Page 18 of Her Orc Blacksmith

The scene that greeted us inside the cottage was so wonderfully, absurdly normal that I almost laughed. Elias was perched on a stool, his face scrunched in concentration as he carefully ladled stew into bowls under Mrs. Crumble's watchful eye. The brownie herself sat on the counter beside him, directing the operation.

“Ah, there you are!” Mrs. Crumble chirped, her tiny face breaking into a wide smile. “We were beginning to wonder if you'd gotten lost in that old forge.”

I could feel the truth of what almost happened written all over my face, but before I could stammer out a response, Elias piped up.

“Mama! Mr. Vorgath! Look, I helped make dinner!”

“It smells wonderful,” I said, ruffling Elias's hair. “You've done a great job, sweetheart.”

Vorgath cleared his throat. “Yes, very impressive, young Elias.”

Elias beamed at the praise. “Mrs. Crumble showed me how to stir without splashing,” he announced. “And she let me add the secret ingredient!”

I raised an eyebrow at Mrs. Crumble, who merely winked in response. “Nothing to worry about, dearie,” she said, jumping off the counter and wiping her hands on her apron. “Just a pinch of brownie magic to make the flavors sing.”

“Well then,” I said, clapping my hands together. “Shall we eat? And don't you even think about disappearing, Mrs. Crumble. You're invited, too.”

As we settled around the table, I couldn't help but notice how Vorgath's massive frame dwarfed our modest furniture. He sat gingerly on a chair, his knees nearly touching his chest.

“I'm sorry,” I said, wincing as the chair creaked ominously.

But Vorgath waved off my concern as Mrs. Crumble bustled around, setting out bowls and utensils. I noticed that she'd brought out the good silverware that had been a wedding gift from Thyri's mother. I hadn't used them in years.

As Mrs. Crumble placed a set in front of Vorgath, his brow furrowed. He picked up a fork, holding it between his thumb and forefinger.

“Is something wrong?” I asked.

“These are... very small,” he said, the fork looking absurdly delicate in his hand, like it might snap with a single twitch of his fingers.

“I suppose they would be for you,” I said with a smile, the tension from earlier melting away. “We can find something sturdier if you'd like.”

Mrs. Crumble snorted a laugh. “I think we have a rake in the shed.”

I gasped, scandalized, not sure how Vorgath would take the joke. But to my surprise, he went right along with it.

“No need,” he insisted. “Though it is always good to have a backup plan.”

Laughter bubbled up among the three of us, but Elias watched with wide-eyed fascination.

“Do orcs use different forks?” he asked, his curiosity overcoming his earlier shyness.

Vorgath turned to him, seeming relieved by the distraction. “We do,” he said. “Orc utensils are larger. Made for bigger hands and even bigger appetites.”

“Cool!” Elias exclaimed. “Can I see them sometime?”

“Perhaps I'll bring one next time,” he said. “If I am invited back.”

His eyes found mine, a silent question hanging between us. I hesitated, feeling a quiet warmth settle in my chest before I smiled and nodded. “Of course, you’re welcome back,” I said. “Anytime.”

Vorgath held my gaze for a moment longer, his expression unreadable, before he turned back to Elias. “Then I will bring the biggest fork I have,” he promised.

Elias grinned wide, practically bouncing in his seat. “I can't wait!” he said.

As we began to eat, the conversation flowed more easily than I'd dared to hope. Emboldened by Vorgath's kindness, Elias peppered him with questions about orc life and customs.

“Is it true that orc children learn to fight as soon as they can walk?” Elias asked, brandishing his butter knife like a sword before I reached across and snatched it from him.

“Not quite as soon as we can walk, but we do start young,” Vorgath answered, unfazed. “It's less about fighting, though, and more about discipline and knowing your strength.”

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