Master Tobho, who had been speaking without pause moments earlier, immediately lowered his head.
"Your Highness… what do you mean?"
"You suggest crafting a full suit of armor for me now. Are you so certain I will never grow taller?" Joffrey demanded, his tone sharp.
"Or do you plan to adjust it later when it no longer fits?"
Several beads of sweat fell onto the floor. Tobho swallowed nervously.
"I… I did not consider that. Please forgive me, Your Highness!"
He stole a glance upward, only to find Joffrey's expression unreadable.
In truth, Joffrey was thinking about something entirely different.
When will I get another three points?
[Providence Points +1]
Pathetic.
Most gains came from steady accumulation. He was still figuring out what exactly counted as properly playing the Proud General.
Seeing Tobho still bent at the waist, awaiting judgment, Joffrey decided not to press further.
"I am here to commission a sword."
The tension in the forge eased instantly.
Tobho straightened, a smile returning to his face.
"It would be my greatest honor to forge a blade for Your Highness. What design, weight, or ornamentation would you prefer?"
"I leave the details to you. I trust your skill," Joffrey replied casually. "It is not for myself. It is a gift."
"Oh…" Tobho's enthusiasm dimmed slightly.
"For the son of a certain lord."
"…Oh!"
"For Ser Loras of Highgarden, perhaps?"
Joffrey shook his head.
He glanced around the spacious front hall and gave Tobho a look.
"Inside, then."
Seated in a smaller chamber, Joffrey began gesturing.
"For a boy. Fourteen years old. Roughly my build."
"No need for excessive ornamentation. They do not care for such things. And… how to put it…"
He looked around, then turned to Sandor.
"Dog. Bark."
Sandor stared at him blankly.
But Tobho seemed to understand. He shaped his fingers into a hollow point and brought them to his mouth.
"Woo?"
Joffrey gave a thumbs up.
"Ah." Tobho relaxed. "A fine gift indeed. House… they value practicality."
"How about a hand-and-a-half sword of fine steel? Slightly reduced in size but balanced for strength and flexibility."
"Do as you see fit. Add a wolf's head to the pommel. Paint it gray."
Sandor rubbed his face.
What in the Seven Hells are they talking about?
After brief discussion, Joffrey stretched.
"How long?"
"Two months, Your Highness," Tobho replied thoughtfully.
"Twenty days."
The smith grimaced. "That would be difficult. Materials alone and the carving—"
"I will pay thirty gold dragons."
Tobho's expression transformed instantly.
"Say no more, Your Highness. Rest easy at the Red Keep. I will deliver a blade worthy of the realm."
A dagger from Tobho's shop rarely cost even a single gold dragon. Even an ornate noble sword averaged around ten.
And this commission was modest.
Thirty gold dragons was a fortune.
After sealing the deal, Tobho hurried to open the door.
"Keep quiet about this. The king has not announced anything yet," Joffrey warned.
Tobho nodded vigorously.
"Of course, of course."
"Since I am here," Joffrey added lightly, "show me your workshop. My father calls you the finest smith in King's Landing. I would like to see how steel is made."
It was a reasonable request. Curious youth, generous patron.
Tobho hesitated only briefly.
"As you wish. It is hot and loud within. Please forgive the conditions."
They passed through a narrow courtyard and entered a vast barn-like structure.
The moment the door opened, heat and the smell of sweat and sulfur hit them.
"There is little to see, Your Highness," Tobho shouted over hammer strikes and roaring bellows.
Joffrey wrinkled his nose but stepped inside.
The Hound followed reluctantly.
"What is that?" Joffrey asked, pointing.
"The furnace."
"And that?"
"The quenching barrel."
He asked question after question, moving past several forges until he found what he sought.
"What is this? A bull's head?"
He picked up a helmet from a bench and examined it.
Tobho's expression changed subtly. "Just a foolish thing an apprentice made. Nothing worth your attention."
"It is quite hot here. Perhaps we should step outside."
Joffrey nodded, but deliberately raised the helmet high, turning it in the light.
He flicked one horn with his knuckles, producing a dull clang.
A tall, bare-chested boy rushed forward.
"That's mine!" he shouted.
Sandor's hand moved to his sword.
Tobho quickly stepped in front of the boy.
"Gendry! Back to work!"
The boy brushed sweat-soaked black hair from his eyes, circling stubbornly.
"It's mine."
Joffrey stepped closer, studying him carefully. Then he handed the helmet back.
"You made this? It's interesting."
The boy clutched it tightly and nodded cautiously.
Tobho forced a laugh.
"Thank His Highness. Show respect."
He pushed the boy into a bow before shoving him away.
"Stubborn as raw iron," Tobho muttered. "He meant no offense."
"No offense taken," Joffrey replied easily. After a brief tour, he departed under Tobho's effusive farewells.
Mounting his horse, Joffrey fell into thought.
His half-brother.
The resemblance to Robert was undeniable.
Could Gendry remain in King's Landing?
No.
He could not.