The Young Lion
Act 1 Ch 10: Meeting a Blacksmith
It was midday before Joffrey finally put the last touches on the blueprints he'd labored over the night before. After breaking his fast, he made his way down the Red Keep's corridors, heading directly for the royal swordsmith. He approached the large oak door and rapped sharply.
KnockKnockKnock
"Come in," a voice responded.
Joffrey opened the door and stepped inside. The workshop was unnervingly clean, the tools appearing untouched. Almost too pristine for a working smithy. As he moved further in, the owner emerged from behind a curtain.
"My Prince! What a surprise to find you in my humble workshop." The man's words caught in his throat as he took in the sight of the young prince.
"I came to speak with the master smith. Would that be you?"
"Yes, yes, my Prince." He bowed quickly. "Ser Luwing at your service. How may I assist you?"
Joffrey surveyed the smith. Underwhelming was the first thought to mind. Elegant robes, devoid of any soot or grime. Young too, barely older than Joffrey's previous self. Doubt gnawed at him, but he figured appearances could be deceiving, and so he decided he'd grant the man the benefit of the doubt.
"I wished to show you some designs I received from an Essosi merchant and solicit your opinion."
"Oh?" Ser Luwing's interest piqued.
Slowly, Joffrey unfurled the scroll on the man's rectangular desk. The smith approached, his brow furrowing in confusion as he gazed at the parchment.
"My Prince, what is this?"
"You tell me," Joffrey replied, waiting expectantly.
The young smith studied the strange drawings, attempting to decipher their meaning. After a moment of contemplation, he looked up.
"I believe it's some… unconventional design for a smithing implement, my Prince." He said slowly.
"And your assessment?"
"With all due respect, my Prince, these markings appear… unorthodox. Not in the manner of the esteemed artisans of Essos that I am familiar with." He almost scoffed. "Mere scribbles, likely from some commoner. I'd discard them, Prince Joffrey. Those cheese-mongers know little of true craftsmanship."
Joffrey absorbed his words, a slow nod confirming his expectations. "Indeed. That was my suspicion. Thank you for your time, Ser Luwing." He began to reroll the parchment.
"Of course, my Prince." The man bowed deeply. "Should you ever require your longsword sharpened or your armor adjusted, please do not hesitate."
"I shall remember that," Joffrey said, turning to leave. "Good day to you."
"Good day, my Prince."
Joffrey exited the chamber and walked back down the corridor.
Not him, as expected, he thought. Looks like that trip into the city will have to be sooner rather than later.
[Red Keep Courtyard]
Joffrey strode into the yard. His destrier was being saddled, along with those of his sworn shield and four red-cloaked Lannister guards. He mounted his horse. While adjusting his riding gloves, the Hound approached on his own mount.
"So, why the sudden urge to visit the stinking city, my Prince?"
"As I said, Sandor, the castle smith won't do."
"The pretty boy not good enough for your… 'projects'?" Sandor grunted.
"Obviously," Joffrey said with finality, pulling himself fully onto his horse. "Look, don't overthink it. A quick jaunt to the Street of Steel, that's all."
"Oh yeah? Then what's with the bloody parade?" Sandor gestured to the Lannister guards.
Joffrey shot an annoyed glance at the four soldiers, irritated by the attention they would draw. "Mother's overprotectiveness," he muttered, earning a chuckle from Sandor.
"Price of being the heir, I reckon."
Joffrey shrugged, turning his horse towards the castle gate. "As long as they don't get in the way, I don't care."
The riders formed a box around the prince, the Hound riding beside him. As the gates opened, they spurred their horses onto the stone road leading down into the city. Some citizens paused to gawk at the young prince as they passed. Joffrey kept his gaze forward, riding towards Fishmonger's Square, his mind a swirl of suspicion.
Snake, spider, or lioness? Which eyes are watching?
After passing through the bustling city market, Joffrey insisted they dismount and tether their horses. The guards, once again encircling the annoyed prince, followed him onto the Street of Steel.
Joffrey stopped at each smithy, showing the same designs he'd presented to Ser Luwing. Each smith offered different opinions, yet none grasped the designs' true potential. Just as he was about to concede defeat, he reached the largest shop, perched atop Visenya's Hill.
The timber and plaster house loomed, nearly three times the size of its neighbors. As Joffrey approached the double doors, he noted the intricate hunting scene carved in ebony and weirwood. He turned to his entourage.
"Wait outside."
He commanded before entering, Sandor at his heel. The blast of heat that hit Joffrey felt like stepping into a furnace. Forges blazed in each corner of the vast building, the air thick with smoke and sulfur. Sweat-soaked apprentices glanced up from their work, bare-chested assistants laboring at the bellows. Reaching the center of the shop, Joffrey called out, "Who owns this establishment?"
Every smith looked up, startled by the crown prince and his towering bodyguard. Journeymen recoiled, fear in their eyes as the Hound's gaze swept over them, oblivious to the nearby fires fueling his perpetual rage.
"Do I need to repeat myself?" Joffrey's voice cut through the din. "Where is the owner?"
"Seven hells, what in the blazes do you want?!" a voice bellowed from the back. A figure slowly emerged from a small office. "I swear to the gods, if that's you again, Ser Hugh! I told you, your armor will be ready for the tour-"
The old smith's words died in his throat as he stood before the prince and his imposing shadow. Seeing the young royal, he hastily dusted off his leather apron and bowed deeply, his forehead nearly touching the ground.
"M-my prince! Forgive my rudeness! I didn't realize it was you!"
Joffrey appraised the older man. He already liked what he saw. Older, perhaps mid-fifties to early sixties, his head mostly bald with wisps of grey clinging on. His face was a roadmap of lines and sunspots. Joffrey approached the still-bowing man.
"It's quite alright," he said, waving a dismissive hand. "There's something I wish to discuss privately. Is there somewhere we can talk?"
"Of course, of course!" The smith straightened, gesturing to his right. "Right this way."
Joffrey followed, Sandor trailing behind. They ascended a flight of stairs into a large, empty room. An oak desk laden with papers sat against one wall. Joffrey's eyes flickered over the documents, surprised by the literacy of a common tradesman.
"So, how may I be of service, my Prince?" the smith asked, taking a seat behind his desk and gesturing to the two empty chairs opposite.
"I wished to get your opinion on a document I recently acquired from Essos. That is all," Joffrey replied, settling into one of the chairs while Sandor remained standing. The smith's ears perked up at the mention of "document" and "Essos." Joffrey slowly handed over the tied parchment. The smith eagerly unrolled it, spreading it across his table. His eyes widened, and he stood abruptly.
"Where in the seven hells did you get this?!" he practically yelled, startling both Joffrey and Sandor, whose hand instinctively went to the hilt of his dagger.
"From a merchant in Pentos," Joffrey said calmly, watching the man's excited reaction. "Is it… significant?"
"Significant doesn't even begin to describe it!" The smith held the paper aloft like a sacred relic. "These designs… they could revolutionize blacksmithing!"
"Is that so?" Joffrey feigned nonchalance.
"Absolutely, my Prince! Though…" He squinted at the blueprints again. "Though they'll require… adjustments."
"Adjustments?"
"Well, the core concept is sound." He held the paper to the light. "But this subpar hot blast mainline and converter… you'd never achieve the optimal steel yield."
A wide grin spread across Joffrey's face. He stood abruptly. "It's you!" he exclaimed, startling both the smith and Sandor. "You're the one I've been looking for!"
"Me, my Prince?" The smith pointed at himself, bewildered.
"Yes, you!" Joffrey rounded the table. "What is your name?"
"Tobho Mott, my Prince."
"Tobho Mott," Joffrey repeated, considering the name. "Tomorrow morning, some of my guards will arrive to escort you to the Red Keep. I would be honored if you would accept my invitation."
Tobho looked around as if trapped, the Prince's earnestness catching him off guard. He normally would have declined, but the mystery surrounding the designs was too enticing. He took a steadying breath.
"If I agree to come, will you tell me the origin of this contraption?"
"If you join me in my solar tomorrow, you'll learn that and much more."
A thrill coursed through Tobho, a feeling he hadn't experienced since his journey to Qohor to unlock the secrets of Valyrian steel. His answer came quickly. "Then I shall await your summons, my Prince."
"Excellent!" Joffrey clapped the man on the shoulder, then retrieved his blueprints, much to Tobho's disappointment. "Come, Sandor, we're leaving."
"Aye, my Prince." Sandor inclined his head.
The unlikely pair headed for the exit, but Tobho called out, "Before you go, just tell me… what is this marvel called?"
Joffrey paused, looking over his shoulder. "It's called the Bessemer process."
"Bessemer process…?" Tobho racked his memory of his travels in Essos, but the name held no resonance. With that, the prince left the shop, leaving the confused smith and his workers behind. He rejoined his entourage, and they mounted their horses, returning to the Red Keep. A self-satisfied grin played on Joffrey's lips.
[The Following Day]
The next day, castle servants led Tobho Mott through the winding halls of Maegor's Holdfast. After a considerable walk, they arrived at a plain wooden door. The servant knocked.
KnockKnockKnock
"Yes?" a voice answered from within.
"Your guest has arrived, my Prince," the servant announced.
"Excellent. Send him in."
The servant turned to Tobho. "You may enter now."
Tobho nodded nervously, opening the door and stepping into the chamber. The servant closed it behind him and departed. Tobho slowly entered the large bedchamber, his eyes settling on the Prince seated at a large wooden desk, his back to the wall.
Joffrey was sketching another design with a quill when he looked up, a smile spreading across his face. "Ah, Tobho, you made it. I am honored. Please, have a seat." He gestured to the empty chair opposite his desk. Tobho cautiously approached the offered seat, the weight of a private audience with the future king weighed heavily on him. He fumbled for the correct courtly address.
"Prince Joffrey, I am deeply hon-"
"None of that nonsense, Tobho," Joffrey waved a hand dismissively. "It's just the two of us here."
Tobho looked surprised at the prince's informality.
"Please," Joffrey gestured again, and Tobho slowly sat. "Drink?" Joffrey held up a bronze pitcher.
"Y-yes, please."
Joffrey filled two matching bronze cups, handing one to Tobho. The old smith noted the rich color – a fine Arbor red. He inhaled the sweet aroma, then took a slow sip.
"My Prince honors me by serving me with your own hand," he said humbly.
"I thought I told you, Tobho, none of that."
"Of course… Prince Joffrey." Tobho lowered his head slightly.
Silence hung between them for a moment, broken only by the soft clinking of cups. Just as Tobho was about to speak, Joffrey forestalled him.
"Ask your questions, Tobho. I swear to answer what I can."
Tobho nodded, sitting straighter, his gaze fixed on the young prince. More thoughtful than the rumors suggest, he mused.
"Where did you truly acquire those designs, my Prince?"
"I believe you already know the answer to that."
A serious expression settled on Tobho's face, unsurprised. He took another sip of wine. "Is that the only design you possess, or are there others?"
Joffrey raised an eyebrow, a coy grin playing on his lips. "Perhaps a few. Who knows?"
Tobho nearly overturned his chair as he stood abruptly. Wine, women, gold – none held the allure of his craft. To shape something enduring from raw materials, that was his true passion. It was why he'd braved the journey to Qohor so many decades prior.
And now, the supposed monster prince stood as a potential catalyst for his art's evolution. But before Tobho could press further, Joffrey held up a hand.
"I promise to share more designs when the time is right. For now, let's focus on the first, shall we?"
Tobho frowned, slightly confused by the prince's hesitation. Then understanding dawned. Too much too soon could breed suspicion, and the risk of theft was real. Calming his excitement, he slowly sat back down. "So, what exactly do you envision?"
Joffrey refilled their cups. "What price would satisfy you for the crown to acquire your shop?"
Tobho recoiled, his shop, his life's work. "My Prince, I don't understand. Are you suggesting I be… dismissed from my own forge?"
"If I wished to dismiss you, why would I have gone to such lengths for this conversation?" Joffrey asked, a look of genuine bewilderment on his face. Tobho felt a flush of embarrassment.
"Then… What is your proposal?"
"That your shop becomes an extension of the crown. This would afford us greater protection against those who might seek to pilfer our… unique designs."
Tobho's eyes widened, the implications clicking into place. "So, anyone attempting to replicate these… processes and blast furnaces would be considered an enemy of the crown?"
"Precisely." Joffrey smiled, his assessment of the old smith proving accurate.
"But…" Tobho hesitated. "That shop… it's my life's work. I cannot simply relinquish it for a mere transaction."
"Who spoke of a mere transaction?" Joffrey shook his head. "While the shop would ultimately fall under the crown's authority, you would retain your position as master smith, and continue to oversee all the daily operations."
"So, you ask me to become your… servant?"
"Another servant is the last thing I desire," Joffrey scoffed. "I seek someone with drive, curiosity, and the will to help me forge something new in this world."
He held back the grander scope of his vision for King's Landing and Westeros. Even with Tobho's skill, he wouldn't grasp his full vision until it was shown to him. Instead, Joffrey extended a hand, palm up.
"Will you stand beside me, Tobho Mott, and help me change the world? Or will you live out your days with regret, wondering what might have been?"
Tobho was stunned. The rumored cruelty of the young prince seemed a blatant lie. Here he was, the heir to the Iron Throne, offering partnership to a common-born smith. Despite owning the city's largest forge and crafting the finest steel, Tobho still felt the sting of his low birth.
Yet, this prince treated him as an equal, offering not a command, but an invitation. A chance to shape the future. A sense of profound excitement welled within him. If only the populace could witness this side of Joffrey…
Slowly, Tobho raised his calloused hand and clasped the prince's. A firm shake sealed their agreement.
"It would be my honor, my Prince," Tobho said, a genuine smile gracing his weathered face.
Joffrey smiled back, a sense of satisfaction warming him. "I believe this is the beginning of a prosperous friendship, Tobho." He released the smith's hand. "Now, we have much to discuss."
They settled back into their chairs, their conversation delving into the intricacies of their future venture, stretching well into the afternoon. Only after hammering out the initial groundwork did they conclude their meeting. Joffrey accompanied Tobho out of the Red Keep, summoning a gold cloak escort.
"Begin the preparations we discussed."
"I understand, my Prince. I will." Tobho clutched the rolled-up parchment to his chest like a newborn infant.
"Good. I will summon you when the time is right. Be ready."
Tobho bowed his head and followed the escort through the castle gates. Joffrey turned, realizing his hunger, and headed towards the kitchens. Lost in thought, the prince failed to notice the pair of eyes that watched him disappear back into the Red Keep, before silently melting back into the shadows.
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