Vermilion ~ Twenty-One: Blacksmith

[annarti.livejournal.com]

The blacksmith dropped into her chair between her sister to her left, her daughter to her right. The news from her new love had not been promising, and the blacksmith’s sister had come around to cheer her up. The sun had long since disappeared behind the hills, but it left its golden crown on the top of the castle for a moment longer. The light chill in the air promised that autumn was coming, but the blacksmith was content to pretend it was still summer for tonight.

‘Here,’ the butcher said as she filled her sister’s wine cup almost to the brim. ‘Get it all out and out of the way, then you won’t have anything more to dwell on and you can forget it all for the rest of the evening.’

The blacksmith laughed and held her wine cup out before it overflowed. ‘Careful! I want to drink that, not wear it.’

Her sister shrugged and set the bottle back on the ground between them. She held up her own cup, as did the blacksmith’s daughter, and the three chinked their clay cups, verbalising the ting that would have come from the castle’s crystalware.

‘Go on then,’ her daughter said once she had taken a sip of her wine. ‘Spill, mother. What’s your baby jeweller gotten himself into?’

The blacksmith shook her head, giving her daughter a reproachful look at the nickname she had given to her love. ‘Watch your tongue, young lady. No, it’s nothing he’s done. He asked his parents for permission to court me.’

The butcher growled under her breath. ‘They denied him. Prickly old tarts.’

‘Mostly, yes,’ the blacksmith confirmed. ‘He’s such a sweetheart, though. He promised he’ll wait until they change their minds, no matter how long it takes them. I’m in no hurry, I told him, I’ve been waiting twenty-five years for him to grow up, what’s another year or two? And I’ll have nothing of a man who would disrespect his parents.’

‘Certainly not,’ the butcher agreed with a firm nod. ‘I’m glad he sees through the same eyes.’

The blacksmith smiled at this approval from her sister. She had been worried when she first announced her new love, and indeed it had taken a little convincing, but now the meaty butcher would defend her sister’s love to the bitter end. She wouldn’t have been surprised to find her sister plotting some underhanded tactics to prove that love to her young jeweller’s parents.

She sighed and took a sip of her wine. She was among family here, and they would listen to her whining with the support she knew she needed.

‘I can’t believe two people could be so closed, especially considering where they’ve come from. To believe that I’m below them? I’m from the same stock as they are! It’s only through their son’s talent that they hold any status at all in this town, and they think they have the right to dictate his life.’

‘It’s disgustingly hypocritical,’ her daughter agreed. She might tease, but she was completely on her mother’s side in this affair. ‘And what’s wrong with blacksmithing, anyway? I bet their pots and pans came from you.’

The blacksmith nodded. ‘They did, at that.’

‘Why not make them a casserole dish or something?’ her daughter suggested. ‘Show them how artistic a blacksmith can be.’

The blacksmith scrunched her nose in a snort. ‘No, I don’t have to prove anything to them. A blacksmith’s work is what it is. It’s not artistic; it’s functional. No tool of mine will crack or warp under heat, but I’ve never tried to make them beautiful. If they can’t see the value in that, well, that’s their problem. I have nothing to prove. I am who I am, and I won’t be trying to hide—much less change—just for them.’

Her sister propped her wine cup between her knees so she could applaud the blacksmith’s words. ‘Well spoken. That’s what you should tell them. Invite them around for dinner and give it to them straight.’

The blacksmith shrugged and folded one arm over her stomach as she took another sip from her wine. ‘I think I want to let them come to me. It’s between him and his parents, not his parents and me. They’re the ones that need to get past their prejudices. Let them work it out. When they’re ready to see me as I am, then they can come around.’

Her sister was nodding sagely. ‘Sounds like you have this all planned out. You hardly need us, then.’

‘Oh, I do. I needed to get that out and make sure it sounded right. You know when you have a great idea but then you verbalise it and it sounds horrible?’

‘No, that sounds sane to me,’ the butcher reassured her. ‘Just be careful not to get too… passionate at them. Even voice, keep that thought in mind.’

The blacksmith frowned. ‘I don’t get too passionate.’

‘You do,’ both sister and daughter said simultaneously.

The blacksmith laughed and conceded defeat. ‘Fine, I’ll keep it in mind. Any other nuggets to dispense?’

The butcher drummed her fingernails against the side of her wine cup. ‘No,’ she said finally, ‘but doubtless I’ll bring them to you as I think of them.’

‘Why not have your fortune read?’ her daughter supplied.

The blacksmith exchanged a dubious glance with her sister. She was one for good honest iron, and her sister cut up meat for a living. Neither was particularly spiritual to begin with, and the wishy-washy predictions of the fortune tellers attracted the most of the sisters’ derision.

‘No, really,’ her daughter pleaded. ‘He’s the real deal, I promise. It can’t hurt, can it? Just one fortune, you might be surprised what you hear.’

‘I’d highly doubt it, dear,’ the blacksmith told her patiently.

‘Please? Just once? Humour me, mother. We can go tomorrow.’

‘No, I don’t want to. I make my own fortune, thank you very much, and no stranger poking at my palm is going to be able to tell me any different. Besides, whatever he tells me I’ll just do everything in my power to prove him wrong. It’s my life, I’m the one living it, thank you.’

Her daughter gave a long-suffering sigh and folded over her knees.

The blacksmith shrugged unapologetically. ‘I’ve gone fifty years quite peacefully without a fortune telling. I’m not about to start wasting my hard-earned coin on them now.’

‘Listen to your mother, dear,’ her sister added.

‘Yes, Auntie,’ the girl said as she straightened and stretched her arms over her head. ‘Well, if I’m not needed, I think it’s time I checked on the casserole.’

‘That’s my girl,’ the blacksmith said. She reached out to pat her daughter on the shoulder as she stood up, but missed and turned the gesture into a wave instead. She heard the screen door squeak open and bang shut, then glanced over at her sister. ‘He’s into fortunes, you know.’

‘Oh, dear, another one?’ The butcher groaned and tipped her head back against the chair.

‘Mhmm. He says he went straight to him when he met me and knew he was supposed to court me. It’s kind of sweet, really, that he thought of me that way from the first.’

The butcher laughed aloud. ‘What about his parents? Are they into fortunes?’

She shrugged. ‘They might be.’

‘Maybe you could—’

‘No.’

‘You make a good point,’ the butcher said with her sage nodding. ‘And you make it well.’

The blacksmith grinned and slung an arm over her sister’s shoulders. ‘Thank you for the company, sister. I would have been brewing over this all night if you hadn’t shown up.’

She shrugged nonchalantly. ‘That’s what I’m here for, honey. That’s what I’m here for.’

Comments

[ladylight.livejournal.com]

I make my own fortune, thank you very much, and no stranger poking at my palm is going to be able to tell me any different. Besides, whatever he tells me I’ll just do everything in my power to prove him wrong.

I like this chick and so would Sailley XD

I was wondering if the jeweller's blacksmith would show up. As soon as I clicked on the title of this one I thought 'yay'. (You could probably circumvent that with some 'Next' links, too ...)

[annarti.livejournal.com]

I could. But. Lazy >> Mostly the 'next post' buttons work well enough, it's just this one chapter that stuffs things up XD;

(I miss Isaille~ you'd best not be letting her starve or get bored in there, missy.)