven Kingdoms willing to help!"
"Lord Commander, let's get one thing straight: we're only going to help you fight the dead," the boyish archer Anguy added. "Not to join the Watch. I haven't had my fill of women yet; asking me to vow never to wed is the same as asking for my head."
To the side, Melisandre and Thoros had begun arguing in the Common Tongue. The Red Priestess questioned why the drunkard Thoros had failed the mission set by the High Priest, while the latter retorted unceremoniously that he had his own way of serving R'hllor. Melisandre's haughty expression and aggressive tone made it clear she outranked him in the priesthood, but Thoros's attitude suggested he didn't care much for her status.
"Wait..." The shopkeeper had hoped Egger would back him up. Seeing the two groups hit it off and become allies in a few sentences, he looked at Egger with concern. "Lord Commander, you seem a reasonable man. Pray, talk to your friends. These are the King's orders; I cannot simply let them go."
The reliable Luke glared fiercely at the shopkeeper: "We are going north to face the enemy of all mankind, to end the Long Night and protect every resident of the Seven Kingdoms. Using gear from your shop is an honor! If you keep stalling, wait until the dead march south to swallow the realms of men; then see if the City Watch in your armor can do what the Night's Watch does!"
Egger recovered from his chilling thoughts, suppressing his wandering mind with difficulty. He looked at the gear his new companions wanted: polished and well-crafted, indeed quite good, but essentially just a few sets of high-end armor. The batch Tywin had donated to the Night's Watch was no lower in quality, and after outfitting his inner circle, he still had a dozen sets left.
"Forget it, everyone. Mr. Mott still has to do business in King's Landing; he has his difficulties. Let's not trouble him. Once we reach the Gift, I will open the armory and let you choose gear that fits."
With this promise, he settled the dispute. Pressing down his unease, Egger proceeded with his planned business—he asked Tobho Mott if he was willing to follow him north to reforge an unnamed Valyrian steel sword for the Night's Watch.
"Sigh, I am willing, but why did you not bring the sword?" Tobho sighed. "It's not that I won't go north to do the work, but I must state this upfront: as the finest armorer in Westeros, my appearance fee is very high. We must agree on the price here and now."
"Name it." Egger never expected everyone to be so noble as to provide free service just because the Watch claimed to be fighting White Walkers. He was just a civilian blacksmith; no matter how good his skill, how high could the price be? A thousand gold?
"You've decided to melt a Valyrian steel sword into as many arrowheads as possible," Tobho Mott hesitated before naming his price. "Regardless of the sword's size, I want one-tenth of the Valyrian steel as payment. How about that?"
"One-tenth of the Valyrian steel?" Beric laughed from the side. "A fine price indeed. Lord Tywin would likely pay a hundred thousand gold dragons for any Valyrian sword, yet spent half his life unable to find a seller... You, a blacksmith, want a fee worth ten thousand gold for one job? That's more than the taxes I collect in Blackhaven in a year."
"A complete, original Valyrian sword is worth more than a hundred thousand, because besides being a weapon, it is a priceless collectible! But once melted, it is merely a material of exceptional quality. As for how much a tenth of that material is worth, I won't judge until I see the size—but it's certainly not worth ten thousand gold," Tobho did not respond directly to Beric's mockery, instead speaking with professional gravity. "But my Lord, when you chose to trust me with reforging Valyrian steel, did you consider this: I learned the art across the Narrow Sea many years ago. With so much time passed, would I not be out of practice?"
What kind of businessman questions his own skill and trashes his own brand? Egger was curious—he actually hadn't doubted the man, not for lack of thought, but because the man had successfully forged Oathkeeper and Widow's Wail in the original plot. As a transmigrator, he trusted the man subconsciously.
"It's not too late to ask. Are you out of practice?"
"I can answer you with certainty: no!" the shopkeeper said decisively. "Not because of my memory or talent, but because I practice relentlessly! Valyrian swords are rare, but small items like Maester's chain links, pocket daggers, and rings appear on the black market from time to time... When I first paid my fees to the master in Qohor, he warned me: I might go my whole life without ever being asked to reforge a true Valyrian steel sword. Despite that, I still spend several hundred gold dragons every year to buy scraps of Valyrian steel just to reforge them over and over until the steel finally fails and loses its properties. I summarize my failures and think on how to avoid them. A veteran raised at such great expense... waiting countless years just for the day he can serve you and your sword. Think of that, and tell me... is one-tenth still 'expensive'?"
So it was just a roundabout way of bragging, but the man's words were reasonable. Egger didn't feel any disgust; instead, he was somewhat moved by this craftsman spirit. It was like the Art of Dragon Slaying—spending time, energy, and money to learn and practice a skill for which a dragon might never appear in a lifetime. This hopeless vigil had a subtle, shared resonance with the spirit of the Night's Watch: how many brothers had guarded the Wall for a lifetime against White Walkers who, until now, had never come?
If those words were true, Tobho's fee was indeed worth the price.
"Reforging Valyrian steel arrowheads?" Anguy the Archer became interested. "Seven hells, I've never used a Valyrian weapon. Lord Commander, if you're willing to give me ten of those arrows once the forging is done, I'll show you why I won the Hand's tourney!"
"If your archery is as godly as Lord Beric says, I will consider it," Egger replied with a smile. He then turned to Tobho, his voice grave. "Forget one-tenth; I'll give you one-fifth! But with two conditions: first, if there is failure or loss during the reforging process, it comes out of your fifth first—meaning if the loss exceeds one-fifth, you work for free. Second, your payment must first be used to deal with the White Walkers and the Night King; I will pay you after the war is over, within a year at the latest. If the arrows are shot and I recover less than a fifth, I will compensate the difference in gold."
Egger's conditions were quite harsh, but for a craftsman of Tobho Mott's caliber, money was no longer the primary goal of his life. To reforge a true, complete Valyrian sword—the experience itself was a massive reward.
The shopkeeper answered without hesitation: "Deal! But allow me to prepare... I am unfamiliar with the conditions in the Gift. Reforging Valyrian steel requires a complete and high-quality forge, and a great deal of unusual equipment."
"Queenscrown has all the facilities you need; what's missing I can borrow from Winterfell. As for equipment, you practice constantly—do you not have it ready? I told my messenger to make it clear: either agree and come with me immediately, or... I'll just keep the sword as an heirloom."
This wasn't a negotiation tactic or a threat. Egger had truly decided. Reforging Dark Sister into arrows was a whim with no real logic; he wouldn't waste even a single day on this side-move during this critical hour.
If he wanted to use the influence of the prophecy, he could simply rename the sword Lightbringer without melting it, and the effect wouldn't be diminished in the slightest.
Tobho Mott pursed his lips. Under the gaze of the crowd, he struggled internally for a dozen seconds before finally deciding he could not let this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity slip away. "Very well. Allow me a moment to settle the shop's affairs and hand over the work, then I shall depart immediately. Gendry! Go bring out the small chest from under my bed, then prepare two horses. We're going to the Wall!"
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