The morning air was crisp and cold.
The great courtyard of Winterfell had been transformed. A wooden dais had been erected at the far end, covered in heavy furs and tapestries of the Direwolf and the Stag.
King Robert Baratheon sat on the center chair.
He was a massive man, fat and red faced, wrapped in velvet that struggled to contain his bulk. He held a horn of ale in one hand and looked bored. Beside him sat Queen Cersei, her face a mask of polite disgust as she looked at the mud and the Northern barbarians.
Lord Eddard Stark sat to the King's right, his face grim and stoic.
"Next!" The herald shouted.
It was time for the presentation of gifts.
Lord Karstark stepped forward. His servants brought out three magnificent black stallions.
"For Your Grace," Karstark boomed. "Horses bred from the strongest stock in the North. They do not fear the snow."
"Good beasts!" King Robert shouted, nodding in approval. "Strong legs! I like them!"
Next came Lord Manderly, offering a chest of silver and spices from White Harbor.
Next came the Greatjon, offering a cloak made from the skin of a snow bear he had killed with his bare hands.
Robert loved them all. He laughed, he drank, he clapped his hands.
Then the herald looked at his list and frowned.
"Lord Andar Stark of Deepwood Keep."
The crowd quieted down. They whispered.
"The cadet branch?"
"The boy with the mud tower?"
"I heard he brought sticks."
Andar walked forward. He was alone. He did not wear silk or velvet. He wore a clean, sharp uniform of black wool with silver buttons. It was a style no one had ever seen before.
Behind him, Jory and the four other men of the Iron Squad marched in perfect rhythm. Thud. Thud. Thud. They stopped ten paces behind Andar and grounded their muskets with a single, unified CLACK.
Andar bowed. It was a stiff, military bow, not a courtly one.
"Your Grace," Andar said. His voice was clear. "Lord Stark."
Eddard nodded politely. "Andar. You have grown. Your father was a good man."
"Thank you My Lord," Andar replied.
King Robert leaned forward, squinting at the soldiers.
"Andar Stark? You are the one the guard told me about. The one camped by the dog kennels."
Robert pointed a thick finger at the muskets.
"And what are those? Are they walking sticks? Or are they clubs?"
The crowd laughed. The Greatjon laughed the loudest.
"They are clubs Your Grace!" Greatjon roared. "The boy is afraid of steel so he brought wood!"
Andar waited for the laughter to die down.
"These are not clubs Your Grace," Andar said calmly. "These are the future."
He gestured to the open space in the courtyard.
"I have brought no furs. I have brought no horses. I bring only a demonstration. If Your Grace permits."
Robert looked at Ned. Ned looked unsure.
"Let the boy show us," Robert waved his hand, eager for any entertainment. "Go on! Show me how you use your sticks!"
Andar turned to his men.
"Iron Squad. Formation."
The five men moved. In three seconds they had formed a firing line facing the stone wall of the archery range, fifty paces away.
"Jory," Andar ordered. "The shield."
Jory ran forward and placed a target against the wall. It was not a straw dummy.
It was a plate of steel armor. Specifically, a heavy tourney breastplate that Andar had bought from the castle armory that morning. It was thick, polished, and strong.
Andar turned back to the King.
"Your Grace. Lord Umber says these are clubs. He says we fear steel."
Andar's voice rose.
"But in the North we do not hide behind steel. We break it."
He looked at the Greatjon.
"Lord Umber. You are the strongest man here. Can you throw a spear through that breastplate from fifty paces?"
The Greatjon scoffed. "From fifty paces? Through plate? No man can do that. An arrow would bounce off. A spear would shatter."
"Exactly," Andar said.
He turned to his squad.
"Load!"
The crowd watched in confusion as the men bit the paper and rammed the rods.
"What is that?" Jaime Lannister, the Kingslayer, standing behind the Queen, narrowed his eyes. "Is that... powder?"
"Present!"
Five barrels leveled at the breastplate.
The crowd went silent. They sensed something was wrong. The way the men stood, the dark holes of the iron tubes... it felt dangerous.
"Fire!"
BOOM!
The thunderclap shook the snow from the castle walls.
Queen Cersei shrieked and covered her ears. The Hound reached for his sword. King Robert spilled his ale all over his lap.
A massive cloud of white smoke filled the center of the yard.
When the smoke cleared, Andar walked to the wall. He unhooked the breastplate and carried it back to the dais.
He dropped it at the King's feet.
Clang.
There were five holes in the chest of the armor.
They were brutal, jagged holes. The steel had been punched through as if it were wet parchment. The force of the impact had caved in the entire chest cavity. If a man had been wearing it, he would be dead five times over.
King Robert stared at the armor. His mouth was open.
He looked at the holes. He looked at the "clubs." He looked at Andar.
"Gods..." Robert whispered. He stood up, ignoring the spilled ale.
He walked down the steps of the dais, pushing aside his Kingsguard. He picked up the breastplate. He ran his finger over the jagged metal.
"Through plate?" Robert muttered. "From fifty paces? Through plate?"
He turned to Andar. His eyes were wide with a manic excitement.
"What is this magic boy? Is this Valyrian? Is this a dragon in a stick?"
"It is the Musket Your Grace," Andar said. "It does not require a knight to use it. It does not require years of training. Give me a peasant, and in two weeks I will give you a soldier who can kill the Mountain."
The mention of the Mountain made the Hound chuckle darkly.
Robert laughed. A deep, belly shaking laugh.
"Hah! Did you hear that Ned? Did you hear that?"
Robert grabbed the musket from Jory's hands. He felt the weight of it. He smelled the sulfur.
"You call this the future?" Robert looked at Andar.
"Yes Your Grace."
"It is loud. It stinks. It is ugly."
Robert grinned, a savage smile returning to his face.
"I love it."
He slapped Andar on the shoulder, nearly knocking the smaller man over.
"How many do you have?"
"Five Your Grace."
"Make me five hundred," Robert commanded. "I want to hunt boar with this. No... I want to hunt Targaryens with this."
Lord Eddard stood up. His face was pale. He looked at the shattered armor and saw only death.
"Your Grace," Ned said quietly. "This weapon... it is dishonorable. It kills without skill. It will end the age of knights."
"Good!" Robert roared. "Knights are useless expensive peacocks! This... this is power!"
He looked at Andar.
"You said you are Lord of Deepwood Keep?"
"Yes Your Grace."
"Not anymore," Robert shouted. "I name you Royal Artificer! You will sit by me at the feast tonight Andar Stark. And you will tell me exactly how a boy from the woods captured lightning in a bottle."
[Quest Complete: The King's Attention]
[Reward: Blueprint Bayonet Attachment]
[Reputation: King Robert (Friendly)]
[Reputation: Eddard Stark (Concerned)]
[Reputation: House Lannister (Suspicious)]
Andar bowed low.
"It would be my honor Your Grace."
As the court dissolved into chaos and whispers, Andar caught the eye of the Greatjon. The giant Lord was staring at the shattered breastplate, his face pale. He was rubbing his own chest, imagining what those lead balls would feel like.
The North had just changed forever.
....
Author Note
Hi guys! Thank you for reading my fanfiction.
I wanted to let you know that I'm releasing bonus chapters for Power Stones. Here are the goals:
25 Power Stones: 1 Bonus Chapters
50 Power Stones: 1 Bonus Chapters
75 Power Stones: 2 Bonus Chapters
100 Power Stones: 2 Bonus Chapters
Thanks for the support!