Edric had promised the best.
And he wasn't about to break that promise.
Not to Ser Kevan Lannister, and certainly not to the fire that motivated his reincarnated bones.
As soon as Kevan had departed from his forge, he had gotten to work
Unfortunately for him, though, there was the occasional disturbance. A rich lord or knight coming to buy his weapons, or coming to buy them for the umpteenth time. There was even a merchant who wanted to leap onto this new opportunity, deciding to buy in bulk and leaving with no fewer than fifty blades.
Edric initially wanted to deny the man, to at least maintain a semblance of prestige in his craft, but finally decided to give in to the tempting offer. More than two hundred swords, maces, axes, daggers, warhammers, and other such weapons had been sold as a result over the four days he dedicated to the Lannister master piece. More than six days straight of work, half an hour for each piece, had been beautifully rewarded.
He had certainly been busy, busy enough to deny going out drinking with even Robert, events which he usually cherished. But that had convinced him, convinced him that it was finally time to close shop.
The sheer amount of work not only deprived him of much-needed relaxation and enjoyment, which, while normally necessary to work for a living, had been made somewhat useless by the sheer scale of wealth he had amassed, a surprising thousand or more golden dragons in total when counting the armors sold lord Arryn as well. That and the rather festive place he found himself in. But it also made him realise.
At the moment, demand might be at an all-time high. But after selling hundreds upon hundreds of weapons, nobles, who would already be in possession of those weapons, wouldn't want to buy anymore. Closing the shop would make some houses lack those dark steel weapons, potentially maintaining a small degree of prestige and allowing him to up the prices a little. If it didn't come to that, though… too bad. He had enough for a lifetime.
The forge was now quiet. The fire had long been put out, which was quite the daunting task considering how hot it was. The place was empty, almost. No more blades lined the walls. No piles of axes or crates of daggers stacked like firewood. Just one sword remained—sheathed, majestic, and seated against the wall like a loyal cub awaiting its master.
This one wasn't for sale. It was made for a single purpose: goodwill.
A sure companion to the armor Edric now polished in the low light of the former smithy, the blade was his way of nodding to Kevan Lannister—thanking him in advance for the free advertising, he didn't realise he would give.
Edric knelt beside the cuirass, running a cloth along its edge with the same care a mother might give a newborn. The brass lion on the breastplate glinted faintly, its mane curling like fire upon a field of red, a result of enamel he had coloured crimson. He had labored over it on quite a tight schedule. The many transactions had, of course, strained him further, but also his desire not to miss the melee—the Real One.
Robert would be participating after all, and what friend would he be if he only sat back in his forge hammering away, missing all the fun, only for Eddard Stark to give him a toned-down, less-than-ideal recall of the events. Don't get him wrong, he was no Stannis, as Robert had described, but he wasn't the best at describing such a sight. It was for this reason and no other that he set the deadline at four days despite the joust, the reason for the armor's commission being a few days later.
His fingers slowed over a smudge near the pauldrons. He wiped it away, retaining the peerless gleam of the also brass—growling lion head that had been formed out of it. Catching his barely reflected image, in the polished yellowish metal, blue eyes, shadowed and lined, a smear of ash across his brow.
The cloth dropped from his hand, and he sat back on his heels. Beside the armor, the sword gleamed with quiet dignity—no rubies, for he had none. A roaring lion, however, thanks only to it being gold and looking almost as if it were alive, sat on the hilt roaring death to any that would oppose it.
For a moment, the forge was still. Just the armor, the sword, and the silence of a man who had worked himself hollow.
And then—Edric rose, cracked his neck, and walked toward the door. He'd given Harrenhal the best work it had ever seen.
Now he wanted to see what would be done with it.
---
Edric had been thinking of leaving his finished work and heading out when he heard the sound of boots outside. Thinking it would be more buyers, he planned on informing his would-be visitors to that his shop was closed, but stopped when he saw who they truly were.
Three men entered: two of them were red cloaks, Lannister guards in all their crimson glory, reputed for wearing the finest armor in the seven kingdoms men-at-arms could wear thanks to their house's gold. And between them was a familiar face, that of Ser Kevan Lannister.
"Hmm, this place feels empty," Kevan muttered as he stepped in, eyes scanning the room. The guards stayed by the doorway.
Edric respectfully stood up from the low stool he had been sitting on, cloth still in hand, rubbing the last bit of ash from his hard-working fingers. "Yes, I have been quite busy," he revealed.
"You've come for the armor, Ser? If so, you came at the perfect time. I just finished cleaning the thing."
Kevan's eyes lifted upwards, looking straight towards Edric's eyes. "May I see the results?"
"Of course." The Smith stepped to the side removing the cloth from it and showing it in all its glory.
A quiet moment passed.
Kevan stepped closer, scrutinizing it, admiring it. He nodded in approval to the armor laid out before him. "Remarkable," he praised. "It looks identical to the sketch?" he added, impressed.
Kevan turned to his men. "Go on. Carry it back carefully," he ordered.
The guards stepped forward and lifted the pieces—cuirass first, then the rest, each wrapped in fabric.
Kevan lingered another beat, eyes roaming the empty walls, the bare racks, the cold forge.
"You closing shop?"
"Yes, I'm done here," Edric said. "I now have enough for my lifetime, and that of my children and their children after them."
Kevan looked back at him. "You do realize this isn't the end, right? You'll have plenty more orders after this."
He pondered, "Well, I'm not short on coin, but anything for the right price, right?"
A small hint had been sent, one that Kevan easily understood. Keeping the Lannisters as clients was very good for business.
"Come then."
"Come work for you?" Edric was confused.
"No, just come with me. We're going to meet someone," he said. Taking the reins from the now-obvious soldier who held them previously, he mounted his horse.
Hearing this, Edric was intrigued.
Kevan opened his mouth, speaking at last, before getting his horse moving.
"Someone willing to pay the right price."