• Memory • [Fort Warrick] Brats & Blacksmiths

[Jonathan]

Ashan 90, Arc 709 AV

"Hold'er steady there son," his father commanded as he raised his hammer. Jonathan braced and tightened his grip on the tongs, brows furrowed as he held the long piece of steel across the face of the anvil. His father drove the hammer down in a series of rapid swings, sending a shower of sparks flying from the contact with hot metal. The clashing echoed through the shop and out into the street, and then there was silence as the metal began to cool and lose its glow.

"Alright, back in it goes."

Jon stabbed the drawn out ingot back into the coals, rummaging around to bury it deep, then started pumping the bellows to give their fire more air. They both watched intently, waiting for the perfect time. It took longer than iron, but too long and it would begin to melt just the same.

"Now," his father commanded, but the young man had already grabbed the tongs to fish the metal back out. It gleamed a bright, molten orange immediately out of the coals but was already beginning to cool now that it was exposed to the air again. They both moved quickly, Jonathan laying the thicker end of the ingot back across the anvil's face and his father pounding away with the broad-headed hammer, drawing the metal out and elongating its shape into a narrower, thinner piece.

They repeated this process several times. Back into the coals, work the bellows, retrieve the metal and draw it out some more. Do it all over again. Then fold the ingot to increase strength, draw it out some more, reheat, draw, fold, flip to keep from warping, tip on edge to taper, again and again. After about half a break they seemed to have it where they wanted it. Jon released his hold with the tongs and simply let it cool on the anvil. It was beginning to resemble a small blade somewhere between a large dagger or off-hand shortsword.

The Baron—Victor Warrick, he remembered his father specifying—hadn't been horribly specific and thus effectively let the two of them have some creative freedom with this little project; a birthtrial blade for one of the nephews. In such a small hand this would end up being a sizable enough practice blade.

"Go ahead and start on that crossguard while I straighten this a bit more."

"Aye," Jon rumbled absently, pulling off his gloves and moving over to their scrap piles. He ran a dirty hand over his stubbled chin, eyeing the different pieces of metal arranged in buckets, barrels, and on the floor.

[Caius Gawyne]

"I thought you considered the smiths of Drakengard in Andaris superior, father?" The youth smirked petulantly as he walked, hand on the hilt of the saber the young noble proudly displayed on his hip. Dressed more for travel than his station, Caius glanced down at his muddy boots before glancing over to his brother, Robert, the fresh teenager a few steps behind the pair, peering down alleys curiously.

"Different smiths have different specialties, son." The Baron Frederick of Umbridge, Gawyne replied simply, turning to find himself looking at the back of his second son's head, the youth having turned to snatch his younger brother by the sleeve and tug him along, "Warricks are warrior-folk, and their weapon smiths are also known throughout our fair Kingdom of Rynmere for their blades, though their style of crafting is different than Drakengard. Sometimes, differences are subtle but useful."

Robert hissed and shoved Caius away, the pair always physical with each other—boys.

"They're also Skyriders in Warrick. Father, will we see jacadons?" Robert was bright-eyed and eager, his irises turning a pale lavender in his excitement, their shared Biqaj heritage evident with the ebb and flow of their emotions.

"Not this trip, no, Robert. But perhaps we can make our way to the Burning Mountains the next time we visit the duchy." Frederick chuckled, shaking his head. The man was also dressed far less formally than would be expected had he been meeting other nobles, though his traveling clothes were still crafted of fine fabric and Gawyne violet was woven in as an accent color in all that he wore. His signet ring caught the sunlight as he waved in the direction of the open-aired blacksmith shop, "To-trial, we're here to see the Beresford forge."

Caius followed his father's pointing, sharp blue eyes taking in the glow of the flames that emanated from within the smithy. Once his attention was drawn toward their destination, the sound of hammering became more obvious and the youth felt a stir of curiosity to watch blacksmiths at work. The tall, lanky older Gawyne reached up to run fingers through his unkempt hair before leaning to walk too close to Robert, brushing the younger boy's shoulder,

"If you cared at all for fighting like a man, maybe you could convince father to send you home with a weapon."

"Shut your head." Robert rolled his eyes, "I've seen just how often Hunter kicks your a—"

"Quiet." Frederick snickered, but his stern glance fell on his second son as a reminder that the young man was to be an example instead of such a mouthy antagonist. Caius scowled and fell silent, leaving his younger brother an opportunity to make a face at him before the trio stepped up to the threshold of the shop. The Baron of Umbridge hadn't bothered with an escort or an entourage, perhaps confident in his own combat skills with a sword at his side or simply not wanting to draw attention to himself this trial. His grey-eyed gaze fell upon the elder Beresford and he offered a warm smile,

"Good trial!" He called out above the hammering with a warm, well-practiced smile, wide-eyed and curious boys hovering behind him, making great efforts to keep from touching anything interesting that immediately caught their eager gazes, "I believe you've been expecting our visit from Gawyne, good ser."

❦

[Jonathan]

While his father set to work on the blade, Jon rummaged through the scrap. Most of the pieces were different sizes. Some of them old, some newer. There were a few different kinds of metal lumped together--bronze, steel, iron, copper, tin, a bit of pewter and lead. The blade was steel, so he ignored everything else. He was digging around nearly shoulder deep in a barrel of loose bits when their visitors arrived.

"Welcome, my lords, welcome!" Morgan's voice boomed, startling Jon so thoroughly that he almost tipped the barrel as he pulled himself out.

The young man turned, a smaller piece of steel in hand, to see the three new faces. An older gentleman dressed in finer but not altogether dazzling clothing, flanked by two younger boys. One was older than the other, but they were both fresh faced and without any hair on their chins. Morgan bowed gracefully, dipping his head to the three of them before shooting a glance back at his son. Jon jerked involuntarily, realizing his mistake, and rushed to mirror his father's respectful deference.

"I heard from the Baron himself that you might stop in to have a look. To what do we owe such a pleasure?" Morgan continued, pleased enough with his son's hasty correction. "My son was just about to start on the crossguard for a new blade commissioned for one of his nephews. A birthtrial gift."

There was a brief pause there, but Jonathan caught the hint. Working his jaw slightly, a little annoyed at being dismissed so easily, he nodded to them and returned to the fire. He stuck the small bar into the coal cave and went back to work with the bellows, funneling air to the belly of the flares until the steel grew bright with heat. Using the tongs once more he pulled the piece out and quickly deposited it onto another anvil. With one of their chisels and a hammed, he carefully cut off the excess length that they wouldn't need and let it clatter discarded to the floor.