"Blades and Butterknives"
Chapter 37 – "Blades and Butterknives"
Seven moons. That was how long it had been since Cregan Stark had truly breathed without weight pressing down on his shoulders. The capital was finally quieter, safer. The City Watch ran like a northern clock—unyielding, precise, and sharp. The court, for all its whispers and politics, had grown to respect the blunt northerner who had brought order without theatrics.
And now, at long last, he had a moment to himself.
Or so he thought.
---
Morning in the Red Keep
Sunlight bled through the high windows of Cregan's solar. For once, there was no scroll awaiting his signature, no report from the docks, no emergency involving a market brawl or a rogue merchant guild. Shadow, sprawled on the floor near the fireplace, gave a contented grunt.
Lyanna sat cross-legged on the rug, playing with wooden figurines of soldiers and wolves. Her curls were wild, her expression fierce as she reenacted some battle from her imagination.
Cregan leaned back in his chair and exhaled deeply, stretching.
"Finally," he muttered, sipping from a cup of Northern mead.
"Finally what?" Lyanna asked without looking up.
"Peace. Quiet. Time without anyone screaming about ledgers or blades or crime."
"Boring," she declared.
He laughed. "Spoken like a true Stark."
As he leaned to pour another drink, his eyes caught the edge of a long, dark case—tucked behind a tapestry in the corner. He blinked, then stood and walked over, pulling the case into the light. Inside, wrapped in black wolf-pelt, was a Valyrian steel sword.
---
A Ghost from Essos
He had found the blade years ago, during his travels across Essos. The sword had no name and no story that he could trace—just whispers. It had lain in the vault of a mercenary captain of the Company of the Rose, acquired in a forgotten raid, its edge stained with old blood and mystery.
It was longer than a shortsword but not quite a greatsword. Its grip was wrapped in faded leather, its crossguard minimal, built for speed and precision. The steel shimmered in the sunlight, dancing between silver and smoky black.
Cregan unsheathed it slowly, savoring the soft metallic rasp. Lyanna looked up, eyes wide.
"Is that... is that the shiny sword you never let me see?!"
He nodded. "Aye. Brought it back from Essos. Had Jon send it here two moons ago. Thought it was time to finally make something of it."
Lyanna stood, marched over, and stared at the blade. She gasped. "It's so pretty. Like moonlight and snow."
"It's dangerous. Sharp enough to cut the air."
"I want it."
Cregan blinked. "No."
"Please?"
"Still no."
Lyanna's lip wobbled. Her eyes began to shine.
"Uncle Cregan... you're the best. You love me, right? You want me to be safe? What if the Queen tries to feed me to lions? I need a weapon to protect myself!"
Cregan frowned. "Lyanna..."
Then came the ultimate attack.
She stuck out her lower lip, big grey eyes shimmering, and whispered: "But I'll cry... and it'll flood the whole Red Keep... and the dungeons will get soggy. Even Shadow will drown."
Shadow looked up, tail thumping lazily, as if amused.
Cregan groaned. "Gods spare me."
Lyanna clapped. "Yay! I want a sword!"
"No. You'll get... a butterknife. A toy. Something blunt. Something that can't cut paper."
"Deal!"
He muttered under his breath as he wrapped the blade again. "Manipulative little general."
---
Tobho Mott's Forge
The forge of Tobho Mott was tucked behind the Street of Steel, modest in appearance but known across Westeros for its unmatched craftsmanship. Even knights and lords traveled leagues for a single blade from the Qohorik smith.
When Cregan arrived with Shadow and Lyanna in tow, Tobho bowed with polite surprise.
"Lord Stark. A pleasure as always."
"I have something for you," Cregan said, unwrapping the Valyrian steel sword and placing it reverently on the table. "I want it reforged. To my liking."
Tobho's eyes widened. He reached out as though touching a sacred relic.
"Valyrian steel... exquisite. The ripple... the darkness. Where did you find it?"
"Essos. Doesn't matter. What matters is what you can do with it."
"A blade of this quality deserves a name."
"Not yet. Make it into a longsword. Balanced. Fast. And if there's any steel left—"
He sighed.
"—make a toy knife. For her."
He jerked a thumb toward Lyanna, who stood on her toes to peer over the workbench.
Tobho blinked. "A toy knife? From... this?"
"Yes. Blunt. Safe. Just shiny. And if there's enough, maybe a dagger. Or two."
Tobho looked torn between horror and awe. "You wish to make... children's toys out of Valyrian steel?"
"Would you rather I made a chamberpot out of it?"
Lyanna giggled. "Call it Little Fang!"
"Don't name it yet. He'll cry," Cregan muttered.
"So... to clarify," Tobho said slowly, "you want a weapon worthy of a king, a toy for a child, and possibly two daggers... all from one blade?"
"You've done more with less, haven't you?"
Tobho rubbed his temples. "This is why Qohor has temples. Because we must pray for patience."
Cregan smirked. "I'll pay you double."
"Make it triple."
"Fine. But if she ties up your apprentice, don't look at me."
---
A Blade Reforged
It took days for the reforging to begin, and Tobho worked in secrecy, with only his most trusted apprentices at his side. Cregan visited occasionally, inspecting the progress. The forge hissed and sang, Valyrian steel glowing like molten stars.
Cregan chose a new hilt, wrapped in black leather and inlaid with the sigil of the wolf—subtle, not ostentatious. The crossguard bore simple lines, elegant yet deadly. The blade, once nameless, now began to feel like a living thing again.
When Tobho showed him the nearly finished product, Cregan tested it with a series of cuts and swings in the practice yard. It moved like breath. Like thought.
"It needs a name," Tobho said again.
"Frostbite," Cregan finally said. "It bites as cold and clean as Northern wind."
And the toy?
Lyanna squealed when she received it. "It's so shiny! And it's MINE!"
She ran through the halls of the Red Keep waving her blunted Valyrian butterknife, declaring herself the Wolf Queen and Commander of the Watch.
Tobho looked ready to faint.
Cregan only smiled. "Gods help the Seven Kingdoms."
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