Returning to Grimroost just past midday, Sigurd and the rescued girl rode in on Barry’s steed. He steered the majestic beast in the direction of the dwarf blacksmith’s shop, stopping short of the entrance. As if eagerly awaiting news of the baron’s return, the old dwarf stepped out of the shop upon hearing the horse’s neighs.
Caught breathless, the old dwarf paused when he saw Sigurd atop the horse, and behind him his granddaughter. “Pikku?” the dwarf asked, still in disbelief.
The teenage girl dismounted the horse in a sprint – nearly tripping over herself – as she ran up to the teary-eyed dwarf, yelling, “Grandpa Zhel!”
“Pikkutytto, is that really you?” the old dwarf’s voice cracked. They met in an embrace and both fell to the ground, bawling their eyes out. “I can’t believe my eyes! I thought you were a goner!”
“I was so scared, grandpa!” the teenage girl struggled to speak amid her cries.
“Are ya’ hurt anywhere? Did those fiends touch ya’ inappropriately?” the old dwarf asked. His granddaughter shook her head in reply, still too shaken with relief to articulate words.
Ceasing his tears with a mighty sniffle, the dwarf creaked back to his feet – all the while holding onto his precious granddaughter – to greet and receive Sigurd.
“Ya’ did it, ya’ crazy bastard!” the old dwarf exclaimed, staring at the tall-man in front of him in awe. “No, sorry, that was incredibly rude of me. Still, I can’t believe you found me today and delivered on your promise... all in less than a day’s time.”
Sigurd approached them both, grinning stupidly, “I did advise you not to give up and that I’d be back soon.”
“I was awful to you earlier, and you did this for me,” the elder dwarf lamented. “You wanted your sword fixed, right? I’ll do it for free, and even then I feel like I owe ya’ my life.”
“You don’t need to go that far,” Sigurd replied embarrassed. “I didn’t even do this to get the sword fixed. Like I said earlier, I wanted to help.”
“Well, regardless, I owe you so much more than I could ever repay,’ the dwarf said, resolute. “Come inside, I’ll fix your sword right away.”
He walked side-by-side with his granddaughter still clinging to him, and gestured at Sigurd to follow them, adding, “Oh, and before I commit any more blunders, I nearly forgot. The name’s Zhelyazko.”
“It’s my pleasure to formally make your acquaintance. I’m Sigurd.”
Once inside the bare hut, the elder dwarf sat his granddaughter on one of the chairs and fetched her some water and a blanket. He wrapped her in the thin, fluffy cloak and clasped her hands – as she held the cup tight – before heading into his workspace with the baron’s stubby blade.
Sigurd took a seat next to the girl and crossed his arms to wait. The refreshing breeze from the open windows relaxed him and cooled him down. The battle – despite having been an easy one – still worked him into a sweat. And he still had some minor scratches on his body.
He stared at the ceiling for a few minutes, in almost complete silence; while time passed, the only sounds that filled the room were that of Zhelyazko working on the sword and his granddaughter sipping on her water. Gradually, the sips grew louder, heightening the awkward silence between them, as did the heat which emanated from the forge beyond the back door.
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‘Ah shit, heroics are fine and all, but what do I do now?’ Joyce mused. ‘I rarely had to spend time with rescued hostages back on Earth – we’d usually just hand them over to paramedics. And even when we did have to escort them for long periods of time, I’d always be too busy to calm them down...’
Sigurd’s eyes trailed from the ceiling and landed on the girl.
‘More than that, though, she’s really pretty. I was NOT that good looking at that age. Do dwarfs even age similarly to humans? Would that be even more awkward to ask?’
It was then that he took notice of her features, surprised not only by her looks but also by the finer details. Unlike her grandfather, who looked the part of a stereotypical dwarf in Joyce’s eyes – he had a long, bushy beard which covered his face entirely, and had a short body, with equally diminished, yet muscly arms and legs – the teenage girl beside him was different.
Though still of shorter stature than an average human, she had longer arms and legs. Her frame was slender and her face rounded, with more feminine features overall. Suffice it to say, for Joyce, the girl didn’t seem like a dwarf. Of particular note to her was that the girl was darker skinned than her grandfather.
She caught Sigurd staring intently; their eyes met, and she darted hers away, sipping her water embarrassed. Sigurd caught himself at that moment too, noticed the girl blushing bashfully, and cleared his throat, also momentarily looking away.
‘What am I thinking? I’m a hunk now, and I just rescued her from a group of depraved men too! I can’t be staring at women, like how I used to before!’ Joyce growled internally. ‘Stop being an idiot and say something to break the silence!’
“Uh,” Sigurd began. “Sorry for staring. I was a bit lost in thought.”
“It’s alright,” the girl replied meekly. Focused on the rippling water in her cup, she took another sip and added, “Thank you so much for saving me. I don’t know what grandpa Zhel would have done without me.”
“Your grandpa said your name is Pikkutytto, right?” Sigurd faced her, trying once again not to butcher her name. “Though this was a chance encounter, I would have saved you and everyone else there regardless. No thanks are needed.”
“Just Pikku, please,” she uttered, still focused on the cup.
“Oh!” Sigurd nodded, and then his face lit up with realization. He rummaged through his bag and produced a small sack, holding it out in front of the girl, “I know it’s not much, but I want you both to have this.”
As many times before, Sigurd’s ingenuity and selfless compassion caught Pikku by surprise. Opening the small, weighty sack, her eyes widened and gleamed like the hundred coins within. Speechless, the girl slowly set the cup down before squeaking out, “Uh, grandpa.”
Pikku then raised her voice, to the point of yelling, “Grandpa Zhel! Please come out here!!”
“What’s all the fuss about?” a sweaty Zhelyazko emerged from the oven that was his workspace.
He calmly made his way to his panicked granddaughter, and, as soon as he laid eyes upon the contents of the sack, his cheerful smile quickly turned into an expression of shock, nearing horror. Flustered, he stumbled backwards and reacted much in the same stupefied way as Pikku, “What is this?! We can’t accept somethin’ like this!”
“It’s a goodwill gesture, from me to you,” Sigurd explained concisely. “It’s also a token of apology. I approached you for a job, not thinking of your circumstances.”
“You couldn’t have known,” Zhelyazko was helped up by Pikku. “And ‘sides… this is far too much.”
Sigurd shook his head, “I want you to have it. Logically speaking, business had been slow, even before Pikku was kidnapped, right?”
Begrudgingly, Zhelyazko nodded.
“So I’m gifting this to you to help you get back on your feet,” Sigurd said, realizing that’s exactly what the elder dwarf had just done. “Figuratively, I mean.”
“But still…”
Firm in his conviction, Sigurd insisted, “And if you won’t take it, then I’ll give it to Pikku.” He proceeded to clasp the girl’s hands. “As a reparation of sorts, for the damage those criminals did.”
“I can see you’re serious about this,” Zhelyazko sighed heavily. “Fine, we’ll take it, but words alone will never be able to repay all that you’ve done for me—for us—today.”
He then grabbed Sigurd by the wrist and pulled him along, across the room, and towards the door leading to the forge, roaring, “And that’s why, if you won’t budge, than I won’t either! I won’t be having your charity for free!”
Stepping into the Zhelyazko’s workspace, the forge’s oppressive heat blasted Sigurd; all at once, he felt like as if he’d been doused in flame – the intense heat and humidity made him perspire instantly. The elder dwarf, on the other hand, continued without any objection.
“So, on top of fixing your sword for free, I want you to pick one from among my finest works to keep,” Zhelyazko parked Sigurd in front of a tall wall. On it were mounted several different armor sets, of different designs and material composition.
Dazed and still adjusting to the heat, Sigurd said nothing while his sweat dripped onto the floor. It was so hot that the sweat evaporated before touching the cobble floor.
“Better yet, stay here,” the dwarf said, excitedly running to one side of the room and then back, holding a stepping stool in one hand and measuring tape in the other. Using the stool, Zhelyazko directed Sigurd to outstretch his arms, “Stand still while I measure ya. I’ll be crafting you a personalized set of armor. Nothin’ but the best for ya’!”
‘Why does this feel so...wrong?’ Joyce thought, her head-space as steamy and overbearing as the forge itself. ‘Something about being measured… but I’m a man now, so I shouldn’t be embarrassed!’