Smithy - Main Page

Smithy

(Working Title)

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Summary Description to be Added Later

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Chapter 1

Chapter 2 

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Smithy - Chap 4

    “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.”

    Nothing else was said as Tristan and Ailla slipped out of the smithy. He could hear Hagon return to pounding on the new sword and Ailla was alight with excitement and chatter. Yet, Tristan didn’t feel excited. If anything, he felt like he might throw up.

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Smithy - Chap 3

   It seemed to Tristan that he had only just closed his eyes when he was woken by a knock on the door. Looking around, he realized that the night had already given way to morning. His entire body was stiff and hurt so severely that he could barely push himself up.

    With a tired and pained groan, he called out, “Come in.”

    The little wooden door opened and Ailla stuck her head inside, adorned with her mop of red and curly hair and bright, emerald green eyes.

    “Well Hello there,” she said with a soft smile. Stepping inside, she closed the door softly behind her before settling upon the bed. “Hagon tells me you had one of your attacks last night.”

    Tristan’s cheeks flushed with something between anger and embarrassment and he felt himself drawing his knees up to his chest. The attacks had been getting worse and, while none of them truly understood what was happening, it only made him feel worse to be singled out this way. Not to mention, he didn’t like the idea of Hagon swapping stories, even if it was with Ailla.

    “Oh stop.” She said, lightly slapping him on the shoulder. “We’ve known each other since we were babes. You’ve nothing to be blushing over.”

    “I know.” Tristan said weakly, trying to unclench his body which was unconsciously going into the fetal position. “I just don’t know what to do.”

    Ailla nodded. They’d had these conversations a few times now and it was no mystery that Tristan was feeling more and more depressed. Each time he became a little more hopeless.

    “You already know the answer.” She said, still trying to keep that same smile as she spoke.

    “Whitecrest.” He said almost under his breath.

    Ailla nodded once more, this time in agreement.

    “I just don’t know...” he continued. “What if something happens on the trip there? What if the magisters aren’t able to find whatever’s wrong and they just tell me that they don’t know how to help?”

    “And what if the magisters have a fix that they can whip up in a matter of seconds while you’re sitting here moping in your bedroom?”

    Tristan didn’t answer right away. He looked from Ailla to the sparse decorations of his little room. The walls were hard wood. Barren except for a pair of tongs and a hammer he had hung on either side of his window. His clothes were tightly packed away in a small chest at the foot of his bed. It struck him for some reason that his room was basically empty. He never felt the desire to decorate.

    “You’re right, Ailla.” He said as he drew his attention back to her. “Of course you’re right. It’s just…”

    She reached over and gingerly lifted his chin with one finger so that they might look each other in the eyes.

    “I know, love. But Whitecrest is only a couple days travel. We can get you in and out and back here before you know it.”

    Looking into those emerald green eyes, Tristan couldn’t help but feel a little better. He’d known Ailla almost all of their lives and there was always something that made his heart soften and his worries calm. He’d considered more than once attempting to court her, but he never had the heart to go through with it.

    “Alright.” He said, agreeing with her once again.

    They sat in silence for a few moments, looking at each other. That soft smile never left her face. The longer he looked, the more his own lips curled into a smile to match her own. Finally, he let out a long sigh.

    “You’re right, you’re right.” Tristan said with a nod.

    “Of course I am.”

    “Of course you are.” He echoed with a soft chuckle.

    Ailla raised an eyebrow and tilted her head playfully. “Are we going somewhere with this or…?”

    “Breakfast?” he asked quickly.

    “Sorry?”

    “Do you want breakfast?”

    “First you compliment me, next you feed me. If you’re not careful, I might not leave.” She said slipping off his bed and helping him up as well.

    Tristan’s smile got bigger at the thought, but he said nothing further as he followed her to the kitchen. Instead, he elected to listen as she made small talk, telling him about her morning, about meeting Hagon, and about Hagon recanting the tale of the night before. It still irked him to think that he was a topic of gossip, but couldn’t help but feel better that Ailla had come to wake him. Somehow, it made the sun shine just a little brighter.

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Smithy - Chap. 2

    Tristan could hear something. His name? No, it had to be the sound of his heart. His heart was so loud! He was dying. He had to be dying, if he wasn’t dead already. The world was already black, it was only a matter of time til the beating stopped and then…

    “TRISTAN!”

    His eyes snapped open with a start to see Hagon kneeling over him. The sight of his mentor reassured him, but his breathing was coming in rapid gasps. Surely his heart would give out any moment. It was only a matter of time.

    “Easy, boy. Easy.” Hagon said, cupping his hand under the back of Tristan’s head. “Breathe slower.”

    The world around him was spinning, blackness playing on the edges of his vision.

    “I…I…I ca-ca-ca-…”

    “Yes, you can, boy. Close your eyes and hold your breath. You know that’s helped before.”

    “N-n-n-“

    Hagon’s hand came across his face with enough force that Tristan was shocked he didn’t black out again. He felt his chest tighten threateningly and a shock jolted through his body, but nothing came of it.

    “Don’t tell me ‘no’. Now hold your breath, boy. Then breathe deep!”

    Tristan felt his chest convulsing and his breathing becoming even more erratic as he thought about holding his breath. He was probably speeding up his own demise. What if he didn’t take another breath? What if he killed himself trying to…

    Another slap, this time even harder.

    Tristan almost sobbed as he sucked on the air. His hands and feet were tingling as if a thousand needles were playing across his skin. They were cold and clammy, soaked with sweat. Mustering all his might, he drew in a breath and held it.

    “Good. Long as you can and then slow back out.” Hagon said, his voice softening.

    Tristan coughed and sputtered after a second, choking on the very air his body screamed for. But he did it again, this time with a bit more control. A little slower. A little deeper. Hagon said nothing more as he watched.

    Each breath was better. The deep breaths made his head spin even worse, but they made the tingling in his hands stop and his heart too began to slow in his chest. Minutes dropped away as Tristan tried his best just to focus on controlling his breathing.

    After a long while, the feeling of dread started to fade.

    “You alright?” Hagon asked finally, staring down at him with concern in his eyes.

    “I-I…Yea…” Tristan said with a weak nod, his mind still focused on trying to control his breath.

    “That’s the third one this week.” Hagon said matter of factly. “They’re getting worse.”

    Tristan nodded again but said nothing.

    For the last few months, Tristan had been struck by ‘attacks’ as they called them. Without real warning, he would be gripped by unprovoked terror. They struck hard and fast and were absolutely debilitating, leaving Tristan gasping for air and feeling like his heart was going to explode. Some were longer than others, but they always passed leaving him feeling exhausted but no real worse for wear.

    The first time it had happened, Hagon had thought that his apprentice was dying. Now, he more readily recognized what was happening even when Tristan couldn’t. Often, it was Hagon who helped to bring Tristan’s mind back from the brink of fear and madness.

    Like many times before, Hagon pulled him up out of the mud that was forming beneath his sweat soaked body.

    “We need to do something about this, boy. We’ve already tried the village doctor. You need to travel to Whitecrest. They’ve got specialists. Magisters.”

    Tristan couldn’t bring himself to look at Hagon but nodded in agreement. They’d had the conversation more times than he could count since he had gone to the village doctor three months ago. The doctor could find no reason for the attacks, implying perhaps that Tristan had been cursed or angered some magical being since he showed no sign of severe injury or disease. The response had rightfully angered them both, but Tristan had never had the will to keep searching for an answer.

    “I know.” Tristan said weakly, his voice shaking and quiet.

    Hagon stared at him for a long time. It only made Tristan feel more weak and small in comparison to his mentor’s hard gaze and imposing figure in the darkness.

    “Tomorrow. For now, bed.”

    Tristan didn’t argue. He didn’t have the strength. Instead, he trudged his way inside with Hagon in tow to make sure he didn’t collapse again. Once he was safely to the little room he called his own, Tristan fell to his bed and closed his eyes. He was still focusing on controlling his breathing when he passed into an uneasy and restless sleep.

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