I am human-born, human-raised and I expect a human lifespan. Sometimes I forget that is not the case for others. This was quite unexpectedly pointed out to me this past evening, when I happened upon the Lady Anariel, the good Captain Ithildin’s sister, in the Cross Keys.
I had gone there for a spot of supper and something to drink, and I found her seated by the fire. She looked to be on her own, so I asked if I might join her. She was pleased of the company and welcomed me, saying she was lonely that night. It being the night of the New Moon, she was planning in staying in, quietly and not venturing outside where she might encounter such things as were abroad at dark of moon.
I must confess, I had not given it much thought, and barely remembered it was dark of moon. I said that I was not in fear. While I was no warrior, I had my dagger, Amaris, to defend myself. She asked then if I might tell her tales of my livelihood, saying I must have many stories. What was on my mind?
I was not sure what I might say of that. I am fortunate that my profession does not weigh heavily on my mind. I do my job, and then, I go home, and do not fret or worry about it, save perhaps, when there is some construction or fabrication problem I have not yet solved. Today, I said, I had little on my mind, save wondering about the ramifications of my recent royal appointment. Otherwise, I had spent my time thinking about the commission for the Cania, the manufacture of the corset for Ithildin. A typical day involved cutting up pieces of metal, wood or leather, hitting bits of metal with my hammer, shaping them, and the wood and leather to form whatever it was I was making at the time. I was not sure that these would be the stuff of stories.
She was still convinced that I might have things on my mind. My profession was a valued one, she told me, even if it was, at times, hard labour and repetitive. The realms, the kings and queens, oft relied on the craft of the blacksmith for weapons of war, and the tools of peace. I should not let things weigh on my mind and trust that the gods had a purpose for me. I could not disagree, though I pay only such devotions to the gods as are appropriate for a man such as myself.
Anariel said that she was not experienced with weapons. Indeed, she had been strictly raised never to wield any forged weapon. Her sister might be skilled in such things, but she knew nothing. She, herself, tended to the family business, a winery, so her attention was given to the handling and mixing of fruit and grain and the process of brewing.
I said that this was well with me. I like a drink well enough, but know little of the processes involved in making the drinks. I had, of course, at times, manufactured retort stands, small vessels and such like for brewers and distillers, but wasn’t involved otherwise, save as a consumer of the end product. I could not comment on Ithildin’s skills with weapons for I had not seen her using any. She seemed skilled at piloting her ship, that I knew from observation, but of her martial skills, I knew nothing.
I realised that I had not yet ordered food, so asked a bread and cheese supper of Millicent, to go with my ale. Anariel had already eaten, so did not need to join me when I asked. She changed the subject then, and asked if I liked music.
Now, that was a question I could answer. Had Ithildin been talking about me? Of course I told her that I loved music, and told her how I had learned from my mother. I told her briefly about Mother and how she came to have me. I had the citole with me, so extracted that from its case, in case she felt like hearing a tune. She was delighted to meet a fellow performer. She played various instruments, though her favourite was the recorder. She came from a long line of performers. Ithildin had not spoken of my music during their girl-talk. She had said, however, that she admired my work and was very proud of my appointment. I started to play while we talked.
When I had spoken of the reason my mother was cut off from her lover and patron, she told me that elven nobility may not marry outside their caste. She also said that is she was not married by the age of 400, then her parents would arrange a marriage for her.
That caused me to splutter on my drink. I knew the elves were long-lived, but had not appreciated it in that sense. I told her that I was 37 years of age but could not reckon 400 years. At least, until she told me that was equivalent of mid-20s in human terms. I was glad of that comparison. That I could reckon better, and in that sense, I was older than her. Of course, I said, nobody was arranging any marriage for me, at least, that I knew of.
After a while, she yawned. She was glad of the company, and glad that it had been an uneventful night, despite it being dark of moon. She was headed back to the Sapiso Mountains the following day and asked what my plans were. I could say only that I intended to work on various current projects, such as Ithildin’s corset and the commission for the Cania.
She bade me farewell and departed, heading for bed, leaving me to my supper. It had been a pleasant interlude and I thought that perhaps I had misjudged her. The previous evening, she had come across as a little condescending, especially towards her sister, but maybe they had sorted that out during their girl-talk. I hope so. Maybe, then, we could all be friends.
Anvil and Strings 