The Forge

[WP] Everyone's talking about heroes wielding legendary swords that only they themselves can wield, but nobody's talking about the craftsman that made them all. Nobody's talking about blacksmiths. After all, someone's gotta put Excalibur in the stone.

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The wielder would always take all the glory.

I knew this, and yet I hated it. Even though that was a fate I had, with or without my consent, resigned to as the ultimate blacksmith who created mystical blades, I still did not like this lifestyle of obscurity.

Arthur fought the battles, defeated the enemies with Excalibur, the mystical sword which he pulled out of the stone. The sword was imbued with magic that imparted upon him, an unyielding spirit of courage, strength, and stamina. Simply, it just guaranteed him victory in all his battles.

So why was I a little bit pissed? Why were there some tiny pangs of jealousy? Well, everybody seemed happy with his exploits - which was expected. A strong leader is an extremely desirable trait, and even I had to agree with that. But what else? Ah, yes, it must have been the fact that they were all comfortable with him pulling out from a mere stone, the sword to which most of his exploits could be alluded to.

There. That was all they needed to know. No one was intellectual enough, or even cared enough, to ask questions about how it got there and who must have made it. What magic could have been used to enchant it to be so selective, and to choose someone with Arthur's qualities? These were genuine questions that could have been asked, and some credit, some appreciation could have been paid to the blacksmith.

"Pride?" the voice in my head asked. And rightfully so.

When I accepted this responsibility, I knew that a life of secrecy and obscurity was what awaited me. I knew no one would have to know that I was the maker of these weapons, to preserve the ancient methods and magic from unworthy hands.

I could remember the day when my I was brought to The Forge. I was an undesired child, there were two girls and three boys before me. My parents were not trying for another child, but somehow, my mother who was quite on the door of menopause gave birth to me. So my father did what he knew best, deflecting responsibility by dedicating my life to the gods once I was 8.

A week after my eighth birthday, a cloaked man came to my house in the wee hours of the morning and took me from my parents for a certain amount which I did not know. I heard the coins jingle in the pouch as I cried, and neither my father nor my mother cared to kiss me on the forehead.

 When we had walked a little into the forest, the man finally spoke. "The do not know which of the gods you were dedicated to. I come from the Forge, and that’s a place where you're wanted. Where you're needed. Where you'll be important."

I beamed at those words. Because that was my weak point, I needed love, attention. Damn it, I needed to be wanted, to be considered important. Why should I have two parents available and still need that?

After a few rituals and rites to officially make me a blacksmith, I started my apprenticeship there. Perce, the blacksmith who brought me there, was an old man with a severe back pain. I didn't understand how he managed to continue to work in that condition, nut I was in awe of him.

After he thought me all he needed to know, he gave me his blessings, and then went off on a journey. Somehow, I knew he wasn't going to return. And that was the last I saw of him.

Excalibur was the first blade I made then. I got the ore from a strange metal element high in the mountain range. I didn't know if it'd be worth it going through all those risks to make those swords - steep slopes, the lack of oxygen, the cold and then the wild mountain goats that seemed ready to pick a fight

 But I got it anyway, and I fashioned the sword. The handle was made of cedarwood, engraved and then encrusted with a gem that housed the magic I wanted to imbue the sword with. But what magic did I use?

I wanted to make the sword for a conqueror and a courageous king, a fitting weapon of war. These were the ideals I received from Perce. But at the last moment, I cghanged my mind. Power; savage power wasn't a good criteria for wielding such a sword. A sword I risked my life to forge.

That criteria didn't make it selective, and neither did I want my sword to be used to cause so much grief to others. So I went for the character. Only one who was coruageous, yet meek, wuth a merciful, kind heart, and a desire to ensure that jusice was delivered would get the sword.

And then I went out and pushed it into that rock, where no other hands but mine and the person who was orthy would be abke to pull it out of,

It was seven years later when Arthur pulled it out; I had forged over fifty other wepaons in that time, and some remarkable heroes were already using them. But I never forgot my Excalibiur, and as soon as I heard it had been pulled out, I ran to check.

The youg man who wielded it was a good one; I had looked into him and I saw the sincerity of his heart. Smiling to myself, I went back into the forest, knowing my sword was in good hands.

Even niw I smiled, almost forgetting about my earlier complaints.

Old man Perce was right when he said, "Beldon, there will come a time when you'll be pining for recognition, and I understand that perfectly. Bur know that you'll realize that there's nothing more staidfying than seeing your weapon in the right hands, being used for the right exploits."

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This was a nice prompt, amd yeah, I'm now typing on a laptop, which I'm much more comfortable with. How did you like this story?

Like and Comment please.

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