The corner of the massive Winterfell forge had been completely cleared of the usual clutter. The master smith had begrudgingly surrendered a heavy oak workbench and a small secondary hearth to the tiny white haired lordling. The older men of the forge kept their distance and cast highly skeptical glances toward the dark corner. They muttered among themselves about the absolute madness of letting a five year old boy play with fire and heavy iron tools.
Kaelen ignored their ignorant whispers entirely. The physical limitations of a five year old body were a constant source of profound irritation but he refused to let them slow his progress. He sat on a tall wooden stool that Harry Stone had built specifically for him. His short legs dangled far above the soot stained stone floor. He held a piece of white chalk in his small hand and drew a large picture directly onto the surface of the wooden bench.
Harry stood beside him and stared at the white lines with a deeply furrowed brow. The thirteen year old bastard was covered in a fresh layer of dark coal dust and sweat. He wiped his hands on his heavy leather apron and leaned closer to the drawing.
"I understand the wooden box my lord," Harry said slowly. He traced a dirty finger over the chalk lines. "And I understand using the boiled leather to seal the edges so the air cannot escape. But I do not understand these little leather flaps you have drawn at the top and the bottom."
Kaelen pointed to the specific chalk markings with a steady hand. He knew he had to explain the concept in a way a medieval boy could easily grasp.
"Those are simple doors Harry," Kaelen explained smoothly. "They are doors that only open inward. The old leather bags used by the master smith are terrible. They only push air into the fire when you squeeze them shut. When you pull them open to take another breath they suck cold air and dirty smoke backward from the forge. That makes the fire burn unevenly. An uneven fire makes the steel brittle and weak."
Harry nodded slowly as he absorbed the logic. He had worked the old leather bags for years and he knew the exact frustrating rhythm Kaelen was describing. The fire would roar and then the fire would dim.
"Our new tool uses a wooden box split into two separate rooms," Kaelen continued. "When you pull the handle up the bottom door opens to suck in fresh air while the top room squeezes shut to push air directly into the fire. When you push the handle down the top door opens for fresh air while the bottom room squeezes shut. It provides a steady and unbroken wind to the coals. The fire will never lose its breath."
Harry stared at the chalk drawing in absolute silence for a long moment. He looked back and forth between the brilliant drawing and the tiny face of the five year old boy sitting on the stool. The idea was brilliant in its complete simplicity. It was a tool that would change the way metal was shaped forever. And it had just been drawn by a child who still required a stool to reach the workbench.
"You have a very strange mind my lord Kaelen," Harry whispered in quiet awe. "Who taught you how to draw such things?"
"Watching the world taught me," Kaelen replied flatly. He did not possess the time to explain the truth of his past life. "The world operates on simple rules Harry. Once you understand the rules you can build tools to make the work easier. Now bring me the cured leather hides and the sticky pine sap. We need to build the wooden rooms before the afternoon sun fades."
They worked together in a state of highly focused teamwork for the next three days. Kaelen provided the precise measurements and the grand design. Harry provided the physical strength and the clever hands required to bend the raw materials.
It was a deeply frustrating process for Kaelen. His mind operated incredibly fast but he was entirely trapped within a physical shell that lacked the necessary muscle. He knew exactly how tight the leather needed to be pulled across the wooden frame. But his tiny fingers lacked the raw gripping strength to stretch the heavy animal hide. He had to rely entirely on Harry to act as his hands.
Harry proved to be an exceptional builder. The bastard boy possessed an incredible feeling for how pieces fit together. When a wooden joint did not fit perfectly Harry would shave the edge with a sharp knife until it locked seamlessly into place. When the sticky pine sap began to cool too quickly Harry learned to heat his knife blade in the fire to smooth the seals and trap the air. They did not speak of noble titles or bastard origins while they worked. They were simply a thinker and a builder working together to solve a massive problem.
By the late afternoon of the third day the new machine was finally complete.
It did not look elegant or beautiful. It was a heavy and highly functional block of dark oak wood and thick leather and black iron brackets. It sat beside the secondary hearth like a strange and sleeping beast waiting to be awakened.
The master smith and the other apprentices slowly stopped their own work. They gathered around the edges of the claimed corner and watched with a mixture of deep doubt and quiet amusement. They fully expected the strange wooden box to catch fire or simply fall apart the moment it was tested.
Kaelen ignored the crowd of men. He hopped down from his tall stool and walked over to the hearth. He instructed Harry to fill the fire basin with high quality black coal. Kaelen then used a pair of heavy iron tongs to carefully place a thick block of raw and stubborn iron directly into the center of the dark coals.
"Light the straw," Kaelen commanded.
Harry struck a flint and sparked a small flame into a nest of dry straw tucked beneath the coal. The fire slowly caught and began to produce a thick cloud of grey smoke.
"Pump the handle Harry," Kaelen ordered with a sharp tone. "Give me a steady and continuous rhythm. Do not rush. Let the wooden rooms fill completely with air before you push back."
Harry gripped the heavy iron handle of the wooden pump. He pulled it upward with a smooth motion. A loud hissing sound echoed from the leather doors opening. He then pushed the handle down with his strong shoulders.
A massive and continuous blast of rushing air tore through the iron pipe connecting the wooden box to the base of the hearth.
The reaction was absolutely instant. The dark and smoking coals suddenly erupted into a blinding display of pure heat. The grey smoke vanished entirely as the constant wind fed the hungry flames. The fire shifted from a lazy yellow color to a vicious and roaring bright orange.
Harry maintained the steady pumping rhythm. His strong back muscles worked in perfect time with the needs of the machine. He pulled up and pushed down. The constant stream of air fed the fire without a single second of interruption.
Kaelen stepped back and shielded his sensitive green eyes from the intense glare. He watched the color of the flames transition rapidly from bright orange to a brilliant and blinding white. He felt the massive wave of heat wash over his small body. It was beautiful and terrifying all at once.
"By the old gods," the master smith swore loudly. He took a terrified step backward as the intense heat radiated across the large workshop. "The boy has summoned a fire demon into the hearth."
"Keep pumping Harry," Kaelen shouted over the deafening roar of the superheated forge.
He watched the thick block of stubborn iron sitting in the center of the white flames. Traditional smiths struggled for many hours to soften raw iron enough to hammer out the dirt and weaknesses. Kaelen wanted to see exactly how much heat his new machine could generate.
Within five minutes the surface of the thick iron block began to sweat like a man standing in the summer sun. Within ten minutes the solid metal lost its shape completely. The iron simply surrendered to the overwhelming heat. It melted into a glowing puddle of liquid metal that pooled perfectly at the bottom of the clay bowl Kaelen had placed beneath the coals.
Harry finally stopped pumping. He leaned heavily against the wooden handle and gasped for breath. His face was slick with sweat and glowing in the bright light of the liquid iron. He looked down at the puddle of melted metal and his jaw dropped in absolute disbelief.
"We melted it," Harry whispered in pure shock. "We actually melted solid iron into flowing water."
Kaelen felt a profound and deeply satisfying victory settle into his mind. He had successfully jumped past hundreds of years of slow learning in exactly three days. With a forge capable of achieving these sustained high temperatures he could finally begin to create true and unbreakable steel. He could pour melted iron into molds to make enclosed heating stoves. He had secured the heat he needed to change the world.
"Clean the clay bowl and let the metal cool," Kaelen instructed quietly. He turned away from the blinding light and began to wipe the thick soot from his small hands with a rough cloth. "Tomorrow we will begin testing different ways to clean the dirt out of the liquid iron."
Kaelen left the forge and walked out into the freezing courtyard. The biting wind of the North immediately cut through his fine woolen clothing. The harsh change from the intense heat of the workshop to the bitter cold of the castle grounds served as a brutal reminder of his true enemy. The cold was always waiting just outside the heavy wooden doors.
He walked through the winding stone halls and made his way back to the family rooms of the keep. He knew he looked terrible for a highborn son. His clothes were covered in black coal dust and his fine white hair was stained with grey ash. He pushed the heavy oak door of the nursery open and stepped inside.
The large room was filled with the chaotic and comforting sounds of his family.
Brandon was five years old now. He was currently standing on top of a heavy wooden chest and loudly declaring himself the King of Winter. He held a small wooden shield and swung a stick at an imaginary army of knights. Eddard was four years old and he sat quietly on the thick rugs. He watched his older brother with a solemn and serious face. Eddard occasionally clapped his small hands when Brandon performed a particularly dramatic jump off the chest.
Lyarra Stark sat in her soft padded chair near the roaring open fire. She held the infant Lyanna securely in her arms. Lyanna was nearly a year old and she was a deeply curious baby. She stared at the dancing flames of the open fire with wide dark eyes.
Lyarra looked up when the heavy door opened. Her striking green eyes widened in complete surprise when she saw the soot covered state of her twin son.
"Kaelen Stark," Lyarra gasped with a mixture of shock and gentle amusement. "What in the name of the old gods have you been doing? You look like you just crawled out of a dirty coal mine."
Kaelen walked slowly across the room. He felt a deep and sudden exhaustion wash over his small body. The intense focus required to build the machine had completely drained his limited physical strength. He stopped beside her chair and looked down at his dirty hands.
"I was working in the forge mother," Kaelen answered softly. He never wanted to lie to her. "I built a new wooden box to make the fires burn much hotter."
Lyarra handed the sleeping Lyanna to a waiting nursemaid. She reached out and pulled Kaelen entirely into her lap despite the thick layer of soot covering his clothes. She did not care about the dirt ruining her fine wool dress. She wrapped her warm arms around his small body and held him tightly against her chest.
"You are only five years old my sweet boy," Lyarra whispered as she kissed the top of his ash stained white head. "You should be playing with your brothers on the rugs and fighting imaginary enemies. You should not be working in the dark smoke of the forge with grown men."
Kaelen rested his heavy head against her shoulder. He listened to the steady and comforting rhythm of her heartbeat. He felt the profound emotional connection that tied him to this beautiful woman and to the loud boys playing on the floor. He loved them with a fierce and terrifying intensity that made his chest physically ache.
He looked over her shoulder and stared at the narrow windows of the nursery. The glass panes were thick and incredibly cloudy. They were filled with ugly bubbles and green dirt. The poor quality glass blocked almost all of the natural sunlight and offered terrible protection against the howling wind outside.
"I cannot play mother," Kaelen whispered into the soft wool of her dress. He felt a sudden sting of hot tears in his green eyes. The weakness of his small body always made his massive responsibilities feel impossibly heavy. "The long winter is coming. It is going to be so terribly cold. I have to make the fires burn hotter so we do not freeze."
Lyarra tightened her warm embrace. She felt the genuine fear radiating from the small boy in her arms. She did not fully understand his strange obsession with the cold or his unnatural cleverness but she understood that he was carrying a burden far too heavy for a child.
"We are Starks my little white wolf," Lyarra said softly to comfort him. "The castle walls are strong and the cellars below the ground are full of grain. We will survive the winter just as our family always has."
Kaelen closed his eyes and allowed himself to rest in her warm arms for just a few precious moments. He knew she was wrong. The cellars were never full enough to survive a five year freeze. The castle was strong against swords and arrows but it was completely defenseless against a freezing sky. He had to be the one to save them. He had to prepare the North for a war against the snow itself.
The next morning Kaelen returned to his claimed corner of the forge. He found Harry Stone meticulously cleaning the iron tools and organizing the heavy oak workbench. The bastard boy looked up and offered a highly respectful nod to the young lord.
"The clay bowl survived the heat my lord," Harry reported dutifully. "We can begin testing the liquid iron to make better swords whenever you are ready."
"The iron must wait Harry," Kaelen stated firmly. He climbed up onto his tall wooden stool and picked up a fresh piece of white chalk. "The iron is required for weapons and heavy stoves. But swords cannot feed a starving family when the ground freezes solid for three years. We need to build massive gardens that can trap the warmth of the sun and grow food even in the dead of winter."
Harry frowned in deep confusion. "You cannot grow food in the snow my lord. The frost kills the roots in the dirt."
"We will not grow the food in the snow," Kaelen corrected him patiently. "We will grow the food inside massive buildings made entirely of clear glass. The clear glass will act like an invisible shield. It will allow the sunlight to enter the building but it will refuse to let the warmth escape back into the cold air. We will create a permanent warm summer inside the walls of Winterfell."
Harry stared at the five year old boy. The ideas were completely strange to his mind but he had seen the white hot fire of the new wooden box. He had learned very quickly never to doubt the plans of the white haired lord.
"The glass in the castle windows is terrible my lord," Harry pointed out simply. "It is thick and cloudy and you can barely see the courtyard through it. It takes the glassmakers in White Harbor many weeks to make just a few small pieces."
Kaelen began to draw a new set of shapes and simple instructions onto the wooden bench. "The local glassmakers use dirty river sand and they fail to make their fires hot enough. They are essentially baking mud. We are going to produce glass so clear it looks like frozen water."
Kaelen finished the drawing and reached into the small pocket of his fine woolen tunic. He pulled out a small leather pouch and dropped it onto the heavy oak workbench. The sharp clinking sound of silver coins echoed in the quiet corner.
"I need you to go down into the Winter Town just outside the castle walls," Kaelen instructed. "I cannot order a massive wagon of supplies without my father asking questions. And a smart builder never wastes a massive pile of supplies before testing a small handful first."
Harry looked at the pouch of silver coins and then back at the young lord.
"Go to the local traders who travel from the coast," Kaelen continued. "Buy a small sack of pure white sand. Do not accept the brown dirt from the local river. Then go to the apothecary and ask for the grey ashes of burned seaweed. Finally visit the stonemasons and buy a small bag of crushed white rocks or crushed shells."
Harry memorized the short list of strange materials. "White sand and seaweed ashes and crushed white rocks. Just a small sack of each my lord?"
Kaelen nodded his head. "Yes Harry. We will mix them in a small clay bowl and melt them in our new fire. We must perfect the recipe before we attempt to build the massive structures. We are going to take this one small step at a time."
Harry smiled brightly and scooped the silver coins into his dirty hands.
Kaelen looked toward the high stone walls of the ancient keep. He imagined the massive sweeping buildings of iron and clear glass he intended to build across the frozen courtyard. He imagined a fortress capable of feeding his mother and his brothers during a long freeze.
"Go quickly Harry," Kaelen said with a cold and calculating determination. "We are going to capture the sun."