Page 19 of Her Orc Blacksmith

Elias nodded sagely, as if this made perfect sense to him. “Like when Mama teaches me to be careful with her sewing scissors?”

Vorgath looked at me, an amused twinkle in his eye. “Exactly like that,” he agreed.

With the meal in full swing, I found myself relaxing more and more. The awkwardness from our moment in the forge faded, replaced by a comfortable camaraderie. Vorgath proved to be an engaging dinner companion, regaling us with tales of orc customs and traditions that had Elias hanging on his every word. Even Mrs. Crumble joined in, and I listened intently as she and Vorgath debated the finer points of fae etiquette, their unlikely friendship blossoming before my eyes.

Laughter and easy conversation filled the room, and a quiet contentment settled over me. My small, cobbled-together family had expanded, if only for this evening, and it felt... right. Complete in a way I hadn't realized we were missing.

As the evening wore on, the clink of spoons against empty bowls signaled the end of our meal, but none of us seemed eager to break the spell that had settled over the table. Even Elias, usually quick to wriggle away when dinner was done, sat contentedly in his chair. But as I watched him blink slowly, his head dipping slightly, I knew it was time to call it a night.

I smiled, watching Elias fight against his heavy eyelids. “I think it's time for someone to head to bed,” I said.

Elias's head snapped up. “But I'm not tired!” he protested, even as another yawn escaped him.

“I can see that,” I chuckled, standing up. “Come on, little prince.”

“I'll help clean up,” Vorgath offered, already starting to stack the empty bowls as I reached for Elias.

Mrs. Crumble fluttered over, her tiny hands on her hips. “Nonsense! You're our guest. I'll take care of the tidying.”

I shot her a grateful smile, but before I could lead Elias away, he turned to Vorgath with pleading eyes. “Mr. Vorgath, could you tell me an orc bedtime story?”

Vorgath glanced at me. “If your mother agrees.”

I nodded. “If you're sure you're up for it.”

Suddenly wide awake, Elias reached up, his small hand wrapping around one of Vorgath's thick fingers. “Come on!” he urged, tugging the orc through our cottage, the floors creaking under Vorgath's weight.

Elias's room was a cozy nook at the top of the stairs, barely large enough for his small bed and a chest of toys. The walls were adorned with childish drawings and a few pressed flowers we'd collected on our walks. A small window let in the soft glow of moonlight, casting long shadows across the worn floorboards.

As Vorgath ducked through the doorway, I smiled at the sight of him trying to fit his massive frame into the tiny space. He looked almost comically out of place, like a bear in a rabbit's den. Yet there was something undeniably sweet about how he carefully maneuvered around Elias's belongings, mindful not to disturb anything.

I lingered in the hallway, not wanting to intrude but unable to resist listening. Elias scrambled into his bed, pulling the patchwork quilt up to his chin. Vorgath settled on the floor beside Elias's bed, his broad back against the wall.

“So,” he rumbled, his deep voice gentle. “You want an orc story, do you?”

Elias nodded eagerly, burrowing deeper under the covers.

Vorgath was quiet for a moment, gathering his thoughts. When he spoke, his voice took on a rhythmic cadence, like the steady beat of a drum. “Once, in a clan not so different from my own, there lived a young orc named Grokk. Now, Grokk was strong and brave like any other orc, but he had one small problem—he couldn't roar.”

Elias's eyes widened. “But all orcs can roar!” he objected.

“That's what everyone thought. But poor Grokk, no matter how hard he tried, could only manage a tiny squeak...”

As Vorgath's story unfolded, Mrs. Crumble appeared, floating silently next to my shoulder.

“Well, isn't that a sight,” she whispered. “Who would've thought an orc could be so sweet?”

Something settled inside me at her words. Watching Vorgath, his massive frame somehow fitting into my son's tiny room, I realized how right it felt to have him here—like our lives had always had room for him.

“You know,” Mrs. Crumble continued, her voice soft but mischievous, “it's nice to see a man around the house again. Especially one who knows how to stoke those old fires, if you know what I mean.”

My cheeks flushed at her words. “Mrs. Crumble!” I scolded in a whisper.

She chuckled softly, patting my arm. Then, with a knowing wink, she vanished in a swirl of leaves, leaving behind only the faint scent of wildflowers.

I turned my attention back to Vorgath and Elias as the orc's deep voice continued to weave the tale, his words painting vivid pictures of Grokk's adventures.

“...and so, Grokk realized that his small voice wasn't a weakness at all. It was what made him special, what allowed him to speak to the forest creatures and learn their secrets. And from that day on, Grokk was known as the wisest orc in all the land, for he had learned to listen before he spoke.”

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