The blue-hued goblin sat in its rear, picking its nose with one hand and scratching its full stomach with the other. The torn-open corpse of the mountain goat it had feasted on lay before it, its cold dead eyes staring off into the distance. As the goblin snorted with pleasure, it felt a flicker of pain before it joined its meal in death.
“A much better attempt,” said Teleri, nodding in satisfaction as Friedrich grinned with her black bow in his hand.
“Attempt?” he asked her. “That was a great success as far as I’m concerned.”
“Very well, it was a success. It does not, however, make up for the many failures you have had over the past couple of hours.”
Friedrich grimaced. It was true that his marksmanship was not up to scratch, but he was rusty. He had not used a bow since his training as a younger lad. The fact that he had reclaimed his admittedly passable skills so quickly was something he was proud of. Maybe one day, he would be able to kill a moving target with a single arrow.
“Give me back my bow,” said Teleri, holding out her hand.
“It’s all yours,” said Friedrich. “I’m not sure why you want to keep it when you’re going to get a new one anyway.”
“Did Pheston explicitly say that he was going to create a bow for me?”
“Pheston says a lot of things and doesn’t often give straight answers. If he was here and we asked him, he’d say ‘Did I not tell you that?’ and then laugh about it when we tell him he didn’t.”
Teleri cocked her head to the side. “I can picture that vividly, Friedrich. Your understanding of him his remarkably accurate. I suppose that makes sense as you have spent more time around him than either I or Marina have.”
“I wonder how she’s getting on with her task,” pondered Friedrich.
“I am sure she is succeeding at whatever it was Pheston asked her to do. However, I must admit that I am offended we were not trusted with the knowledge of what that task is.”
Friedrich shook his head. “It’s not about trust, it’s about not getting our hopes up. It’s clearly something that could help us, but Pheston deems it a long shot. I wouldn’t be offended, I would be flattered that he showed us concern.”
“That makes sense,” said Teleri. She skipped over the rocks effortlessly, making her way down to the goblin while Friedrich followed as a fox before returning to human form.
“Ugly little runt, isn’t he?” he asked, kicking the goblin’s body so that it lay on its back, looking up at the sky.
“He is no uglier than your own goblin form,” said Teleri, pulling a green kupon from the goblin’s tattered hide jacket. “Ah, the spoils of victory,” she said gratefully as she stared at the green gem.
“Ugly,” Friedrich muttered.
Teleri stood up straight. “How dare you!” she screeched, affronted to be called such a thing.
“I didn’t mean you!” Friedrich protested. “I was grumbling about what you said about my goblin form. Obviously, you’re very beautiful.”
Teleri’s eyes widened and she stammered, unable to form her words. She cleared her throat and pulled herself together. “I see,” she said plainly. She turned away to hide her red face.
She knew it. She had caught him staring at her face and chest many times over and had wondered if it was because he was curious about the Alaurian form or if he found her aesthetically pleasing. It was the latter. Of course, it was the latter. She was always heralded for her appearance back home, even among her own kind. She was sometimes overshadowed by that wretched sister-in-law of hers, but the less the thought about that wicked witch, the better.
No matter Friedrich’s thoughts on her, it was not a notion she would let herself entertain outside of fleeting curiosity. Not only would Friedrich die long before her, any resulting children would spend most of their lives without a paternal influence.
“Such foolishness,” she muttered to herself, shaking her head furiously.
Friedrich raised an eyebrow at her and she stopped shaking her head. “Do you think they’re finished yet?” he asked, looking at the setting sun.
“We shall investigate,” said Teleri, avoiding looking at him until she could feel the blood leaving her face. Curse her mortal limitations, for they were a constant source of embarrassment.
The two returned to the Forge of Ages where Humfrid the horse was waiting dutifully. Friedrich reached into the dutiful steed’s saddlebag and pulled out an apple for him to munch down, which he did with gusto.
“Good boy,” said Friedrich, stroking Humfrid’s mane and nodding to the door. “They’re still hard at work, it seems.”
Teleri’s ears twitched. “I can hear Pheston’s grunts and the beating of a hammer on metal,” she said. “It is good to know that he is still alive.”
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“As I knew he would be,” said Friedrich with a grin.
“Does it not concern you that he is speeding toward his final days?”
Friedrich was taken aback. “No. I’m sure he’s got at least two decades in him. He’s so sturdy, he may even have three of four. Why so morbid?”
“It is not morbidity,” said Teleri, looking glum. “It saddens me to know that I will outlive you all many times over.”
Friedrich wasn’t sure what to say. He knew what she said to be true, but he avoided thinking about it as often as possible. Even though his days on the road would surely come an end long before he died of old age—should he be lucky enough for that to be his fate—he knew that there would be those left behind. Pheston would die before he did, he and Marina would die before Teleri did. It was simply the way of things.
“How long do high elves live?” he asked.
“It varies. Some of us live to see a millennium, others may live to see two. There are subtleties in our lineages that leave us with more differences than you would realise. It is like how some of your kind end up fat and ugly while others end up looking…less so.”
“Not all humans share the same long lives,” said Friedrich. “My great-grandfather died at fifty-eight and my great-grandmother died thirty years later.”
“Ah, so we are not as different as I had realised. It is simple a case of scale across our extended lifespans. Even still, it does not make me feel any better knowing that should we be friends until your death at old age that I will be left behind; alone.”
“Cherish the time we have together and always remember the memories; the good and the bad.”
Teleri nodded. “Until we met, memories were all I had. Between my demon-slaying jobs, I spent night after night thinking about everything from my early childhood until I left Alauria behind. Memories of my brother were always my favourite to dwell on.”
“Memories of my mother are mine,” said Friedrich solemnly. “She would have liked you and I’m sure she would have liked you.”
“Was she similar to you?”
“Nah, she was gentle, kind, and resilient. She took everything in her stride and always took care of the whole family.”
Teleri smiled. “Not similar to you, you said. She sounds very much like you.”
Friedrich let out a dry laugh. “I appreciate the compliment, but I have many failings. I know how impulsive and reckless I can be at times.”
“Yes, you can be that, but you are also the closest confidant for each of us. You were the first one I told my secrets too, Marina trusts you with her life, and Pheston? He’s risking his life to help you rescue your father. Do you think any of us would be here with you were you not noble of soul?”
“You’re all great too,” said Friedrich, his heart filled with warmth. “When I have you all around me, the pain of losing my family is lessened. You’re all family to me now so I know that I have something to hold onto, even if I never see my father again.”
“And this is why I do not want to be left behind,” said Teleri, rubbing her eyes. Friedrich had not realised that she had teared up.
“I’ve got a great idea,” he said, clapping his hands together, trying to lighten the mood. “Why don’t you get buried with me?”
He immediately regretted his joke, but Teleri let out an uncharacteristically girlish giggle before catching herself. “You are a buffoon,” she said with a frown. “To think that you would suggest—”
Teleri froze and her ears twitched.
“What is it?” Friedrich asked, but the question was answered for him when the doors to the Forge of Ages opened.
He and Teleri bounded up the stairs and hurried into the chamber. Alf was lying against the wall, the sweat dripping off the young man’s forehead while his father stood with his hands on his hips, looking proudly at his own father. Pheston stood before the forge his muscles bulging and his entire body drenched in so much sweat it could fill a bucket. His face revealed his exhaustion, but he was smiling through it. He held Vigr in one hand and a sword in the other and he swished it around, admiring the glistening fruits of his labour.
He walked over to Friedrich and held the sword out to him. Friedrich gratefully accepted the gift and looked over it, taking in every detail. The blade was a shimmering silver that reflected his own face like a mirror and bore several small runes at the base near the golden crossguard which was like the sun, glowing and radiant in all its splendour. It bore several ornate bands that spread across it, two of which curled around the base of the blade. The handle was covered in strong and sturdy black leather that already felt at home in Friedrich’s hand. The pommel was intricate and as golden as the crossguard, save for a sprinkling of small gems and a thin, blue-tinted ring around it. Truly, the exquisite blade was a sight to behold.
“Where are the bones?” asked Friedrich, marvelling over the sword, only to get slapped on the back of the head by Pheston.
“They’re imbued within the blade’s essence, you fool,” said the smith, throwing off his tiredness to tell Friedrich off. “Do you know how ineffective it would be to stab someone with a dragon bone? It can be done, of course, but I wouldn’t recommend it unless you sharpen it and have the strength of…well, me. No, this is how it should be done.”
“Thank you, Pheston,” said Friedrich, bowing his head. “For all your talk of being a master smith, you have proven it beyond all doubt.”
“An unbreakable blade for a man of unbreakable will,” said Pheston, snatching the sword and flinging it across the room. Friedrich’s eyes widened with horror as the sword pinged off the wall and clattered to the ground.
He rushed over to it and didn’t see as much as a scratch. “Amazing,” he said, more impressed than ever. He looked to Bjorn and Alf. “Thank you both for all your help too. You are true friends and humble me with everything you have done.”
“Don’t mention it,” said Bjorn, pulling his son to his feet. Alf nodded with a smile before slumping back down; the boy was utterly spent.
“And for you, Goldie,” said Pheston walking over to a flat-surfaced stone where a sheet lay. He whipped the sheet off, revealing a bow. “What better pairing for a golden elf than a silver bow.”
The bow bore several similarities to Teleri’s Alaurian bow with its protruding feather-like blades that decorated it. It was impressive how Pheston had captured details about the Alaurian style that he couldn’t possibly have known right down to the inscription on the tips that read ‘Fly straight and strike the heart’ which was a common phrase among high elven archers. His knowledge astounded her and she was completely caught off guard.
“How?” she asked, picking up the weapon and running her eyes over it. “You do not know my language, surely?”
“Nope,” said Pheston with a wink, “but the Forge Guardian does and he gave me a hand with the finer points.”
“I am suitably impressed.”
There was another weapon on the sheet that was looking forward to being bequeathed to a new owner. Pheston picked up the white staff and twirled it around a few times before setting it back down and wrapping it tightly in the cloth.
Pheston looked to Friedrich and Teleri who gave him a nod. “Let’s go find Marina and see how she’s getting on with her little errand, eh?” he asked. He took a step and his knee buckled. “Maybe we camp outside for the night and set off in the morning, mateys.”