I wake up and yawn, dreading the long day ahead of me. I'm a sword maker's assistant, which is a tiresome job. I start work at sunrise each morning; I open up, clean and repair tools, and dust surfaces for two hours until my master turns up. Frearn is one of the most well known and liked swordsmiths in the nine realms, with a long affiliation with the royal family. I was bought as a "servant" when I was ten more out of pity felt for me than any particular talent I had. My parents were poor and in debt when they had died in the war against the frost giants and I had been raised in an orphanage until I was old enough to start work. Frearn hadn't needed an assistant, but by pure coincidence had been coming back from visiting his mother in the northern quarter when he stumbled upon the traders auctioning away my future had decided he could not let a scrawny and exhausted child be sold to the brothels if he had any form a conscience. He trained me to defend myself first, first in hand to hand combat, then in the art and the etiquette that is sword-fighting. He put me on a diet to help me gain wait and grow stronger, and although he treated me gruffly and made no secret of the fact that I owed him for everything he gave me, I think he came to love me in his own way. Then he taught me how to look after his tools at the smithy and how to help maintain the condition of the weaponry. Now I am almost sixteen and can forge my own swords, albeit not to the same standard as Frearn.
I quickly dress in a simple shirt and leggings, and stretch. I bend over to touch my toes and stretch my arms behind my back. I perform a series of exercises to strengthen my core muscles before pulling on my armour. In my field of work it is important to remain strong and healthy. Many think it strange that after years of refusing to train anyone Frearn chose me, indeed, I think he does also; but no-one can dispute that I work hard and efficiently.
I make myself some oatmeal and gulp down some water before grabbing my green cloak and heading out. The streets of Asgard are illuminated with a pale, cold, pre-dawn light. I listen to the sounds of the city waking up, along with the clink of my chainmail. I lean down to stroke a small black cat which steps forward to rub its legs against me, and I marvel at how soft its fur is. "What's your name kitty?" I ask. It purs in response. I look at it again and notice that it looks underweight. I pick it up and hold it against my chest and to my surprise it doesn't jump off me or squirm, it just digs its claws into my cloak and nuzzles my chin. A red-robed messenger races past on a large white stallion. When I arrive at the forge I put it down and look for some vaguely cat friendly food in the cupboards in the small kitchen round the back. I find some cream and some form of preserved fish which I lay out on a plate. The cat very delicately consumes the food, and sits up poised. Preciously it cleans its paws. I scruff it's head. I then go into the work room and start polishing the ready-made wares. I go back to the kitchen to get a glass of water and am greeted by the cat, whom I thought would have disappeared by now. By the time Frearn arrives the place is immaculate and the cat is sleeping in front of the freshly lit stove. He looks at the cat as he walks in, and it leaps up towards him yowling and turning. "Odd. Why is this creature in here?"
"Oh, it followed me. I fed it, I hope that's okay." Frearn just shrugged. The cat continued yowling and pacing.
"Did you hear the news?" Frearn inquired.
"No; what's happened?"
"Prince Loki has gone missing. It's an outrage. There are rumours of frost giant involvement. Doubtless we'll have a lot of work the next couple of days." The cat's yowling intensifies and I bend down to stroke it again. "It's about time you warmed up." I nodded and went outside, the cat following me. Before the swords are sold many young and testy men want to try out their weapons, so I duel them. Many are ludicrously surprised when I beat them. It actually got to the stage where Frearn said I had to stop winning so much as it was irritating customers so much that we were losing them. I practiced a few moves in the courtyard and stretched my back.
A crowd of young battle goers dressed in armour bounds around the corner, fresh. Evidently they hadn't been to battle before.
Half an hour later and they are all kitted out, and gone. Most likely to their deaths, I think. A fanfare interrupts my musings. The cat starts yowling and pacing in circle.
"That creature's damned insane!" Frearn yells from inside. The fanfare is repeated a second and a third time. That signals a royal approach. Two indicates a highly placed servant or advisor. I am used to meeting with dignitaries representing the royals, all though I have never served them myself before. The cat starts nipping at my heels and batting my leg with its paw.
"Shh kitty." The last thing I want to do in front of a royal is embarrass myself because of some idiotic fur ball. Not that I am much of a royalist. My poor upbringing has led me to the conclusion that they are over-valued as they do nothing to help the poor except encourage travellers to marvel at the palace. And a fat lot of good that does for the people starving in the streets. But, although I have no abundance of love of them I don't want to lose face in front of one of our most valued customers.
Four body guards elegantly sweep into the courtyard.
"His Royal Highness, heir to the throne of Odin, desecrator of perpetrators and wielder of the hammer, Prince Thor and his Most Esteemed Companion, the battle fiend and woe of all enemies; the Lady Sif."
For fuck's sake we all know who they are… I mutter to myself.
Thor jaunts over to me. "Serving woman, do tell me where is master Frearn." I got annoyed. I am not a serving woman.
"If you mean Lord Frearn, to whom I am an apprentice; your royal highness shall find him indoors."
Sif snorts and Thor recoils.
"The cheek. Quite a tongue this child has." I glared at him. "Show us inside?" I nod coldly at him and walk inside. The cat steps out in front of Thor as he is about to go down a step, causing the warrior to trip. The cat yowls and scratches at him.
The lady Sif laughs. "I swear that cat is just like-" and then she cuts herself off. I assume she meant Loki, as there was no other reason for her to stop like that.
"Damned beast." Mutters Thor.
"Frearn we have customers." I call. My master comes through and immediately bows.
"Your highness, what brings you here at our darkest hour?"
"The Lady Sif is searching for a weapon and so I deigned to accompany her." I loath that man.
"If a weapon she needs a weapon she shall have." Frearn replies before addressing Sif. "What do you desire? A sword? A mace? Do you fight with one hand or two? Do you fight with a shield? What is your style?" and a million other questions are discussed. Irritated I scoop up the despondent feline and stroke it. It's eyes are watering. Can cats even cry? Its ears flat against its skull. I kiss it gently on the forehead and it purs.
"Winter will you accompany our most treasured custmers outside to test some swords?"
"Yes Frearn." I stretch and roll my shoulders, and Sif does the same but-
"Lady Sif, if you would allow me to test these for you on the apprentice." Thor says, and adopts a fighting stance. I roll my eyes follow suit and soon we are circling each other.
Rule no. 1 :- Always let the customer make the first move.
Thor's huge body tenses before he leaps forward at me, giving me a split second warning as to his opening move. I prepare for it and meet his thrust with a flurry of jabs, all caught by his sword.
Rule no. 2 :- Use moves which encourage a customer to enjoy using the weapon.
I jab an undercut at his abdomen and, as predicted, he meets it and sweeps it round, smiling from the feel of the sword.
Rule no. 3 :- Start by matching their ability.
Thor evidently has hundreds of years of training to his name, meaning I can go at full ferocity with him. He throws a complicated series of turns and slides at me and I respond with an equally complex but more modern collection of attacks.
Rule no. 4 :- Let them come close to hitting you and use last minute defence moves to encourage them that the weapon is improving their skills.
Thor slid the sword at my collarbone, and I wait until last minute to duck underneath and attack from the side.
A crowd of onlookers have gathered to observe the Prince fight. Chants of "Prince!" and "Beat the welp!" and "Thor beat the whore!" attack my ears. Whatever became of supporting the underdog?
He aims at my thigh and we parry. Swords clash and meet, and I match his moves. I notice that I have unwittingly backed him against a corner.
Rule no. 5:- Always let the customer win.
No fucking way. I want to show him and his privilege that no matter where you come from all men and women are equal. I can't abide his snobbery and self-importance any longer. I want to tell him exactly where he can shove his royal titles.
I press my sword lightly against his neck. "Check." I breathe on his cheek. It takes a moment for the fact he has been beaten to sink in, I can tell this from the delay in the anger reaching his eyes. What a brat. The crowd have gone silent. I remove my sword from his neck and place it on the workbench.
The cat watches.
I turn my back and walk inside. I hear a bellow from behind and turn to see Thor charging towards me with his weapon outstretched. Shit.
Sif yells at him to stop.
The cat growls and leaps out.
Thor tricks on the cat, drops his weapon and knocks me over, landing on top of me, his forehead against mine. My head smacks against the ground. Our noses rub.
The last thing I see is a pair of venomous eyes looking into mine before I pass out.