Tobho's eyes lit up as he proudly straightened his back. "Aye, one of the few who know it, my Lord. Picked it up back home."
I should ask Robert before melting the Tarly sword.
"That's good to hear. I've a few spoils from war and some old Valyrian metal pieces I've gathered. I'll have them sent your way to forge into a greatsword. Until then, I want you to begin work on a full set of plated armor for me. Have it black, with touches of gold here and there. It'll be the armor I wear to war."
Wylis didn't even try to ask the man to follow him to Ramsgate. It was pointless. But what he could do was create a lasting impression. And be one of his first fat-pocketed patrons.
"It will be my honor, my Lord," said Tobho Mott, rising to his feet and gathering his tools. "I'll take your measure and set to work at once. Since it's for you, I'll see to every detail myself. The armor will be fit for your name and deeds. Still, it will take no less than four moons."
That was a very long time indeed. But Wylis wasn't ignorant about armor. If all he was asking for was a simple plate armor, Tobho could've made it in a month. But what he wanted was armor to show strength, wealth, and look imposing.
"Good. Make sure it's sturdy. I'll have need of it in battle. Still, my smiths can forge more when the time comes," he said, letting a hint of his meaning slip.
And as expected, Tobho looked hurt. "My Lord, any fool with a hammer can make a shirt of mail. What I do... that's bloody art."
"Aye, I've no doubt of it, my friend. I'm setting up a new kind of furnace on my lands, one I've planned myself. The river will drive the gears for the bellows, the trip hammers, and the rolling mills. In time, my forge street will be turning out hundreds of suits of armor each week."
Tobho stared at Wylis' face curiously. He knew what gears were, he knew what water mills were, but he didn't know how they could power a bellow. He didn't know what a rolling mill was either. He knew what a hammer was, but what did trip mean before the word?
"I... what kind of furnace did you have in mind, my Lord?"
"It's not easy to put into words. Truth be told, it'll be the first of its kind. Still, it's a risk I'm willing to take. King's Landing is grand and full of riches, yet it feels stagnated by its own past glory. Too many come here seeking comfort, not challenge. I mean no slight to you." Wylis glanced toward the window and rose to his feet. "Come, let's finish the measuring. If my furnace works as I hope, you'll be welcome to visit. You'll have earned it for forging my armor."
A bit speechless by the tall lord's words, Tobho silently did his work. He didn't believe it, of course. A hundred armors a week? That was impossible. Even King's Landing couldn't do that, let alone a small town in the North. But he was a curious man, and he had read the recent history. If there was one thing Lord Wylis was known for, it was doing the impossible.
"Here, I leave this coin with you. I trust it'll be enough to forge a good suit of armor."
Wylis handed twenty-five gold dragons. It was much more than what a plate armor took. Even the slightly fancy ones didn't take more than ten gold dragons. But he just told the man to do his best and left the shop.
He had more things to buy, after all.
For example, dozens of perfectly measured rectangular sheets of metal, which would take weeks to make. And also yarn, a lot of it. Then there were gifts for Lyanna, the ladies, and the kids.
After sending all the purchased goods to the ship, he ended up entering Chataya's Brothel. The building had a renovated facade, now much more luxurious. Even the marble inside was new, and the curtains.
Without any words exchanged, he was guided to a backroom right away. Chataya's private chambers, where she worked and also slept. As he entered and closed the door behind him, he met the tall, dusky, beautiful woman's almost golden eyes.
"My Lord," Chataya stood up and approached him, her voice smooth and laced with a Summer Islander accent.
"Come here." Wylis didn't let the woman stand stiff and pulled her in a warm, tight embrace. "It's good to see you healthy."
He really didn't know where Chataya fit in everything. She was no longer a whore but just the owner of a brothel, so she was clearly not a one-night stand for him. She was supposed to be the mother of his child, which would have given her a very high status in his priority list. But that babe died. And now, still, he felt she deserved that same status in that list.
Clearly, Chataya didn't mind as she eased into his chest, her arms circled his neck.
After what felt like a long moment, he released her, and she stood just a single step away from him, her hands softly caressing his chest, feeling the texture of his fine robes.
"I thought I was forgotten after you found your calling," she said with a teasing smile.
"Forget you? Not a chance, Chataya," he said, landing both his hands on her curvaceous waist. As he looked down at her face, he honestly felt lured by her lips.
And it appeared she felt the same. The very next moment, she rose on her toes and pecked him.
But just when she was done, he leaned down and gave her a real kiss. One she was likely to never forget. Deep, hot, intense, and passionate.
Their tongues met in a slow, serpentine dance, fervent, each stroke savoring the other's warmth, the soft press of flesh.
Chataya tasted of expensive wine, rich and heady, her breath a sweet fire that curled through Wylis's chest. His tongue traced hers, exploring, tasting, as if he could drink her essence.
Her lips yielded yet pushed back, silent in every glide, every shared breath, igniting a spark that made the air between them hum. Both their eyes fluttered shut, lost in the pulse of the moment.
Wylis's hands slid down her smooth curves, fingers sinking into the lush, round swell of her hips. He gripped them tightly, indulging in their softness, the way they filled his palms perfectly. Each squeeze pulled a faint moan from her throat, her body swaying closer. His rough hands kneaded her flesh, savoring the give, the warmth, the way her body seemed to sing under his grasp.
Their breath mingled until they finally parted, lips tingling, chests heaving.
Chataya's golden eyes gleamed with a knowing smile, matched by the wolfish grin spreading across Wylis's face.
"What brought you to me, my Lord?"
"You, of course," he said, keeping her in his arms. "Anyone given you trouble?"
Chataya shook her head, chuckling. "And if someone had, my lord?
"Kill them, of course. My name and fame stand high now, Chataya. See that you take advantage of that."
"Then…" She once again flattened her ripe breasts on him, her voice a low, throaty purr. "May I take advantage in another way?"
A suppressed smile played on her lips as Wylis felt her arm slip between them. Her hand found his cock, cupping it through his trousers. She squeezed, giving quick, teasing tugs, her touch igniting a slow burn in his loins.
His shaft stirred, thickening under her skilled grip, each pull coaxing it to swell. Her eyes locked on his, daring him, as she worked him with a rhythm that made his breath grow fast.
"I…" He hesitated, torn inside. He wasn't sure if she'd truly mended from all that had happened, or if this was just her way of bearing it. "I don't think now's the time to try for another babe, Chataya."
With a slow sigh, Chataya cupped his face, her eyes half-lidded. "My Lord, not every touch is meant to make babes. Some of us crave warmth for its own sake."
That felt like a light bulb igniting in his head. He smiled wolfishly and pushed Chataya back until her hips flatted against her table's edge. He didn't have to do anything as she herself slid on top of it and reclined back on her arms, smirking at him right as her legs came up, her feet tugging at his erection.
Her feet moved masterfully, squeezing his cock between their smooth arches, still trapped in his trousers. The pressure was exquisite, her toes curling just enough to tease, rolling his length with a slow, urging rhythm. Each stroke sent a jolt through him, her soft soles gliding, pressing, persuading his arousal to throb harder.
Wylis stood rooted, watching her face. It was a vision of curious, teasing delight. Her golden eyes glinted with mischief as she worked him, her lips parted in a throaty giggle. With a sigh, he shoved his trousers down, freeing his hard, girthy cock, ready to steal her breath.
"Umm.." Chataya moaned, her chuckle vibrating in her throat as she trapped his nude shaft between one sole and the other foot's arch, rolling it in indulgent, massaging strokes that almost made his knees weak.
"Now that we've a quiet moment, my Lord... tell me, what sin dragged you to King's Landing?"
Wylis let out a soft chuckle, feeling her foot job doing its work. He was throbbing; he was threateningly erect. "Can't I say you?"
Chataya rolled her eyes.
"Trade. Needed to buy a few things. Mostly metalwork. And I'm looking for skilled hands, blacksmiths, builders, weavers, and the like, to bring back home."
Her toes teased harder, trying to catch his swollen cockhead between them, pinching lightly, sending a sharp spike of pleasure through him. She raised her chin, her gaze locking onto his face, sultry and teasing.
"You're looking in the wrong place for such men, my Lord. In this city, they're too busy counting their coins to crave more. If you want the hungry ones, you'll find them in small towns beyond the walls."
Wylis knew that already. Of course, he knew that.
"If names are what you want, I can find a few."
"That'll help a lot."
She hummed and stopped abruptly. She sat up from the table, got off, and gently pushed Wylis to sit on the chair behind him. Right after, she raised her loose, silken gown, removed her smallcloth, and straddled him.
"Let's help this… first." She gripped his cock underneath and guided it to her core. "Ummh…"
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