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***
270 A.D.
Returning home was mundane, but it was like the calm before the storm. Fifty dragons was a very large sum. As I said before, thirty dragons is a fortune for a poor person, such as a carpenter, who can sail to the Free Cities and live a life of pleasure for several years. Usually people keep such money in a safe and secret place, saving it for a rainy day, or spend it on momentary pleasures. For example, that knight from Spacious who won the horse race had drunk most of his prize money and spent it in the tavern of the same Ash Village.
My father also wanted to keep some of the money for the winter and spend the rest on expensive gifts for his mother and sisters. I barely managed to persuade him not to do that. Instead, the money was used to buy our farmland back from its owners, the Lords of Sarsfield.
Westeros has its own hierarchy of titles:
1)King, ruling the Seven Kingdoms.
2)Grandlords of the regions, such as Lord Tywin Lannister, the Grandlord of the Westlands.
3)The lord bannerman of the high lord. Such as the Marbrands we recently visited.
4)Vassal lords of the lord ensign, the same Sarsfields we bought land from are vassals of the Marbrands.
5)Knights-at-Large. They own their own land or castle, but do not have the title of lord. They collect taxes and run their own household, but lord is not only an honorary title, this title also gives a number of rights and privileges, in particular, "dungeons and gallows": the lord has the right to imprison and execute criminals, a simple knight, even the richest and most powerful, does not have such a right. That's exactly what Father is now.
And finally, the "bottom" of the local aristocracy - landless "sword" knights in the service of a lord or knight-errant. That's what I'll soon be.
And this classification is very conventional, because in Westeros there is no medieval expression "my vassal's vassal is not my vassal". Here, if a Tyrell, Lannister, Baratheon, Stark, Arryn, Greyjoy, Targaryen, Martell, or Tully (emphasis mine) so much as glances at a vassal of his bannerman, he will run to do as he is told. Still, the right of the strong has always reigned here, and there was no such thing that the dominant house yielded to even one of its vassals, as it was in the same France with Burgundy.
By that classification, my father is a direct vassal of Lord Tywin himself, for it was to him that he swore an oath of allegiance when he entered the service, and from him he received lands. So now, in the Western Lands, there was a tiny House Cold, owning only one farmstead and no crest or motto of its own. But my father didn't care about the latter, because now that we were relatively wealthy and well off after buying the land, he was spending more time on us, training Aerys as his successor and me as a future knight of the bordering.
Because of this, my schedule has become quite exhausting, even for me, a man who is well aware of the size of the awl in his heel. Waking up early, warming up, warrior training with weapons, hunting, bow training, helping Chloe and my mother took up most of my day. Toward evening, after a hearty dinner, I would go to Bern's class, where I would stay until the middle of the night.
In fact, all blacksmiths work in the evening or at night, only toward morning, finishing their work. The reason is simple, to determine the temperature of the red-hot metal. In the past, back when I lived on Earth and forged a fence for my house, you could measure the temperature of the metal with a special thermometer. Sometimes, a magnet could help, because at a certain phase, when ore types change due to their temperatures, they stop being magnetized.
But this is Westeros, a pseudo-medieval world. There are no thermometers here, and magnets are very expensive. So you have to measure temperature by eye, literally. Metal heated to a temperature above 500° C starts to glow. By the color of the glow it is quite possible to roughly determine the temperature of the workpiece. For example, steel is considered ready when the color will be deep orange, like the sun at sunset.
Because of this, it is necessary to work in complete darkness. With no unnecessary light sources, it is easier to determine if the metal is hot enough.
I had all this knowledge before I was reborn.
In a previous life, I was an architect. A very successful one, specializing in the reconstruction of ancient structures, such as castles, ancient catacombs, monuments, temples, bridges, and more. I traveled all over the world, visited many countries and accumulated a good fortune.
Only at the age of 60, realizing that my health can no longer withstand the drastic changes of climate, I retired. Here came the question - what should I do? The pension was not small, the bank account too, and all the time to sit with the grandchildren just can not get. The children offered a huge number of hobbies, ranging from collecting butterflies to obtaining a third higher education. My choice then was determined by chance. I came across an ad that sold a good piece of land almost for free, far from civilization and other people.
For a long time, in those days, I wanted peace. Away from people, because my beloved wife left me many years ago, when my youngest daughter was born, and the children have long grown up and had their own life, without an old man like me. So when I saw this ad, I realized - this is what I needed.
As a result, having bought a plot, a tent, a laptop, a bunch of building materials and a router, I went to do what any architect dreams of - to try to build their own house. And I succeeded. I spent 15 years to build a small two-story house with a small garden, bathhouse and fence, although professional builders can build such a house in six months. But it was completely my house. I made every board, every brick, every nail in it myself. I forged the fence myself, made the foundation, built the frame, carved the furniture, planted the garden.... I did a lot of things during that time. The only thing that was not mine was wiring and a new generator, which my children persuaded me to order instead of doing it myself. They said that I would electrocute myself while working and my grandchildren would be left without their favorite grandfather, who constantly spoiled them.
To realize such a huge project (for one person), had to learn a lot. Over these decade and a half I have made many friends among carpenters, gardeners, blacksmiths, builders and all those from whom I asked for advice and help in this endeavor.
I still remember how happy I was to finally hammer the last nail in my "do-it-yourself" project. According to my eldest son, they found me only a week later, lying in the wine cellar drunk and surrounded by empty bottles.
But I didn't stop there. In my 75s I remained a vigorous old stump who made a huge number of new acquaintances and friends towards the end of his life. Before old age finally robbed me of my ability to walk, I was always on the move, as if returning to my turbulent youth as a young architect. The constant conferences, meetings, gatherings, encounters and new acquaintances never stopped. And I liked it - to feel alive, full of life, to prove to others that age is not a hindrance to those who want to live for real.
But we all lose to death.
I know from books that some people have been running from death all their lives, trying to stay in this world as long as possible. Those famous elixirs of youth and philosopher's stones made from the blood of virgins and narwhal horns are just some of the most famous such examples. Others, on the contrary, have greeted death as a deliverance, as an old friend who has finally visited them and will now lead them to a better world. For the former, she is a gaunt figure with a scythe, with the sweep of which lives are cut short; for the latter, she is a beautiful girl or guy, gently, as if they were loved ones, taking them on their last journey.
I did not fit into any of these categories. When my life span expired, I met death like an old rival I had been facing all my life, even knowing the outcome in advance. There were no regrets, but there was no joy either. Only an inner steely pride that I could become a rival to such a creature, and a slight sadness at my defeat.
"I'm feeling melancholy."
I perceived the new life in this world as a reward for long labors and fruitful rivalry, and I was going to live it as brightly as I and only I wanted, against everything and everyone, leaving my unique mark in this world.
I spent every night working in the forge. I had originally planned only to restore my skills to the level of the last world and quickly learn how to forge weapons. I thought that since this was the Middle Ages I would know much more than the locals, but I was quickly dipped in my own conceit, completely destroying my self-confidence.
I had completely forgotten that Westeros is very different from Earth. The earliest book records, judging by the stories of seldom-traveled Maesters making their way to or from the Citadel, date back nearly six thousand years, and many of the local castles and monuments, such as the Wall far to the North or Starfall Castle in western Dorne, are nearly eight millennia old. A huge amount of time to develop and learn about the world around you, provided that the Citadel - the only local university - has been around for 4000 years and has a very progressive education system for this world. What is there, division into specialties and separation of secular sciences from spiritual ones in the same Europe happened only in the 18th century. Plus the local workers of the hammer and anvil in this world had an ideal they were striving for, unlike Earth, where they went at random for a long time.
Valyrian steel. A legendary metal that breaks the laws of physics. Possessing incredible hardness, lightness and almost no brittleness, it is the perfect metal for any blacksmith. The unattainable ideal to which all the blacksmiths and steelmakers of this world aspire. Having a role model, local masters independently, after hundreds of observations and experiments were able to discover most of the techniques of working with metal, which were known on Earth only in the 19th century, such as the method of conscious creation of composite steel or zone hardening. In this case, in the first few months alone, Bern dumped on me almost 20 different techniques for working with blanks, allowing me to get rid of impurities in a very qualitative way, to distribute carbon evenly over the entire surface of the blade to produce a better quality steel, and to add alloying elements to increase the hardness of the alloy. This made it possible to produce steel of the same quality as that which on Earth was cast in blast furnaces in the 17th century.
But progress stopped only half a millennium before Doom, when the Valyrians told "in confidence" that to create Valyrian steel requires dragon fire and magic. By Byrne's account, this only partially helped. Only half of the smiths abandoned the dream of indestructible metal, while the other half continued to work in disbelief at the impossibility of their endeavors. Even today, it is widely known in Westeros of the ongoing Maester research and blood sacrifices taking place in one of the free cities of Quokhore in order to learn one of the most important secrets of the vanished empire.
It took me two years to regain my old skills, learn new techniques, and learn to forge a myriad of items ranging from horseshoes to lamellar armor. It was only after my return from the tournament that it was decided to hold a kind of exam to test my skills. I had to forge a sword - a simple half-armor, which was Bern's main specialty and the one whose blanks I used to get my neck kicked in during my joints, which, despite all my experience, were quite a lot. Modern and medieval equipment are different things and I kept wondering how I'd managed to learn to work on them so quickly.
«Ready? - Berne's voice always put me at ease. It was a low, deep baritone that cut to the bone, forcing me out of my thoughts and into action.
The forty-year-old blacksmith had a short stature, huge, muscular arms, veined with veins from his constant work, a perpetually scowling face, eyes squinted from his constant work in the forge, and long brown hair, still untouched by gray, which he braided into dreadlocks-the traditional hairstyle of his Harkleigh clan, from the Northern Mountains.
«Ready. - Despite my confidence, backed by the dozens of swords I'd already made, albeit under the master's care and guidance, I was nervous. This exam was my chance to prove myself and try to introduce a few of my methods that Bern considers a failure and doesn't want to change. After all, he is a true Northman, and these people are famous for their donkey-like stubbornness and unwillingness to change anything. The way they worked a thousand years ago, they still work.
"Gods bless the Maesters still promoting metallurgy and hammering it into some donkeys with iron sticks."
The creation of the blade itself has parts:
The smelting of the steel.
Assembly.
Folding.
Hardening.
Tempering.
In Westeros, they do the same thing, except for the last step. In the local realm, to lower the strength of a blade even a little is considered spoiling good metal. That's why you never see spring steel and its derivatives here. If you think about it that way, it's a bit of a mishap. On Earth, it was in Europe that springy steel was invented and actively used, while it was mainly in Japan that the cult of hardness in regards to swords was prevalent. I'm going to tweak this.
The first step involves melting down the iron and getting rid of any unnecessary impurities. The locals came up with a whole multi-part process to get rid of the slag. But I was smarter than that.
«What are you doing? - Asked Bern, looking at my actions perplexed. Now I was engaged in that I was splitting the iron ore into pieces, and further ground into fine granular sand with a special hammer. The resulting mass was carefully distributed on the floor in a thin layer, on a specially laid cloth.
«I grind the ore into dust in order to later select pure metal, without impurities.
«Why? The ore of the Western Lands is renowned as one of the purest. You could just scavenge the excess after smelting. - In Bern's eyes, I've always been a genius, learning what people take years to master in a very short time. But he didn't take my ideas seriously. You could see it in his gaze, full of skepticism and a slight sneer.
«You'll see. - I said, finally spreading the sand evenly over the fabric. And now the magic will be done. Taking out a small piece of iron ore, which I could barely identify as magnetite, and a small piece of amber, which I had barely found in the oldest forests of the Pendrick Hills, I set to work.
Anyone who has been to school knows about the ebonite stick and what happens when you rub it on wool. In fact, in those ancient times did not create ebonite, which is vulcanized rubber, and used amber, with similar properties. Now this experience will be useful for me to strengthen the natural magnet, which is a piece of magnetite.
Having touched the electrified amber drop to the ore several times, I began to drive the magnet over the resulting iron sand. The result was obvious - a huge amount of iron shavings began to separate from the total mass, sticking to the magnet. Unfortunately, the magnetic field of magnetite is too weak and disappears very quickly. You have to "recharge" it very often.
"Eh-heh, it's a painful job, but I can't do it without it," I thought, scraping another layer of iron dust into a separate mortar. Only once did I turn around to see Bern's reaction. His jaw was near the floor and his eyes were bulging. He's in shock. I should explain the legend to him, or he'll think I'm a sorcerer. And there's a particularly negative attitude towards them.
«A traveling maester from Staromest told me about this method. - I began to lie to his face. - According to him, this way you can get almost perfectly pure iron, which is easy to finally clean after smelting. He had two whole links of dull steel. I decided to take his word for it.
There was silence, broken only by the sound of scraping iron dust. By the look on Bern's face, he was actively thinking about something, drawing some conclusions for himself.
«Uh... - He was the first to break the silence. - What do you mean, "a link of dull steel"?
Bang...
«It means the Maester has a very, very deep knowledge of blacksmithing. - Still pulling my hand away from my face burning from the blow, I said. It's not every day you find out that a master smith doesn't know such elementary things. - And the presence of two or more links indicates that his level of knowledge at the level of the conclave of archmasters and he is one of the most enlightened in our craft people in all the Seven Kingdoms.
«Ahem, I see. - Was it just me, or did that red, from the constant proximity of the crucible, face blush a bit? - But don't those who study magic wear links made of Valyrian steel?
Wow, he has some knowledge after all. Albeit in an unexpected area.
«No." I replied, once again running a piece of ore over the crumbles. - It's not magic, it's material properties. If you rub the amber with wool, it creates lightning. I pass that lightning to this stone and it can attract iron for a short time.
«I see. - Bern, judging by his dorky... ahem dashing face, he didn't understand my 'explanation for the little ones' at all. - But why doesn't anyone use this method? I mean, it'll give you the best quality steel.
"Look at the sparkle in his eyes."
«Yeah, but there's one big problem. - I screwed up a blacksmith who'd already flown away. - It's rare and expensive. Amber is a very rare material and is not found in large quantities anywhere. It is more profitable to sell it than to work with it in the forge. Did you know that for this small stone in Essos, at the jewelers, you can easily get almost 100 dragons?
«Ahem..." The man choked on his saliva at the sum, then coughed, pulling himself together. I understand him. I was amazed myself when I heard about such sums. To be exact, the merchants passing through the River Road offered to sell them amber for almost 20-25 dragons, but if you remember that these tricksters sell everything at 3-4 times the price, it turns out to be almost a hundred gold pieces. Maybe more. - Hmm... I see. Where did you find it?
"That sly face," I thought, looking at his attempts to hide a slightly greedy smile.
«Forget your fantasies. - My most "kind" look made him moderate his greed a little. - This piece of amber I barely found in the deepest thickets of the Pendrick hills. It is no longer there. And you'd better not go there - the local giant bears are very fond of human flesh. The only place where amber is plentiful is Skagos, a large island in the North. But it's even better not to go there.
«Why not?
«The locals will eat it. - I gave Bjarne a whole evening of revelations tonight. There's the man in shock again. - According to the northern merchants, they once rebelled against the Starks for the right to live by their own traditions. The rebellion was put down, but one Stark was missing.
«They ate him?!
«Maybe they did. No one knows, but since then no one comes to the island without a hundred warriors behind him. - I answered, shrugging my shoulders, and went on with my work. - And about that drop... It's kind of like my rainy-day emergency stockpile. It's much easier and safer to carry than 25 dragons in a purse.
The rest of the work was done in silence. It took almost 2 hours to take away almost a kilogram and a half of iron dust with the help of a weak magnet that constantly had to be "charged".
After that, the smelting process finally took place. Load the iron into the furnace, preheated to one and a half thousand degrees. It took almost an hour and a half for the iron to melt even a little bit. And all that time it was necessary to stand near the mechs, heating the furnace as much as possible.
«You were right. - Said Bern, standing by the mill and acting as my "apprentice" today. - There are almost no impurities.
«That's good. Then we can reduce the number of folds. - I answered, quickly, with the help of a special device invented by the local, removing the top layer of iron, where the impurities floated. Next was the addition of the second most important ingredient for steel - coal. It had to be added just a little bit, exactly 1/19 of the mass of iron to get a hard and not brittle alloy. The main thing is to add coal dust evenly and mix it properly to form several types of steel - hard high-carbon and strong low-carbon. And we can't forget about silver dust - a special mixture of metals, which is made by maesters from the Citadel and sold all over the continent. It's mostly manganese and chromium in there, but they help improve the alloy, making it much stronger.
"Only, it's expensive."
Next came the waiting. One had to wait for the resulting steel to cool, forming a cast plate 1 centimeter wide.
«Good metal. - The teacher smiled as he looked at the result. I was in agreement with him - after the plate was split with a hammer, the pattern of stripes on the alloy showed that it was of high quality.
The further process of forging resembled a constructor and had a suitable name for it - assembly. It was necessary to pick up pieces of steel depending on their hardness or strength and "assemble" the future sword by welding the resulting billet into one piece. After the billet is folded several times, like a sheet of paper, between each other, obtaining a homogeneous structure of metal, making it finally monolithic and getting rid of the last impurities.
"That's how swords are made." - I thought, looking at the blazing hot billet, over which I have to perform the last ritual - hardening.
I've always been amazed at how the movies try to make amateurs look like good blacksmiths. The same tempering. Everyone knows that it is necessary to increase the hardness of the alloy, but such a result does not appear out of nowhere. Strength suffers. A fully hardened blade will break very quickly. Blacksmiths in both worlds have found a solution - zone hardening. Coat the guard with something insulating, say clay, and only then put it in water. That way, the center part won't be as hard, but it won't lose its strength.
«Well, the blade is ready. - Said Bern once again yawning, because we started to work almost in the evening, and it was already late at night. Almost six hours of forging and the same number of hours we will have to work to get the final result.
«Not yet. - One more innovation from Earth had to be done. Under the master's incomprehensible gaze I lowered the cooled billet into the remaining coals. The resulting steel has a large amount of internal stresses due to its structure. There is a way to release these stresses: tempering. Tempering is heating the steel to a much lower temperature than the temperature at which it is heated. That is, to about 400° C. When the steel turns blue, it's heated enough, tempering has occurred. Then you just have to let it cool down.
As a result, the metal stress is partially gone, the steel becomes malleable, flexible and springy, but loses hardness. You get spring steel.
I explained all this to Bern, again telling the tale of the clever maester from Staromest.
«But why? - There was a look of puzzlement and wild incomprehension on his face. - If the blade becomes softer, it will be much harder to fight with. And it will dull a lot more.
«Not really. - I reprimanded him, raising my index finger in a stern manner. - You're right. The main advantage of a hard blade is that it holds its sharpening better. But a flexible blade is much harder to break. A sword made in the traditional method will surely break or bend if struck against a target that is too hard. A flexible blade is monolithic and if it breaks, it breaks for good. But you have to try to do it, because you can only break it in half. Of course, hard steel should chop easier than soft steel, but in practice, bones can be chopped normally with flexible swords, and the steel of armor can't be penetrated by any chopping blows, unless it's a Valyrian blade. So, in my opinion, it would be better to sharpen your sword before every battle than to have it break during the battle.
«Ahem... - Bern's look became very thoughtful after my words. Apparently, he was struggling with two things - his Northman upbringing, which dislikes everything new and foreign, and recent impressions, where I was able to impress him a lot, seasoned with my title of genius in his eyes. After a few minutes of deliberation, a draw was declared. - Do as you wish. This blade is still yours, but don't do that to my swords.
«I will. - I answered, only shrugging my shoulders regretfully. You can't go into a foreign monastery with your own rules, so I won't try to change his mind. He will understand and decide himself in time.
The rest of the time until morning was spent on polishing, sharpening and making the hilt. As I left the forge at sunrise, I held my first forged sword in my hands.
It was a simple half sword, or as it was sometimes called, a bastard, without any jewelry. A simple blade with a shallow chink, a straight hilt, and a hilt sheathed in tanned boar skin, ending in a small roundel that served as a counterweight.
Bern had already evaluated the result and said I had passed the exam. It was a good sword, with the right balance, good steel pattern and razor sharpness. The kind of sword a sword knight wouldn't be ashamed to use. But there's always a silver lining. As the master explained, it lacks a certain zest to become a sword of excellent quality. Not decorations, ornaments or other nonsense that are put on expensive blades, but the zest, which shows that the sword in front of you is the pinnacle of blacksmithing.
In the future, I will also work at Bern's forge, but not as an apprentice, but as a junior master, getting my share of the orders. Still, I am already 11 years old and in a few years I plan to leave home, traveling. I need to slowly forge for myself an axe, dagger, horse armor and armor. After all, what kind of warrior am I without them?
"It's time to sleep," I thought, feeling my eyelids drooping with fatigue. Another day had been fruitful, and I was glad of that.
***
Time has a way of passing regardless of our wishes and will.
After the Ashmark Tournament and the addition of the title of blacksmith to my piggy bank, the days continued to go by, slowly adding up into weeks, those into months, and those into years.
The cold winter that the Maesters had foretold had passed, and the sunny summer had come again. Our little farm, thanks to my father's thrift and frugality and my small advice, more about selling crops and distributing money, slowly grew into a small village, fully owned by our family. Dad still continued to work on the farm as well, finding his passion in raising horses. He even managed to save some money and bought foals from Dorne and the North, hoping to get a breed combining their best qualities. So far the results were not much, but it was already evident that the bred foals were stronger and tougher than their parents, which could turn into a profitable and lucrative business in the future. My mother, who was the bastard daughter of one of the Lannets, a very distant branch of the Lannisters from Lannisport, had awakened the family blood, and she became actively involved in the village, leading the planting and harvesting. When my brother and sisters and I learned of her ancestry, our eyes widened. It's nice to know you have a little blood of the kings of Utes. It also explained our bright green eyes, one of the attributes of the lion house.
Aerys never ceased to amaze, either. His fanatical love for swords had paid off - during our sparring sessions on blades, he finished me off like a turtle God. True, later I did the same thing, but in the battle on axes. But that doesn't change the fact that he became an excellent swordsman, easily fighting on par with me and my father at the same time. Most surprisingly, he didn't have the "knight's disease" that most of the local children suffer from. He actually enjoyed helping his mother run the household and increase the family's wealth. According to him, he took great pleasure in seeing his future possessions slowly grow. One house a month, one farm a year. Slowly, but growing. And in that I was with him.
My sisters were happy, too. They grew up as beautiful little angels, inheriting all the best from both parents, including a sharp and insightful mind. Already, these little incarnations of kawaii are weaving ropes out of the entire male side of the Cold family. The only one who can control them (and whom they truly respect) is Cersei, whom their charms simply don't work on.
I continued to train, study, play with my sisters, go to fairs and sometimes tournaments, work at the forge, and prepare for the day I would leave the nest.
Which came in the middle of the year 272 from Aegon's conquest.
***
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