Clang clang clang!
Clang clang clang!
That was the rhythm of Street of Steel at night.
Many blacksmiths worked late into the night. During busy seasons, like when hired by a mercenary company, staying up all night forging weapons was normal.
But there was one exception.
On Street of Steel, there was a famous blacksmith shop owned by Tobho Mott. Among the hundreds of blacksmith masters in King's Landing, he was the only one who could infuse color into steel.
This unique technique of forging weapons in custom, client-requested colors belonged solely to Tobho Mott.
But Tobho Mott never took orders at night, nor did he forge weapons or armor after dark.
He rested at night.
That was his rule.
And his weapons were the most expensive on Street of Steel.
Whether it was longswords, daggers, helmets, gorgets, armor plating, or full suits of armor, everything was pricier than anywhere else.
Only a few mercenaries could afford a full set; most could only buy a helmet and some neck and leg guards.
Still, many came to Tobho Mott's forge to buy weapons and armor.
Tobho Mott was famous.
Tobho Mott had an apprentice named Gendry.
Gendry was fourteen years old but already as tall as a grown man. His muscles were solid, his lips thick, and his strength formidable. He had striking blue eyes and thick black hair.
Though Tobho Mott drank and slept at night, that didn't mean his apprentice got to rest too.
Gendry had to keep forging the iron blanks into shape at night.
The quality of these iron blanks directly affected the final weapon and armor.
If other forges shaped their blanks after a hundred hammer blows, Tobho Mott demanded Gendry strike three hundred times.
Where others stopped at a hundred, Tobho Mott insisted on two hundred more.
Shaping the iron blanks was grueling work, each hammer strike required Gendry's full strength and precision.
Though only fourteen, Gendry was already a master at forging blanks and making various weapons. Secretly, he had even learned Tobho Mott's technique for crafting colored weapons.
Tobho Mott never explained a thing to him, only watched silently. Gendry had to observe, think, experiment, and figure it all out on his own.
Over the years, there was no verbal passing of knowledge between master and apprentice.
Yet Gendry learned faster and better than any other apprentice in any other forge.
This boy had a natural gift for smithing, rough on the surface, but meticulous inside.
Without exception, after Tobho Mott went to bed, Gendry kept working, hammering out iron blanks deep into the night.
He didn't sleep until the early hours.
All the dirty, exhausting, and tedious tasks in the forge fell on Gendry's shoulders. Unless a client specifically requested Tobho Mott's personal work, every order was now handled by Gendry alone.
Tobho Mott simply sat beside him, sipping tea, never uttering a word.
At first, if Gendry's work didn't meet the client's standards, he had to redo it himself, sacrificing meals and sleeping hours to rework the metal.
This harsh life forged Gendry's physique beyond that of his peers and gave him incredible strength.
Perhaps from the fire and his master's cold silence, Gendry grew stubborn.
Whether dealing with clients or his master, his stubbornness only deepened.
Clang clang clang!
Tobho Mott slept soundly through the pounding sounds of Gendry's hammer.
Blacksmiths were used to sleeping amid the loud clangs.
Street of Steel residents were used to the relentless noise, day and night.
But some certainly weren't.
While Gendry hammered away, someone knocked on the forge's big door.
The door was never closed while Gendry was awake.
Knock knock knock!
Someone kept pounding.
Gendry didn't even stop; he kept hammering the iron blank in silence.
He'd seen many mercenaries and bullies, but he ignored them all. His job was to focus on forging. Collecting payment, negotiating business, and receiving clients, that was Tobho Mott's responsibility, not his.
Who would knock on Tobho Mott's forge at this hour? Didn't they know Tobho Mott never took orders at night?
If they didn't know the rules, they were probably green recruits or inexperienced soldiers, not seasoned mercenaries or city guards.
Gendry ignored both veterans and rookies alike.
He continued hammering, hammering, the iron hammer swinging with full force, his shoulder muscles sweating and shining like gold in the furnace's glow.
His body was a perfect sculpture of muscle.
Someone's eyes fixed on him, wide with admiration.
They were captivated by Gendry's powerful, flawless muscles.
This person's eyes gleamed in the dark like a cat's.
He wanted to soak Gendry in a vat of strong liquor and turn him into a work of art.
The silent figure stepping into the forge was Ser Polliver Clegane from the neighboring inn.
He'd knocked several times, but the smith inside hadn't looked up, heard, or answered.
Only when Polliver's hand touched Gendry's taut, muscular back did Gendry snap his head around.
"What?" Gendry glared, eyes wide with anger.
His stubborn nature was like the iron blank he forged, the better his smithing, the stronger and tougher his resolve.
"So perfect, those muscles." Polliver said, eyes shining, licking his lips lecherously.
"We don't take orders at night." Gendry muttered.
He sensed this tall, bald man wasn't normal, more like a lunatic who should be locked away.
Gendry feared no one, but he dreaded the mentally unstable.
Polliver sized Gendry up and down, clicking his tongue in admiration.
He circled the young smith a few times.
"Ser Polliver." a voice called at the door, "You need to make this boy stop hammering and pay compensation. His noise is disturbing the gentlemen's rest. Our lord is waiting for our reply."
Polliver's eyes flickered, snapping him back from his lustful haze. He remembered Ser Gregor's orders, a command he must obey.
Still, he gazed longingly at Gendry's muscular frame.
"Boy, your hammering is disturbing our lord's rest. Pay us ten gold dragons, stop forging, and we'll let it go."
Gendry's eyes went wide as ox's. He stared at Polliver, silent, then swung his hammer hard onto the iron blank.
If Polliver hadn't dodged fast, the hammer might've grazed him.
Bang!
Bang!
Bang!
Three heavy strikes in a row, each one harder than the last.
Gendry gave Polliver a disdainful sideways glance.
Polliver's eyes glazed over again, conquered once more by the explosive power and perfect muscle lines flexing with each hammer swing.
He was utterly captivated by Gendry's explosive strength.
Clap clap clap!
Several cavalrymen with fierce looks and vicious gazes stormed in.
Polliver wasn't angered by Gendry's defiant hammering, but these men were.
A mere apprentice blacksmith daring to defy them?
They were the Mountain's men.
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A/N: You can read up to 50+ chapters in advance of the current story. You can read up to chapter 123 there! Patreon.com/vynthor