Chapter 129: Some things are same.
Artos is roaming around the Street of Steel, he has a purpose in mind today and he saw that infront of him. A Forge
Tobho Mott's shop smelled of coal smoke and hot iron, the kind of smell that clung to a man's clothes for days after he left. Artos had visited forges before—more than he cared to count, across more cities than most men saw in a lifetime—but there was something about this one, tucked into a narrow street in King's Landing, that felt different.
Mott looked up from his workbench when the door opened, and whatever he'd been expecting, it clearly wasn't the Hand of the King walking into his shop unannounced.
"Lord Hand." Mott set down his tools and offered a short, respectful bow. "This is an honor I wasn't expecting."
"Ah Mott." Artos glanced around the shop, taking in the racks of finished blades, the half-formed shapes still glowing faintly on the anvil. "Your work has quite the reputation. I thought it was time I saw it myself."
"You flatter me, my lord." Mott gestured toward the boy still hammering at the back. "Gendry, come here. The Hand of the King wishes to see our work."
Gendry set down his hammer and approached, wiping his hands on a rag, dark eyes flicking between Artos and Mott with the careful wariness .
Gendry's jaw tightened slightly, though he said nothing and came with some pieces to
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"I assume you're here for a sword, my lord," Mott said, already moving toward a rack of blades, fingers trailing over hilts as though deciding which one deserved to be shown first. "I have several finished pieces that might suit a man of your reputation. I do have some greatswords made like Ice,." Mot said
"Actually No, I wanted you to work on something different than a sword " Artos said.
Mott paused, hand still resting on a hilt. "My lord?"
"I don't need a sword," Artos said. "I have one. Several, actually. What I need is something else entirely."
Mott's brow furrowed slightly, curiosity plain on his face now.
Artos moved further into the shop, eyes drifting over the tools hanging along the walls—tongs, hammers, half-finished pieces of armor stacked in one corner.
Gendry, standing a little apart, watched the exchange with sharp interest,
Artos looked at him but then Mott intervened " Don't worry, My Lord. He is my apprentice and one of the best workers and smith i have seen. He would help in making your request possible whatever it is." Mott said with confidence
Artos smiled at that "Really now , A talent huh. "
Gendry is irritated at being looked down upon
Mott seemed to grasp the situation and shows Artos a helmet of the armour, A bull shaped one.
"Check this out My Lord , It is made by this boy" Mott said
Artos saw that and was impressed but didn't say out loud.
Artos said at last . "Come. I'll explain what I need,"
He gestured for both of them—Mott and, after a brief hesitation, Gendry as well—to follow him toward the back of the shop, away from the open windows and the street beyond, where the conversation that followed was quiet enough that even the apprentices sweeping nearby caught none of it. Whatever passed between them in that back room.
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A week passed since the trial and the training yard has been quite busy these days between a training ground and a punishment hall.
Artos moved through the space with two short swords, one in each hand, weaving between three opponents at once with brutal efficiency that made watching men along the yard's edge go quiet in admiration and well Suprise, they never knew Artos is that well with duel swords.
Robb came at him from the left, Bjorn from the right, Loras circling to force an opening from behind—and still Artos turned, parried, redirected, and struck with a rhythm that gave none of them room to breathe. Steel rang against steel in overlapping bursts, dulled blades flashing in the pale morning light.
"You are not even making me try," Artos said, not even breathing hard, as Bjorn's strike was turned aside trying to make him out of balance. "You all are fighting like a knight expecting a fair fight. There is no fair fight not in wars not in life. There is only the fight you survive and the one you don't. So make some efforts like you want to survive rather than be killed trying to achieve the so called glory. I tell you as a veteran there is none for a dead man."
Robb lunged, testing an opening—Artos was already gone from where he'd been standing, sword flat against Robb's ribs in a blow that would have opened him in a real battle. "Dead," Artos said flatly. "You committed to a strike you couldn't recover from. In a melee, a second blade finds you before you've finished falling. Are you even listening to me."
Loras, breathing hard, tried to press from behind while the other two recovered—a good instinct, quickly punished as Artos pivoted low, swept his legs, and had the flat of a blade at his throat before Loras had fully hit the ground.
Gkkkkkkk,A choked, undignified sound escaped Loras as he went down hard into the dirt.
It wasn't a Typical sword fight, as Artos is trying to teach them Dirty tricks. Well more like tricks to survive in a war.
"You've all learned to swing a sword," Artos said, stepping back, allowing them a moment to rise. "Pretty forms they are , quite useful too infront of mere soldiers but infront of knights and Opponents of similar skills you would need some things like these, This will keep you breathing when men come at you with no rules and no judges to call a foul. I'm not teaching you how to swing, You already know that. I'm teaching you how to still be standing when the men beside you are dead in the mud."
It had gone on like that for weeks now—brutal, unrelenting, each session ending with all three of them bruised and humbled in ways that no tourney ground ever demanded. And yet none of them had asked to stop. Something in Artos's relentlessness had settled into them, quiet and grim, the understanding that whatever peace the realm pretended to hold, it was thinner than parchment, and men who assumed otherwise didn't survive long enough to regret it.
Robb rose again, wiping blood from a split lip, already resetting his stance. "Again," he said, before Artos could.
Artos's mouth curved, something like approval flickering there.
"Good—"
The word died as new figures entered the yard.
"Lord Hand" yelled Ser Barristan
Ser Barristan Selmy walked with the same measured, unhurried dignity he always carried, the rest of the Kingsguard trailing behind him, white cloaks stark against the packed dirt. Jaime Lannister walked among them, golden and relaxed, the faint curl of a smile already tugging at his mouth as though he already knew this visit would prove entertaining.
Artos looked at Barristan "Ah, Ser Barristan, a suprise old man."
Barristan inclined his head. "Lord Hand. I have been looking at you going on training yards from weeks. I am happy that you find your sword once again, it's quite rare in the realm to find someone of your skills."
Artos smiles and nodded "Thanks old man."
Barristan nodded back " So I hoped I might borrow your time. I would see the Kingsguard sharpened against something more demanding than each other. Someone i know would push them the hardest. It would also help you push you."
Artos considered him for a long moment, twin blades still loose in his hands. There was little he could refuse the old knight outright—not with the respect Artos held for him, quiet and genuine but still he looked at them hard and sighs, " Respectfully, I don't think they would "
Barristan looked embarrassed at that but he could see the genuiness in his eyes though that made it worse
"But My boys can serve as training partners well enough," Artos said finally, nodding toward Robb, Bjorn, and Loras. "I don't imagine you need me personally in the mix, Ser Barristan. Though—" a faint, testing glint entered his eyes, "—if you wanted a proper spar yourself, I wouldn't say no. It's been too long since I've crossed blades with someone who might actually make me work for it."
Barristan's mouth curved into the ghost of a smile, equal parts flattered and amused. "A generous offer, Lord Hand. And one unfortunately I'll decline. I've no wish to lose in front of this many witnesses, and i still have a king still that needs protecting as you know and ofcourse I don't want to lose another ear in my old age."
A low chuckle rippled through a few of the watching Kingsguard at that, though it faded quickly under Barristan's mild, unbothered gaze.
Even Artos chuckle a bit " Bad for me, I guess. I love to take another one, though I doubt you allow me this time."
Barristan chuckled back this time enjoying the banter " Well we can check another time , My Lord. I would be happy to."
It was Jaime who stepped forward then, thumbs hooked loosely into his belt, that easy, golden confidence settling over him like a second cloak.
"I could entertain you instead if you want," Jaime said, green eyes bright with open challenge. "Keep the Hand busy, since Ser Barristan's grown too dignified for it." He said in a mocking tone he is famous for
Artos turned toward him slowly, and despite every instinct, every old grudge and quiet, simmering resentment he carried where the Kingslayer was concerned, he found himself unable to deny what stood plainly in front of him—one of the finest swords in the Seven Kingdoms, offering exactly the kind of test Artos hadn't allowed himself in years.
"Careful, Kingslayer," Artos said, twin blades shifting in his grip, something sharp and dangerously eager settling into his expression. "You might not like what you find waiting on the other side of that offer."
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