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"There is also Lord Tywin to consider as well," the Master of Coin spoke up. "The crown owes the Lannisters a not so inconsequential sum of gold. Should anything happen to Lord Tywin's eldest son, there is a good chance Lord Tywin will not only call for a repayment of the debt, but also a prohibition on future loans. And those would be the lightest of reactions from the old lion, I fear."
"We can just dismiss him from the Kingsguard," Renly shrugged. "There are others who would be more than qualified to take his place. I can even give you a few recommendations."
That idea though was quickly shut down by Ser Barristan, who was standing just behind the King. "No man has ever been dismissed from the Kingsguard, Lord Renly. Our oaths are for life."
"And a dismissal from the Kingsguard would allow Lord Tywin to reinstate Ser Jamie as his heir of Casterly Rock," the Master of Whispers, Varys, stated correctly. "Such a move could be seen by many as a reward, not a punishment."
"Bah," Robert growled. "Can't kill the fucker, can't dismiss him from the Kingsgaurd, and we can't send him to the fucking Wall or Tywin would ensure he'd never make it there and he'd be in Essos before we knew about it. Hmm…Sorcerer. Back on Pyke, you left a lasting message on the squids. I think the same message needs to be sent here. That gold haired fuck kept silent for thirteen years…One lash for each year of his silence. I'll see to his punishment personally just to make sure the message is received. And if the queen bitch argues against it, I'll use a fucking iron whip. Anything else?"
"There is one more thing, your grace," Jon Arryn said, stopping Robert who was in the process of getting out of his chair. "One of the prisoners taken by…Lord Nox is a Septon. And I've received word from the High Septon wishing for his release into the custody of the Faith so that they might deal with him."
Nox would've rolled his eyes had he still the ability to do so. "In other words, the Faith doesn't want it to become known to the people that one of their own was supporting a slavery operation and was caught while balls deep in a young boy's ass. He broke several laws, most of which carry a death sentence. Why should the king even think of handing the man over when he was caught red handed?"
His comment drew a hard look from the Hand of the King. "Lord Nox, I understand that matters of the Faith might be handled differently in your homeland, but this is Westeros. Special consideration must be given to those who have sworn themselves to the Faith."
"Why?" Nox questioned, focusing on Jon Arryn. "Men and women of the Faith need to be held up as an example to the people. Not an exception. You hand him over, and the Faith will probably make him do some menial form of 'penance' by praying or whatnot and then send him away from the city with little more than a slap on the wrist and a 'don't do this again'."
"Lord Nox speaks true," Stannis nodded, throwing his voice behind Nox. "The man was caught in the act of raping a child while also supporting the operations of slavers. The law is very clear on what must happen now. Death or the Wall."
"He broke his oaths to the Faith with his actions," Ned added in, nodding with Stannis. "The punishment is clear. No matter be he noble, of the Faith, or smallfolk. The sentence is the same."
The Hand quickly looked towards the rest of the Small Council, trying to find some sort of support. But he was met with blank looks from both Varys and Baelish, neither of whom seemed particularly interested in the subject, and an unsure look from Renly. Seeing he was outnumbered, Lord Arryn sighed and backed down. "I will speak with the High Septon personally and try to…calm the fallout from this."
"Bah, if that fat fuck has any problems with a rapist and slaver losing his head, he can come to me directly," Robert scoffed, slapping his hand down on the table and rising, prompting everyone else to rise to their feet as well, "Enough counting fucking coppers for one day. Tell Payne to get his sword ready and get some fucking spikes set as well. We'll be decorating the walls with a few new heads tomorrow."
With the King's departure, the rest of the Small Council quickly filed out of the room. Renly was the first to leave with Loras right behind him, followed quickly by Baelish and Varys. Jon Arryn was slower to leave, and as he did Nox could sense the uneasy look he gave him as he passed.
"Lord Nox, Lord Stark. A moment if you would," Stannis said as Nox and Ned prepared to leave as well.
Sharing a look with Ned, the two men sat back down at the Small Council table with Stannis. "I have given the offer you presented to myself and my daughter back on Dragonstone serious thought, sorcerer," Stannis said emotionlessly. "And I have decided to take you up on the offer to train my daughter in the ways of your…magic. And I would have her leave with you and Lord Stark when you leave King's Landing."
'Another new acolyte, and one that is powerful. Excellent.' Nox thought, resisting the urge to smirk yet another piece started to fall into place. "As you wish, Lord Stannis. I will ensure that your daughter receives the best education in the ways of the Force."
"I will also send word to my daughter Sansa in Winterfell to begin preparing chambers for Lady Shireen as well," Ned added in. "I assure you, Lord Stannis, that while your daughter is in the North, I will care for her as if she were my own daughter."
"See that you do, Lord Stark," Stannis said, rising to his feet. "Lord Nox, I expect regular updates on my daughter's progress under your tutelage."
"And you shall have them," Nox reassured the man. "There is one more item I would wish to discuss with you. A matter of trade. There is a mineral that I am interested in obtaining. And I believe Dragonstone, due to it's volcanic nature, is an ideal location for mining of the mineral."
Stannis looked more than slightly intrigued. It was no state secret that Dragonstone offered little in forms of trade. So to discover that his island potential had a resource Nox wanted was tempting. "And what mineral do you wish to trade for?"
"Sulfur. Or rather brimstone as you might know it by," Nox answered, which garnered little more than a raised brow from Stannis. "Other's may not find much use for it. But I have a few projects that I believe it can be of use in."
Stannis thought the offer over for a minute before nodding his head. "I will send a raven to my steward to begin the mining process. Further details on the value can be discussed once the first shipment has arrived in the North. If that is all, I would spend this remaining time with my daughter. Lord Stark. Lord Nox."
Once they were alone, Ned sat back in his seat clearly deep in thought. "I will have to adjust how we will be traveling back North. We did not set out with the mindset that we would be taking a child back with us to the North."
"More than one," Nox countered, getting up from his seat and approaching the window that overlooked the sprawling landscape that was King's Landing. "There are a number of Force sensitives in this city. Some with only a glimmer of power. Others with a decent amount. And a select few that could potentially rival your own children, Stark. And it would ill-behoove us to leave such talent wasting away in this place without proper guidance."
Ned's impatience at wanting to return home started to seep out of the man. It was a feeling that Nox could understand. After all, he too was anxious to return to the North and to his wife. And they weren't the only ones. The other North lords and lady that'd accompanied them from the North were starting to grumble about wanting to return to their keeps. With or without the Starks as traveling companions.
"You have until the end of the week to find them," Ned said as he got up from his seat. "If they are not located and with us by then, then they will be left behind. And try to limit how many you bring back with us. With your aid the resources at Winterfell have grown substantially, but they are not limitless."
"Of course," Nox agreed, prompting Ned to nod back and then leave the room. Once alone, Nox allowed his head to roll back as he turned his body towards the back of the room. "I'm not one that enjoys being spied upon, Lord Varys."
There was a moment of silence before a small section of the wall moved, revealing a passageway which the Master of Whispers used to reenter the room. The man was a wall who kept his face impassive and his emotions well in check, but it was easy enough to tell that Varys, while he didn't despise Nox, was very much uneased when the two were together.
"Forgive the intrusion, Lord Nox," Varys said, his hands folded together and masked by the sleeves of his robes.
"If you truly hadn't meant to intrude or if you were sorry for it, you wouldn't have been spying on the three of us in the first place." Nox countered, returning to the Small Council table and motioning for Varys to retake his seat as well.
Smiling, Varys took the offered seat while taking care to arrange his clothes in a very specific manner as he sat down. "Ah, but I am the Master of Whispers. If I have no whispers to hear or speak of, then I would be a very poor Master of Whispers."
"True," Nox conceded. "Yet are you lucky that the discussion with Stannis and Ned was not supposed to be one that was kept quiet. Had it been, then I would've snapped your neck in your hiding place and left you to rot."
To his credit, Varys didn't seem phased at all by the threat. No doubt he received similar threats almost daily considering his position in the court. "I see you take after Lord Stark in your hatred of the game. A mentality that I fear will do you no good should you wish to venture outside the North, my friend."
"Is it any wonder as to why Lord Stark doesn't care for your 'game'?" Nox asked. "He lost his father, brother, and sister to the game. And as for myself…well. What you call your 'game' or 'great game' or 'game of thrones' or whatever you wish to call it, I have another name for it. Child's play."
That got Varys's attention. "You find the game…childish?"
"In comparison to the strata of Sith politics that I am used to dealing with? Yes. You may think you know what it means to play 'the game' against one like myself, Lord Varys. But I can assure you, you don't."
"I see," Varys responded, leaning back. "If I might, my Lord, may I pose a riddle to you? One that I often like to ask those who are players in the game. A sellsword stands between a King, a rich man, and the High Septon with a sword in hand. The King orders the sellsword to cut the other two men down and promises him positions of power. The rich man offers the sellsword double his weight in gold to cut the other two down. And the High Septon promises the man eternal peace with the gods in the afterlife should hecut the other two down. Who does the sellsword kill?"
Smirking, Nox could only shake his head. "Again, child's play, Varys. It's a trick question. The sellsword will take the offer of the one who aligns with his values the most. Or rather, power resides where men believe it resides. And each person you ask will give a different answer, and their answer will give you an insight into how their minds work. A clever way to set the game board to favor yourself, Varys. But as I said, mere child's play when compared to Sith politics."
Varys's face remained blank as he gave him a single nod. "Well spotted, Lord Nox. Perhaps your skill in the game will offset Lord Stark's lack of willingness to play."
"Time will tell, Varys. Time will tell," Nox stated as he got up from his seat and made to leave. "Oh, and by the way, Varys. You might want to get that boil on your inner thigh taken care of before it festers and ruptures. And if you want to keep them from coming back, I advise that you try and loose a bit of weight or wear something that will prevent your thighs from rubbing against one another."
Varys froze for but a moment before he nodded his head. "I see…Well played, Lord Nox. I have a feeling that your position in the future will make the game quite interesting indeed."
'Child's play, Spider. Simple child's play,' Nox thought as he walked out of the Small Council chambers, leaving the Master of Whispers to wonder just how he managed to know something of such a personal nature that Varys had only discovered this very morning.
Ignoring the sounds of whores applying their trade, Petyr Baelish the Master of Coin to 'King' Robert Baratheon first of his name, made his way through his largest establishment without acknowledging any of the whores or patrons who crossed his path. Entering his own private sanctum, Petyr immediately shut the door behind him and rest his back against the door. It took a conscious effort on his part to raise his right hand and unclench his fist, and as he did so he noticed four small punctures in the palm of his hand that'd been caused by his own nails. An effect of having to bear sitting in the same room as Stark and Nox. The only reason why he hadn't attempted to kill either of the two was because he knew it would be a fool's errand. The wolves and the sorcerer had just survived an assassination attempt and had uprooted a conspiracy amongst the Maesters, which meant that both were on edge and on careful watch for any assassination attempts. They would die, but not yet.
Pushing himself off the door, Petyr crossed his lavish office and dropped heavily into the feathered stuffed chair he'd purchased from Pentos for a King's ransom. Many would, and did, envy his position. He had come from next to nothing and acquired a fortune to rival even the greatest of Houses in Westeros. He was own of nearly seventy-five percent of the brothels in King's Landing alone. And he was Master of Coin. Yet still, all his accomplishments had only a single goal in mind. Reaching a point where he could have his beloved Cat by his side. And now, now that goal was gone forever. And all his accomplishments and plots and plans meant next to nothing.
'Fucking Starks,' Baelish fumed, taking a breath as his anger, now free to roam, began to get the better of him. 'It was bad enough when Brandon Stark was supposed to take my love away from me. And with his death there was hope that Cat would be mine…but then Eddard Stark took her from me on the command of Hoster Tully who sold her like a fucking broodmare instead of the queen she truly was. Then she was forced to rot away in that cold hell for years while pumping out wolf pups. And now, right when my plans were about to start, she gets taken away from me! Again!'
The day Petyr learned of Cat's death was the day that he died as well. All of his hopes and dreams for the future meant nothing if Cat was not by his side. 'Stark, Nox, Tully, Baratheon, Arryn, Lannister…hell even the Tyrells I hold responsible for her death!' Petyr thought, his anger mounting as he thought of each of the 'Great Houses' that were responsible for taking his Catelyn away from him. 'They will all pay. I will make sure of it.'
Leaning back, Petyr began playing out several fantasies in his mind revolving around the destruction of each of the Great Houses of Westeros. Of the country falling into pure and unadulterated chaos. And of him climbing the ladder of the chaos to reach the top and watch as the realm that'd scorned and taken everything from him burned to dust. But as pleasing as the fantasy was, he knew that there were many obstacles that stood in his path. Namely the Old Lion, the Queen of Thrones, the Crippled Prince, the Old Falcon and the most dangerous of the lot…the Northern Sorcerer. Only a fool would take on even of those five let alone all of them. And he was no fool. He would not 'face' them. Instead, he would arrange it so that they faced each other. And destroyed each other.
And he was already on his way to achieving that goal. While the wolves and the sorcerer might have brought a time of 'justice' to King's Landing, they did so like a battering ram. And in doing so made more than a few enemies. And power enemies at that. All he needed to do was to stroke the fires of their hatred to the point where it became an inferno that non could control.
And while he set the foundation in place, he would have time to solve the riddle that was the removal of the sorcerer. If even half of what he was heard was true, the man was a one-man walking army unto himself. Conventional means of defeating him would not work. His fall would not be on the battlefield. But he did have a weakness. His wife. A common girl. One that could be exploited in much the same manner as had already happened. And despite his prowess, the man's magic was not infallible. Trant's death, while unfortunate because it meant that he had lost an easy pawn that was close to the King, did bring about one useful piece of information. And that was that the sorcerer could not read minds directly, but he could sense a person's desires or their hate.
With that in mind, Petyr had been working very carefully to keep himself completely calm and devoid of all emotion whenever he was within the vicinity of the sorcerer. And it seemed to have worked. The blind sorcerer seemed completely ignorant of his existence even though he was standing just a few paces from him. Was it truly that simple? That one needed to simply abandon all emotion to become a blind spot in the man's vision? He doubted that it was that simple, but it was a start none the less.
Grabbing a quill, ink and his private book that he hid in a compartment under his desk, Petyr began writing down a list of all of those that would gladly see to the sorcerer's demise. 'Once the sorcerer falls, the rest will fall with him,' he thought with a smile as he began writing down the enemies the sorcerer had made in his years since coming to this land. 'It shouldn't take much to get them to work together towards the common goal of ending the sorcerer and his line permanently. And who knows, if Nox is as slightly capable as I believe him to be, then he will be able to take down more than a few of my other advisories on his was down.'
The Street of Steel within King's Landing was without a doubt a place that earned its name. The street ran from Fishmonger' Square and climbed up one of the three hills, Visenya's Hill, that the city was built on until it reached the steps of the Great Sept of Baelor and was littered with smith's and metal workers for nearly its entire length. And while some might not notice the hierarchy in place, it was obvious to Nox that the better the smith, or rather the more expensive the cost of one's services, the higher up the hill they were placed. And like many of the streets scattered throughout King's Landing, the Street of Steel was a hive of activity with so many people milling about that one could hardly take a few steps without bumping shoulders with someone.
Not that Nox had that problem as the denizens of King's Landing seem to be doing all in their power to stay out of their way, though not all had the same reason for doing so. He could feel genuine awe and admiration from some with a brave few even working up the courage to come forth and show him respect by bowing to him or offering words of blessing. But for most, their fear drove them from his path. Feared what he was, what he could do and what he had done since arriving in this city. While he could, and did, enjoy the simple no-nonsense lifestyle of the North, it was refreshing to once again be able to part a sea of people just by walking down a street.
It'd been over a week since they'd first arrived in King's Landing, and to say that their arrival had shaken things up would be an understatement. The day after Nox had berated Renly and Loras in the Small Council chambers all of the prisoners that'd been caught during the raiding of the slaver's bases along with Grand Maester Pycelle and the fallen Kingsgaurd Meryn Trant were brought out before the people of King's Landing and executed by the King's Justice, Ser Ilyn Payne. The foreign slavers didn't put up any resistance as they were forced down onto the block, they knew the price of being caught and knew that it was futile to try and escape their fate. The same though could not be said for the former Kingsguard, Pycelle or the Septon that'd been caught with the slavers.
Pycelle had broken down and was begging for his life and swearing his undying devotion to the crown even as he was being forced down onto the block. His pleas fell on death ears as Payne calmly stepped up and, with a nod from the King, severed the old man's head from his shoulders with a single blow. Trant had been next, and while the man had managed to keep a bit more dignity than Pycelle, he still cried out one last plea for mercy from the King before his head was removed. The last to be executed was the Septon that'd been caught with the slavers. And it was his death that caused more than a slight stir amongst those present to watch. The man went to his death with his head bowed low and mumbling a constant stream of prayers that was only ended when Payne's sword sliced clean through his neck.
The executions were quickly followed up by Ser Jamie Lannister being brought out before the people. He was stripped of his armor and secured to a post in the middle of the courtyard in front of the Red Keep. Then with all to see and hear, Robert loudly proclaimed that Jamie had known about the wildfire caches stored away by the Mad King and had for thirteen years kept quiet on the subject, putting everyone who lived in the city at risk. He then proclaimed that as punishment for his inactions, Jamie would be lashed thirteen times, once for every year of his silence. And perhaps most surprising, Robert declared that he would be the one to hold the whip. Despite his lack of physical activity, the King was still deceptively strong. And he proved it then as each last of the whip against Jamie's flesh was enough to tear it. And once the last lash had been delivered blood was freely flowing down his back and legs and Jamie could barely hold himself upright and had to be dragged by to the Red Keep by no less than three Lannister guards with the Queen immediately trialing behind them, her eyes burning with hatred as she glared at the King while she passed him by.
After the executions and whipping, things started to settle down slightly. All traces of the slavery operation within King's Landing were gone. The barrels of wildfire were still being disposed of at night by taking them far outside the city and igniting them, a process that would take months or perhaps years considering just how many barrels of the shit was beneath the city. Which meant that, with those two tasks handled and being handled, Nox had quite a bit of time on his hands. Time which he intended to use wisely, hence why this very morning he had awoken his apprentice at the crack of dawn and told him that they were going hunting in the city.
"Master," Jon said from his place just behind him as the two were nearly to the top of Visenya's Hill with the Great Sept of Baelor coming into full view. "I – I can sense…something nearby. No. Someone. A force sensitive. But, untrained."
"Good," Nox nodded, knowing exactly what it was that Jon was sensing seeing as how it was why the two were even out here in the first place. "You're learning. Now watch and learn further as we collect our newest acolyte."
Following one of the many force presences he'd sensed within the city, Nox led the two of them to the last blacksmith shop on the Street of Steel just before the towering Great Sept of Baelor. The shop was massive in comparison to the ones that came before, showing off the wealth and prestige of this smith. The double doors were composed of weirwood and ebony if he had to guess and were carved with an intricate scene depicting a hunt. And on either side of the entrance were two stone knights fully suited in stone armor that were designed to mimic the likeness of a griffon and unicorn.
Pushing open the doors, Nox felt the heat of the smithery wash over him as the steady rhythm of a hammer on metal reached his ears. "Welcome, milords," a young girl who was standing behind a counter spoke up the moment the two entered the shop. "If you are here to request an order, then I – I – by the Seven! You – One moment, milord!"
The girl all but bolted from her spot behind the counter and disappeared behind a curtain leading deeper into the shop. "Um, does that happen often, Master?" Jon asked, looking more than slightly confused at the curtain the girl disappeared behind.
"Only when one's reputation proceeds them," Nox answered as he made his way towards one of the display walls were a variety of daggers, short swords and pieces of armor were put up for sale.
None of the weapons or armor displayed were of remarkable quality, they were good, but they were clearly not this smith's best work. Those pieces were no doubt kept safe until they could be brought out to be shown off to potential customers who could afford the man's best work. Though, despite the quality of the weapons displayed, there was one that caught his eye, so to speak. On the surface it didn't look special, merely a well-made dagger with a hand-length straight edge and no identifying markers. But it was what couldn't be seen that drew his attention to the dagger. The faintest of traces of the Force laid within the cold metal blade. Echoes of both the light and the dark side of the Force.
"Lord Nox, this is a great honor to have one such as yourself as a patron. I am the master of this forge, Tobho Mott."
Turning his attention from the dagger, Nox focused on Tobho Mott. The man was a quintessential blacksmith. A black velvet coat hung over his shoulders and open just enough to reveal the heavy leather underneath that protected him from the heat of the forge. His bald head and face were spotted with sweat and soot while his greying beard was singe in sporadic places from the embers of the steel. "Master armor," Nox nodded in greeting, "Your reputation proceeds you. And from what I can see so far, it is a reputation that is indeed well earned."
"Thank you, my Lord. Your reputation proceeds you as well, my Lord. King's Landing has been all abuzz since you're and the North's arrival to the Red Keep. But enough flattery, this is a shop, my lord, and I am a busy man. I doubt you have need of a sword, given the tales of the blade you carry. Are you in need of new armor? The people compare you to the Stranger himself… Hmm, I could fashion a set of armor in its likeness for you. Yes, armor so terrifying and realistic that children would run in fear just at the sight of you."
"Tempting, especially seeing some of your work here," he said, motioning towards a midnight black pair of gauntlets that were covered in red markings and spikes.
The offer was tempting. After all, Sith armor was more than just a means of defense. It was also meant to intimidate one's foes. And while the armor he wore upon arriving in this world would not show its age for some time yet, he was interested to see just what this man could create for him.
"You know quality when you see it, my lord," Mott said, picking up the gauntlets and holding them out for Nox to inspect. "I am the only armorer you will find in King's Landing and perhaps all of Westeros who can add such a tint to the metals without using paint. The pigments are infused during the forging process and will never fade until the metal does. But such work does have it's costs my lord. But I can guarantee you that the cost will be well worth my work."
"Good," Nox nodded as he ushered Jon forward. "This is Jon Stark, newly legitimized son of House Stark and my Apprentice. I want to see what you can do for him on a limited timetable. Gauntlets, vambraces, reembraces and perhaps even shoulder pauldrons so long as he can keep full mobility of his armor movements. And seeing as how he's still young and has room to grow, they'll need to be easily adjustable in the future. "
Jon's head snapped towards him. His eyes wide in shock while Tobho merely grinned. "Ah yes, word has spread around the city about Lord Stark's bastard son being recently legitimized by the King himself after defeating a member of the Kingsguard during a Trial by Combat. And he is your Apprentice you say, Lord Nox? I take it that is something akin to a squire then. Hmm, yes…I believe that I can come up with something. Incorporate the wolves of the North and perhaps outlined in your House's colors, Lord Nox…Umm…Forgive me, Lord Nox. But I fear I do not know the colors of your House."
"Red on a field of black." Nox answered, drawing a quick look from Jon.
"Hmm, yes…Yes, that would do the trick. Black tinting with red and white accents…yes. Though I fear I do have many orders currently in process, my Lord. To get your order done quickly, I would have to disappoint a fair number of influential members of court that—"
Reaching into the folds of his robes, Nox pulled out a forearm length dagger made of Valyrian steel with a thumb sized ruby imbedded into the crossguard. "I believe that this will be more than enough to pay for the disappointment your other patrons will face when their orders are delayed by a few days."
Taking the offered dagger, Tobho carefully inspected the blade and the ruby in the hilt before giving it an approving nod. "A fine piece. No need to melt it down and re-forge it in order to sell it. No doubt one you collected during your now infamous expedition, Lord Sorcerer. Well, lad, hold your arms out to the sides and let's get some measurements. Girl, bring the length rope."
Standing back, Nox remained silent as he watched Tobho take a length of rope and begin the process of measuring Jon's arms from every conservable angle while the serving girl quickly wrote down each measurement as the master armorer read them off.
"There, that is all I require from you, lad," Tobho said, handing the rope back off to the serving girl who made a hasty retreat. "Give me a few days and your order will be ready."
"Good," Nox nodded before pointing towards the dagger on the wall that'd caught his eye. "And out of curiosity, this dagger here. It was not forged by your hand, was it?"
Tobho hesitated as he saw the dagger Nox was talking about. "You…would be correct, Lord Sorcerer. That blade was forged by one of my apprentices."
Nodding, Nox stood before the dagger, giving it his full attention. "He went through several iterations, each one you thought was sellable, but he scrapped each one because they didn't 'feel' right."
He now had the smith's undivided attention as the man started oozing unease. "Aye…You are correct, Lord Sorcerer…but how—?"
"I would like to meet the one who forged this dagger," Nox stated plainly, turning towards Tobho. "I have no ill intent towards your apprentice nor towards yourself, Mott. He has merely piqued my curiosity, that is all."
Mott still didn't seem to fully trust him, or at least he was suspicious of his motives. But the man showed he had more sense then most as he nodded and moved towards the back of the shop. "Gendry! Get up front now. There's someone who wants to speak with you."
A young boy, perhaps on age with Jon or a year younger at most, came forward from the back of the shop. Just like Mott, the young lad was wearing a thick leather apron and his skin was covered in sweat and soot from the forge. But that was where the similarities ended. Despite being at age or younger than Jon, this new boy was easily a head taller and broader than his Apprentice and was built like a dreadnaught despite his age. And his features were…reminiscent of the King Robert. Though he looked more like the youngest Baratheon, Renly. There was some sort of family relation there. One that he would have to investigate when time permitted. But honestly, that was but a secondary thought to him. His primary thoughts were centered around the fact that the boy before him was quite powerful in the Force.
"Master…um…milord," the boy, Gendry, greeted him awkwardly, seeming to find his shoes and the dirt on the floor quite interesting.
"This is Lord Nox, boy, the Northern Sorcerer," Tobho introduced him, causing the boy, who was on height with Nox, to shrink in a bit on himself. "He wishes to speak with you about your work."
Holding out his hand, Nox wordlessly summoned the dagger through the air without saying a word. "This is your work, is it not?" he asked rhetorically, not waiting for an answer before continuing. "An interesting piece. To the normal eye, it would seem just like any other dagger. But not to mine. You spent quite a lot of time making and remaking this dagger, never quite finding it just right. Until your last attempt your anger started to get the better of you. Frustration over the flaws you saw that no one else could clouded your sight and you hammered without thought or reason. Beating the metal into submission, bending it to your will and forcing it to take the design that you wanted. And then, as if it were by an act of magic, the dagger was finished. And the flaws you saw were gone, though no one else seemed to quite understand why you thought this iteration was better than your previous works. Am I right so far?"
The boy's nervous disposition faded, replaced with confusion as his eyes widened as he stared at Nox. "Umm, yes, milord. You're right."
"Of course I am," Nox said without hesitation. "Tell me, have you ever known that something was going to happen before it happened? Have you ever moved your hand just before a hammer fall could strike it without even seeing the blow coming? And mostly, when you hold this dagger you made, can you feel the life within calling out to you?"
Gendry was looking more and more uncomfortable with each word he spoke. "Um, I –"
"I'll take that as a 'yes' as well," Nox nodded, already knowing the answer. "I'm going to be honest, and blunt with you, young man. You can manipulate the Force, just like myself and my apprentice here. Though unlike my apprentice and I, your abilities have manifested in a rather unique way. You use the Force to guide your hands while you work, and in doing so you saturate the metal with the Force creating something that, while not quite to the level of Valyrian steel, is definitely above the grade of normal forged steel."
Gendry looked positively shocked, his mouth hanging open slightly as he stared at Nox. Tohbo however, Nox could see the gears turning in the man's head as he was no doubt working out the best way to use Gendry's gifts to his advantage. "Now then, having said that you have two options, Gendry," Nox said, pressing on before either Gendry or Tohbo could say anything. "First, you can stay here in King's Landing and continue to work. You'll continue to learn under your Master here and you'll more than likely even start learning how to consciously use the Force in your crafting. And in a decade or so, you will perhaps take his place as the best smith in the city. You're second option is to come with me. I will teach you the ways of the Force, and how to incorporate your powers into your craft. And while I am no smith and cannot help you in that regard, there are others who can help you. And in time you will become both a warrior and a Forge Master, capable of creating weapons and armor that can rival even the best of Valyrian steel and using them with a skill few possess. Make your choice, Gendry. And know that I do not offer my hand twice."
Gendry's mouth hadn't closed, if anything it had only dropped lower by the time Nox had finished speaking. Tobho though was obviously very conflicted. If Gendry stayed with him, he could take credit for training the boy and make quite the profit off him. But if Gendry stayed, his work would be nowhere near where it could be. "Close your damn mouth, boy," Mott sighed, coming to a decision. "And pack your bags, Gendry. You'll be leaving with the sorcerer to head North with him."
Gendry spun and faced the master armorer. "But – Master Mott, I, what of my appr –"
"This man can teach you far more than I can, as much as it pains me to admit," Mott sighed. "You have a gift, lad. I've always known this. Now we know just what that gift is. And it is a gift that I cannot help you cultivate. Go with the sorcerer, learn what you can. And once he's finished teaching you what he knows, come back and my doors will be open for you to complete your apprenticeship."