Chapter 293 Steel Street

Time stumbled by like a drunk. Margaery curled up in the cold bed, feeling colder every night.

The bedroom of "Joffrey" was always lit, and the creaking of the windows sounded like the chattering of the old maester of Highgarden. The sudden throbbing after the wind stopped was like the old nun who taught her court etiquette, etiquette, books and numbers, and her ability to bluff people was even better.

She became the queen, but she became the most inappropriate queen.

She served the empty king and looked up to the approaching power.

The original threat was suddenly swept away. Queen Mother Cersei was still mocking her in front of her the night before, and she met the stranger the next night.

The majestic Lord Tywin, in a blink of an eye, went from being the King's Hand, who was praised by everyone, to a headless lion. It is said that the head was found by the Lannister servants in the flea pits after searching for it for a long time.

This feeling is so unreal and terrifying, terrifying for this empty castle and the uncertain future and fate. Margaery curled up tighter in the bed. She didn't want to stay in King's Landing, a city full of filth, damp tunnels and hypocritical faces.

She wanted to go back to Highgarden, play with people in the green maze under the city wall, find wild fruits and green vegetables in the green bushes, taste the sweet fruits planted by farmers, and feel the lingering rain kissing her cheeks when the sky was cloudy.

She wanted to run to Loras immediately, wake him up, let him lead a fast horse, let the servants lead the way, go southwest along the King's Road, return to the River Reach, return to Highgarden, even if it was burned by the Dornish.

Margaery sat there, staring at the castle tower embedded in the moonlight outside the window, and the soldiers guarding the city took turns, one round after another.

The faint white light turned into lines, gathered into a point in the middle, and inlaid the sea surface of the narrow sea with silver iron wires, like drawing the pattern of the family emblem on the knight's armor. She had seen her brother Loras find the best blacksmith in King's Landing to modify his armor. Even the craftsmen in Highgarden could not match that skill.

At this time, Artis Arryn rode his horse to Iron Street in the night, a neighborhood where all blacksmiths and their apprentices lived. The higher the hilltop, the higher the price of the house. In a stone temple on the top of the hill, there was a statue of the "blacksmith". The closer to the temple, the higher the status among the blacksmiths.

Evan Arryn's falcons lurked in various corners of Iron Street in advance, with small weapons hidden on their bodies, watching the surroundings vigilantly. The blue robes led the way. Even at night, the street was still lively. The actors on stilts wandered along the street and were almost knocked over by the blue robes' horses with their hind legs. The magicians from the East Continent filled their mouths with smoke and blew out large flames, causing everyone to exclaim. The merchants selling wooden toys were shouting to attract customers. Attis noticed that the toys on the stalls were dragons, deer, lions, dire wolves and eagles.

The person they were looking for was at the top of the hill, in a huge house, where the best blacksmith in the city, Tob Mott, lived.

"Prime Minister," the blacksmith bowed and signaled the maid to pour wine. "I don't know what the Prime Minister wants to make here. I bet that no one in the city has my unique craft. No one can match my skill in painting armor and shields. Your father, Lord Jon Arryn, came here to let me make a falcon helmet. Maybe I can make a whole set for you? A helmet with the shape of a falcon, a majestic armor, preferably plate armor made of fine steel, and then a long sword with blue lines. I can even make a set for your warhorse. It is absolutely worthy of the identity of the Hand of the King."

"You are polite," Artis said to Tob, walked to the blacksmith's furnace, and politely took the wine glass poured by the maid. The latter's cheeks were slightly red, revealing a lovely wine dimple, "I came here because I trust your reputation."

"Reputation?" Tob Mott was obviously a little confused.

"About some rumors," Artis said slowly, looking at Tob Mott, "I heard that you are the master blacksmith of King's Landing, the best blacksmith in Steel Street, and I think there are hundreds of apprentices who listen to your skills at your forge."

"That's true." Tob Mott laughed out loud, like a coal-like flower blooming on the sentinel tree.

"I want you to take the lead and help me lead the way. By then, you may not only be the best blacksmith in King's Landing, but the whole of Westeros will know your name." Artis said, taking a sip of wine.

Tobho Mott's eyes widened, "My Lord, please tell me if you have anything to say."

"The armory in Harrenhal is basically vacant, but it happens to be the largest in the Seven Kingdoms, and can accommodate 3,000 blacksmiths to forge weapons day and night. But even if the entire Riverlands is emptied, there are not 3,000 blacksmiths, and the best blacksmiths in Westeros are basically concentrated in King's Landing. It's a pity that the weapon forging in King's Landing is basically confined to the workshops of one family. The armory has only 30 forges, which can only produce some simple iron swords and spears. I'm afraid that one forge can't compare with yours."

"The blacksmith's skills are not about quantity, but about quality. This forge can recast Valyrian steel!" Tobho Mott said, and his expression was a little hesitant and said, "Just listening to your Prime Minister, you want me to go to Harrenhal?"

"The castle of the Children of the Forest?" The maid next to him was surprised and her eyes lit up.

"What a crooked way, I'm talking to the Prime Minister about serious matters! Don't listen to the bard's nonsense." Tob Mott scolded.

"Whether it's nonsense or not," Artis put down the wine glass with a smile, "You'll know after you get it."

Tob Mott licked his lips, "But I'm used to living in King's Landing, and the orders here are very generous"

"There is no shortage of knights in Harrenhal, and there will naturally be no shortage of orders. I plan to hand over the arsenal to you and put you in charge."

"Isn't that what the Harrenhal blacksmith does?"

"No," Attis smiled, "It is the position of an important minister under the Iron Throne. He can be baptized with holy oil by the Archbishop, and he can even sit in the Royal Council."

"What!" Tob Mott's eyes widened. He didn't know whether the prime minister was deceiving him with the merchant's cake, but the cake in front of him was too fragrant and too tempting.

"I believe you already have the answer in your mind, sir," Attis nodded lightly and walked to the door, "You have plenty of time. I hope that with your appeal, more craftsmen will arrive at Harrenhal. You have to be quick, otherwise the blacksmiths in the Vale, the Riverlands, and even the Reach will have to occupy the beds in advance, and then you will have to sleep in tents."

Tob Mott stared at him so blankly that he forgot to salute. When he realized what he was doing, Attis and his blue robe had already left the door.

Attis mounted his horse and looked at the thick night. If the time estimate was correct, the Golden Eagle's propaganda mission should be done well. The bards and singers in the valley, riverland, and royal territory were also spreading the word about the Children of the Forest and the The Andals have re-continued the legend of the Oath. Countless people from the Vale and the Three Rivers have witnessed the scene of the Children of the Forest entering the Moon Mountains under the protection of Arryn's banner, and this will soon spread throughout Westeros.

He took a deep breath and rode out of Steel Street under the moonlight.