Seven

by Counternet

A man from the far north who has lost everything. A woman from the Frozen Shore who longs to be South of the Wall. A man from Between the Forks who wants revenge. A deserter from the Night's Watch who wants to live. A whore from Mole's Town who wants more for her son. A smith from Barrowtown who lusts for power. An Ironborn man who lusts for Gold. What will they achieve? Please R&R

12. Chapter 11

4 Months before the death of Jon Arryn

Abel

Abel sat alone in the bar that doubled as the Barrowton brothel and thought for the millionth time that night how things in Barrowton would be different if he were in charge.

First of all, no whore in the city would ever be without work. Abel couldn't afford their kind, and these were even the lowest of the low; these were the women many men would pay to have their clothes kept on. Yet even these Abel lusted after, because it was something more than a quick grope as a serving maid passed by his table. The serving maids had learned months ago not to walk anywhere near where Abel was sitting, except for the unlucky winch who happened to be serving him that night. Even the maids, the primary draw for many inns, what made one inn better than another, were below Abel's standards. But his coin only stretched so far.

This led Abel to his second point, the second thing he would change if he were in charge. If Abel were the lord of Barrowton, every person who worked for him would be compensated more than handsomely. Abel was Lord Dustin's personal smith; he made and mended swords, armor, arrowheads, and more mundane things like horseshoes and door handles. Abel could work every metal from tin to steel to silver to gold. He could make jewelry for the ladies and weapons for the lords. He was the best smith north of King's Landing, and his work was better than nine out of every ten smiths in or south of King's Landing as well. Put simply, Abel was the best Lord Dustin was ever going to find, but Abel was paid like a boy from Flea Bottom would be to catch a pigeon for dinner. No, if Abel were a lord, every person in his employ would live like a king.

The thought of Flea Bottom brought Abel back to his early years, when his dream had been to forge steel for a Targaryen on the Iron Throne. Abel had been born in King's Landing to a poor family, but they had never been Flea Bottom poor. From the time he was born, Abel's parents had put away money to pay for his apprenticeship, but he had still been seventeen before there was enough money.

But the apprenticeship had been well worth it. Abel had managed to open his own shop some years later, and had eventually be called upon by a lord of the North to be a personal smith. Agreeing to take the position was the worst mistake Able had ever made.

His position had made Abel one of the most disliked people in Barrowton. The smallfolk were not interested in interacting with him because they viewed him as another distant noble, at best ignorant of their plight, at worst, indifferent to it. But because his privileged position did not match up with his pay, Abel didn't have the gold to command the respect of the smallfolk or the fellowship of the nobility, artisans, or other merchants.

This led Abel to the third thing he would change if he were the lord: not a single person in his charge would ever feel their problems were unimportant to him. Abel considered himself to be a realist. He knew that he could not solve every problem, though he was sure he would do better than Lord Dustin. But if he were lord of Barrowton, no peasant or merchant or servant would think their lord was indifferent to their well-being.

Abel would also provide the poorest with alms, and would pay artisans and merchants to take apprentices. Abel himself knew from experience how someone who many thought had no chance to ever be anything but a beggar could find a craft and be successful.

Abel drained the last of his ale, and rose from the table, tossing a few coins down to pay for his ale. He walked out of the inn and turned to his right, back toward his home. The night air would probably have been cool and refreshing to a normal person, but to Abel, who spent most of time in the intense fires of the forge, the air was quite cold, and he threw his wolfskin cloak over his shoulders. After taking a few steps, he turned and looked back at the castle where Lord Dustin lived. Abel thought of all Lord Dustin had done, his complete and utter disregard for those less fortunate than himself.

Abel decided he would be a lord someday. Someday, he would have his own keep, his own land, where everyone he was in charge of would prosper. No one under him would be afraid of him, but everyone who threatened his smallfolk would be destroyed. The smallfolk would rally to his banners, and any lord who dared to threaten Abel and his lands would suffer a face worse than that of Castamere.

Most would not dare cast their dreams as high as Abel. But Abel had never failed a goal before. Everything Abel had ever set out to do he had accomplished through luck, hard work, and determination.

But this was something new, and becoming a lord would have new challenges involved that Abel had never had to anticipate or prepare for before. Able had gotten where he was because of his skill working steel. This new task would require making connections. He would need the goodwill of those who were already in power, need to learn to manipulate people so they could not see what he really wanted. He would have to learn to play the game he hated. Abel would have to make nice with people like Lord Dustin.

But once he did, once Abel was able to gain what it was he wanted, he would be the best lord in the history of Westeros. And who could tell, perhaps one day the Iron Throne would be his seat?