Lannisport.
Lord Tywin held a cylindrical tube in his hands, its surface polished smooth both inside and out.
It was made of wood.
Originally crafted from iron, the cylinder had been remade in wood in response to the Lord's decree promoting the use of wood over metal.
Set into the center of the cylinder was a thin, circular iron plate, also polished smooth and perforated with many tiny holes.
At the bottom of the wooden cylinder was a circular ridge where the iron plate fit snugly, held in place by the raised edge.
A solid wooden disc, matching the diameter of the iron plate, was fitted with a long handle. This disc acted as a plunger, sliding perfectly into the cylinder.
The wooden cylinder was roughly forty centimeters long, open at both ends, and lacked a lid.
Lord Tywin studied the device carefully. It was simple, only three parts:
– a wooden cylinder,
– a removable, perforated iron plate,
– a wooden plunger with a handle, perfectly matching the inner diameter of the cylinder.
Simple parts. But when combined, the device was something neither the Lord nor the Maester had ever seen before.
The creator of the device stood beside them.
He was Tobho Mott of Clegane's Keep, renowned throughout King's Landing as a master of weapons and mechanical inventions. Standing next to him was a modest village woman named Alik from Clegane, as well as Esther, a young girl now married to Ser Polliver, and her grandfather, Buzz. Of course, Lord Tywin's youngest daughter, Jeyne Westerling, was also present, standing by her father's side.
The group had gathered in the Lord's kitchen.
Also crowding around the cylindrical device were the Lord's cook, household servants, and kitchen attendants.
Nearby was a wooden basin, replacing the usual iron one, per the Lord's "wood over iron" policy, filled with freshly kneaded dough. Under Alik's guidance, the dough had been mixed with eggs, aromatic herbs, snow salt, and a special seasoning blend from Clegane's Keep.
Everyone watched silently, eyes fixed on the device.
Tobho Mott inserted the freshly cleaned iron plate into the just-washed wooden cylinder, then turned the cylinder upright. Alik placed two fist-sized balls of dough into the top opening. Tob then took the wooden plunger, slid it in, and pressed down hard.
From the bottom of the cylinder, strands of uniformly thin noodles began to extrude through the holes in the iron plate, noodles of precision and consistency, like something out of an advanced civilization far to the East.
Dried noodles, hand-pulled noodles, had been born.
Everyone held their breath.
Tob pushed the plunger down forcefully. More and more noodles emerged, pouring steadily from the bottom of the cylinder.
Alik used a long bamboo chopstick to lift the strands in the middle, keeping the growing noodles from touching the floor.
Another two balls of dough were dropped in. Tob repeated the action. The noodles grew longer and longer. Alik raised the chopstick higher.
"Milord," she explained, "these noodles can be made endlessly long. Once they reach a certain length, they can be cut and hung on the bamboo stick to dry in the sun. Dried like this, they become shelf-stable and won't spoil, as long as they're kept dry."
The term "hand-pulled noodles" came from the way they were hung on long bamboo sticks during the drying process.
"They can also be cooked fresh and eaten immediately," Tob added respectfully.
Tywin's expression, usually cold and stern as steel, visibly softened. It was a rare sight.
Even Maester Harry couldn't help but feel pleased by the Lord's rare show of warmth.
"So this is how Clegane's Keep makes its noodles?" Tywin asked.
"With respect, no, Milord," Tobho replied. "The noodles in Clegane are produced using a crank-operated mechanical device. It's fully iron and can produce ten times the output of this. What you see here is a hand-operated household version, specifically designed by order of Ser Gregor, for your personal use."
"A household version?" Tywin asked. Even his tone was gentle, a rare thing. There was a warmth in his voice that made him more approachable than usual.
"Yes, Milord. This one is for your household alone."
"And the noodles taste good?"
"Once dried, they can even be eaten raw. Crisp, fragrant, and firm. They leave a lasting aftertaste on the tongue and palate," said Alik.
"Good," Tywin said. "Maester Harry, see that the chamberlain gives Tobho and… what's your name?"
"I'm Alik, Milord." She quickly straightened up, lowered her head, and gave a curtsy.
"Maester Harry, award Tobho and Alik two gold dragons each."
Both of them bowed in gratitude.
The Lord's cook and servants stepped forward. The cook mimicked Tob's actions, placing dough into the cylinder and pushing the plunger. Just as before, the noodles emerged from the bottom. A servant, guided by Alik, used a second bamboo chopstick to lift the strands before they touched the floor, suspending them, true hand-pulled noodles.
The design was simple. The process was simple. But the cleverness and ingenuity behind it greatly impressed Grand Maester Harry.
It was straightforward, yet profoundly useful.
"And where is your Ser Gregor?" Tywin asked, referring to the Mountain.
"Father," Jeyne said softly, "Ser Gregor is currently meeting with northern nobles to negotiate the repurchase of our lands. He'll return soon."
Tywin looked at his daughter. In the past, his gaze had always been sharp, like a nail being driven in. This time, he simply looked calm, gentle, without a trace of harshness.
"He won't be late for lunch, will he?"
"No, Father," Jeyne replied with elegance.
Tywin nodded. His mood had clearly been lifted by the clever noodle device and the peaceful domestic scene.
"Let's head to the study," he said, glancing at Master Buzz.
"Yes, Milord!" Jeyne, Buzz, Esther, Tobho, and Maester Harry responded in unison, standing straight and respectful.
Alik stayed behind in the kitchen to teach the cooks how to boil and prepare the hand-pulled noodles.
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The study was Lord Tywin's private space, for meditation and for discussing matters of utmost secrecy.
The group entered. Maester Harry quietly shut the door behind them.
Outside, seven steps led down from the threshold. Guards stood stationed at a respectful distance.
Despite being called a study, there were no books within. On the wall hung a single exquisite silk painting of a stunningly beautiful woman. Her eyes seemed to gaze out at the room, sparkling with life, her lips curved in a soft smile.
Her name was Joanna Lannister, Tywin Lannister's cousin, and his wife, who had passed away twenty-five years ago.
Tywin sat behind his desk, back ramrod straight. The brief softness he had shown in the kitchen was gone. Once again, his face was a mask of cold, ruthless detachment, an expression mirrored in his eyes.
"Master Buzz," he said calmly. "Take it out."
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