“Thank you again for breakfast” Ailla said
with that same soft smile that she always wore around him.
Tristan smiled in return and nodded. He
took both of their dishes away and set them aside before settling again at the
table. His chest still felt tight and occasionally the room started to spin a
little, but he felt vastly better than the night before.
“So, I know that you probably don’t want to
think about it…” she said, trailing off. “But, what are you going to do about
Whitecrest?”
He’d been dwelling on it and he wasn’t sure
either.
“I don’t know. That sword I was working on.
It has to be done. Some great, shining lordling came by last week to commission
it. Apparently he’d traveled all the way from Frothing Rock just to find Hagon
and request the blade.”
“I need to finish it.” He said, his voice
lacking any of the conviction he’d hoped to muster.
“Tristan.” Ailla said with a worried tone. “Please.
You have to talk to Hagon. I’m sure he won’t have a problem if it meant you
were going to get help.”
“I can’t.” he rebutted, his voice cracking
a bit. “If it’s not done when that lordling gets back then we’ll probably never
resell it. We’d be so far in the hole that…”
Tristan tried to think of a comparison, but
couldn’t come up with one. The truth was, Hagon made enough gold that the lost
commission would certainly hurt, but it wouldn’t be the end of the world. Yet,
for some reason, he felt like if he abandoned the blade, it would be something
he could never forgive himself for.
“Then let Hagon finish it. It’s not like
they came all the way to Oak’s Grove for the great and mighty Tristan Casterlan.”
He winced at the sound of his last name and
felt a burning in his chest again. She was right. It’s not like the lordling
cared that he was even alive. He had sought out Hagon, not Hagon’s apprentice.
His work equated to nothing when his name wasn’t on the woodwork.
“Oh, Tristan.” Ailla reached out to softly
touch his fingertips. “I know. I’m sorry. I forgot that you don’t like to be
called that.”
He shook his head. “It’s not that.”
They sat in bated silence for what seemed
to be an eternity. Ailla never seemed to stop watching him while he, instead,
was more focused on mentally tracing the woodwork of the table. All the while,
berating himself for thinking he mattered in the equation at all.
Finally, Ailla broke the silence.
“Come on, let’s go find Hagon. We’ll get it
all worked out and then I’ll help you pack for the trip.”
Tristan finally looked up to her again, a
smile finally tracing his lips.
“Alright.” He said with a nod. “And Ailla?”
“Hmm?”
“Thank you.”
Ailla responded with a wink and, a moment
later, they were setting the table and making their way outside.
They found Hagon exactly where Tristan
expected him to be. Seated in front of his anvil, hammer in hand, pounding on a
chunk of metal. In a heartbeat, however, Tristan felt his chest tightening
again and the room closing in when he saw what he was actually working on.
Hagon was putting the final touches on the
lordling’s sword.
“Boy.” Hagon said evenly, his deep voice
reaching them despite the roar of the forge.
“Hagon.” Tristan responded, his head unconsciously
bowing. It was an old habit that was hard to break.
“Hagon.” Ailla chimed in from his side. “Tristan
has something he’d like to talk to you about.”
He and Ailla traded sidelong glances and
she gave him a reassuring nod and a smile before motioning for him to step
towards the anvil. Hagon set down blade and hammer and watched them carefully
with his deep black eyes.
“Hagon.” Tristan repeated, feeling like a
lump was in his throat. “I wanted to talk to you about going to Whitecrest.”
There was no response, but Tristan had
known the old man long enough to need no prompting to continue. He was
listening.
“After last night, you’ve both mentioned it
to me and…well, you’re right. I just…just…I just don’t know what to do because
I’m supposed to finish the sword and then there’s the other orders that are
piling up and…”
He was talking faster than he meant to and
his voice was getting higher the faster he went. He stopped when he realized he
was breathing hard just from talking.
“Boy. Are you daft?” Hagon said simply.
“Sir?”
“I told you to go, but you’re asking
permission.”
“Uh…” Tristan sighed as he realized what he
was getting at. “Yessir.”
“I told you to go. That means go. I got
along fine enough without ye. I’ll last a few days more.”
Ailla smile brightened and she practically
hopped a little.
“See?” she said. “And you were worried.”
She was right, of course. Tristan couldn’t
get his head around why he was worried. Yes, it was work, but it wasn’t like he
was trying to skip out. He was ill.
He nodded again. “I’ll be back as fast as I
can.”
“You’ll take as long as ye need to get
better, boy. Now go.” Hagon said, motioning with the hammer. “Tell me before
you leave.”
