Because of the new task personally assigned by the Lightbringer, Gendry was unable to fulfill Caden Storm's request for a sword. He had been worried about how to explain the delay to the knight, but as luck would have it, Caden never showed. This spared Gendry the social awkwardness and allowed him to bury himself in the work of the Order.
The knightly longsword—a single-handed blade—was a form Gendry had practiced a thousand times in Tobho Mott's shop. Even as he devoured his boiled potatoes, he watched Aldric's every movement, burning the specific taper and geometry of the Master's design into his memory.
Aldric rarely interacted with the other apprentices during a forge-session. Usually, he was the one giving orders, not the one pumping the bellows for a student. Master Barlin watched the two of them with a keen eye, realizing that Gendry's background under a Master of Qohor had given him a foundation that Aldric respected. Seeing Gendry's quiet tenacity, Barlin decided to help the boy succeed, staying late into the night to act as his striker.
The next morning, when Aldric returned to the forge, Gendry presented him with a raw, unadorned blade-blank. It was perfect. The lines were fluid, the texture uniform. Even without a hilt, it hummed with quality.
Aldric held it up to the morning sun, nodding in approval. "Excellent work. It will be a fine weapon. Tell me, Gendry—with hands like yours, why did you come to St. Maur's? You mentioned being forced from the capital. Why?"
Gendry offered a hollow, bitter laugh. "I don't truly know the 'why' of it. A high lord I didn't know visited the shop once. A few days later, I was handed over to Yoren, a 'Wandering Crow' of the Night's Watch, to be taken to the Wall. I didn't recognize the lord until the day Lord Eddard was executed—it was him.
"We weren't on the road long before Ser Amory Lorch's men fell upon us. Most didn't make it. The Mountain captured the rest of us and took us to Harrenhal. I worked the forge there until the Northmen took the castle and we escaped again. We ran into the Brotherhood Without Banners on the road to Riverrun. Thoros of Myr told me I'd be of more use here than in a trench. He sent me along with a handful of orphans."
At the mention of Yoren, Aldric's gaze softened with a brief, dark sadness. "Yoren was a good man. Sharp-tongued, perhaps, but he died true to his vows." He leaned in, his voice dropping. "The matter of the Brotherhood stays between us, Gendry."
"I understand," Gendry said firmly. "Master Barlin told me the same when I arrived. But he said there are no secrets from the Lightbringer."
The alliance between the Golden Dawn and Beric Dondarrion was deep but dangerous. St. Maur's acted as a hidden logistics hub, processing salvaged iron into fresh gear for the outlaws. If the Lannisters ever realized the monastery was the "Lightning Lord's" armory, Gregor Clegane would level the place in a heartbeat. For now, the smallfolk believed the refugees were simply those gathered by the traveling friars.
"You've done well, Gendry," Aldric said, shaking off the political shadows. "Your steel is as honest as your heart. Do you want to see what it can become?"
"If I may."
Aldric handed the blank back. "Grind the edge. Polish the face."
As Gendry sat at the whetstone, the steel began to shimmer, reflecting a brilliant silver. Meanwhile, Aldric prepared a bath of weak acid using wood-ash and herbal extracts. While the blade etched, the two of them worked on the fittings—hilt, crossguard, and pommel—using the finest materials in the shop.
As the sun began to dip, Aldric pulled the blade from the bath with iron tongs. A swirling, chaotic pattern of grey and black ripples danced across the steel.
"The pattern is a bit wild," Aldric noted, tracing the edge. "Likely because we folded it again after the initial shaping. But it has its own beauty. We'll call it Wildflower."
Gendry stared at the blade, his breath catching. "Anshe preserve us... it's Valyrian steel. The lost art."
Aldric laughed, shaking his head. "Not Valyrian, Gendry. Just a cousin. This is Serene-Steel, a craft from my home. It has the ripples and the edge, but it doesn't lose its weight."
Gendry shook his head vehemently. "No, Lightbringer. I felt it yesterday when I first took the blank from the anvil. It felt lighter than when you started."
Aldric frowned. "Likely just the slag and scales falling away during the hammer-work."
"Maybe," Gendry said, though he looked unconvinced. "But for a sword of this size... I've held enough steel to know."
Gendry was a trained smith; he had no reason to lie about the "feel" of a blade. Aldric felt a prickle of scientific curiosity. Did we stumble onto something?
"Forge another," Aldric commanded. "Use the same iron, the same shape, but don't fold it. No patterns. I want a plain blade for comparison. Have it ready by tomorrow."
Aldric had to return to the barracks for the evening's indoctrination. Gendry, facing another night of overtime, chose a friend among the apprentices to act as his striker.
The next morning, two swords lay side-by-side on the workbench. They were identical in every dimension, save for the rippled skin of the first.
Aldric's expression was grave. He picked up Wildflower, felt the grip, and set it down. He did the same with the plain blade. He repeated the process three times.
"Gendry," Aldric asked. "You've weighed these?"
"Aye, Lightbringer. I tried them the moment the quench was done. Yours... the rippled one... it is lighter."
Master Barlin stepped forward. "I tried them too. He's right."
Aldric shook his head. "It's impossible. It defies the laws of physics... but perhaps not the laws of magic. I need a scale."
He fashioned a crude balance from a wooden slat and a notched block. He placed the blades on either end. The balance tipped—slowly, but clearly—toward Wildflower.
The rippled blade was actually heavier in mass.
"The earth says it is heavier," Aldric murmured, a realization dawning on him. "But our hands say it is lighter. This isn't a change in density. It's an enhancement."
In his old world's terms: the sword had a +Strength attribute.
To confirm his theory, he had every apprentice in the shop close their eyes and lift both blades. Every single one pointed to the rippled sword as the "lighter" weapon.
Aldric finally understood why he hadn't noticed it before. His own legendary gear—items like Song of the Azure Sky—had their own magical attributes. Since his arrival, his perception of weight had been warped by his own supernatural power. Gendry, dealing only with common iron, was more sensitive to the anomaly.
Why did it happen this time?
He thought back to the forging. To keep Gendry standing during the grueling hammer-work, Aldric had pulsed Light-Flash after Light-Flash into the boy. The mana hadn't just healed the apprentice; it had bled into the steel during the heat of the fold.
He spent the next two days running experiments. Hand-forged vs. hydraulic hammer. Healed smith vs. unhealed smith. Long folds vs. short folds.
The conclusion was undeniable: Light-Forged Steel only occurred when a smith hammered the billet manually while being continuously infused with Solar Grace. The repeated folding of the Serene-Steel maximized the "exposure time" of the metal to the Light, trapping the energy between the layers.
Aldric had unlocked the secret of true Valyrian steel. It wasn't just metallurgy; it was a ritual of labor and Light.
"Gendry," Aldric said, looking at the boy with newfound respect. "You helped me perfect this. We won't call it Valyrian anymore. This is Light-Forged Steel. I want to reward you. What do you desire?"
Gendry thought for a long moment. "I joined the Brotherhood because I believed in the dream. I'm here because I believe in yours. I want for nothing but to see the Dawn rise. But... I want to know how to fight. Caden promised to show me the shield, but he's always busy."
Aldric shook his head. "Then don't look to Caden. My own sword-skill is the best in this Order. I have two students: Kevin has my steel, and Jon has my strategy. But no one has inherited my fire. Neither of them can work the forge."
He placed a hand on Gendry's shoulder. "I'm looking for a third disciple. One who can balance the hammer and the blade. Will you be the one to inherit my craft, Gendry?"
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