Edric found Robert lounging nearby, laughing with a cup of wine in one hand and a girl perched on his lap, his other hand shamelessly wandering.
"Robert." Edric said, voice low and firm. "I need a favor if don't mind."
Robert blinked, then grinned. "You want another bout, do you? Sure, why not! My arms are still rearing to go."
"Not quite. But drinking and fucking all day while waiting for the next tilt is getting dull. I want to do business. I need a forge. Nothing grand—just a hearth and a dry roof. Harrenhal's got plenty of space."
Robert raised a brow. "Why not just enjoy the tourney? Forging and counting coppers—that's for the Eyrie! This is the time to enjoy our days of freedom and lack of responsibility!"
"Are you seriously talking to me about responsibility? Besides you said yourself I'd make more coin here than back there."
Robert narrowed his eyes. "Now you're turning my own words on me? Gods. I didn't know you were such a killjoy, working when you could be having fun! Be grateful I'm not so responsible, otherwise you wouldn't be my squire."
He has a point, Edric thought to himself, sighing in the process.
"Is it work if I enjoy it?"
The twenty name day young man sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. "Fine. I'll speak to old Whent. Tomorrow."
"Why not today?" Edric asked, tone cool. "The sooner the better. The word of the Lord of Storm's End carries weight."
Robert groaned. "Can't you see I'm in the middle of something?" He turned back to the woman, "Sorry darling," he apologized to the woman.
"I'll buy a few bottles of Arbor Red," Edric said. "Not more than fifty dragons, aye?"
"I could buy it myself—I'm richer than you are!" Robert snapped. "And why did you bring fifty dragons, I thought I told I would cover your expenses!"
"You're already paying for me," Edric said. "Might as well drink what I paid as well, No?
A wise man once said, wine bought by friends always tastes better."
Robert gave him a long look, then barked a laugh. "Very well, very well. You win! I'll talk to him tonight. Now go away and stop hassling me you stubborn cunt!"
---
As expected, with Robert's word behind the request, Lord Whent had a forge ready by the next morning.
Smoke coiled from a crumbling smithy near the ruined stables. Edric stood bare-chested bathing in the orange glow of the fire, hammering steel beneath highborn eyes. The makeshift shop sat just close enough to the noble tents to draw attention—but not so close that anyone could object.
He quenched the first blade—a longsword with a rippling fuller and smoky steel—then began polishing a lean arming sword with silver wire through the hilt.
None seemed to show their discontent at his position, even coming to see his work to satiate their curiosity.
He even managed to sell a sword to a wealthy knight for 3 gold coins—his fortune obvious through the full plate armor he possesed and his company. Mostly likely a rich second son or a landed knight.
But things didn't always go smoothly.
A sharp-nosed youth in a garish purple doublet strolled up, flanked by two guards. He had the wispy mustache of a boy trying too hard, and the smirk of spoiled fool who'd never been struck.
"Oi," he called. "What's all this noise, then? Blacksmith's corner in the shadow of his superiors?"
Edric looked up, sensing trouble brewing. "My lord. Do yeed something made?"
The boy sneered. "I most definitely need you gone, you mean. Your hammering's bothering us of noble blood."
Ooooh, God please help me with this one, Edric prayed internally.
"But I have Lord Whent's backing," Edric replied, his annoyance starting to seep into his voice. "He gave me permission on the demands of Lord Robert Baratheon."
The boy puffed up. "You have the audacity to craft such a pathetic lie and present it to your betters!? Guards! Remove this filth from my presence and give him a good beating for his insolence."
The soldiers stepped forward—until Edric rose.
Soot clung to his skin, sweat glistened on his chest, and his arms were thick as tree limbs. His voice stayed calm, but hard as cold iron.
"I am Edric of Stonehaven. Or maybe you know me as the Mountainsbane. As I have previously mentioned, I have express permission to exercise my trade here, from the lord of this castle castle—Lord Whent himself. I answer to him—and to Lord Baratheon. Not to some cockerel dressed like a plum, now with all dew respect, if your father wishes to see me gone, he will have to come himself."
The guards hesitated. For a moment they didn't move. Edric's towering frame made the small group before him rethink their actions.
"C-come!" The boy ordered in a stutter, finally breaking the heavy silence. "My father will hear about this. And you'll regret it."
He returned some time later while edric sold another sword to a wealthy knight—accompanied not just by his father, but by large retinue of men-at-arms.
His father was a tall man with gold-threaded sleeves and lionhead clasps strode beside him, flanked by guards in crimson cloaks. His hair was blond, though not from age, and his eyes were sharp as cut glass. Rings glittered on his fingers, and the weight of coin and confidence clung to him like a cloak.
The boy accompanying him pointed furiously at Edric. "There he is! That's him! He threatened me—and refused to leave!"
Lord Lefford ignored the outburst and studied Edric with a cold, unreadable gaze.
"So," he said. "You're the one making all the noise."
Edric met his eyes. "Yes, my lord. With permission from Lord Whent, granted at the request of Lord Baratheon."
"Is that so?" Lefford's voice was soft, but there was authority behind it. "Even with the lord of Harrenhal's permission to sell here, you have no right threaten and raise your hand on him."
Edric's jaw clenched, but he kept his tone even. "That's not true my lord. I only stood up to stop your son's men from inflicting an unjust punishment upon me, and drawing the ire of Lord Robert Baratheon and the son of the Warden of the North. His has no mark upon his face either, meaning I didn't strike him."
Lefford echoed, lips twitching. "Their protection doesn't dispense you of acting responsibly infront of him however."
He stepped forward, looking over the displayed blades with mild interest. He picked one up—a masterfully crafted smokey longsword among the three displayed before him—and weighed it.
"Not bad," he muttered. "The best looking blade I've seen for sure, probably the highest quality also unless we count valyrian steel."
Then he looked back at Edric. "You're good. I'll give you that, very good. But also very bold."
"I don't mean to cause trouble my lord."
His statement was ignored. "How much? For the longsword."
Edric replied. "Four gold dragons my lord." deliberately doubling the price for the obviously wealthy man before him. He had no knowledge of the original prices which were remarkably low in comparison to the true value of the steel.
Lefford pondered before stepping much closer and whispering. "If you apologize to him I'll buy them for five each, what do you say."
Edric nodded, taking the deal immediately. Such an accord was perfectly reasonable. It allowed him to promote his goods, sell his craft and earn the recognition of a high lord of the Westerlands, the wealthiest region in Westeros, while also making a few gold dragons on the side.
"My apologies, heir Lefford, for any misunderstandings that may have occurred between us today." He apologized immediately, while slightly lowering his head.
Lord Lefford let out a satisfied smirk. "Good!"
He turned to the boy. "Tommen, you've had what you wanted. Now stop whining. If Lord Baratheon vouched for him, we won't start a squabble over hammer strikes."
"But—"
"I said enough. You'll inherit titles, not temper tantrums."
Tommen's face turned a violent red.
Lefford looked back at Edric. "Keep up your good work. Keep making fine steel, and you might leave this tourney richer than most knights."
"Of course, my lord," Edric said.
Lord Lefford gave a curt nod, then swept away with his retinue. The boy threw a last outraged glance at him that promised this wouldn't be the end of this matter. Edric responded in kind, sending a mocking smile and winking at him. The heir had no choice but to trail after his father, humiliated by the very commoner he looked down upon.
___
A/N: Sorry about the lack of a chapter yesterday, I wasted my time looking for a decent cover and got tired with all the other thing I had to do. I hope you enjoued this chapter.