Page 27 of Ironling
“Thank you, my lady,” he said, sitting straight on his stool.
“Of course.”
Silence stretched between them as he stood, then Aislinn heard him rummaging about on the worktable.
She thought perhaps she should leave, but reluctance kepther in her seat. A blush still warmed her cheeks, and she still didn’t know what she’d been thinking, mooning over him like that, but none of that meant she wanted to leave.
It’s too soon to return to schedules and soap cakes.
Hakon came to her rescue once more.
His big hand appeared in her vision again, and she looked up to see him holding two small bars of beeswax.
“I can adjust the handles now, if you’d like. But it gets quite loud.”
She took the wax curiously. “Should I warm it up?”
“Yes, between your palms.”
Aislinn watched as he deftly worked the beeswax between fingers and palm before sticking it into his ear. Amused, she mimicked his procedure, her nose wrinkling at the unfamiliar feel of something clogging her ear.
“It’s strange!” she said, probably too loudly, and shuddered.
He nodded with a smile, though she wasn’t sure he actually heard what she said.
When the wax was in place, Hakon began his work.
Aislinn sat back in her chair and watched in awe.
Using tongs, Hakon buried the handled end of the shears into the forge to heat the metal.
“How long must they heat for?” she asked loudly.
He remained facing the forge, as if he hadn’t heard her. Aislinn repeated her question and was met again with silence.
The wax must work.
Although, when he pulled the shears from the fire, the hilts of the handles glowing orange, and began to strike them into shape, the clang of metal on metal still pierced her ears. The wax dulled it enough to be bearable, but she still winced with each strike.
Still, it was a joy to watch the work. She always found these things fascinating. How did each step, each part, come togetherto make a whole? She’d spent many afternoons following behind the craftspeople of Dundúran, learning how they performed their art.
Witnessing the creation of a new thing brought a thrill, and watching Hakon was no different. In fact, it was better.
His hammer was an extension of his arm, muscles flexing and releasing in a perfect rhythm as his other hand turned and positioned the shears. It was a synchronized marvel, and Aislinn enjoyed every moment of it.
If she lingered over his bulging arms and the sheen of sweat gathering at the hollow of his throat, well, she was a mere mortal. She’d challenge anyone not to be arrested by the sight of his thick neck and the tendons that flexed there as he worked.
It ended all too soon. With the handles reformed, he held them up with the tongs and made a few gestures with his other hand. Unsure what they meant, she could only nod.
The shears then went into a barrel of water, steam sizzling through the open windows out into the bailey.
He let them soak for a set time—Aislinn observed him murmuring under his breath—then pulled them out to set on the worktable. When he pulled the wax from his ears, she did, too.
The world seemed overloud without them, her ears ringing with all the little sounds she’d missed.
“How do you know how long to heat them?” she asked. “Forgive me for asking again, I’m just curious.”
His ears flushed a deep, ruddy brown again.
