Chapter: Silver for Iron
Finally, I had some damn money.
One silver coin.
Sure, it wasn't much — barely enough to buy a few decent meals or one sturdy tool — but after days of scraping by, it felt like a fortune. A piece of real silver, stamped with the image of a stag, small and light, almost like it wasn't silver at all. I couldn't help but smile a little as I turned it over between my fingers.
Cash — that's some progress.
The fisherman who'd paid me watched with a look of pity that almost made me want to slap him upside the head. Like my idol, the Bill of the Burrlands, would say: fuck you, you think I'm a pussy or something? Yeah — sanity's for chumps.
"Hey," I said before leaving, "you wouldn't happen to know where the blacksmith is, would you? Need a blade and maybe a hammer."
He squinted at me, scratching the side of his weathered face.
"Down the market road," he said after a moment. "You'll hear the hammering before you see it. Old man's been forging there thirty years. Knows his metal better than his own wife. He's taken an apprentice recently — boy's strong, eager, but still green. You could get a decent knife from him. Not great, mind you, but decent. With a silver in your hand, maybe two good cooking blades if you haggle right."
"Appreciate it," I said, nodding. "And… one more thing."
He gave me a curious look, like he wasn't sure if I was about to rob him or ask for life advice.
"What's the coin system here?" I asked. "Trying not to get scammed."
He laughed — a short, dry bark. "You must be from far away indeed if you don't know that. One gold dragon's worth two hundred and ten silver stags. One silver stag's worth fifty-six copper pennies. That's the way of it."
I did the math quick in my head. My single silver coin was worth about fifty-six coppers. Not bad — enough to buy a few things if I didn't get scammed or robbed.
"Thanks," I said.
He just shrugged — bastard looked at me with pity again, then ignored me completely and went back to gutting fish. Fair enough.
---
The marketplace of Dragonstone wasn't exactly thriving. It was more like a muddy stretch of road with a few shacks pretending to be stalls. Smoke drifted through the air, mixed with the smell of fish, sweat, and whatever passed for cooked food in this place.
As I walked down the street, I could feel eyes on me. It wasn't paranoia — people really were staring. Some of it was curiosity, some disgust. A few were the kind of looks you give someone when you're trying to decide whether to pickpocket them or call the guards.
And then there were the women.
A couple of them — the kind who'd seen too many winters or too much ale — gave me looks that were a little too interested. I guess to them, a tall, broad-shouldered stranger with tanned skin and no shirt was a novelty. But I wasn't looking to be anyone's entertainment. Not yet and not ever.
I had a legacy to build and no two bit hoe is gonna steer me away from my destiny of having my own castle and banging hot bitches whenever I wanted.
"Tough luck, ladies," I muttered under my breath as I passed them. "The show's closed for now."
One of them laughed — maybe catching the tone if not the words. The rest went back to pretending I didn't exist.
After a long walk filled with glares and whispers, I finally spotted the forge.
It was hard to miss — the place glowed red from the inside, the clang of hammer on anvil echoing out like a heartbeat. The air shimmered with heat, and the smell of burning coal hit me like a wall. I stepped inside, and the temperature jumped twenty degrees easy.
To my surprise, it didn't bother me much. Maybe that was the Valyrian blood in me — whatever scraps of dragonseed magic I'd been born with — because while most people would've been sweating like pigs in that heat, I felt fine. Warm, even comfortable.
The forge itself was cluttered but organized. Racks of blades, tongs, and bits of armor lined the walls. A small furnace glowed at the back, its flame reflecting off the black stone.
Behind the anvil stood a man who looked like he'd been forged himself — thick arms, a wide belly that spoke of too much ale and too many years of work, and a beard that looked like it had been set on fire more than once. If he wasn't a blacksmith, he was a retired bear.
He looked up when I entered, squinting through the smoke.
"What can I do for you, stranger?" he said, his voice deep and gravelly.
"Well, sir," I started, keeping my tone polite — no reason to piss off the only man who could arm me — "I recently arrived from Myr. Lost most of my possessions to the sea on the way here. I'm in need of a good knife and a hammer, if you've got any to spare."
He gave me a look that was equal parts curiosity and doubt. "From Myr, eh? Don't sound like no Myrman I've met."
"I'm well-traveled," I said with a shrug.
That earned a small grunt — not quite disbelief, not quite acceptance.
"Well, lad, I've blades, hammers, and tools enough," he said, wiping sweat from his brow. "But it all depends on what you've got to spend."
I reached into my belt pouch and held up the silver coin. "One of these."
He squinted at it, then nodded slowly. "A fair bit. Not enough for a fine set, though. I can sell you a decent knife — good steel, true edge. But you won't have enough left for a hammer. Or…" He gestured toward the back wall, where a few rougher pieces hung. "I can give you a knife made by my apprentice. Blade's strong, but the balance is off and the handle's not quite right. Still, it'll cut clean enough. If you take that one, you'll have enough left for a hammer — and maybe even some new clothes if you're smart with your coin."
He said it like he already knew which I'd pick.
And he was right.
"I'll take the apprentice knife and the hammer," I said quickly. "A blade's a blade. I just need something that works."
The old man nodded, clearly approving of the choice. He disappeared behind the forge, the sound of clanging metal fading for a moment. When he came back, he had the two items in hand — a short knife with a plain wooden handle and a hammer that looked used but solid.
"That'll run you forty-five coppers," he said. "Fair deal."
"Fair enough," I replied, handing over the coin.
He gave me a small cloth pouch with the change — a few coppers that clinked softly inside.
"Don't lose that hammer," he said. "You can build just about anything with one, if you've got the will."
I nodded and strapped the knife to my belt, feeling the familiar comfort of having steel at my side again. The hammer went over my shoulder. Heavy, but right.
As I stepped out of the forge, the old man called after me. "And if you need the edge sharpened, come back. I'll do it for one copper. Apprentice work dulls faster than proper steel."
I gave him a nod of thanks and continued down the road.
---
By the time I reached the local inn, dusk had settled over the island. The air was colder now, the wind carrying a mix of salt and smoke from the village hearths. The sign hanging above the inn's door was shaped like a dragon — because of course it was. These people worshipped dragons like gods, even though a few dragons had eaten their villagers in the past.
The inn looked warm enough, though — light spilling from its windows, voices humming inside. I pushed open the door and stepped into the noise.
The smell of roasting meat hit me instantly. My stomach growled loud enough to make the nearest drunk glance over. I hadn't eaten since morning, and the thought of hot food was enough to make me forget every problem I had for about two seconds.
A woman behind the counter looked up as I approached. She was in her thirties, round-faced, with the kind of tired smile only someone who worked twelve hours a day could manage.
"What can I get for you, hon?" she asked.
"What's hot and ready?" I said.
"Mutton with potatoes," she replied. "Comes with a glass of ale. Three coppers."
I looked at the few coins I had left. Not much to my name, but after the day I'd had, it was worth it.
"I'll take the mutton and potatoes," I said. "But skip the ale. Just water."
She raised an eyebrow. "Water? You sure? Most folks'd call you a craven."
"Yeah, well," I said with a smirk, "it's too soon to drown my senses. I need all of them working."
She shrugged and turned away, returning a few minutes later with a plate. The food smelled amazing — greasy, heavy, full of salt and flavor. I dug in without ceremony. The mutton was tough, the potatoes soft, but after days of dried fish, it might as well have been a feast.
As I ate, the warmth of the room started to sink in. My eyelids felt heavy. The crackling fire, the hum of voices, the clink of cups — it all blended into a dull, soothing rhythm. I could've fallen asleep right there at the table.
But before I did, I waved the innkeeper back over. "How much for a room for the night?"
"Five coppers," she said. "Upstairs, last door on the left."
That was it. Almost all my coin gone in a single night. But hell, it was worth it. I hadn't slept in a real bed since I'd landed on this rock.
I paid, finished the last of my meal, and climbed the stairs. The room was small — just a straw bed, a small window, and a candle stub on a wooden table — but it felt like heaven.
I set the knife and hammer down beside the bed and sat for a moment, staring at them. My first tools. My first real possessions since waking up in this world.
Not much — but Rome wasn't built in a day.
I lay back, feeling the rough sheets under me, and closed my eyes.
Tomorrow, I'd start again — find more essentials, maybe test my power a little, learn how to use what I had to survive here.
But for tonight, I let myself drift off, the sound of wind and waves mixing with the distant laughter from below.
I was nearly broke again — but at least I'd made serious progress on my self-independence