It was late one evening, the stars clear above the Eyrie, when Edric found himself standing in Lord Jon Arryn's solar.
The Lord of the Vale sat by a wide hearth, parchment in hand, but he looked up he heard knocking at his door.
"Enter," was all he said. And Edric obliged.
"You've come to ask something," Jon said, setting the scroll aside.
"Aye, my lord," Edric said, bowing his head. "I'd like to leave the Eyrie. Not for long. I have a father in Stonehaven... and my old master—Torman. They should see what's become of me."
Jon studied him a moment, eyes sharp beneath his snowy brows. "Your work here has been exceptional. You've gained a name."
"I've mostly gained a sore back my lord, though getting it while working for you is an honor," Edric said with a tired grin.
Jon's mouth twitched, before he let out a small chuckle. "You may go. Take two men with you for the road—mountain clans still trouble the passes. I'll write you a seal to return unhindered."
Edric bowed deeper this time. "Thank you, my lord."
Jon nodded. "You've earned more than thanks, lad. But go home first. Show them what you've become."
---
Half a fortnight later—roughly the time needed to forge full plate armor along with finding two volunteers— Edric left the Eyrie, his plate armor, a measure the Arryn lord had advised, snug against his towering frame.
At 6'9" and 365, finding a strong enough horse to support him would have been hard, especially considering his armor and hammer. But Edric wasn't in Stonehaven, where even the sight of a small horse was rare. His steed, a sturdy, well-bred beast from the stables of his liege, carried him effortlessly across the rugged terrain. The armor, forged from dark steel was thinner than a tenth of an inch, and added little weight—barely 33 pounds. Finally , his warhammer Unmaker, which Robert insisted on him making, rested at his side, an additional 30 pounds of strength-bound dark-steel. Combined with his own formidable muscle, he rode with surprising ease as if unburdened, his horse doing the same.
His journey was short, a two hour long treck by horse. He had no need for provisions as this wasn't a lengthy expedition. The ride to Stonehaven would be swift, but the moment was significant. For after many moons spent in the Eyrie, Edric was finally returning to his roots. His father, an aging man with calloused hands and a deep love for his son, still lived in the village. Torman, his old blacksmith master, would also see the work Edric had crafted since leaving the humble forge of Stonehaven.
As he rode, Edric spoke with the two guards that accompanied him. They were men of the Vale, gruff but competent, their armor well-worn but solid. The road was clear, but the guards were vigilant. The journey, though peaceful, wasn't without its moments of conversation.
"Do you reckon the villagers'll be happy to see a lord's smith return?" one of the men-at-arms, a tall man with a scar across his cheek, named Edward asked.
Edric chuckled, his deep voice carrying over the sound of hooves. "I hope they will, I went from a peasant apprentice to Master smith and a Lord Paramounts squire." They chucked
The other—a man named Tomm gave him a wry grin. "Aye, look at you, strutting around like a peacock in your perfect armor. You've the look of a lord now. Don't think they won't notice that steel of yours shining in the sun."
Edric smiled, the weight of his past mixing with the present. "Mayhaps. Or I'll just be baby Edric to them." They let a small laughter.
They stopped for a brief moment at a nearby village. It was smaller than Stonehaven, with a little less than a hundred farmers huddled under thatched roofs. The guards exchanged a few words with the locals, while Edric stood by, enjoying the fleeting peace of the journey. He wasn't sure why, but he felt a strange warmth at being surrounded by simple folk again, even if only for a short time.
"Anything to report, lads?" Edric asked the guards after a while, his eyes scanning the quiet road ahead.
"No trouble, Edric. No more than usual," one of them replied.
Edric nodded, his hand instinctively resting on the hilt of his warhammer. "Very well, let's continue."
---
The road stretched ahead, and soon, they found themselves mere miles from the village as the three of them rode along the rough path toward Stonehaven, their horses' hooves clopping steadily on the dirt. Edric cracked a joke, the kind that only the roads of the Vale could inspire, and the two guards laughed heartily in response. Their newly found camaraderie was light—a rare moment of peace before the harshness of the journey resumed.
Just as Edric was about to crack another line, a sudden thwip cut through the air—an arrow hit the ground directly in front of the lead guard's horse. The beast reared up, spooked by the sudden attack. The guard, still chuckling, hadn't seen it coming. The horse threw him violently from the saddle. He hit the ground with a grunt.
For a moment, Edric thought the man was dead—but the guard groggily pushed himself up, rubbing his head, dazed but alive.
"Shit!" Edric hissed, wheeling his horse toward the treeline.
The guard didn't have time to mount again. Men burst from the trees like wolves in the night—mountain clansmen, wild-eyed and ragged, their faces caked in dirt. Their axes gleamed in the failing light, and their war cries shattered the calm. Barely a dozen of them, weapons drawn, howling.
Another arrow flew—this one aimed at Edric. It pinged harmlessly off his shoulder guard with a dull clink. The dark steel turned it aside with ease. Edric's pulse surged. Adrenaline flooded in.
The first clansman was on him before he could blink, axe raised high. Edric's warhammer swung out, smashing the man's ribs and sending him crumpling. No time to savor the kill—another charged from the left. Edric struck with brutal precision, hammer crashing into the man's chest and hurling him backward with a scream. He kicked his horse forward, refusing to stand still and be surrounded.
But then, another arrow zipped past—this one struck the dismounted man in the head, just as the man felled an enemy of his own. He collapsed, lifeless, blood soaking into the dirt.
A flash of rage tore through Edric's chest, swift and merciless. The man had joked with him moments ago. Now he was meat in the mud.
Without a thought, Edric's steed charged. Its rider unleashed a roar—raw and furious—toward the clansmen who had killed. His warhammer raised high, a sentence waiting to be passed.
One swing landed with bone-crushing force—the hammer's head caved in a man's chest before Edric ripped it free and reversed the weapon. The clawed end tore through ribs like parchment.
But rushing to Edward's corpse was a mistake. A scavenged spear struck Edric's horse mid-charge, and it collapsed with a shriek, throwing him to the ground.
Still, instinct kicked in. Despair would have to wait.
He rolled to his feet as a clansman lunged. Edric drove an armored fist into the man's throat, crushing the windpipe with a sickening pop. Another enemy rushed him, axe raised—but had no time to react to the hulking steel mountain's armored fingers piercing his guard and gouging his eyes.
"Nnnggh—AaaAAAHHHHH!" The outlaw screamed, writhing. "AAHHHAaa—MY EYE—!"
Another clansman came too close. Edric seized him by the neck and hurled him into a tree. The man hit with a crack and crumpled like parchment.
The remaining clansmen faltered, stunned by the brutality. That hesitation cost them.
Edric snatched Unmaker from the dirt and charged. The sight of him was enough—the clansmen tried to run. But Edric wasn't about to let blood-debt go unpaid.
The Tomm intercepted an arrow with his shield, arm shaking from the force. But he held. Mounted and armored, he cut down four men in moments.
Edric's legs thundered beneath him. He caught up to a straggler and rammed the warhammer's spike through his back. As the body dropped, Edric spotted a fallen axe, scooped it up, and hurled it. It spun through the air and struck another fleeing man square in the spine. The clansman stumbled, then dropped.
Seeing that the ambush had failed the archer turned to flee, but the surviving guard—Tomm—gave chase. The speed difference between man and horse proved far to vast, far too impossible to overcome. The archer barely made it twenty paces into the trees before the guard ran him through with his spear, pinning the man to the trunk of a pine. The fleeing clansman gasped once, then went still—just another corpse lost to Vale soil
Edric stood in the blood-soaked road, heart pounding, surrounded by corpses. He looked down at Edward—dead in the dirt.
His chest tightened. The battle was won, but it felt hollow.
"Seven hells," Edric muttered, staring at his fallen comrade. He'd laughed not ten minutes ago. Now…
But there was no time to mourn. The road wasn't safe.
He turned to the surviving guard and motioned. "We move. Now."
They pushed on, Edric half-running, half-stumbling through underbrush. Rage and grief lit his veins. The forest blurred around him. Every second stretched—a cruel joke from the gods.
Then they crested the final ridge. Stonehaven lay below.
No smoke. No screams. No blood.
Yet.