The world was very big when you were four years old.
At least, that was what Mara thought.
The forge was big.
The castle walls were bigger.
The horses were enormous.
And her father's boots were so large that Mara sometimes wondered if he had been born wearing them.
She sat on an overturned wooden bucket just outside the blacksmith's workshop, swinging her little legs while watching her father work.
Bang.
The hammer struck the glowing metal.
Mara jumped.
Bang.
She smiled.
Bang.
She clapped.
"Again!"
Her father laughed.
"You've seen me make horseshoes every day for three years."
"I'm four now."
"Ah. Of course. A completely different matter."
Mara nodded seriously.
"It is."
Her father, Tommen, wiped sweat from his forehead with the back of his arm.
"Four years old," he said. "Nearly a woman grown."
Mara giggled.
"I'm not a woman."
"No?"
"No. I'm a blacksmith."
Her father's smile softened.
"Are you now?"
"Yes."
She pointed toward the forge.
"That's mine."
"That is my forge."
"Tomorrow it can be mine."
"Tomorrow?"
"Yes."
"And what will I do?"
Mara thought about this.
"You can sit on the bucket."
Her father laughed so loudly that one of the stable boys outside looked through the doorway.
"Sounds like a fair arrangement."
Mara grinned.
She loved the forge.
She loved the smell of smoke and iron.
She loved the warmth that reached her face during winter.
She loved the sparks that flew through the air like tiny stars.
Most of all, she loved listening.
Because adults talked when they thought children weren't listening.
And Mara listened to everything.
She knew which knight always complained about his sword.
She knew which guardsman secretly gave scraps of sausage to the castle dogs.
She knew that the baker's youngest daughter was going to marry a cooper's son.
She knew that the lord's eldest son had fallen from his horse twice that week.
And she knew that something strange was happening in the castle.
The grown-ups had been whispering.
Whispering meant something important.
Mara didn't know what it was.
But she knew it involved the king.
And dragons.
She had never seen a dragon.
Her father said they were enormous.
Her mother said they were dangerous.
The old woman who lived three houses down said they were beautiful.
Mara decided that all three could be true.
That evening, when her father carried her home, Mara rested her head against his shoulder.
"Papa?"
"Yes?"
"Are dragons real?"
He was quiet for a moment.
"Yes."
"Have you seen one?"
"No."
"Would you like to?"
Her father looked toward the distant castle towers.
"I think some things are better admired from very far away."
Mara considered this.
"Like the lord?"
Her father nearly stumbled.
"Where did you hear that?"
Mara shrugged.
"People talk."
Her father sighed.
"That they do."
Mara smiled against his shoulder.
The world was very big.
The castle was full of secrets.
Kings could start wars.
Knights could die.
Dragons could burn cities.
But Mara was four years old.
And from where she stood, the most important things in the world were simple.
Her father's hand in hers.
Her mother's warm kitchen.
The smell of bread.
The ringing of the hammer.
And the little piece of iron her father had promised she could keep.
She didn't know yet that kingdoms could fall.
She didn't know that great houses could disappear.
She didn't know that songs were often written about people who had never understood the consequences of their choices.
She only knew that tomorrow she was going to learn how to hold a hammer.
And, in Mara's opinion, that was a very important thing indeed.
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The World through Little Eyes
Fanfiction# The World Through Little Eyes Westeros is a land of kings, queens, knights, dragons, and ancient houses. But four-year-old Mara knows very little about any of them. She is simply the daughter of a blacksmith. Her world is the warmth of the forge...
