Work Text:
Karathael giggled as Dakoral pulled her by the hand into the empty smithy, feeling scandalous. Even though she grew up around the hall, she’d only been allowed in the open parts of this building - never inside the rows of wherhide tents lined against the walls that separated the forges themselves from the main area and each other. That was where the real work happened, she well knew, and it was far too dangerous for an inexperienced person to sneak in and risk hurting themselves or distracting someone. Being pulled inside the tiny area felt like breaking the rules, even if a smith had invited her.
“You really want to work here like some of your brothers?” the apprentice asked, smiling down at her, the light in his eyes dancing along with the flames. Karathael nodded, determined that she could handle whatever that entailed. “Why?” he asked incredulously.
“It’s not too bright, it’s hard but not confusing, nobody interrupts you, and it’s nice and warm even in the winter,” she answered. Dakoral laughed, pulling a bandana out of his pocket and tying it around his head to hold his dark blonde hair out of his face.
“Mmhm. Those things are all true, but it’s also disgustingly hot, loud as hell, and smells like a wherry. And after a while, it’s you that smells like a wherry. Grab me a bloom,” he said, gesturing to the pile of square metal bars laying in a haphazard pile in the corner. Karathael picked one up. She’d carried these before, refilling each of the stations with the allotted number each sevenday. They were, basically, one of the last steps between mined ore and a finished product.
“Thank you.” He took the bloom in one hand and held it up, resting one end on the anvil. Karathael sat on the small, wooden stool, watching intently and trying to stay out of the way. “This is our relationship right now. It’s more than nothing, but it’s still not anything in particular. It’s… potential.” He picked the bloom and looked it over, running his hand over it to check for inconsistencies in texture and color. “But before we start shaping it, there will be some flaws to be worked out. Slag, tiny air pockets, things like that.”
“Yeah, we’d better spend a lot of time working out each other’s air pockets,” Karathael laughed. Dakoral grinned at her, but he was trying to focus.
“We’ll also need a plan. It doesn’t matter how hard we work if I’m making a sword and you’re intent on an axe. We’ll both end up worn out with nothing to show for it but a blob. That’s why communication is important. And why I’m glad we can be honest with each other.”
“What are you going to make with that one?” Karathael asked, gesturing at the piece of steel. It could be anything, really, with enough skill, patience, and effort.
He unbuttoned his shirt and threw it at her, replacing it with a wherhide apron that covered his chest and stomach but left his muscular arms to glow in the flickering light of the forge. “A gift. For my wife-to-be. What would you like?” She ran through ideas in her head, trying not to blush that she had his shirt.
“I’d like… a dagger. Or a knife. I’m not sure of the difference. Something really scary looking so people will know not to mess with me.” Karathael curled one arm, showing off her own, significantly less impressive, muscles.
“Do you know how to fight with a knife?” Dakoral put on some gloves, then picked up the bloom again to stick one end in the fire. It didn’t make much difference what he was making until he got the impurities hammered out, anyway.
“Um… no. I was hoping just looking at it would scare away the bad guys,” Karathael admitted, kicking her feet. “Unless you want to teach me.” Her eyes gleamed with excitement.
Dakoral looked her over for a moment, then he nodded. “Sure. Can’t have you being completely defenseless. Now cover your ears. You’re about to realize how much you would hate working in the forge.” He pulled one arm back to lay the bloom on top of the anvil and grabbed the hammer with the other, raising it with bulging muscles to begin his work.
There was a loud clang followed by a ringing clatter as the bloom snapped and the smaller half of it dropped to the floor.