Baldur eventually made it to Winterfell, where, after asking for directions, he was shown to the forge of the castle blacksmith, a man named Mikken. If anyone was to know what this sword—which had enchantments integrated into its very being—was, it would be the blacksmith of a castle this massive. According to what he could gather from the locals, the rulers of this kingdom—weirdly named "the North"—were the Starks.
The rulers, the Starks, are weirdly revered by all he has come across. Not one bad thing or even a negative stray comment about them painted them in a bad light, except for the one person that complained a bit about Lord Stark allowing a sept to be built in the heart of the domain of the "Old Gods" to appease his wife.
Overall, a decent place to have landed, in truth. The Lord is weirdly benevolent towards the smallfolk, which is always a good way to judge the content of his character and the loyalty shown toward him.
As Baldur approached Mikken's forge, he subconsciously started appraising it. Sturdy. The smith most definitely tried to keep his surroundings neat and orderly, which means he is a very meticulous man—a good trait for a blacksmith, especially one of this era.
He was a big man, tall and stout, his face full of concentration as he quenched the newly forged blade. His apprentices watched and learned in silence, drinking in and trying to comprehend as much as they could from the act.
Well, time to get the mystery of this sword out of the way, Baldur thought as he interrupted Mikken's lecture, clearing his throat to get their attention. It worked — their necks snapped towards him with startling speed.
"Sorry for the interruption, goodman. I was directed this way when I asked for the castle blacksmith."
Mikken just kept staring for a short while before nodding at his apprentices, who quickly dispersed outside of the forge. But Baldur's senses picked up that one or two were moving towards the castle.
Too security-conscious, this one.
Mikken proceeded to store the new blade on a pedestal, then directed Baldur to a counter where he most likely conducted his business.
"So, lad. What brings you to my forge?" he asked, finally concentrating on Baldur. Baldur found his eyes wandering over his armour with faint appreciation.
"My name is Ser Baldur of Stony Shore. I'm a hedge knight travelling the realm, soaking in the sights. I was accosted by some wildlings, and I was the only survivor of the encounter. I picked up a weird sword from the corpse of the leader," Baldur said as he brought out the smoky, enchanted blade and dropped it on the table for appraisal.
Mikken's eyes opened wide with recognition and—was that reverence? This sword must be important, either to blacksmiths or to people in general.
"Is that Dark Sister? Don't you know what this is, lad? Your sire must have taught you some history when you were a lad. There is no way you do not recognise this blade. Look at the red jewel and the dragon-headed pommel!" he said with excitement, completely abandoning his former demeanor.
"Sorry, but I do not know. I grew up an orphan until a hedge knight, Ser Darren, took interest in me because of my size and strength. He knighted me before passing away from wounds sustained fighting bandits. So, I truthfully never completed my education."
Mikken looked at Baldur with pity and some respect for surviving an encounter where all others lost their lives.
"Sorry, lad. This is Valyrian Steel, special blades made by the Valyrian Freehold before the Doom. The blades are eternally sharp and can damage other metals more easily. They are lighter too, especially for their size, and can be used more easily. They are also easily identifiable through the smoky pattern you can see here," he said while pointing at the sword.
It seems it's a lost art, and it would be hard—and truthfully not worth the time—to reverse engineer.
"They are also unbreakable. In all the centuries, there has never been a tale of Valyrian Steel snapping in battle like other iron swords or spears."
And just like that, they were back on the menu. Reverse engineering this could lead to Valyrian steel metal, and if Baldur could improve on it, he could add more enchantments and allow it to carry more unique abilities.
He also noticed that Mikken did not say that they are excellent magical foci. Either it's not common knowledge, or magic is more myth than truth to the wider world. The answer to that question would determine how he would interact with the locals of this world in the future.
"Thank you very much, Smith Mikken. This is a token of my gratitude," Baldur said, dropping five silver stags on the table as Mikken returned the sword, now named Dark Sister.
Mikken took the money with slight gratitude and was about to turn away when he turned back, as though he had forgotten something.
"Ser Baldur, that sword is an heirloom of the former ruling family of the Seven Kingdoms, the Targaryens. The sword was believed missing after the former Hand of the King, Brynden Rivers, disappeared into the far North with it about seventy years ago. That sword has a lot of significance to the ruling house, the Baratheons, as they also have Targaryen blood. And Valyrian steel is very rare, used as heirlooms by prominent houses—and even then, many of them do not have any.
"Do not relinquish it to anyone, as you paid the price for it in blood, and it's yours by right. To avoid future troubles, I can help you make a replacement pommel so people won't easily know exactly what sword it is.
"They will try to intimidate you, lie, even, and maybe assassinate you to get this sword, but do not relinquish it. This sword is your ticket to rising to become a noble and not dying a nameless hedge knight," Mikken finally ended, his speech and offer delivered amicably.
Baldur had already developed a certain fondness for this blacksmith. He was a very honest and earnest man who tried to help a stranger without knowing him. Baldur decided then that he would owe him a favor and help him in any sticky situation.
"Thank you very much for your advice. I will deeply consider everything you have told me. I accept your offer for the pommel, please. Create something to surprise me. You have given me more than I asked for, and for that, I am in your debt.
"When can I expect it back?" Baldur asked.
Mikken shrugged. "Give me two days."
"Thank you, good man. I'll be back by then."
As soon as Baldur left the smithy, he bumped into two guards, with one of Mikken's apprentices beside them.
"Is this him?" one guard asked the boy, who promptly nodded.
The other delivered the summons: "You are summoned by Lord Eddard Stark to Winterfell."
I guess I'll be meeting the ruler of these lands faster than I intended, Baldur thought.