Page 5 of Her Orc Blacksmith

Thyri stepped inside, setting the basket on the workbench next to the mended dresses. “You didn’t even like being in here when Kald was alive,” she pointed out. “Remember how you used to complain about the heat? And how he smelled like smoke when he came home?”

I tugged at the front of my shirt, hoping for a breath of cooler air, watching Thyri gather her curls in one hand, lifting them off her neck. “Yeah, well, it’s not like I love mending clothes for spoiled rich kids, either.”

Thyri snorted. “Point taken. But smithing?” she asked, sounding genuinely concerned. “It's surprising, I guess. It's just not like you.”

“Maybe not,” I admitted. “But at least this… this feels like I’m trying to build something that’s mine. Something I can pass down to Elias.”

Thyri’s expression softened as she folded her arms, leaning against the workbench. “You’ve been up all night, haven’t you? The dresses are done?”

“Finished them a few hours ago,” I said, nodding toward the neatly folded garments. “But honestly, if I have to spend one more day mending clothes for Lady Hargrave, I might lose my mind.”

“You sure you haven’t already lost it?”

I laughed, though it was more out of exhaustion than humor. “Honestly, I might have. But I figure if I’m going to lose it, it'sbetter to do it trying something new than sticking with the same old misery.”

“Fair enough,” Thyri said. “Let’s see what you’ve got, then.”

I picked up the hammer again, this time with a little more confidence. But as I tried to lift it over my head, it quickly became clear that confidence wasn’t enough. The hammer swung down, nearly pulling me along with it.

Thyri burst into laughter. “You’re going to need more than enthusiasm. Didn’t Kald work under Master Ironsmith? Maybe you could talk to him about an apprenticeship?”

I paused, considering her suggestion. Thorne Ironsmith was the most renowned blacksmith in Everwood, and Kald had trained under him for years. But I had never been particularly fond of him. He always seemed… cold. Distant. The man hadn’t even offered his condolences after Kald’s death, never once checked on me or Elias. Instead, he’d just carried on as if Kald had never existed. That didn’t exactly fill me with the confidence to ask him for anything now.

“I don’t know, Thyri,” I said, chewing on my bottom lip. “He’s never exactly gone out of his way to be helpful.”

Thyri raised an eyebrow. “You sure? Maybe you just have to ask.”

Maybe Thyri was right. Thorne was a man of few words and even fewer displays of warmth, but if I was serious about this, I needed to at least consider every option, even if that meant swallowing my pride and facing Thorne.

“It’s worth a shot, I guess,” I finally conceded.

Thyri nodded, satisfied with her suggestion. “See? You’ll be hammering circles around everyone in no time.”

As she reached for the basket of mended dresses and hoisted it onto her hip, I tugged off my apron and gloves, tossing them onto the workbench. My hair was falling into my eyes, so I slid the goggles up onto my head to hold it back.

“I’ll walk with you as far as the Artisan’s Quarter,” I said, heading toward the door. “I’m eager to get started, and I’ve only got a few hours before Elias comes home.”

Thyri adjusted the basket and followed me outside, the cool morning air a relief after the stifling forge. “You’re really serious about this, aren’t you?”

“I have to be,” I said, my tone firm, even if doubt still lingered underneath.

There were easier paths I could take—mending, odd jobs—but those would only keep us afloat. This was different. This was my chance to take control, to shape something for the future, something that was ours.

We walked in comfortable silence, the city alive with the midday bustle. Shopkeepers were busy tending to their stalls beneath the wooden awnings, their voices mingling with the clatter of carts and the chatter of customers filling the cobbled streets.

As Thyri and I reached the edge of the Artisan’s Quarter, the streets grew livelier, bustling with tradespeople, apprentices, and merchants unloading their wares. Colorful banners fluttered from shop fronts, displaying the guild crests of blacksmiths, weavers, and stonecutters. The familiar clatter of carts, the murmur of conversations in various languages, and the distant clang of hammers striking metal blended into the steady rhythm of Everwood’s day. A gnome scurried past us, arms laden with scrolls, while a dwarven jeweler rearranged a display of gleaming bracelets. Nearby, an alchemist carefully unwrapped a crate of shimmering vials, their contents glowing faintly as he examined them.

Thyri shifted the basket on her hip and gave me a quick, reassuring smile. “Good luck, Sor.”

“Thanks,” I replied. “I’ll let you know how it goes.”

With a final wave, Thyri turned and headed toward Lady Hargrave’s estate at the far end of the Riverside District, her steps light and confident as she weaved through the crowd.

Taking a deep breath, I adjusted the goggles on my head, hoping they made me look more official, and made my way toward Master Ironsmith’s forge. It wasn’t hard to find—his was one of the largest and most established in the quarter.

The forge was bustling with activity, vibrant and chaotic. The air was thick with the scent of hot metal and the rhythmic clang of hammers striking anvils. Apprentices of different races—humans, halflings, and a tall elf with intricate runes glowing faintly along his arms—moved back and forth, carrying materials and stoking fires with the aid of subtle magic, while a gnome tinkered with a complex mechanism in one corner. There was even an orc in the back, haggling with a dwarven supplier over the price of enchanted ingots.

Of all the sights in the forge, that one surprised me the most. Orcs had traditionally kept to themselves in the mountains, though I’d heard of a few settling into towns after the end of the war. They had fought and died for Alderwilde, and now more of them were beginning to integrate into the communities they had helped protect.

---