Page 11 of Ironling
“On her last visit, Aislinn said the previous under blacksmithleft for Gleanná, so they’ve been making do with just Fearghas.”Sorcha, a comely, buxom human woman who was all warmth and smiles, said this as if Hakon knew any of these names, but it didn’t matter that he didn’t. What was important was a chance at a position—at the castle of all places.
And Hakon wanted it.
It’d been a vague sort of longing for months now, a partial idea of where he might stoke his forge fire. He’d assumed, being only half-human, a village smithy would be what awaited him. As he’d stumbled through the Eirean countryside, finally finding his way to Orek and Sorcha, he’d begun to worry over his plans. Nothing was available or no one wanted him to stay.
Upon arriving at the Brádaigh estate, he’d found most of the other folk were hoping for land to cultivate. A pack of bachelor manticores hoped for prime forest land for hunting—and pretty meadows to woo prospective mates in. A lone fae warrior and his unicorn steed were looking for an estate of their own, needing a home and land to absorb his magic. A dragon and his halfling sister looked to possibly ranch or build a school or both. A small flock of four harpy sisters had come to avoid a larger conflict within their previous flock and hoped to find homes and mates. And the handful of other half-orc had all expressed a desire to farm.
Amongst all this talk, Hakon’s hopes had begun to wither.
He knew nothing of farming, and he’d certainly seen plenty of the wilderness on his long journey here. Doubts began to slither around his heart, and for several days he’d sat with a cold, slimy sort of desperation sucking at his guts.
What have I done? Did I forsakegadaron’s forge fires for nothing?
But then Orek and Sorcha delivered the heartening news.
As Hakon followed Orek through the city of Dundúran, through the towering castle gates, and through the expansivecastle courtyard, that hope had flickered anew.
With every step, Hakon grew surer that this was where he wanted to be. Born and raised within a mountain city, he was far more content within the great stone walls of a castle. Every stone felt familiar, every sconce and door hinge fascinated him.
A castle,thiscastle, was full of opportunities.
So there was little chance that Hakon wouldn’t have nerves gathered in his gut as they approached the human lord. Not when he wanted this so badly, he could taste the yearning on the back of his tongue.
Hakon stood beside Orek as they waited for their turn to speak with Liege Lord Darrow, willing his ears to keep from turning that ruddy red they often did with emotion.
He was grateful Orek had kept to his left side, nearer his good ear, when his friend leaned over to say, “Darrow is a good man and a friend. He’ll welcome your skills, I’m sure.”
Hakon nodded but couldn’t offer a response. He clenched his small tusks to his gums, the nerves and all his hopes clutching his insides in tight fists.
If Liege Darrow turned him away…Hakon didn’t know what he’d do.
After another moment, the man speaking with Liege Darrow bowed and turned to walk away. He gasped when he saw two green halflings towering above him, jumping nearly a foot before skittering away.
It certainly wasn’t the worst reaction a human had had to Hakon’s presence.
Orek stepped forward and Hakon followed, bowing his head when Orek did in deference.
“I received Sorcha’s message just this morning. I’m intrigued,” said Liege Darrow, smiling at them from under his voluminous but neatly kept beard.
Darrow was still large and strong despite his years, with amane and beard that had once been golden blond but were now fading to white. The rich velvet and silk of his doublet and robes couldn’t hide a warrior’s body, although it was his eyes, a leonine hazel and bracketed by fanning lines that drew Hakon forward. They looked down upon him and Orek with polite shrewdness, and Hakon kept his shoulders squared, knowing he was already being assessed. Probably had been since they entered the room.
“Orek, it’s good to see you. What have you brought me?” The lord’s voice was loud without booming, and confident—it rang clearly in Hakon’s ears as he stood stiffly, awaiting judgment.
“Lord Merrick, we were told by Aislinn not long ago that the castle was in need of a new blacksmith.” Orek’s large green hand landed on Hakon’s shoulder. “I’ve brought you a blacksmith. This is Hakon Green-Fist, newly arrived from Kaldebrak.”
Hakon bowed his head. “My Lord Darrow, it is an honor to be here.”
Darrow’s brows arched. “You speak Eirean already.”
“Mostly. I still have much to learn.”
“You came here by yourself?”
“Yes, my lord. To work.”
“They don’t need blacksmiths in Kaldebrak?”
“There are already too many smiths in Kaldebrak.” It was why the mountain had been mostly hollowed out long ago, the Green-Fist clan almost too industrious. Orclings learned to cast weapons before ever training to use them.
