The Blacksmith's Daughter

I wake with a start when the bedroom door slams shut. There’s no need to look at my parents to know that they are still sleeping – I can hear my father’s snoring and my mother’s calm breathing. My brother’s bed is empty and his pillow is lying on the floor.

I run a hand through my brown hair and look out the window. I rub the sleep out of my green eyes. The sun hasn’t risen yet. How strange, my brother is never up before the sun.

I look at my parents again. They’re lying close together to keep warm. They always give me and my brother the warmest quilts in the winter. We protest every year, but they insist.

         I slip out of bed, cringe when I feel how cold the floor is and get dressed. I lay my own quilt over my parents, there’s no point of wasting the heat. I run a finger down my hooked nose and smile; it’s the only feature I inherited from my mother.

I make sure the quilt is properly tucked around them. Then I go downstairs and quickly find an extra pair of socks. I put on my winter boots and my coat and go out to the forge. 

         The snow fell heavy tonight so I have to fight my way through piles that are almost as tall as I am. It doesn’t take long before my clothes are soaking wet. 

         I find my brother standing over a magnificent sword my father made for the king.

         “What are you doing?” I ask. He trips over his own feet and knock the sword from the table. It flies through the air and land next to the wall.

         “Please don’t ever do that again,” he grumbles. He picks up the sword and put it back in its spot.

         “Do what?”

         “Sneak up on me,” he answers. He stands completely still and stares at me with his dark eyebrows furrowed over his green eyes.

         “Why are you looking at me like that,” I say, annoyed.

         “There’s something different about you today. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but something is definitely different.”

         “And what can that be, if I may ask.” He just shrugs and mumbles something about getting something to eat.

I hear noises from the house. I guess my parents are up. I walk over to the pile of coal, cover my face with a piece of wet cloth and shovel some of it into the hearth.

Then I lay out all the tools my father will need today - including his favorite hammer - on the anvil. I’m usually the one that prepares the forge for the day, since I tend to get out of bed first. Every evening as we are eating supper my father tells us what he’s going to do the following day – today he’s spending most of his time making horseshoes for the king’s Calvary.

         My father isn’t the only blacksmith in town, but he is the best. And I’m not just saying that because he’s my father. The king picked him to be the royal blacksmith, which means that there is never a shortage of supplies and he gets paid three times as much as any other blacksmith in the whole country.

         The rest of the day goes by as usual, I am in charge of the bellows and my father bends the metal into the right shape and makes holes for the nails.  My brother never comes back to the forge so I have to do his chores as well.

         At the end of the day I’m exhausted and sweaty. My back hurts and my arms are sore. My mother has already prepared a bath for me when I come into the house. She smiles at me and gets me some clean clothes.

         “How was your day,” she asks with a gentle voice. I stretch my arms up bend backwards till I hear a cracking sound.

         “It wasn’t exactly fun. Especially since your youngest son never showed up.” I yawn and take off my clothes. My mother, who has a strange look on her face, hurries out of the room, mumbling something under her breath.

         The water is warm and soothing, and soon I’m so relaxed that I could fall asleep right here and now. I do however not get the chance to as I hear knocking on the door. I hear voices from the other room; I recognize my parent’s voices, but not the third one.

         I step out of the tub and dry myself with a towel. I get dressed in the brown skirt and a red blouse my mother picked out for me, and sneak over to the door. There’s no doubt that the visitor is a man, his voice is deep and growly. I notice the he’s speaking in the same official tone as the merchants and the noble people.

         There’s a knock on the door “honey, are you decent,” my mother says, but it doesn’t sound like her usual voice, its shaky and in a much higher pitch.  I take a few steps away from the door so they won’t know that I was trying to listen in on them.

         “Yes, why do you ask?” My mother opens the door, she looks pale and her eyes are wide open, like she’s afraid. I’ve never seen her like this before; she is always calm and cheerful, now she is neither.

         “What’s wrong?” I say, my voice revealing how worried I am. She swallows hard, her hands twisting a piece of cloth.

         “Nothing’s wrong, honey.” She forces herself to smile. “There’s someone here to see you. Come into the kitchen and say hello.” Her voice is trembling so much that she can barely finish her sentence.

         I do as I’m told and walk into the kitchen. The tall man in the middle of the room looks awfully misplaced. His long black hair is tied in a knot at his neck.  It’s not hard to see that his clothes are expensive and the gold ring with a big blue stone on his right index finger doesn’t leave any doubt that he’s rich. I just wonder what he’s doing here.

         “Hello, my name is Nokaias,” he says and walks over to me, smiling. He takes my right hand in his and kisses it. I fight the urge to wipe my hand on my skirt, and smile my most convincing smile.

         “Hello Nokaias, my name’s Aleie, it is very nice to meet you, but can I ask why you are here at this late hour?” His smile broadens. He takes a glance at my parents who are standing huddled together in a corner, as if they are trying to get as far away from him as possible.

         “I am here to ask for your hand in marriage.”