Confucius once said 'Never give a sword to a man who can't dance', it's safe to say that the man in front of me was a very good dancer. Ser Benedict Broom, the new Master-at-arms of Casterly Rock was probably the finest sword in the West (Barring Jaime of course).
Ser Benedict was a tall, burly man in his early 30's. Bristly dark brown hair sat on top of his head and stubble wrapped around his jaw, deep sunken eyes of an unknown colour as his brows block the sun. A strong nose with an equally strong jaw and a light bronze tone to his skin. Ser Benedict fought in the Rebellion and had managed to catch my Fathers attention with his skill with the sword and his ability to lead the small number of soldiers House Broome had mustered for the war.
After my abduction and the fact that I had harmed myself with my own knife, Tywin had saw to it that I would get another skilled swordsman who could teach me how to fight, preferably if said swordsman had a tongue they could use to communicate with me, trying to decipher grunts and moans took more effort than swinging a sword.
I had originally tried to request someone from Braavos or Essos as a whole, to try and get my own Syrio Forel, however father put a stop to that with his logic and slight racism of everyone who isn't Westerosi and powerful. According to him I needed to 'Learn how to fight like a knight to kill a knight' and that 'There toothpicks wouldn't so much as scratch Castle-forged steel', which I understood and relented after having my dream crushed of having my own Yoda-level teacher.
"You're awful" Ser Benedict tells me as he walks over to the weapon rack and sheaths his practise sword, "No wonder you nearly got kidnapped."
I glare at him, red in the face with sweat dripping from my brow. We had just had a spare, on his suggestion, to see how much I know of wielding a sword, it is safe to say that I could've done better.
"Go through the basic stances, I want to see where your at. I'll tell you which stance to form and then you transition to the next." Ser Benedict says as he perches himself on a bench and helps himself to a jug of water.
"Ox" he shouts as I try to hold the sword high and straight, facing forwards with the cross-guard next to my head. As I wait for him to call out the next stance the tip of the sword starts wobbling side-to-side and my arms ache and burn.
"High", I internally sigh in relief as I get to move my arms. As I go to move the sword above my me, I catch the end of the guard on the side of my head, making me wince a little.
If anything this stance was much worse as the end of the sword kept tilting back behind me. "Fool's", I let the sword fall to fast as i lower it close to the ground, the tip barely touching the floor of the the courtyard I'm in.
This would go on for another three hours, shifting into the different basic stances of the longsword. High, roof, tail, fool's, ox, plow and longpoint in no particular order. Afterwards my body would ache as if I've just been run over by a horse-and-carriage and muscles would burn in places I didn't even know muscles existed.
"Good, I want you to take one of these practise swords with you from off the rack and I want you to go through these stances in your spare time, I will know if you don't." Ser Benedict announced as he made to leave via a side door in the courtyard, leaving me laying on the ground in exhaustion.
The walk back to my bedchambers felt more like a hike, between the steep corridors or the occasional flight of stairs, I'm just glad that someone had the smart idea of installing lifts. Some members of the household offered to help me but the thought of being carried through Casterly Rock was mortifying.
My room was not the most decorated within the Rock, of course there are some feature of the room that is embellished with jewels and a few objects made of gold but I like to think that I'm a minimalist. A large king sized bed in the middle of the room decorated with sheets of crimson, one large mahogany desk in the left corner of the room that is covered with books, inkwells and spare pieces of parchment strewn about. Finally there is the balcony, which is my favourite part as it has views of ships entering Lannisport's harbour and the sun lights up my room with a fierce orange glow as the sunsets.
I stop and stare at a mirror that is hung up on a wall, a golden frame ornamented with rubies courtesy of the goldsmiths in Lannisport. My hair had been cut a few weeks ago, resulting in a short mess of curly golden hair that touched the top of my eyebrows. A pair of pale green eyes flecked with gold stare back, almost a copy of fathers eyes which are split by a sharp, thin nose. The renowned Lannister sun-kissed skin glows from the sunset pervading my room. Broad-shouldered yet slender, lacking any defined muscles due to the fact I stopped exercising several years ago.
My eyes fall on the scar on my face, a jagged line of red going from the left side of my forehead down to my cheek, almost giving me a Glasgow smile. Maester Creylen had informed me a week ago that I would be able to take off the bandage as it was fully scarred now, it should fade a little in due time. Even looking at it makes the scar feel itchy, an itch that I do not scratch.
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"What is this?" My father asks my with a raised eyebrow as he stares at the stack of paper I have placed on his desk.
"It is a new method to produce large quantities of steel that I have come up with." I reply, nervous as to how he might react. The Industrial development of the Westerlands depends on this.
What I said sparked quite a reaction out of Tywin as he drops the quill he was writing with and immediately starts flicking through the papers I had given him, "How?" he asks.
"Essentially, you fill this furnace, which I will call a Bessemer, with molten pig iron from a blast furnace. Air is then blown through these opening here" I point out on the sheet " and then that air is forced up through the molten iron which causes all of the impurities to be burned off, creating pure steel." I explain to father as he continuously looks through the different slips of paper, reading my notes with his constant stoic expression.
"How did you come up with this?" he asks me with an inquisitive stare.
"I came across a book on the process of making steel in the library and it mentioned that Qohor had a way to make high quality steel through forcing oxygen through molten iron" which is actually a fact, Qohor possess some of the best blacksmiths throughout the known world. "I had improvised a few designs and shown them to Maester Creylen to see if he thought they would work and he told me that they should despite him being no expert in metallurgy", which is also true.
Father nods his head, "How much would it cost?"
"Well, the Bessemer would have to be made out of steel for it too be able to handle the heat and the molten iron, fortunately it should only take a short amount of time to make several tons of steel so more Bessemer's can be made. However, I'm going to need a lot of pig iron to smelt and coke is needed to fuel the Bessemer to a high enough temperature." I tell him, hoping that he would pay for this venture instead of me having to, like what happened with improving the agriculture.
We both sit in a familiar silence as he keeps looking through the pages, he looks up "There is a man in Lannisport who is highly skilled in producing steel, I will see if he is interested in making a Bessemer in one of the lower caverns within the Rock. As you were the one to design this, you will mostly be in charge however Ser Rylen will step in at times he deems necessary and will keep me informed of progress, everything will be funded by House Lannister."