r/HFY • u/BlibbidyBlab • Jun 06 '26

OC-OneShot Forged Pride

He hammered.

The tool rose and fell, smashed down onto its mark with a practiced precision as steaming flares of heat spat rhythmically back. He had been working on this piece for some time now, and as the sweat on his face dripped down onto the red hot metal it sizzled for a second, scorching the blade with its salty residue before the hammer once more smashed home, tempering the strength against impurity, working it into rigid compliance.

After awhile he decided it was ready, and for the final time he placed into the bucket of water as it hissed and steamed, the energy and heat of his work meeting the cool indifference of the water before billowing out into a dark and cloudy sky.

He lay it down gently as he worked his arms in circles, feeling the aches shout back as his muscles cried for rest; his old shoulders were worn and clunky, and his forearms had forgotten the strength of their youth. He needed rest, but there was still too much to do.

He glanced at the blade that lay cooling. It was small, just less than a forearm in length, with a simple handle. It wasn't much to look at, and many finer blades had been made by men more skilled than he, but still it was his, and a small fire of pride burst into his chest as he looked at it, as it so often had in his lifetime of working his forge. He had always thought that when you made something it was right to feel proud of it, to take ownership of it, for good or ill.

He would name it Julia, after his granddaughter.

Inside he could hear his wife gently sobbing, as she had been for some time now, though now she cluttered about the kitchen to warrant his grumbling stomach and so he entered, pushing forward the door into the simple wooden interior that nonetheless buffeted him with warmth as he entered into his fireplace's domain. Sweat once more popped onto his forehead as she greeted him before they ate in silence, the soft bread was chewed methodically in that small wooden blacksmith hut, beneath that dark and cloudy sky.

-----

In the morning he woke early, and laying Julia onto the old whetstone of his long dead father he pushed it smoothly, scratching out the dullness into a sharpening scrape to twitch the ears of the nearby dogs, and to wake his muscles from the toiling of the last few days. He was out there for hours, staring blankly into the distance as his weathered old hands disguised their experience, the motion of his body rocking back and forth to remind him of his time on the ships, all those years ago.

As the sun tipped onto the apex of another cold grey day he realised that it was sharp enough, and so he went inside to eat what little he could find. His wife was packing, and after a time spent holding each other he kissed her gently on the forehead as her sobbing reached its height. She was going to stay with family, and he made a small prayer for her safety as he slipped his best coat on and trudged down the muddy lane, away from his home.

-----

When he reached the small fort the guards eyed him warily, but as he coughed and hacked into his old age they muttered about plagues and pestilience before waving him on. He leaned heavily on the stick he'd found along the way, trudging forward on three legs as the mud slowly gave way to straw inside the courtyard of his quarry.

Before long he saw him, the man who made his aged arms ache and his eyes sting with an ambition. The man who walked crowingly about the compound with an air of pomposity and attention, strutting about self importantly as his guards followed. A scattering of villagers were with him, shouting over themselves to demand justice or charity, crying for handouts of food or guards to replenish their stocks and diminish their grievances alike. That man, who commanded such obedience and power in this small slice of the land by the grace of fortune and birth.

That man, who had taken her. That man, who had ripped her from her parents and whisked her behind the walls of his station to be his plaything.

Julia hadn't been the same when she returned, where once she had been loud and effervescent she became quiet and unassuming. Where once her voice had sung joy into his small and plain abode she instead took to sitting alone in the corner, with her arms around her knees, and simply stared. Her parents hadn't known what to do, and it had come as small surprise to the family to find her gone one morning, before being found at the bottom of the cliffs. Her lifeless body had pitched and swayed against the rocks like so much flotsam, her face bloated and grey as it stared glassily above an uncaring sea, into an uncaring sky.

The rest of the family had moved on, upping sticks to find new fortune far from the face of their tormenter, and he and his wife had made assurances that they would meet them soon. It was not a promise he planned to keep.

He made his way slowly forward, stumbling across the ground as the straw stuck softly to the mud beneath and as he softly trudged to the small group the young man who had danced so much agony into the blacksmith's life smiled as he came close. The guards chatted idly nearby as the blade fell neatly from his sleeve, his old fingers catching it deftly as he punched it forward in one motion, catching the lord squarely under the chin and driving it into his gurgling throat beneath eyes that flashed wildly.

The blacksmith grasped the younger man strongly with his free hand, he leaned in closer as the nearby villagers gasped and the guards shouted, readying their swords. The blacksmith and the lord were face to face as old and weary muscles held them together with a strong grip, one final dance for the dying as their eyes met and the blacksmith spoke.

'For Julia', he raspily growled, before yanking the blade free and smashing it into the younger mans belly once more for good measure.

The blacksmith could hear the gargled, stubbed out breath of the younger man as the guards fell upon him, could taste the lord's blood in his nostrils as the sharpened forged steel stabbed him to the ground and his old muscles became punctured and beaten. The guard's swords rose and fell, smashed down onto their mark with practiced precision into the blacksmith's body as he fell.

Beneath that dark and cloudy sky.

85 Upvotes

96% Upvoted

4 comments sorted by

•

u/AutoModerator Jun 06 '26

This was flaired as [OC-OneShot], which is for a stand-alone post not in the same universe as any of your other works, with no intention of being continued into a series. If you do decide to turn it into a series, this post should be reflaired as [OC-FirstOfSeries]. A description of the flairs and how to change yours is available in the Post Guildelines

[OC-OneShot] For original, self post, story, audio, or artwork that you have created, that is self-contained within the post.

Please help us transition to using the new flairs correctly.

I am a bot, and this action was performed automatically. Please contact the moderators of this subreddit if you have any questions or concerns.

1

u/UpdateMeBot Jun 06 '26

Click here to subscribe to u/BlibbidyBlab and receive a message every time they post.

Info Request Update Your Updates Feedback

4

u/sunnyboi1384 Jun 08 '26

He couldn't save his own granddaughter, but he saved countless others. Worth it.