"Father, will you wear my favor?" Sansa asked, slightly lisping the words in an endearing way. She held out a pale Winter Blue silk kerchief embroidered with the Stark direwolf, and Ned solemnly accepted it, tying the kerchief around his upper arm. Sansa had become as enamored with Southern tales of chivalry as she and her brothers were with the exploits of Northern heroes. Of late, she had become obsessed with the idea of heroes wearing a fair maiden's favor and the good fortune it would bring to them.
"Of course I will," he told her. "With this, I'm sure I'll be victorious."
"I know!" Sansa brightly told him. She squeezed him tightly.
"Be safe and fight well, Ned," I said, raising my voice slightly so that the onlookers could hear. "Go; defend the North and bring justice to the reavers who dare attack us!"
"I will, my lady," he replied, also pitching his voice enough to be heard. Turning, he mounted his horse and said, "Mount up! We ride for Deepwood Motte!"
Sansa and Jon huddled into my sides, and Robb stood resolutely, looking like a fine little lord already, as we watched the men trot out of the courtyard. I turned to Karla, Robb's old wetnurse who I'd hired on as a sort of nanny and governess for the children. While she wasn't the strongest reader, she knew her letters and sums well enough to teach children the basics, and much like Old Nan, she was a veritable font for the tales and traditions of the North.
"Karla, would you mind the children for a time?" I asked. "I have some business to see to."
"Of course, milady."
"What do you think, milady?" Corin asked as I examined the new goods he and his men were making. The day Ned had rode off with his troops, I'd gone to the steelworks and started planning for war. In the month since then, I'd come up with some solutions.
With Mikken and some other blacksmiths offering advice, I'd hastily set up a sort of lean-to, little more than a sturdy thatched roof over the work area, and ran a long belt from one of my waterwheels to a hastily turned drive shaft. The shaft had cams, oblong lobes at regular intervals, that I used to lift heavy trip hammers, a dozen of them, all in a line. The hammers were shaped into specific 'stamps' that fit into special molds that acted as a base. Hot sheet steel would be fitted over the mold, then the hammer would be engaged. The force of the hammer would press the sheet steel into the mold, though this usually took two heatings to finish.
Using a simple breastplate and back plate from Mikken's shop, I'd made a die of the proper shape. With the rolled sheet steel that we had been using to make the road scrapers, the workers would lay the heated steel over the form and use the trip hammer to pound the heated steel into place on the form. Once it was adequately shaped, any excess or overhang could be cut away. The work was rough and a bit uneven compared to a master blacksmith of Mikken's quality, but it got the sheet steel into roughly the right shape. A little refinement and polishing made it serviceable enough.
With a breast and back plate properly formed, they were strapped together at the shoulder and waist with leather belts and buckles. The design was much like the breastplates used in the late 16th and early 17th centuries as soldiers started wearing less and less armor. That alone wouldn't do in the current state of warfare, though, so the simple cuirass was supplemented by spaulders for the shoulder, rerebrace for the upper arm, and vambrace for the lower arm and elbow. To save time and effort, the arm armor was made of overlapping bands of sheet steel. Leather belts would be fed into simple buckles on the backside of the plates to hold the pieces together while providing flexibility. While not as good as solid plate over chainmail, and a skilled warrior could get a sword or spear tip under the overlapping bands, for most purposes it would be sufficient.
A similar arrangement of overlapping plates hung over the front and back of the waist. A decent pair of cuisses and greaves would cover the upper and lower legs respectively. Again, this arrangement wasn't as good as plate, as it left many gaps that could be exploited by skilled warriors, but it was certainly better than the equipment most of the levies had. Hell, some of the household guards would benefit from this armor.
The final piece, the helmet, was a kettle helm with a slightly elongated point at the crown, much like a bascinet, to help deflect overhead blows. An extended visor was riveted to the front brim, some simple articulating ear guards could be tied under the chin, and a banded mail neck guard hung down the back of the neck. Since the neck guard and ear guards could be easily cut from sheet steel, and the helm itself pounded into shape with a specially-shaped trip hammer, they were relatively easy to produce and provided adequate protection.
Marq, one of the castle guards, was wearing the entire ensemble. I had to admit, since many different features of the armor were cherry-picked from different times and different designs, to my eyes it looked like a hodge-podge collection some larper would spend half a decade buying piece by piece. 'Or,' I mused, 'like a cheap set of Almain rivet armor.' Though, given the necessity of speed in its construction, it would be somewhat labor-intensive to replace any leather straps that got frayed or cut, given how frequently the leather was likely to need replacing. Still, my workers could churn this stuff out much faster than a conventional armorsmith, and with the quantity of sheet steel I could make, much cheaper too.
"It looks… silly," I admitted with a snort. "Still, it covers most of the important parts."
"I'll admit it isn't nearly as fine as your lord husband's armor, but it's much better than what the levies usually get," Corin said, defending his work.
"I'd feel much better if it was backed by chainmail," Mikken critiqued with a frown.
"Well, if you can figure out a way to make lots of chainmail fast and with little labor," I retorted, "I'd be happy to oblige you."
I had an idea that might work; draw hot steel into wire, then eventually push the wire through a hole that would curl the steel up into little ringlets, like a pasta machine. When the rings were the right size, they could be cut with a large sturdy blade, like those old-fashioned paper cutters. While this would allow me to churn out lots of rings, I couldn't think of a way to quickly and easily rivet them together; that part would remain a very labor-intensive process. Butted mail, or unriveted links simply squeezed closed, was completely insufficient against piercing weapons, like a sword tip or an arrow. Sure, my mass-produced plate worn over top of it would help negate that weakness, but not eliminate it. I'd have to think about it further.
In the meantime, thick quilted gambesons made with wool, linen, and felt would have to suffice. Given the layering, it would even be pretty resilient.
"Point taken, milady," Mikken acknowledged my point with a gracious nod.
"Still, with the workers we have at hand, we can make a dozen sets in a sennight," Corin pointed out. "And once the new waterwheel and trip hammers are built, we'll be able to make a lot more."
"Assuming we can make enough sheet steel," I countered. "I'm building another set of rollers, but it'll take some time."
"Still, it's a start, milady."
"It's the banded mail slowing things down, milady," Mikken told me. "It takes a time to cut it all into shape and belt it together. If you just made the breastplates and helms, you could equip the men much faster."
"But a thick woolen gambeson alone won't stop arrows," I hummed. "We might be able to skip the cuisses and greaves, and maybe even the vambraces, but the spaulders and rerebraces are necessary when arrows are raining from the sky!"
"Yet those are the most intricate parts," the old blacksmith said, shaking his head.
"Well, we'll just have to make do."
"Armor aside," Corin interrupted. "What about the halberd?"
Again with Mikken's help, we'd come up with a mold for casting halberd heads as a single piece. Troughs guided the molten steel into the buried molds, and we could cast dozens with a single tap of one of the blast furnaces. Once they were cast and tempered, workers would sharpen the speartip and axe blades on a grindstone, file off any burrs or rough edges, and give the blades a polish and a good oiling. Later, a pole-turner would fashion hardwood hafts and secure the halberd heads to them.
I had initially wanted to include buttspikes, but I'd elected to forego that addition until later; as it was, we still had perfectly functional, deadly weapons with a decent chance of getting through armor. And, in some kind of spear wall or pike wall formation, would be quite resistant to a cavalry charge, if not as effective as a true pike formation. After all, I couldn't make the halberds too long or they'd be too unwieldy to swing when necessary. I'd hoped to make up for the lack of a shield with the plate armor I was making.
"The halberd looks fantastic," I complimented him. "It looks well-made and strong, though I'd have felt better if we could have included a spike in addition to the hook."
"The hook would have reduced the spike's ability to puncture armor, milady," Mikken said, shaking his head. "Or we'd have to make the spike longer than usual, which would have made it more prone to breaking."
"I know," I admitted with a sigh. "Still, these halberds should be able to deal with all but the most heavily armored opponents, right?"
"Of course," Mikken nodded. "And any they can't deal with through brute force can be hooked and pulled down from a horse, or off their feet, and swarmed over until someone finds a weak spot in their armor."
"Or they surrender," I added.
"Or that," he replied.
"Anyway, everything is coming along nicely," I complimented the pair of them. "Corin, send the full sets up to Winterfell as you have them made; I'd like to start outfitting the castle guards first."
"As you wish, milady."
"Your Grace!" Jon shouted, pounding his fist into the wooden door. "Your Grace, urgent news has come!"
A loud laugh, followed by a smack, a squeal, and giggling was the only answer the Hand of the King received. Again, he slammed his fist into the door, causing it to rattle in its frame.
"Dammit, Robert! Get your ass out here!"
"Fine, fine!" Robert called. There was a grunt, a feminine groan of disappointment, and the sound of something metal and hollow clattering to the ground. Robert jerked the door open, still starkers, and scowled at his Hand. His eyes were bloodshot and partially unfocused; Jon suspected the man was drunk. As usual. "I was deep in the middle of something, Jon. What's so bloody important you had to interrupt me?"
"Balon Greyjoy has declared himself King of the Iron Islands, Robert," the older man replied, scrunching his nose in distaste for Robert's… activities. "I've received news that the Iron Fleet attacked Lannisport; they burned the Lannister fleet and sacked the city before withdrawing."
Robert's eyes sharpened and he stood straighter. "So, it's war, then?"
"Aye, it is," Jon nodded.
"Call the banners," Robert ordered. "And make sure you tell Stannis to get his ass in gear as fast as he can! We need the Royal Fleet to make the trip around Dorne. And send a letter to the Reach; we're going to need their ships, too."
"I'll get started right away, your Grace," Jon nodded, satisfied.
"Good, good," Robert murmured, a distant look in his eyes. "Armor. I'm going to need my armor. And where's my hammer?"
Muttering to himself, Robert ducked back into the room. Despite not receiving a proper dismissal, Jon turned and hurried away; he had a lot of letters to write.