Aleria stepped through the open archway of the forge, Tam trailing close behind with a sack of supplies slung over one bony shoulder. The clanging din of metal upon metal rang out in rhythmic bursts, accompanied by the occasional hiss and crackle of quenching water.

Bran stood hunched over his anvil, broad back glistening with sweat as he worked the bellows with one hand. His hammer rose and fell in a steady cadence, each blow sending sparks showering in a brilliant starburst. So intent was he upon his craft that he seemed not to register their arrival.

Shifting her burden to one hip, Aleria cleared her throat politely. "Master Bran? A moment of your time, if you'd be so kind?"

The half-orc started visibly at the sound of her voice, head whipping around with such force that a few stray beads of perspiration went flying. His eyes widened upon spotting Aleria and her young companion framed in the entranceway.

"M-Mistress Aleria!" Bran stammered, sounding almost flustered as he straightened hastily. "Forgive me, I... I did not hear you enter."

There was an awkward pause as the burly smith seemed to fumble for words, a flush creeping up his swarthy features. Aleria arched one slim brow quizzically at his uncharacteristic display - a far cry from the smooth, self-assured manner he had exuded during their first encounter.

"I did not mean to intrude upon your work unannounced," she said evenly, studying the half-orc's expression with frank curiosity. "Tam and I merely came to inquire after those talismans I commissioned from you a few weeks ago. If now is an inconvenient time, however..."

"No! No, not at all," Bran rushed to assure her, his earlier hesitance evaporating as he appeared to rally himself. Reaching up, he swiped one massive forearm across his brow, leaving a smear of soot in its wake as he favoured Aleria with a lopsided grin. "They are ready. Allow me to retrieve them for you."

Spinning about, the smith made a beeline for the small enclosed workroom at the back of the forge. Aleria watched him go, lips pursed in a faint moue of bemusement as she turned to regard Tam.

The young boy seemed equally perplexed by Bran's flustered comportment, brow furrowed in a tiny frown as he stared after the man's retreating back.

With a huff of effort, she shifted the pack's weight in her grasp before turning towards her young charge. "Tam, if Master Bran has the talismans prepared, would you be so kind as to carry both bags back to the clinic? I've one more stop I must make ere I return for the day."

The boy's eyes went briefly wide at the prospect of shouldering both burdens, but Aleria did not miss the quicksilver flash of determination that flickered across his features an instant later. Squaring those thin shoulders, Tam met her gaze with all the solemnity a child could muster and gave a firm nod.

"Aye, Ma'am. I can manage it."

Aleria regarded him shrewdly for a heartbeat longer, lips twitching ever so faintly. She recognized that particular mulish set to the lad's jaw - the all too familiar stubborn pride of one who did not yet know his limits. An expression she had worn herself more times than she could count in her youth.

A small, rueful smile tugged at the corners of her mouth as she transferred the weighty sack into Tam's waiting hands. As expected, his slender frame seemed to sag beneath the combined load, but the lad gritted his teeth and straightened his spine with visible effort.

Reaching out, Aleria ruffled his shaggy hair fondly. "Off with you, then. I shan't be much longer."

Tam shot her one last determined look before turning on his heel and marching from the forge, head held high despite the obvious strain weighing down his narrow shoulders.

Aleria waited patiently for Bran's return, hands clasped loosely before her as she surveyed the interior with idle curiosity. The air hung thick and sweltering despite the open archway, redolent with the smells of scorched metal and smouldering coals. A fine sheen of perspiration beaded her brow, though she paid it little mind - after enduring the blistering heat of the Shatterlands, this seemed a mere inconvenience by comparison.

Minutes ticked by in relative silence, broken only by the occasional clang of metal from the adjoining workroom where Bran had disappeared. Aleria cocked her head, straining her ears as she could have sworn she detected the low murmur of hushed, heated voices drifting through the heavy oak door.

Bran and Kurg arguing, perhaps? She pursed her lips, debating whether or not to call out when the sound of rapid footfalls reached her. The doorway flew open to reveal the harried-looking half-orc, a cloth-wrapped bundle clutched in one fist.

"My apologies for the delay, Mistress," Bran panted, hastening across the chamber with his brow furrowed in a frown. Up close, Aleria could make out the slight sheen of sweat dotting his tanned features, the rumpled disarray of his shirt and trousers. "I... had some difficulty locating them at first."

His gaze skittered away from hers as he spoke, flicking almost guiltily towards the doorway before snapping back. Aleria arched one slim brow, her sharp eyes not missing the bran's obvious discomfiture.

"Is aught amiss, Master Bran?" she inquired mildly, studying the other's expression with undisguised curiosity. "You seem... perturbed."

Bran flushed a dull ruddy hue, one large hand rising to rub self-consciously at the back of his neck as he avoided meeting her eyes. "Nay, Mistress. All is well. I... apologise if I gave cause for concern."

Aleria waved a dismissive hand, brushing off Bran's stilted apology with an airy flick of her wrist. "Think nothing of it. I'm merely glad to have the talismans ready at last."

Even as the words left her lips, however, her thoughts could not help but stray back to that strange encounter with Kurg in the wake of the goblin raid a few nights prior. The massive orc's gruff declaration still rang in her ears with bemusing clarity - that she would make a "good wife" for his son, if she recalled his broken phrasing correctly.

A faint crease furrowed her brow at the unbidden recollection. Surely Kurg could not have been serious with such an outlandish suggestion? And yet, the way he had spoken, that oddly intent look in his yellow eyes...

Aleria found herself studying Bran anew from beneath lowered lashes, taking in his powerful, muscular build, the rugged yet refined planes of his features. A fine physical specimen to be sure - she could certainly understand a father's pride in such a son. But to propose courtship so baldly? With a virtual stranger, no less? The very notion seemed absurd on its face.

Unless...?

She opened her mouth to speak, a dozen questions jostling on the tip of her tongue. But Bran seemed to rouse himself in that same instant, his brow furrowing as he drew a sharp breath.

"Mistress, I—"

"Master Bran—"

They both broke off abruptly, eyes meeting and holding in a brief, startled silence. A faint flush crept up Bran's neck to stain his cheeks as Bran cleared his throat with palpable awkwardness.

"Ah... forgive me," he muttered gruffly, gaze skittering away from hers. "You were about to speak. Please, after you."

Aleria studied the man in thoughtful silence for a prolonged beat, weighing her words with care. At length, she spoke in measured tones. "Master Bran, might I inquire if you are aware of the visit your father paid me a few nights past?"

The reaction was instantaneous - and profound. Bran's shoulders sagged visibly, as though some immense weight had come to bear down upon them. One large, calloused hand rose to scrub wearily at his face in a gesture of exasperation.

When at last he met Aleria's gaze once more, there was a dull flush staining his swarthy features. "Aye," he said gruffly, the single syllable little more than a rumbled exhalation. "I am aware. Truth be told, your talismans were completed some days ago. But I..." He trailed off, gave a small shake of his head. "I could not bring myself to deliver them to you. Not after my father's... actions."

Bran grimaced then, appearing to wrestle with some powerful inner turmoil. When next he spoke, the words emerged in a rueful rush. "Pa has ever been one to voice his thoughts without filter or restraint. And whenever he deems a woman a potentially 'strong match' for me, he pursues the notion with single minded focus."

A humourless chuckle, more a sharp bark of sound than any true mirth. "I should have expected no less from him regarding you, I suppose. But even so..." Bran sighed heavily, those broad shoulders slumping further as he scrubbed one hand through the dark thatch of his hair. "I am deeply chagrined by my sire's forwardness, Mistress. You have my humblest apologies."

Aleria regarded the mortified half-orc with a faint smile, waving one hand in a dismissive gesture. "Peace, Master Bran. Think no more on it." Her lips quirked in a wry smirk as she arched one slanted brow. "Though I will admit, it is the first time a potential courtship has involved such... ambitious expectations for 'many childs', as your Kurg so delicately phrased it."

Bran actually recoiled as though struck, his features contorting in an agonised wince. A low groan of abject embarrassment rumbled from deep within his broad chest, the half-orc hunching his powerful shoulders as one large hand rose one more to palm his face.

"Seven Hells..." he muttered, the words muffled against his calloused palm. "I'm going to beat that old bastard with a hammer..."

Despite his obvious chagrin, Aleria could not quite stifle the soft puff of laughter that escaped her at Bran's exaggerated display. Shaking her head in mild reproof, she reached out to lay one hand lightly upon the half-orc's bunched forearm.

"Come now, Master Bran," she chided, her tone equal parts amused and gently chiding. "Surely you did not expect your father's enthusiasm to go unremarked? The man is lucky his heart was in the right place, else I might have taken true offence."

Bran groaned again, low and mournful. But some of the tension bled from those broad shoulders at her touch, and he raised his head to meet her gaze ruefully.

"You are far too gracious, Mistress," he said gruffly. "Though I thank you for your understanding nonetheless."

Exhaling a weary sigh, the smith held out the cloth-wrapped bundle with his free hand, the faintest hint of a self-deprecating smile tugging at one corner of his mouth.

"Here are the talismans you commissioned," he said simply. "Ten in total, as requested. And you need not enchant five for us on this batch as my gift to you by way of apology for my father's... overexuberance."

Aleria accepted the proffered bundle with a murmur of thanks, deft fingers making quick work of the cloth wrappings to reveal the promised talismans nestled within. Ten small iron squares glinted dully in the forge's ruddy glow, their surfaces etched with intricate whorls and runes of power.

Plucking one of the plates free, she turned it over in her palm to better study the craftsmanship. The runes seemed to shift and dance before her eyes in that unsettling way all potent sigils did. A slow smile curved her lips as she traced one fingertip over the raised etchings in silent appraisal.

"Exquisite work," she pronounced at last, raising her eyes to meet Bran's expectant gaze. "You've quite the talent for this, Master Bran."

A flush of what might have been pride coloured the man's face for the barest of instants before he gave a self-effacing shake of his head. "I fear the credit lies not with me on this occasion, Mistress. Those particular etchings are all my father's handiwork."

Bran's mouth quirked in a lopsided smirk, one thick brow arching meaningfully. "For as immense and indelicate as Pa can appear on the surface, he possesses a surprisingly delicate touch when it comes to more intricate tinkering. 'Tis why the forge's business remains evenly split between us - I handle the larger commissions, while he dedicates himself to more precise workings such as these."

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Aleria felt her own brows winging upwards at that unexpected revelation, her gaze straying back to the charm in her grasp with newfound appreciation. Clever, deft fingers belied by such an imposing exterior... now there was a juxtaposition to give one pause.

Tucking the talisman back amidst its brethren, she bound the bundle securely once more before reaching for the coin purse at her belt. Bran made a warding gesture, shaking his head as she worked the drawstrings loose.

"No need for that, Mistress. Consider these fully paid for, as I said - a token of apology for my sire's untoward conduct."

Aleria paused, purse half-opened as she studied the half-orc with a faintly incredulous look. "Truly? But Master Bran, I could not accept such—"

Bran waved off her attempt to pay with a shake of his head. "Nay, Mistress. I'll not hear of it. Just promise me you'll put these talismans to good use - that shall be recompense enough."

Aleria paused, fingers stilled on the coin purse's drawstrings as she studied the half-orc's earnest expression. Finally, she inclined her head in a small nod of acquiescence.

"Very well, if you insist. Though you have my word they shall not go to waste." She pursed her lips thoughtfully, gaze straying to the bundle. "In truth, I had intended to deliver the lion's share to Bernard and his garrison after the recent goblin incursion to help with the counter effort."

Bran's brows winged upwards at that, a look of keen interest flickering across his features. "The mayor intends to send scouts after the raiding party, then?"

"Aye, from what he intimated," Aleria confirmed with a small dip of her chin. "I thought to provide his men some small measure of protection, at the very least. A few enchanted talismans apiece, just in case they should find themselves in need of emergency healing whilst on the trail."

He gestured vaguely over one broad shoulder towards the adjoining workroom. "I've a fresh batch of training swords due for delivery to the quartermaster this very afternoon. If you'd not object to my company, Mistress, I could accompany you to the garrison? After being hunched over the anvil all morning, the chance to stretch my legs would be a welcome respite."

Aleria considered the smith's offer, fingers toying idly with the cloth-wrapped bundle upon the counter. While part of her relished the notion of making the trek alone - solitude and silence were in short supply these days - she could hardly deny the appeal of an escort. Particularly one as strapping and well-spoken as Bran.

Not to mention, it would provide an excellent opportunity to put the poor man more at ease around her after that mortifying encounter regarding his father's overtures.

Decision made, Aleria favoured Bran with a small smile and an incline of her head. "I would welcome the company, Master Bran. Let us be off, then - I've still rounds to make at the clinic before the day is done."

Bran disappeared briefly through the heavy oak door, returning a few moments later with a large, leather-wrapped bundle perched on one shoulder. From the telltale clatter of metal within.

He shouted something guttural and sharp-edged over one bulging shoulder - orcish, if she had to hazard a guess, and Kurg's muffled bellow of acknowledgement issued forth from the adjoining workroom a few beats later.

They walked in amicable silence for a few minutes, the sounds of the bustling town rising up all around them. The midday bustle was in full swing - vendors hawking their wares from street stalls, townsfolk hurrying to and fro on a myriad of errands. Aleria found herself glancing sidelong at her tall companion more than once, unable to ignore the way his presence seemed to part the crowds before them like a great stone trawled through a shallow stream.

Reaching into the bundle at her hip, she plucked free one of the iron talismans. Her fingers traced over the intricate etchings with a featherlight caress, calling upon the deep well of power that ever thrummed beneath her breastbone.

Green mana welled up in answer to her silent summons, flowing outward in a faint shimmer to imbue the sigils with life. The runes etched into the metal glowed softly, pulsing in time with her heartbeat as Aleria murmured words of binding beneath her breath.

Enchantment complete, she tucked the newly charged talisman away and withdrew another to repeat the process. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Bran watching her with undisguised fascination, his gaze trained on the softly glowing square cradled in her palm.

"How do they work, Mistress?" he asked , brow furrowed in a pensive frown as he nodded towards the charm. "Those talismans, I mean."

Aleria felt the corners of her lips quirking upwards at his obvious curiosity. Plucking a fresh talisman free, she rolled it idly between her fingertips, letting the faint glint of reflection play across her features.

"We can dispense with the 'Mistress' title, if you prefer," she remarked lightly, flashing Bran a sidelong look. "We are to be betrothed soon enough, after all."

The smith's cheeks flooded with colour at her teasing words. Bran opened his mouth as if to protest, then seemed to think better of it with an audible snap of his jaw. A low, rueful chuckle rumbled from deep within his broad chest. Aleria laughed softly at that, before gesturing to the unenchanted charm.

"As for your query - have you any familiarity with the workings of magic, Bran?" She asked smoothly, testing the feel of his untitled name on her tongue as she met the half-orc's eyes expectantly.

Bran considered her question for a long moment, brow furrowed in thought. When at last he spoke, his deep voice carried a pensive note.

"Only what little I can recall from my mother as a young lad," he said slowly. "She possessed an affinity for nature magics common to most elves. But I'm afraid I was too young to learn much of substance from her before..."

He trailed off with a faint grimace, giving a small shake of his head as if to dislodge some unpleasant memory. When next he spoke, there was a dull note of resignation in his tone.

"Well. Suffice it to say, my father is far more the 'brute force' type when it comes to such matters. His understanding of magic begins and ends with the blade's edge, I fear."

Aleria regarded Bran with a faint smile, as she considered her response. Formulating an analogy, she gave a small nod.

"Think of the runes as a blueprint or schematic, if you will - they hold the design and purpose for which the magic is to be shaped."

Plucking the unenchanted talisman from her palm, Aleria held it up for Bran's inspection. The dull metal glinted in the midday light, cold and lifeless without her mana to imbue it.

"The iron itself acts as a forge of sorts," she went on, voice taking on a measured cadence as though reciting from some ancient lectern. "Iron in particular is special in this way, mundane and inert on its surface, yet possessing an almost unlimited capacity for containing magical energies."

Her gaze took on a distant cast as she turned the talisman over and over between her fingers in a thoughtful reverie.

"It's why the fae fear iron so - as beings composed almost entirely of ethereal magic, they can quite literally be consumed and negated by it." A wry smile curved her lips at that. "An elegant solution for such lofty creatures, is it not? To be undone by mere base metal..."

Bran was watching her with rapt fascination, clearly hanging on her every word. Aleria felt an odd little thrill at having such undivided attention from one so striking. Clearing her throat, she continued.

"But I digress. Like any proper forge, the true flame comes from the fuel burned within." Her free hand rose in an idle gesture, green mana welling up in a softly pulsing corona about her fingers. "In this case, the 'flame' is my mana."

As if to accentuate her point, that emerald shimmer seemed to flow outward as though drawn in by the metal still cradled in her palm. The intricate runes etched into the iron began to glow in answer, pulsing in time with the rhythmic flare of her magic.

"Once imbued in such a way, the talisman becomes a reservoir for whatever energies the caster pours into it," Aleria explained, voice dropping to a murmur as she traced one fingertip over the softly radiant sigils with a featherlight caress. "Healing for these, naturally. But the principles apply to any number of enchantments - be they wards, elemental foci, or any other manner of spellwork."

Bran was nodding slowly in understanding, his eyes alight with the first shade of comprehension. Aleria could not quite suppress the small swell of pride that bloomed in her chest at having explained the process so thoroughly.

Still, she was careful to keep her tone level and dispassionate as she concluded her impromptu lecture. "A delicate process, to be sure - but one that yields immensely practical results, as you can plainly see.

"Mana is a force shaped equally by knowledge and will," she said, her voice taking on that same measured cadence as before. "Knowledge of the intricate formulae, symbologies, and principles that underpin all spellcraft. And an iron resolve to bend those forces to one's desires through sheer focus of will.

"These sigils replace the need for such knowledge," Aleria went on, her free hand tracing over the intricate whorls with a featherlight caress. "They provide the blueprint, as it were - an instruction for the mana to follow once imbued within."

Bran let out a sound of understanding, and Aleria could see plainly that he was in fact comprehending her words, not just humouring her.

"Once charged in this way, all that remains is to provide the will," Her fingers curled inward, that softly pulsing emerald light seeming to intensify and coalesce into a brilliant pinprick at her core.

Aleria paused, worrying her lower lip between her teeth as she considered how best to summarise.

"A mote of effort on the user's part, and the magic carries out its purpose as instructed by the runes - no focus or magical knowledge required." She shrugged one shoulder in an offhand manner, as though it were the simplest thing in the world. "When the talisman is depleted, it merely needs recharging by one such as myself with an affinity for the requisite energies."

"You make it sound so effortless, Aleria," Bran murmured, eyeing the softly glowing talisman in her grasp with a look of newfound reverence. "As though imbuing mere iron with the spark of life itself were little more than child's play."

Aleria felt the corners of her lips quirking in a small, self-effacing smile at that. Carefully tucking the charged talisman away amidst its kin, she turned her full attention to the man beside her.

"In truth? To me, it is that simple," she replied with a faint shrug of one shoulder. "The principles and methodologies I have studied and mastered over decades of practice. No more difficult than shaping out the dents and dings in a fresh breastplate is to you, I'd wager."

Her smile broadened somewhat at that, eyes crinkling ever so slightly at the corners.

"Magic is merely another craft to be honed, Bran - no different than your own. Once the rudiments are ingrained, the motions become as natural and effortless as breathing."

Aleria's gaze strayed almost of its own accord to the pointed tips of Bran's ears, those unmistakable vestiges of his elven heritage. A small, inscrutable smile played about her lips as she studied that delicate structure - so at odds with his orcish stature.

"With your mother's lineage, you may well possess an innate spark of magic yourself," she remarked lightly, emerald eyes gleaming with something almost... speculative. "Affinities such as hers tend to be hereditary, after all."

Bran followed her pointed look with a faintly self-conscious frown, one thick fingertip rising to brush the delicate point of his ear. He seemed to consider her words for a long moment before giving a slow dip of his chin.

"Aye, perhaps," he rumbled, dropping his hand back to his side with a dull thump. "Though, I've always felt more kinship with my father's ways."

Reaching up, the half-orc hefted the leather-wrapped bundle on his shoulder with a grunt of effort, letting it rest on a more comfortable perch.

"I prefer to deal in what I can see and hold before me, I suppose," Bran went on, his deep baritone taking on a contemplative note. "Solid steel and good honest labour - visible tangible results."

One broad palm slapped against the bundle with an audible thud, causing the contents to rattle faintly in seeming emphasis. Aleria could not quite mask her small smile of amusement at the gesture, though she held her silence and simply arched one inquiring brow.

Bran shrugged almost self-consciously beneath her inscrutable regard. "I mean you no disrespect, of course," he rumbled by way of clumsy apology. "Your talents, they're remarkable. Truly. But I am as my father's son, I fear - a simple craftsman at heart, ill-suited to such lofty arts."

Aleria regarded Bran, head canted ever so slightly to one side as she studied his features. There was a brief lull in their conversation, the ambient sounds of the bustling market seeming to swell up around them - the shouts of vendors, the dull clamour of passing carts.

"I would hardly call you simple, Bran," she said eventually, her voice taking on a gently chiding note. One slim hand rose in an idle gesture, fingers toying with the ends of her hair in an absent-minded reverie.

"In fact, I would hazard to say you are anything but." Her eyes gleamed with something almost playful as she regarded the half-orc from beneath lowered lashes. "Shrewd and intelligent, from what I've seen thus far. And certainly well-spoken."

Aleria let her gaze trail pointedly over Bran's broad-shouldered form in an appraising once-over, taking in every inch of his hulking stature and coiled musculature. When at last her eyes found his again, there was a faint curl to her lips - not quite a smile, but something dangerously close.

"You may prefer the comforts of your father's forge to the, ah... 'lofty arts' as you put it," she murmured, unable to resist giving a small roll of her eyes at his turn of phrase. "But you do yourself a disservice with such self-deprecation, Bran."

Bran shifted almost imperceptibly beneath her scrutinising regard, the tips of his ears darkening in a flush of colour that only seemed to intensify as Aleria held his gaze. She watched in silence, head canted ever so slightly as if relishing his discomfort - all the while, those emerald eyes gleamed with undisguised amusement.

Finally, the half-orc gave a small shake of his head, huffing out a low chuckle as though at some private joke. He favoured Aleria with a look of grudging respect, as if seeing her for the first time.

"You are too kind," he rumbled, though his tone carried a wry edge that belied his words. "Though I suspect your tongue possesses a deftness to match your enchantments, hm?"

Aleria arched one finely sculpted brow in an expression of exaggerated shock, lips parting in a moue of mocking dismay.

"Why, Bran!" She gasped in tones of exquisite outrage, one hand rising to press against the swell of her bosom. "I'll thank you not to speak so brazenly of a lady's deftness of tongue in the public square. Especially when said lady is soon to be your wife!"

Bran's eyes flew wide at her scandalised words, mouth working soundlessly for a beat or two before a hoarse splutter finally emerged.

"W-what? No, Aleria, that's not what I—" He managed at last, the deep rumble of his voice cracking somewhat in mortified protest.

His face had flushed a dusky shade of crimson, the tips of his pointed ears seeming to smoulder with the force of his embarrassment. Aleria watched the entire display with undisguised delight, eyes dancing with unholy glee.

"I merely meant that you possess a... a silver tongue, as it were!" Bran pressed on in a desperate bid to clarify, his hands rising in an abortive, placating gesture. "A-a gift for turning a clever phrase, nothing more!"

Aleria's laughter peeled out in a bright trill at that, her eyes crinkling merrily at the corners as she threw back her head in unrestrained mirth. Around them, a handful of passing townsfolk paused in their errands to cast curious looks their way, no doubt drawn by the unexpected commotion.

If anything, the abrupt onset of an audience only seemed to stoke Aleria's amusement further. She shook her head slowly from side to side, regarding the flustered half-orc with a look of wry reproach.

"Oh gods," she chided through the lingering peals of laughter, one slim hand rising to dab delicately at the corners of her eyes. "You make it entirely too easy, I fear."