give up, saying, “I’m going to go talk to Gunther.”
This is actually what I plan on doing, though I expect the conversation will be very short. There’s something very specific I want, and Gunther will be able to help me obtain it.
Gunther won’t be home; he’ll be at his forge. I walk there, thinking about how I will bring the situation up.
I don’t bother to knock; I let myself in. He looks up from the grindstone and grins. “Kadmus!” he says cheerfully. “To what do I owe the honor?”
“I have a favor to ask,” I say bluntly.
His grin goes down slightly. “Of course,” he responds. “What?”
“Can I use your forge?”
His eyebrows go up and he’s taken aback. It’s obviously not what he had expected me to say. “Yes, of course!” he says. “Go right ahead!”
“Are you working on something right now?” I ask. “I’d hate to intrude.”
“We can both work,” he says, his smile coming back. “Miss it, have you?”
“Yes,” I nod. “I need it.”
“Well, here’s a hammer,” he says. “And there’s, well, everything else.”
I nod. “Thank you.”
“It’s nothing,” he says. “What do you plan on making?”
“I don’t know yet,” I answer.
He merely nods and says, “Fair enough.” Then he goes back to his project.
I stare at the hammer for a moment. Then I walk to the shelves where Gunther stores some ingots to keep on hand. The rest are locked up tight in the back.
“Can I use the steel?” I ask.
“Of course,” he answers. “What’s mine is yours.”
Having received permission, I take a couple of the finest ingots and lay them atop the anvil Gunther has designated to me. I study them for a moment. What do I see within? What does this metal have to offer me?
I stare for several minutes, enjoying the uncomfortably hot environment. Then I finally begin.
Every ounce of stress that has built up inside of me is worked out. With every hammer stroke I feel slightly better, slightly more at ease with myself. There’s only one thing that does not resolve, and that is the death of my father.
I work for several hours, shaping and pounding the material. Gunther goes to his home for lunch, leaving me alone in the heat. Then, much to my surprise, Aela walks in. I am drenched in sweat and I must smell horrible, but at this point I don’t care.
She carries a basket that she lays on the table in the corner. Then she sits and studies me. I ignore her.
“What are you making?” she asks.
This is when I answer that question for myself. I had been pounding and heating where my skill had told me, not paying attention to exactly what it was that I had on the anvil. “A warhammer,” I answer, studying my creation thus far.
She nods and looks at the glowing object on the anvil. After another minute or two of watching, she speaks again. “You have great skill,” she says. “Who taught you?”
My hammer stops on the hot metal with a clang, and doesn’t rise. “My father,” I mutter. “Everything I know, I learned from him.”
“Where is he now? Is he fighting as well?”
I hit the metal a few more times and then stop. Finally I reply, “No.” A moment later I whisper, “He is dead.” The clang of the hammer follows my words.
“Oh,” she says insensitively. “I’m sorry.” There’s a moment of silence. The next thing she says is quite sensitive, and she says it softly. “I never knew my father.”
I look up at her with a look that says, Go on.
She looks down at the table, her pretty hair slightly covering her forehead and eyes. “I lost him before I can remember,” she continues. “I have no memory of his face, personality, or anything else really. But for his voice.”
Her brow furrows like she’s both concerned and concentrating. “Of my mother I only remember her face, but the picture is vague.”
“What happened?” I ask, sticking my steel back in the fire.
“I have no recollection of it, but I have been told that my father died getting me and my mother out of our village during a Wvolfa raid.”
“Your mother?” I ask softly.
“I do not know,” she says. “I was told she died of disease, but it does not seem right. I was very young, but I do not recall any symptoms of any kind before I last saw her.” Her voice trails off.
“I’m sorry,” I say quietly. “So you grew up in an orphanage?”
She thinks for a moment. “Yes,” she replies.