---
Word of Lord Lefford's purchase spread swiftly through the noble camp. By midday, Edric had drawn a steady trickle of knights, lords, and squires—some curious, others eager to imitate Lefford's taste.
One broad-shouldered lord, Guncer Sunglass, approached the forge with measured steps, his fingers adorned with moonstones that caught the sunlight. He examined the array of weapons with a discerning eye.
"Your craftsmanship is evident," Lord Guncer said, lifting a longsword to test its balance. "A blade must not only be sharp, but true. This one speaks of both."
Edric nodded, wiping his hands on a cloth. "Forged with care, my lord. It'll serve you well."
Lord Guncer picked up another sword. "One for my son—his nameday's coming, and I want to give him something he'll remember."
He set a pouch of coins on the table. "Four gold dragons, you said?"
"Four for each," Edric confirmed.
"Oh, that us rather expensive. I hope they're worth it."
"They are my lord, if they don't meet your expectations I'll craft you a new free of charge," Edric replied simply, accepting the payment with a respectful bow. "Thank you for your custom, my lord."
Next in linewas a lean, hawkish man whose movements were smooth and precise. Ser Aron Santagar, once a sellsword in Essos, now a knight with a taste for sharp edges, studied the display with a veteran's eye.
He lifted a war axe, giving it a few testing swings. "Balanced. A good feel. Reminds me of the ones I carried across the Narrow Sea."
Edric leaned on the counter, watching him. "I assume you want to fight in the melee."
"Yes." was the answer he recieved. "I need a good axe to do so."
"Of course," Edric agreed. "After, fighting with this axe, you'll think all others are shit."
Ser Aron laughed. "You're quite the boaster aren't you. Though I hve to admit, you've done well. This sort of quality is rare—I only found it in Qohor, and that is if my memory doesn't fail me."
He pulled a modest pouch from his cloak. "How much?"
"Three gold dragons."
Ser Aron raised a brow. "That's a rather steep price."
"I know Ser, but it is a small price to pay for the best axe you will ever use." Edric replied his attempts to convince the knight working in his favor, taking the coins with a small, satisfied smile.
"You seem like an honest man. Tell you what, if you find the slightest chip on it I will give you back two dragons. Do we have a deal?"
"Very well."
Edric didn't really care about giving away the two gold coins. Even one gold was a huge profit margin as the real value wasn't in the prduction cost but in the quality of the finished product.
Of course, not all who came were so agreeable. Some lords scoffed— outraged by the price, or eager to haggle the price down to less than a single dragon. Attempting use their backing and men to intimidate him. But none pressed too hard. His voice and stature already making them doubt, before Robert Baratheon came with a skin of wine booming with laughter, to check upon him. That kind of backing was enough to thwart their schemes.
At the end of the day, he had a made a dozen swords to lords and knights. Even three daggers for knights who wanted to get through plate armor. He had sold an axe to another knight along with a mace, and a warhammer. The smaller—four to five pound one of course. Seven and fifty gold, an amount of gold he would have only dreamed of a year ago was now being made in a single day.
---
A fellow squire, who had a few bruises on his face, seeing him called on to him. "Mountainsbane!"
Edric turned to greet his caller. "Yes?"
The squire hearing him, became nervous.
"W-well," the squire stammered. "Are you registered in the squire melee?"
"No, I forgot about that, actually. "
"The lord that are organizing are taking late entries, i-incase you might want to enter. Some say that the winner of the melee will be knighted."
That sparked his interest
The smith smiled down the the young man before thanking him. "Thank you for telling me."
While leaving hurriedly, he heard the squire chuckle or at least he thought he did. He didn't bother investigating however.
He had tried to register in the normal melee previously not long before asking Robert to talk to lord Whent. But the organizers had refused. They wanted the Grand Melee to be stacked with seasoned knights, many with names he knew from songs and stories. They wouldn't take a peasant blacksmith with a single skirmish to his name, even if Robert roared for it. And he didn't want to go crying to his friend everytime somthing did not go his way.
That was why after having been reminded by the squire about the squire melee, he set his sights there.
___
Finally leaving the tent with the Whent and Tully stewards. He decided to take a stroll and had have a look at the various banners present.
Alas, that thought was for nought as he bumbed into Robert. The Baratheon's face went from irritated to happy in less than a second of seeing him.
"Ah, Edric, there you are! I went to that forge of yours to find you but you weren't there. Let's head to the stands of the Archery competition, I heard there was a summer islander among ghe contestants!"
"There is?" Edric inquired, curious.
"Aye, dark as your steel, haha!" Robert bellowed.
That's a little racist, but I doubt he meant it that way. He thought
"So? We'll meet in the melee, aye?!" The stag bellowed.
"Actually, no, Lord Whent refused so I joined the squire melee."
The Lord of the Stormlands laughter ceased immediately.
"What..?" Edric hesitated seeing the former's confusion before reiterating.
"I joined the squire melee."
Robert wasn't pleased hearing that.
"The Squire Melee?" he bellowed in disbelief. "You've seen the men entering the Melee! You're twice as strong as most of them!"
"Well they wanted knights and lords and lordling second sons. Who am I to object?"
"I'll talk to these fools, it's like they are blind!"
Robert moved—almost charging throught the small distance they had created between them and the tent. Edric trailed him, unsure whether to stop him or stay out of the blast radius.
Inside the great canvas tent, two men stood over a table strewn with scrolls and wax seals. Lord Whent, gaunt and silver-haired, looked up first. Beside him stood Lord Hoster Tully—thick-bodied, red-bearded, and broad in the shoulders even in late middle age. The Riverlands lord had been called in as backup by Lord Whent who knew he could hardly refuse a lord paramount—especially Robert Baratheon—on his own. He wore a deep blue cloak trimmed with trout scales, the mark of Riverrun.
Robert stormed in without courtesy. "Why is my squire not in the melee?!"
Whent looked to Tully at once, deferring. Tully raised a brow, unimpressed. "The Grand Melee is full, Lord Baratheon. Your squire would have had his chance to enter as a knight. He isn't one. Why should we displace a sworn sword, a noble-born fighter, for a blacksmith brat?"
"He's my squire," Robert said, jabbing a finger into the table hard enough to rattle the scrolls. "He's earned that title ten times over! You see the hammer he is always carrying?He's bloodied it unlike some of your participants! That and he's called mountainsbane for a reason. He's bigger than all of your entrants and could batter half of them into the dirt, ."
"Be that as it may," Tully said, calm but cold, "he has no noble blood. And this tourney is not just for glory—it's for show. Appearances matter. If I displace knights and lords for a peasant to fight in the Grand Melee, there is bound to be complaints. The Reachmen in a and Vale knights in particular."
Robert scoffed. "Reachmen, only good at playing fighting, but have never won a notable war in recent memory, let them complain, I'll answer them with Skullbreaker."
Whent cleared his throat respectfully trying to respectfully decline the angered lord paramount. "You asked for space for him to work. I granted it. And he's making a fortune, from what I hear. But we cannot bend rules. If we open the gate for him, others will demand the same. He can fight in the squire melee like the rest of his kind, it'll be even easier."
Before Robert could shout again, heavy footfalls approached behind him.
"Robert." came Eddard Stark's voice, low and even, like a mountain brook trying to soothe a storm. "What's going on." His brother following suit.
Robert turned halfway, still fuming. "They're turning away one of the best fighters here because he's not some lord's whelp."
"One of the best fighters? Isn't that a bit of a stretch?" The Tully mocked but was ignored, to his irritation.
"Ah I see," Ned said, nodding slightly to Lord Tully and Lord Whent. "Although he would be much better suited for the real melee, the deed's done. He's already signed for the squire melee. It's not worth a war."
Brandon wanted to object but seeing his future father-in-law send a piercing glare at him, as if to say "don't back Robert" he decided to let his impulsive nature take a backseat.
Tully gave an approving nod. "Thank you, Eddard."
Whent added, "We respect the boy's skill, in fighting and smithing alike. Truly. But this decision stands."
Robert glared at them all, then muttered a string of curses under his breath. "Stupid fish."
Tully narrowed his eyes. "Watch your tone Robert."
Robert turned and stomped out, "Squires and bastards fight like men while lords hide behind names and get away with it!"
"You are a lord yourself, lord Baratheon don't forget that."
Ned lingered a moment, offering a mild apology with a nod, then followed him out. Brandon bring the only one remaining.
Outside, Edric stood waiting.
Robert barked, "You better win this thing, Edric. Break their bloody illusions."
"I'll do my best," Edric said, trying not to grin.
Ned grabbed his shoulder. "Just fight well. You won't need a name when you've got a hammer like that and only squires as enemies."
Brandon finally coming out gave him a once-over, then cracked a grin. "Don't lose to some green boy from the Crakehall, although they are a little tough to be honest. Stick it into the Freys though."
Edric smirked. "I'll try not to shame you."
"Shame me?," Robert said. "Don't shame yourself, haha!"
They left him there, the camp buzzing around him, the weight of expectation heavier than any plate. But Edric only rolled his shoulders once and turned back to the forge—already thinking about how the hammer would sing tomorrow.