The Street of Steel was a place to my liking, at the same time hated. To the men walking beside me, it was a busy thoroughfare, but to my senses, it was an obstacle course. Hammers hit anvils in a continuous, uncoordinated beat that vibrated through the pads of my paws. And the only thing I like, the heat.
I stayed five paces ahead of Ned, my [Detection] scanning the heartbeats in the alleyways. More clearly, I could feel the "Little Birds" watching from the rooftops, their little hearts followed us everywhere. I kept my ears pinned back, marking the scent of lavender oil, Littlefinger's men lingering near a weapon stall. They are all watching and aware why our visit here Street of Steels matters.
We stopped at Tobho Mott's smithy. The forge was wide and open, radiating a dry, searing heat that felt strangely welcoming to me. Racks of half-finished blades and heavy breastplates lined the walls.
Tobho Mott came forward, wiping soot from his hands. He wore a high-collared doublet under a heavy leather apron, the look of a man who dealt in both gold and iron.
"Lord Stark," Mott said, bowing with an eager smile. "An honor. I did not expect the Hand to visit my humble shop."
"I'm told you have an apprentice who was of interest to Lord Arryn," Ned said keeping his voice flat showing no interest in small talks.
Mott's smile faltered. My [Detection] caught the sharp spike in his pulse. He was nervous, looking over his shoulder toward the back of the shop. "The boy... yes. Gendry. He's at the forge. A stubborn lad."
I didn't wait for Mott to lead the way. I trotted into the heat of the forge, my eyes locking onto a tall boy working a bar of red-hot steel. On a bench nearby sat a heavy helmet shaped like a bull's head.
I recognized the boy's build instantly. I'd seen Robert Baratheon; this boy is just his younger version, less fat obviously.
Ned stayed back, watching. He was waiting for a clean moment to speak. I didn't bother with that.
I edged into Gendry's space. A rounding hammer sat near the lip of the anvil. As he raised his hammer again, I stepped in and knocked the back of his knee with my head.
The heavy iron tool skidded across the stone and clattered hard against Gendry's boot.
The ringing stopped.
Gendry let out a grunt of surprise and stepped back, his rhythm broken. He pushed a curtain of sweat-soaked black hair out of his eyes to see what had tripped him. As he straightened, the orange glow of the forge hit his face fully.
I sat back and looked at Ned, then back at Gendry. I had forced the "reveal."
Ned went perfectly still. I watched his eyes move from Gendry's square jaw to those deep, startling blue eyes, just like Baratheon. The silence in the forge stretched, broken only by the hiss of the bellows. Ned looked like he'd seen a ghost, his face pale against the heat of the room.
Soon he got back to his senses, acting to mask his bewilderment.
"Is that your work?" Ned asked, nodding toward the bull's head helmet. His voice was thick, the authority of the Hand momentarily forgotten.
"I'm still learning, my Lord," Gendry said. He looked down at me, his brow furrowing. He wasn't happy with what I had done as he looked at me with a strange expression. "Did he do that on purpose?"
Ned barely glanced at me. "Seems he did." He stepped closer, his attention already back on the boy. "Who was your mother?"
"She died when I was small," Gendry said, his tone turning guarded. "She worked in an alehouse. I don't remember much... just that she had yellow hair. She used to sing to me."
I watched Ned's reaction. He didn't need to say a word. The "Seed is Strong" wasn't just a phrase in a book anymore; it was standing right in front of him.
The blue flicker in my vision pulsed.
[Political Chaos Meter: 75%]
[Warning: Information Leak Detected]
I snapped my head toward the street. My [Detection] picked up a heartbeat that had just doubled in speed. Someone had seen Ned's reaction. I let out a low, sharp huff at the direction the other person went.
"Get back to your work, Gendry," Ned said, resting a hand on the boy's shoulder. It was a brief touch, but I saw the way Ned's fingers tightened. He was already thinking about how to protect him.
Later we walked back out into the sun. Ned was lost in his own head, his mind storming through the mystery of Jon Arryn's death. He was vulnerable.
I didn't stay at his heel this time. I circled to his left, positioning myself between Ned and the shadowed alleyways where the lavender-scent was strongest. After all, I'm the only companion who understood him.
Jory was already scanning the crowds, his hand on his hilt. He looked at me, and I saw a flash of understanding in his eyes. He knew I'd sensed something.
We had the answer. We had the bastard. But as we walked back toward the Red Keep, I knew the game had changed. I had accelerated Ned's discovery, and in doing so, I'd likely moved up the timeline of the Lannisters' response. And the canon I know is moving faster than I wish for.
I looked up at the Red Keep, my thoughts remain elsewhere.
[Level 15]