the anvil and the boy (Patreon)

The dinner had been delicious, but more uncomfortable than he would have liked, his lord father could not be present because of a meeting with Lord Manderly that lasted longer than expected, so the dinner consisted of his brothers, him and Lady Stark, that is, a recipe for disaster.

He ate quietly and at full speed, feeling the piercing gaze of his father's Lady wife, as he listened to the adventures of his little sister Arya, her escapes from the insufferable Septa, and her adventures through Winterfell.

"You shouldn't behave that way Arya, it's not proper of a lady" exclaimed Sansa, her other sister, they were close once, of course until her mother and the southern harpy put it into her head that all bastards are despicable beings born of sin and that she shouldn't relate to it, pure stupidity in his opinion.

Throughout the history of Westeros there have been more cases of usurpations by younger brothers or cousins of the family than by bastards and that´s documented history, but what can a being as insipid and unintelligent as Septa Mordane know about that, the woman was the daughter of a butcher from a small town near Riverrun, He barely knew how to read and write, and she keep repeating like a trained bitch what she was taught in those lands, and the filthy Andal mongrel believes that she could look down at him, it is curious how the mind of some people works.

"Don't get involved Sansa, I'm talking to my brother, no one asked for your opinion" replied Lord Eddard's youngest daughter "you can go talk to your stupid friends and leave me alone with Jon" Arya said furiously.

"Half-brother," replied the eldest of the Stark daughters, with an insipid and arrogant tone, obviously wanting to imitate her even more insipid mother "and you should be careful who you relate to, bastards are troublesome and sinful, that's what the faith of the seven dictates," Sansa exclaimed

"We don't follow that Southern faith, we are Starks and we are from the North and our faith is from the old gods of the forest, you as a Lady Stark should know that," Jon replied to his sister gently, but with a firm tone. "Every time you talk about the Southern faith as if it were your own, the lords and servants speak, and our father's reputation is affected," continued the black-haired man

"What can you know what the lords of the kingdom think, you are just a stupid bastard, your existence is a dishonor to our father and to house Stark" the redhead replied annoyed without measuring her words.

Jon cleaned his face of all expression, Sansa was distant with him, but she had never spoken to him in such a way, that was the "education" that the stupid Septa gave to his sister, that those words came from the little wolf with whom he once played and ate lemon cakes in secret, with whom he had grown up playing and consenting to his mischief hurt more than he would have liked to accept, Jon replied coldly – I see, an apology for the annoyance Lady Tully, I'll try not to let my voice and my presence bother you again, good night – he got up and slowly left the table, the rest of the servants had uncertain or even disapproving looks, while on the face of the southern harpy who was married to her father there was a satisfied smile, As if his grandiose plan was on the right track, the stupid trout could not understand that showing division before the lords of the north would only make them seem weak in the face of their father's vassals, but what a woman raised in the rotten faith of the Andals could know about politics.

Leaving the room, he could still hear his sister Arya yelling at Sansa that she was stupid for saying such things and his brother Robb reprimanding the redhead for saying such comments, but that didn't matter to him, he needed to vent his rage and he was sure that Mikken would have something to hit in the forge.

He passed through various corridors, stone statues sculpted into wolves and soldiers of old guarded Winterfell, murals that were still standing since they were built by order of their ancestors, the fortress was designed to withstand even the harshest of winters and the glass garden made sure that, at least they had a livelihood no matter how small it was during those dark days, a military bastion that had never been taken, besieged yes, more times than he could remember, but never taken.

During his way, he could see his father leaving the main keep, accompanied by Lord Manderly, the lord of White Harbor was talking non-stop while his father only nodded and answered in a short way, both so focused on what they were talking about they were heading to the tower of the Maester, most likely something from taxes or a business opportunity, Lord Manderly was very good at sniffing gold, he was sure he could learn a thing or two from him, if given the chance, however, he took those thoughts away and focused on forging, Mikkel was waiting for him with various minerals, he was lucky, Mikkel would do ingots today.

"You're late boy," replied the grumpy old man, now blacksmith of Winterfell, once one of his grandfather Rickard's men-at-arms, who served in the last Blackfire rebellion, Mikkel served in the war and returned with an arrow wound in his knee, thanks to the Old Gods he could still walk, but he would not have the mobility necessary to be a warrior, so he dedicated himself to being an apprentice to the previous blacksmith whose name Jon did not remember and when a cruel long winter many years ago took him, Mikkel took his place and has served House Stark ever since.

"The lessons with Luwin were longer than usual, I come from the great hall, do you need to melt down ingots today? " Jon asked hopefully.

Mikken snorted "Ha! and who made you angry eh? you never want to do that" Mikken asked

Jon looked away and shaking his head, replied "I just need to hit something, that's all" as he walked into the forge, he put on his leather apron and grabbed the tools and began to inspect the minerals.

"Make 10 iron and 5 steel, that would be all for today boy, tomorrow we will work on your project" Mikken replied as he began to sharpen some arrowheads

"Understood," replied the black-haired man and began to work

The process to create ingots was long, it required patience, strength and more patience, iron ingots were simple, it was limited to melting the ore, obtaining the metal white hot, placing it in clay molds and shaping it at the point of a hammer, the complicated thing was to work with steel, it required coal, iron, patience and twice the force necessary to forge an iron ingot, not counting prolonged exposure to fire, Mikkel described it as the worst thing about forging, the heat.

If Jon was honest with himself the last part had never been a problem for him, he had a suspiciously high tolerance for fire, although he had never paid much attention to it

Shaking his head Jon concentrated again, and began to hammer, he had a lot of work ahead of him.