Game of Thrones: Paladin of Old Gods

Chapter 152: Damascus Steel (II)

* Apologies to those who read the chapter uploaded about twenty minutes ago (there was a page missing).

Happy reading!

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POV: Jaime Lannister

Never Winter Bank

A few seconds after the master craftsman demanded a second demonstration...

"Here you go, milord." One of Tobho's assistants offered him a longsword with features very similar to Jaime's sword.

The handle and scabbard did not look particularly ornate but more like standard equipment for the regular army...

Jaime pulled out the blade, noticing immediately that the weight, width and length of the blade were almost identical to Golden Claw. Moreover, the ripples on the blade looked rough and unharmonious on each other, and the colour of the steel seemed much lighter than Valyria's steel.

The weight on the pommel...

'Wait... Yes, there's no doubt about it. It was made especially for me!' Jaime noted with considerable astonishment, searching his eyes for the possible culprit of this fineness.

A few moons ago in Pyke, Duncan Tallhart carefully scrutinised Golden Claw, asking about all its properties in detail...

"These two blades, my Lords and Ladies, are the fruit of the labour of Gauntlgrym's apprentices...

One hundred and ninety young workers who invest body and soul to learn all the secrets of the fine art of steel to the best of their ability. But... alas, still lacking in experience.

When you are ready, Knights..." That was the signal. Both Jaime and Barristan approached their straw target.

The Kingslayer aimed his eye at the trajectory of the slash, on the opposite side and slightly higher than the previous one. The knight positioned his feet firmly, placing them in the right places for proper balance, gripped the soft leather grip firmly, raised his arms and struck a full power blow using all the rotation of his torso.

A blow that could have mortally wounded even a knight clad in double chain mail, leather and padding...

*Stock**Stock* the targets were hit almost simultaneously.

Jaime observed with great astonishment the subtle but present difference between the two cuts... The second was at least an inch deeper.

'Force, speed and accuracy were almost identical to the first shot... I'm sure of it!' The Young Lion quickly drew the blade from the straw and looked more closely at the edge... Nothing. No signs of rippling or notch of wear on the metal...

'This blade forged by mere apprentices is of superior quality to Golden Claw?' Roared Jaime inwardly. Thinking of the bag of three hundred golden dragons left at the forge of Master Vembilin, Lannisport's most in-demand and demanding smith...

"We call this type of product: {Gauntlgrym Standard Quality}. A metal worked and folded on itself more than eighty times. Of course... our novice armourers can recreate work of the same quality on all the specific models of weapons required." The murmurs of the crowd turned into more prominent and confusing voices.

"And now, on to the {Gauntlgrym Fine Quality} range, the weapons produced by our certified 'Smiths'..."

***

About a minute later...

Jaime cleaved the third slash with full force and accuracy.

*Stoock* This time, the blade penetrated to a foot and four inches deep. Three more than the previous one...

Even Ser Barristan looked as shocked as he did. Both steel lovers peered in detail at the precious treasure clutched in their hands. The ripples were thicker and more pronounced than the Standard Quality, and the metal thinner but of the same weight and shape as the first Damascus Steel sword wielded.

Jaime's heart yearned for that sword, sharper, hardened and finer than the previous one he had already coveted considerably...

He would have shelled out ten, twenty or even a hundred bags of gold; he didn't care... the eldest son of the richest man in Westeros yearned for that blade.

'I wonder if Master Mott would accept an offer for the demonstration prototype.' Jaime wondered immediately before realising with great shock that two more blades were waiting to be tested.

"This, my Lords and Ladies, is the fruit of the work of the metal artists who deserve the appellation 'Blacksmith' in Gauntlgrym...

For reasons of professional secrecy, I cannot reveal the exact number of folds of the metal, but I can tell you that it is worked with more complex techniques and for much longer and holds at least twice as many folds as the Standard Gamma.

And now, let's move on to something a little more... 'magical' if we can call it that.

Our honourable contributors will try out the rare {Gauntlgrym Elite Quality} range, work that, at present, can only be forged by our 'Twelve' best Master Blacksmiths!" Even the not-so-witty son of Tywin Lannister picked up on the meaning implied in that 'Twelve'... In all likelihood, few noblemen of arms or collectors in Westeros would have had the luck or the coinage to acquire such a coveted item.

The damaged straw target was replaced with an intact, thicker one.

***

About a minute later...

Jaime felt the light, finely balanced sword go along with the momentum and direction ordered to it... like a limb responding to the body's commands.

*Stoock* the blade penetrated easily past the first foot of resistance made of melted butter and continued to make its way and then stopped at the two-foot threshold. If the dummy had not been replaced, the previous thinner shaft would have been sliced in half.

The steel plates of common forge would not have withstood such a slash...

It was not Valyrian Steel; this Jaime knew. Duncan Tallhart allowed him to test and study his sword at length, and the difference between the two was still perceptible.

Red Rain's magic wasn't just sharpness, lightness and perfect balance, no... Jaime couldn't tell if all of Valyria's swords had those same qualities or if others were even superior. Still, he was sure that the former sword of House Drumm possessed a kind of attunement with the swordsman as if the blade was sentient and wanted to help its owner by indulging and anticipating the hand's movements.

The aforementioned 'Gauntlgrym Elite Quality' was not at that level, but damn if those master smiths had come close!

"Penetrating and cutting power...

Resistance to rust damage and wear, and...

Lightness and balance superior to any other steel sword forged in Westeros!

This, my lords and ladies...

It's Gauntlgrym Elite Quality!

The wonders forged by our 'Twelve' Master Craftsmen, those who have richly earned the title of Forgemaster!" Sang the no-longer-shy Tobho Mott, unleashing a wave of euphoria among the eager audience.

"And lastly... my personal job. I leave the honour to you, my lord Domeric..."

***

End POV

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POV: Lord of Dreadfort

Never Winter Bank.

At that exact moment...

Domeric felt the tension on him grow exponentially; the current monopoly holder of the Damascus Steel blades had been preparing for months with his aunt for this fateful moment.

'So much for battles or mortal combat...' Domeric thought, discovering at that exact moment that, in all likelihood, speaking in front of thousands of judging eyes and ears was far more frightening than death itself.

'Fuck! I can't breathe!... 'Phew... Calm down... Calm down, Domeric!' the boy sought and found the encouraging gaze of his friend... the one who might hold the true Monopoly on all the rich revolutionary metal that would change the World. The one who had complete confidence in him...

The expression of Roose Bolton's eldest son became colder, detached and calculating.

The second youngest member of the Green Council could not and should not disappoint his comrades, his friends and his family. Huffing as much air as possible from his nostrils, the current lord of Dreadfort and sole heir to the Boltons' name loudly promulgated:

"Always remember our family motto, Domeric... {Our Blades Are Sharp}.

The last teaching my father, Roose Bolton, bequeathed to me by pronouncing it on his deathbed four years ago.

These four years... with the support and cooperation of my Lord Protector, Eddard Stark,

of my trusted advisors and masters,

of the loyal subjects under my protection,

my loving mother,

of my most trusted friends in the North,

of Master Mott and all the staff and craftsmen present at Gauntlgrym... and above all...

of My Aunt, 'Lady Barbrey Mormont', I am happy to announce to you all with confidence and pride that the last teaching, the last will of my father, will be honoured!" A small burst of applause gave Domeric time to catch his breath.

"House Bolton will never forget all those who made this dream possible, let alone the North!" Then, Domeric turned his attention back to the two Knights of the Royal Guard and went on to say:

"The land of my ancestors... The land that has welcomed and protected the First Man for millennia... My Motherland will not forget the friends and allies who have fought by its side and by the side of its Hero!"

The Lord of Dreadfort signalled the two porters who held two more new masterpieces of the Grandmaster Forgemaster.

"Dreadfort and the entire North have not forgotten the heroic deeds of the Hundred Volunteers!

I call upon all of you Heroes of Pyke to come forward and receive the honours due before all of Westeros!" A few seconds passed, and more than sixty figures stepped into the crowd.

There was Thoros of Myr, Beric Dondarrion, Jory Cassel, Lord Fury, Ser Lyle Crakehall, Ser Balon and many other men from the North, the Stormlands and the West to answer the call...

Domeric knew that all ninety-one of the surviving members were in the audience. His aunt and Duncan had made sure of that.

"House Bolton, with the support and contribution of House Stark, Mormont, Tallhart and all the other great Houses of the North, will commission from the finest craftsmen of Gauntlgrym any weapon of your choice!

A gift from the North for you and the families of those fallen in battle, Heroes of Pyke!" All ninety-one lucky fighters bowed deeply in the direction of Lord Domeric and Eddard Stark.

A roar of applause, female hymns of jubilation and envious glances from lords and knights (absent such privilege) accompanied the group of one hundred.

It was, in fact, no small gift... Each of the twelve Forgemasters capable of producing a weapon of Damascus with minor enchantments required resources, effort and at least eight to nine days per job.

Although House Bolton had just earned the main credit for the gesture, it was House Tallhart who had contributed the most.

Twenty-seven Elite Quality weapons and one Supreme Quality were paid for entirely by Torrhen's Square. In addition, for the remainder, House Tallhart waived its share of the commission on Damascus Steel, thus allowing the consortium of Noble Houses of the North to pay a relatively paltry sum compared to their actual value in gold.

Three Royal Quality and ninety-five Elite Quality weapons would have quickly sold on the world market for no less than four hundred thousand gold dragons...

The porters arrived with Weirdwood cases towards the two chosen knights.

"Ser Barristan Selmy... Ser Jaime Lannister." Domeric drew the attention of the hall and the appointed knights.

"The masterpieces of the greatest Master Weaponsmith in the service of the North belong to you, Knights.

You who valiantly and courageously led your comrades, saving the life of our Hero." The cases were opened, and the two members of the Royal Guard were both dazzled for several seconds before grasping their new magic swords.

"Please, Knights, honour the efforts and artistry of Master Mott by showing the whole world 'what' the finest Steel of Gauntlgrym can do!" Lord Domeric added, pointing at the targets.

End POV.

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POV: Eddard Stark

Never Winter Bank.

A few minutes after two straw targets (three feet thick) were sliced cleanly through by two single slashes...

Ser Jaime and Ser Barristan had just taken their leave along with the ninety-one heroes of Pyke after several bows and words of gratitude to the chief benefactors of the North.

Ned carefully scrutinised the false smiles adorned with covetous eyes, willing to do anything to get his hands on the treasures of Gauntlgrym...

Nobles of the Vale, of the Reach, of the Riverlands, of the Stormlands, of the West, of the Crown, of Lys, Qarth, Norvos, Pentos... all the strangers who were not fortunate enough to have been born and raised in the North felt visible sparks of envy...

Sparks eager to be fanned into flames at the first opportunity.

Ned was not afraid of political pressure. Not after the experienced warlord, raised on milk, grain and gruelling notions of war since the tender age of six, had personally studied all the defensive lines and measures erected by House Dustin and Tallhart.

Even if some mad foreign commander had somehow managed to reach the gates of the Silk Road, it would have taken at least twenty thousand veteran soldiers ready for anything to get a foot inside Gauntlgrym or the Never Winter Bank's headquarters.

Of course, this insane and bloodthirsty utopia would only be feasible in the unlikely event that Torrhen's Square, Barrowton, Dreadfort, Winterfell and all the tremendous allied-vassal houses in the North did not respond to calls for help...

No... Only the first Four World Organisations had the war power to get their hands on Damascus Steel and Lady Barbrey's deep coffers. And two of them were currently friends and soon 'allies' of the North.

Ned could not help but turn his gaze towards Ser Barbrey and Ser Duncan... His two trusted Green Knights would have the most arduous task in the next three years.

The King in the North cursed his impotence, recalling in his mind the last secret confrontation with Duncan Tallhart in Winterfell less than a moon ago...

["At least Three Years? But... what shall we do if the summer does not last that long?" Ned.

"I'd better keep some details to myself, Ned... but I can tell you that next season will be 'very' long.

The length of the summer will not be a problematic unknown. The moves of the Titan and the High Tower will be the hardest burdens to bear..." Duncan.

"... Do you and Barbrey really want to endure the coming cold storm alone?" Ned.

"Yes So it must be.

Our true enemies will always have to believe that the only reason the North cannot be crushed like a bug by them is for the protection of The Watcher and The King in The Yellow.

A symbolic collaboration between Braavos and Oldtown will be inevitable; the important thing is that the first two World Forces do not forge stronger ties and come down in full force against the North.

It is imperative that such a catastrophic event does not occur for three years, or it will be the end of us all..." Bloody Snow emphasised for the umpteenth time in a severe tone.

"But even if that happens, we will have the support of Chai Dug and Zick-" Ned was interrupted.

"No, Ned... The true decision-making rulers in the Third and Fourth Organisations are the Guardian of Magic and The Spider Queen.

Both are strong supporters of their protgs' choices, that's true, but the final word will always rest with Archwizard Lo Tho and Madame Zishua Zhao Urat.

The Spider Queen did not create the Fourth Organisation for the welfare and protection of the World but solely to protect Zick and all those she loves most...

Lady Zishua would never force those she considers sons and daughters of her only reason for living to fight and die for the sake and prosperity of the First Men... And personally speaking, I understand and share her reasons.

As for The King in The Yellow, the Guardian of Magic has appointed him his heir and successor for over three centuries.

Lo Tho has left Chai Duq with great decision-making powers and responsibilities, thus giving the Overlord of Carcosa even the choice of whether or not to enter into conflict with the Titan or The High Tower. Still, he would stop his precious disciple's hand should Chai Duq or Carcosa be put at risk in a Total War of uncertain victory.

Furthermore, Zick is bound by the oaths of his role as Guardian. Therefore, The Watcher could not openly side with one faction without the unanimous approval of the other two Guardians of the Known World." Ned frowned as he nodded and asked:

"So... at least for the first three years, we should rely on our strength, am I right?"

"Essentially, yes. The North will have to bear the pressure of the Titan and Oldtown until the First Men, Valyrians and Rhoynar have the strength to raise their heads and openly declare themselves to the World.

The Never Winter Bank will keep the Iron Bank at bay, while Torrhen's Square will face Oldtown in the shadows. However... we won't exactly be 'alone' in this fight.

'Deception', Ned... Deception will be a mighty illusionary weapon, our secret weapon for victory.

Madame Zishua may not support us at the critical moment, but nothing and no one will be able to stop The King in The Yellow and The Watcher from feigning their full support towards the North." Duncan grabbed the white Rook and Titan piece from the cyvasse board and continued:

"Doubt and calculating the pros and cons will force the two ponderous superpowers to weigh up all possibilities." The boy placed the two main pieces on a safe spot well protected by the Dragon, the Lion, the Sun, the Priest, the Queen, the Harpy and the Horse of the same colour.

Nine pieces lined up against five: a Dragon-Tree, a Wolf, a Sorcerer, a Man-Sorcerer and a black Snowflake.

"If we can lure them to this reasonably safe and profitable spot, then our chance of victory will be realised." Bloody Snow pointed to the only two silver squares in the centre of the chessboard.

"Ultherro and Leyton will have to think that they have an advantageous position, one that will see a variety of possibilities for manoeuvre and give them time to prepare and augment their forces for possible countermeasures towards the inevitable war...

Before the Watcher naturally passes away, we absolutely must make him believe that the First Men have chosen to deploy in a hyper-defensive posture, desperate to augment the forces of the North as much as possible and that we enjoy the full support of Carcosa and Pentos," the boy explained, pointing to the Wolf, the Tree and the Black Snowflake, and dropping the Smiling Man.

"In the meantime, the Council of Braavos and the Andalus Council will opt for their usual and immortal modus operandi... That is, to constantly wear down the enemy by supporting other pawns adverse to us in the shadows." Duncan moved the White Lion, Queen and Priest forward towards the Black faction.

"If Damascus Steel succeeds in acting as 'sufficiently palatable' bait, we will prevent the very dangerous Tower and Titan from throwing themselves into the front line and tearing us apart." Finally, the boy showed two hypothetical scenes:

-The Titan and the Tower not taking the bait and deciding to charge the blacks head-on, thus causing an ineluctable retreat of the Smiling Man and the Sorcerer and the total annihilation of the Tree, the Wolf and the Snowflake.

-The Titan and the Tower fell into the sweet trap, forcing the previously chosen white pawns to charge forward to limit the movements of the strongest puppets on the board.

"In this way, our enemies will be locked up in a large, comfortable fortress-prison...

A prison that will last throughout, or at least, a good part of the summer, and which will force the Titan and the Tower to send their expendable puppets against us to weaken us during our unstoppable growth." The three weak white pawns bumped into the blacks several times without concrete results, thwarting a direct attack on the Tower and Titan.

"And when Braavos and Oldtown finally realise that the coming summer will be one of the longest in the last millennium, and that apparent allies were white only in the fictitious light of day... "Duncan replaced the Dragon, Lion and White Sun with identical black miniatures, dropping Queen, Priest and Harpy immediately after a surprise attack, surrounding the only three remaining white pieces on all sides...

"It will be Checkmate."]

****

End Part II.