35th, Fall of 503 A.V.
The Night was almost upon the little mining camp. The evening shift had already descended into the mine and Niall was glad for the quiet. He and his father had argued today, and the young Isur was still sore with anger. He was sick of the judgment, sick of the constant pushing, and the endless pursuit of perfection. He longed for a moment to himself where he could just be him.
He wandered in the cold of the evening just watching the ground, his hands in the pockets of his fur-lined jacket. The small cabins and makeshift shelters passed him as he walked, like quiet observers, waiting to see what he would do. He wandered along the defensive wall of the camp and looked out into the twilight. He thought he could hear a pack of wolves howl somewhere in the night. The pine forests were growing thickly to the north of the wall.
He could just barely make out the advanced camp to the east where they were thinning the forest out. A majority of the wood would eventually be carted south by a massive troop of heavy horse and wagon. For now the wood lay in the large cavern hollowed out near the mine entrance. Row upon row of Bundled logs rested all waiting for the time they would be lifted onto carts. For now they needed to be kept dry to prevent rot.
A fresh powder of snow had fallen today giving the whole camp a white fur coat. Though gratefully, it had not lasted long. He stopped a moment and waited breathing his anger out in misty puffs at the cold night. He dropped his gaze to his feet and pondered his mother. He had never known who she was, and his father still felt her loss. It had been years, and he outright had refused to tell him about her. Niall picked up a large stone and lobbed it angrily over the wall, roaring at the setting sun till he felt horse.
He stood there till the sun was gone and the evening torches were the only light to be seen in the camp, apart from the bright moon as it hung in the sky. “Pech it!” he huffed and turned back toward the forge where his father was likely making some masterpiece. As he marched angrily through the fresh powder the moon lit the ground where the torches were scarce, though Niall barely noticed as the ground still drew his attention. A cloud moved over the moon dousing its light. So blinded was he that he fell into a pit in the ground. As the powdery snow began to settle he brought his left arm down hard, striking at the ground in anger. Though, instead of the soft thud of earth, the ping of metal was heard.
Confused Niall felt for the object covered in snow. Someone had left a sword there. Holding the heavy steel blade in his hand he looked about to see where he was. There wasn’t much light but as his eyes adjusted he could see that he lay in Oathos Circle. He blinked slightly confused. Why would someone leave behind a sword in the practice circle. He thought to himself. He propped himself up slowly, and stood holding the weapon in his hand. Snow and dirt adorned the blade and hilt. The heat from his flesh had melted any on the handle and pommel. It seemed a crime to leave a weapon unloved and unused in Oathos Circle.
He held the blade up trying to see it better in the darkness. It seemed like the clouds parted just so he might get a better glimpse of this poor forlorn weapon. The sword stabbed straight and true toward the moon. Carefully he tested the edge of the sword, scraping his thump across the blades edge as if he were trying to shave his thumb. Its edge was still sharp, which astounded the young isur.
For reasons Niall couldn’t fathom at the time he spoke to it. Almost as if a small child had found an abandoned kitten or puppy, he wiped away the snow and dirt from the blade. Small rust spots were present in the steel and Niall’s heart reached out to the poor inanimate object. “You poor little thing.” He whispered tenderly.” Let’s take you somewhere warm and we’ll fix you up.” He laid the weapon across his left arm, holding it by the pommel and made his way back to the forge.
He opened the door to the workroom and looked for his father. The forge crackled softly from old coals that rested in its hold. “Dad?” He called out, though all was quiet. He looked around now slightly concerned. That was odd, his father never left the forge for long. Niall messed up his hair with his free hand and laid the unloved blade down upon the anvil. He looked through the few rooms, and found them to be vacant, accept for Massa.
Massa, the little mouse with a black and white coat that looked almost like she wore a jacket had been their live in guest. She had been the forge mascot for years it seemed. When Sulos and Niall had discovered her, she had been an elusive creature. Never staying too long in one place or trusting their approach. One night they had baked butter biscuits and the little mouse could not resist the smell. She approached them and Sulos had actually managed to coax her into eating out of his hand. That night she had waddled back to her whole in the wall fatter than a prize pig, and she had not forgotten it.
She had poked her head out to watch him as he entered, her little whiskers twitching convulsively assessing the danger.
“Havn’t seen the big guy around here have you little one?” Niall said softly. The noise must have startled her, as she quickly darted back into her hole in the cabin wall. Niall knew that his father must have been gone or Massa would not have been so bold as to even make an appearance unless it was meal time.
Niall bit his lip in thought wondering what to do. He had repaired swords before, he just wasn’t sure if his dad would be mad if he used the equipment. He couldn’t wait all night. The unloved blade needed to be reminded that someone cared for it, even if it hadn’t been the owner. So what was a young Isur to do?
Niall grabbed a cup and wandered to the barrel of oil they kept in the Corner away from the forge. He dipped the little wooden vessel and filled it half full. He brought the now slick receptacle to the work table near the anvil and set it down. “Rag and polish, where did we put that?” Niall mumbled to himself as he searched for the items he needed to refresh the blade.
The Isur spotted the small tin of Metal Polish powder and an oily rag neatly folded on top of it. He grabbed them both and continued his search. “And a wired brush.” He whispered. The little tool immediately stood out to him as it hung on a nail on the wall. He lifted gently, and pulled the wire brush from its nail and brought his haul back to the work bench.
At last it was time! He picked up the rusted blade from the anvil and laid it tenderly upon the work bench. He dipped the rag in oil and rang out some of the excess. He pondered where the sword had come from. Though nothing was more apparent to him than how grateful he was that this little project came at an opportune time. He desperately needed a break.
He rubbed the blade down, applying a generous coat of oil to its marred surface. The rust spots almost lapped up the oil as a thirsty traveler at a puddle of water. Once both sides of the blade were ready, he lay down the rag and picked up the wire brush. After he had opened the tin of polish and filled the bristles of the brush and got to work.
The blade made a soft singing as he scrubbed gently. Each whisk was a healing balm removing the sores upon this fine blade. The grout ground softly, each swirl another renewal for the unloved blade. Niall was about to flip the sword over and apply a coat to the other side when he heard a knock on the door. He turned slightly to eyeball the door confusion apparent on his face. “Now who could that be?” Niall mumbled giving his work a rest. He wandered to the door taking note of the hour. “Who’s there?” He shouted through the door.
Curiously he heard a woman answer. “Yalani, Guard of the evening Watch.” She shouted back through the door. Niall’s father would have guardsman over often in the evenings either getting repairs or sharing a meal. Sometimes they would discuss defenses and make plans to shore up a section of wall with cut stone, or rock. A thankless job often divvied out as punishment for people who broke the law here at the camp.
Niall slid the viewing latch open to get a look at his visitor, sure enough a woman with red hair and an arm to match it stood on the other side of the door. He looked at her armor and noticed she wore the guard’s brigandine. He could see no insignia which told Niall she was a new recruit, likely just arrived in the last week.
“One moment,” he said as he slid the viewing latch closed and lifted the door peg. The door swung wide as Niall presented the inside of the modest home and work space. His guest walked in with a purpose, but that didn’t stop Niall from seeing the curve of her lower back. He watched her as she looked about taking in the workbench, the forge, and the cabins interior. The young Isur closed the door to behind her, though his eyes never left her presence.
Yalani, was athletic. Her dark hair was a burnt auburn red and her body brought chills up the young Isurs spine. Though, She seemed oddly aimless, and awkward, which made Niall somewhat curious. Not so much as it prevented him from sitting again and continuing his work. Besides, it gave him an excuse to stop staring at her bosom. When seated Niall flipped the sword over on the work bench and began scrubbing the other side free of rust and grit. Not wanting his guest to feel awkward he tried to make small talk.
“So what brings you to the Forge Miss Yalani?” He said casually. He stopped to look at a notch on the blade and contemplated sharpening it out later to fix it. He looked up at her and realized she had been watching him work from a seat across from him at the work table. She seemed to be assessing him, which made Niall feel a measure of discomfort. Another person judging him, another person assuming he’s doing something wrong. He smirked at her briefly before focusing again on the weapon before him.
“I’m looking for someone.” She said as she continued to stare. The silence that followed her statement seemed to insinuate something other than what she had said.
Niall lifted the blade trying to keep his attention focused on his work, which was driving him nuts. All he really wanted to do was stare at Yalani and hold a picture of her in his head. “And you’re looking for this person here?” he spoke with an air of disinterest. The blade was almost ready for a wipe down and its second coat of oil and powder.
“I’m looking for you Niall.” She said quietly. Her voice held an edge of triumph, which left Niall confused.
Her statement brought the young Isur’s work to an abrupt stop, and he slowly lifted his head to look at her fiery hair as it made gentle waves as she moved. “I, uh…” He stammered, not sure what to say. He nearly leapt out of his skin as she stood up quickly. Niall’s mind was flying through fantastical scenarios where Yalani pounced on him and made him into her play thing. A myriad of clean to dirty things flashed through his mind as she strode toward him around the work table. He was panicking, what was happening?! What was going to happen?! Niall wasn’t sure if he wanted to run or stand his ground.
Just a breath away from him she stopped and slammed her fist into the table. “You were seen taking a guards blade from Oathos Circle!” She shouted at him. She didn’t want to take him as her love slave? Niall was confused, He had not found any standard issue guardsman weapons in the circle ever, nor would he ever dare take one anywhere but back to the barracks. This woman was crazy! Niall realized he had leaned backward in his seat trying to escape the rage of this fiery woman. And all he could do was count the pretty freckles she had on her face.
Niall was unsure, of what to say or how to act. Finally he relaxed and touched the sword on the table with his right hand. “The only blade I have ever “taken” as you say, is this poor unloved blade.” Niall stroked the pommel almost lovingly. “I found her buried in the snow, rust spots all over, and notched from practice. Yet, it still held an edge. Whoever left it there doesn’t deserve to wield such a reliable weapon.“ He said arrogantly. He shut his eyes confident in the fact that he was right. Though, when he opened them again he realized that he had spoken out of turn.
The Young woman’s pose had changed from angry accusation to something Niall had never seen before. She held her arm awkwardly, and hung her head. He wasn’t sure but he could have sworn that she was crying. All he could do was sit there dumbstruck. In the silence that followed, Niall realized that her sword sheath was empty. How could he have missed that? he thought to himself.
“Please.” She whispered, her voice sounded like hot iron quenched in the trough. Niall was overcome with how stupid he had been, but the matter still remained. He could not give the sword back to her.
He stood a moment and warily touched her elbow. “I’m sorry miss, but I can’t give it back to you.” Niall could almost see her shrivel at his words. “At least, not yet.” He continued. He took her hand and led her back to her seat and pulled it out for her. “Please sit, it isn’t ready yet.” After she had sat down and wiped her eyes. Niall had managed to bring her some hot tea from the kettle, and placed it before her. Unsure of what to say he almost sprinted back to his own seat, and continued his work.
At some point during the second polish she began to speak to him. “You do beautiful work.” She said watching him as he meticulously removed a burr of metal from the blade, chiseling it free. He looked up at her over the sword and smiled a little.
“Uh, thanks.” He said, a small amount of satisfaction coloring his voice.
“It was my father’s sword.” She said softly as she sipped at her tea. Niall thanked the gods for the invention of tea. It brought peace of mind and kept her from murdering him.
“So,” he searched carefully for the right thing to say. “Why did you leave it behind in the circle?” Niall said in the hopes of keeping her talking.
“I was disarmed and defeated in practice.” She said, her body language becoming defensive again. “When I was beaten I socked the cheating bastard in his laughing face. Naturally I was reprimanded.” She took another sip of her tea and her posture relaxed a little. Niall knew what that meant. When he was a year and a couple months younger he had stolen a role from the stores and had been caught. Even though he had begged his dad not to, he had been given wall duty. It hadn’t been so bad working outdoors in the height of summer, and his guard detail had been talkative. They had spent all day telling him about what he had done wrong, and they made sure he had thought it through.
“So, which way did they send you?” he said with an amused smile on his face. “The wall, or the mine?” He was oiling the blade for its third polish, and it had begun to shine a little more like someone cared for the blade. It was almost as if the sword reciprocated the love given it, by being beautiful.
“The wall,” She said, as she massaged the fresh blisters on her hands. “Seems silly, it’s not like we’re building a fortress here.”
“That’s not what it’s for,” Niall said with a dash of pep, proud of his time laboring on the wall. “It’s so you learn something.” He was spreading polish halfway down the blade when he stopped a moment and looked up. “Weather your sparring partner cheated or not, you dishonored yourself by striking him when he had defeated you.” Niall went back to scrubbing hoping she had understood.
“Spoken like a Hammers Kid.” She snickered. Her words hurt him, though they felt forced, and Niall grit his teeth and scrubbed the blade a little harder.
“It’s not that I’m a Hammers son,” Niall said slowly as his scrubbing began to relax. “Victory in the circle is meant to be final. One cannot strike from the grave.” He looked up and saw understanding in her eyes. “My dad teaches me not to hold back in the circle. If I have an opportunity to hit him in the head he encourages me to strike. If he leaves his arm exposed, I strike. I don’t follow rules of engagement. It’s just not how things would be in the world.” Niall felt embarrassed that he had spoken out of turn. “At least that’s what he tells me.” Niall said, speaking of his father.
She was quiet, in what Niall hoped was contemplation. He flipped the blade and continued. “When your opponent strikes at you in what is clearly an unexpected maneuver, do something they don’t expect, defend oddly. Use your other weapons to fight them, Izurdin gave you that arm for a reason. Use it.” His eyes never left the blade as he prattled. There was a long drawn out silence between them, where only the crackle of the forge could be heard.
“Wise words for one so young, little man.” She teased. Coaxing him to raise his head and glare at her. Though when he saw her smile he could see she was actually grateful for his words. He hung his head a little embarrassed for his reaction.
“Thank you.” He said softly. After a few coats of polish the blade shone like a mirror. Almost as if it had never seen a day of combat, though the deep scars would never heal without heat and hammer. He gently lifted the blade into his arms and walked to the heavy grit sharpening wheel. He pedaled vigorously to get the wheel going and ran the blades edge along the hard stone. Before long the nicks in its edge were gone, replaced by freshly exposed steel. He inspected the sword to make sure there were no divots he had made, or bows in the metal.
“I’ve seen you practice with your father sometimes.” She said softly. “It’s a rare privilege to be taught by a hammer. You should consider yourself lucky.”
“Being trained by a Hammer is a none-stop lesson in how terrible you are at combat.” Niall said, his frustration suddenly filling him again. “Defeat after defeat, he broke my nose a moon ago.” Niall took a breath and exhaled trying to let it go. “I’ll get him eventually.” The young Isur said, with all the determination he could manage. She was oddly quiet while she watched him hold up her sword.
“Would you like another sparring partner?” She said, and Niall had to look at her to make sure she wasn’t teasing him again. Though funny enough she looked serious. He tilted his head to the side, contemplating her offer. He narrowed his eyes and glared at the wall in thought as he absentmindedly replaced the heavy grit wheel with a fine grit and sat down.
“That might be nice.” He said. Niall let the words hang in the air a moment before putting the sword to the wheel. Orange sparks spat out like Reimancer fire as he slowly put the sharpened edge back on the blade. After what seemed an age he withdrew the blade and tested the edge with his thumb. It was ready for a final oiling. He brought the blade back to Yalani and applied a final coat of oil while she watched. He gave the sword one final glance over and tenderly handed it back to his guest.
He offered her the pommel and gripped the blade with the rag in his hand. As she withdrew it she looked it over herself and her eyes seemed transfixed. “How long have you been working with your father in the forge?” she asked, her eyes fixed on the shine of the blade in her hand.
“Since I was six years old.” He laughed, “at least that’s what he says. I spent my first years bringing him his tools. Not very glamorous, but it taught me a lot about the trade.” He found a fresh towel and wiped his hands on it trying to get the oil out from under his nails.
“Well I need to get back to the barracks. I have training in the morning and a shift in the afternoon.” Yalani said as she finally sheathed her fresh blade and smiled down at him.
Niall hurried to the door and opened it for her. “Thanks for coming. I hope you stay warm tonight.” He didn’t know what he was saying, stay warm? Niall was about to mentally kick himself when Yalani drew very close to him. The cold was beginning to blow in from outside though he could barely feel it. He was so close to her he could feel the heat of her breath.
Bravely he raised his eyes to meet hers and found her smiling at him. She leaned in and he closed his eyes pursing his lips ready for a kiss. Though her lips did not meet his, instead he felt them hot and wet against his forehead. He opened his eyes and quickly flattened his lips to hide the fact he had expected something else.
“Thank you little Mastersmith.” She said her smile soft. Then she turned and went out into the dark. Niall held the door open a longtime watching her as she disappeared into the night. Finally he numbly closed the door behind her and found a seat near the forge. He slumped in the chair. With his legs kicked out he leaned his head back. His mind was swimming in thoughts, not all of them innocent. Though one thought stood out above all the rest.
“What just happened?” He said into the quiet filling the cabin.
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by Niall Hammerfist on October 7th, 2013, 1:58 am 
