Forging the Heart's Desire
Chapter 2
Balimund awoke before the sunlight had the chance to filter through his window. Despite the long journey from Windhelm to Riften the day before, the smith never seemed able to let the sun rise before him. At least, not without the assistance of several bottles of mead.
He sat up, swinging his legs over the bed. He exhaled and tiredly ran his hands over his face, smoothing the thick moustache he was so proud of.
The past few weeks had been grueling. Ulfric Stormcloak was gathering his men to take back their homeland. The Empire had proven time and again that they didn't give a damn about the Nords or their beliefs; why should Skyrim back such spineless tyrants?
Balimund and other smiths who supported the rebellion had been called to the Palace of Kings to discuss the tall order of clothing and arming the sons and daughters of Skyrim. After they had finally figured out where to get the much needed supplies and who would craft which pieces, they began the task. They worked in long shifts; the moment one was too tired to go on, another took his place. When they had finally exhausted their resources, Gelmar Stone-Fist had allowed them to return home. Balimund couldn't think of a time he had missed the sight of that thug-riddled city more.
His forge had no doubt suffered in his absence. 'No disrespect to Asbjorn.' He thought, looking at said man who was still blissfully unaware of the dawn's arrival, snoring softly.
Asbjorn had come a long way from the day Balimund had snatched him from the clutches of Grelod the Kind. He was naturally talented and dutiful; no better apprentice could be asked for. He was glad to know that the forge would be in good hands when his time came. 'Which will be sooner than later, if Ulfric has his way.' Balimund thought wryly. He felt worn and old, despite only seeing forty two seasons.
Splashing his face with freezing water from a basin, the smith walked over to the oblivious young Nord. He slapped his foot, knocking it off the bed and startling the man awake.
"Up, boy. We have work to do."
"Wha… oh, Balimund. Morning." Asbjorn sat up and rubbed his eyes. "I bet you're glad to be back."
Balimund had arrived late the night before and stayed awake long enough to mutter a greeting to the apprentice before falling into his bed. Even riding in the carriage had left him drained, and that was on top of all the work he'd done for the true High King.
"What have we got? Any orders?" Balimund grabbed a sweet roll and tore into it. It was a bit stale, but that never stopped him from enjoying the little icing vessels. They were his favorite, but he'd never say so; pastries didn't exactly scream 'manly'.
"We had a few that I took care of on my own," Asbjorn almost preened.
"Good man."
"But there was one that I couldn't figure out to save my own life. Thought I should leave it for you." Here the Nord rose and walked to the table they kept weapons and armor awaiting service. He turned and tossed a dark bundle at Balimund, who had anticipated the apprentice's actions. Ah, youth.
Balimund examined the pitch black armor. Shimmering eerily, it was clearly imbued with magic. He wasn't the biggest fan of enchanted armor, but he knew a thing or two about working with it. This particular set seemed vaguely familiar. Something he had read about? Despite being the son of a burly sword smith, Balimund's mother had made sure that her boy would be well-read.
"What in Oblivion is it made from?" Asbjorn rubbed the back of his shorn head anxiously. Something clicked in Balimund's mind. He moved to his book shelf and grabbed a particularly old tome. After a few minutes of flipping and scanning, he gave a grunt of confirmation.
"Oblivion isn't far off."
The apprentice looked frightened. Balimund smirked. "I mean the armor. It is Daedric, but it isn't Dremora." A few more flips of pages, and he nodded.
"Right," he sighed, "we need Void salts."
"Void salts?" Asbjorn asked incredulous.
"Aye. You see how the light has no effect on the armor? It stays in shadow." To emphasize his point, he held the bundle near a candle. Even though the armor was hard and smooth, the flame didn't reflect off it at all.
"This armor is from the Void, or close to it."
"Well, then that is all for you, Forge Master." The apprentice held his hands up defensively.
Balimund eyed the light armor wearily. "Who dropped this off?"
"Oh, uh… Alyssa. Alyssa Wulfe. She's an adventurer, and a damn good one from what I hear around town. Dealt with a lot of big baddies." Asbjorn grinned, thinking about the Breton woman. "Svana says she's great. Even helped her deal with her aunt."
Svana Far-Shield was a tavern girl over at the Bunk House, and a local favorite with the men in town. But she only had eyes for the Fire-Tamer. Her aunt Haelga owned the House, and worked the girl like a slave. Despite her relations, Svana was kind and affectionate. Asbjorn knew a good woman when he saw one, and if he was smart he'd snatch her up from the marital market.
"Hmm." Balimund slipped his apron on, heading for the door. When this Alyssa showed up, he would just have to tell her that if she wanted him to repair her strange armor, she would have to retrieve the salts.
Stepping into the brisk air, he warily eyed the forge. It seemed even weaker than the last time he'd been home. The embers flickered sickly. He ran his hands through his hair. He needed fire salts, and fast. He had practically begged that hag on the water to place an order, but she claimed it was too much trouble to track them down. Frustrated, he grabbed an iron sword that needed tempering.
The market was beginning to fill up with the usual merchants and stall hoverers. Balimund was well into hammering while Asbjorn worked the forge, crafting a few daggers for quick sale. Both had failed to hear the Breton woman approaching. She stepped into Asbjorn's line of vision and cleared her throat.
Unable to hear her over the hammering and hissing of the smithy, the apprentice continued on. Alyssa walked around and placed herself in front of the unfamiliar man shaping a sword. He was most definitely a Nord: Tall, bulking and fair-haired. The force with which he brought down the hammer on the yielding steel was great. She admired his stern concentration; this was an expert at work.
Balimund felt a shadow over him. He briefly glanced up, only to look back up and stare, halting mid-swing.
By Talos. Large dusky eyes atop fine cheek bones bore into him expectantly. Her long auburn hair was plaited, the braid hanging over one shoulder. Plump, pink lips turned up into a friendly smile. He had to restrain his eyes from sweeping over the rest of her body.
"Good morning." Her voice was warm, yet assertive. Not that it need be; those lips were enough to command his attention. She was Breton, but with something else lying beneath, albeit subtle.
Mouth suddenly dry, Balimund cleared his throat and regained his composure.
"Morning. Come to see Balimund perform miracles with steel, eh?" He must've rattled off that line hundreds of times to onlookers, but he couldn't help but feel just a little sheepish saying it to the pretty woman- er, girl.
Her eyebrow rose briefly, but the smile remained. Her gaze dropped to the sword, examining his handiwork.
"Impressive. The detail on the handle is exquisite. You must be a master at your craft."
Damn it if that didn't make his day. 'Must've talked to Ungrien a time or two.' Balimund thought wryly. He began to wonder if her tongue actually did taste like honey before mentally chasing the inappropriate thoughts away.
"You must be Alyssa." He confirmed this by looking back at Asbjorn, who'd stopped working at the sight of her, walking over to join them. "Ah, good morning, Alyssa!"
"Hello, Asbjorn. It's been a long time. How is Svana?" Alyssa asked, hoping that the little stunt she performed on Haelga hadn't come back on the sweet girl.
"Very well, thanks to you." His eyes gleamed with mischief, failing to let Balimund in on the joke.
"Good. I've come to inquire after my armor. Is it ready?" She asked hopeful.
"I'm afraid I can't help you." Her head whipped back to face the older smith. Had her reputation already proceeded her with this man? Asbjorn hadn't minded about working on her weapons, but perhaps this Balimund wasn't willing to help a thief.
"At least, not unless you have Void Salts lying around."
Alyssa blinked, confused. "What?"
He carefully laid the sword down and wiped his hands on a rag nearby. "I am a master of my craft, but I'm afraid I don't usually work with Daedric armor. I'll need the salts in order to fix it. That is something you'll have to provide."
The girl's eyes lit up, seeming to realize something. "Of course! I apologize, Balimund."
His name on her lips- which he couldn't seem to stop looking at- made him shift, trying to distract himself from the sudden jolt of pleasure it caused.
"I will return in a few days with what you need." She turned to walk away, giving him a great view of her leather-clad backside. He had figured Breton women all took after their Elven ancestors, with lithe and frail limbs. But this girl was toned and curvy. Very curvy. Perhaps she had Nord in her? And if not- shaking his head in order to clear it, his eyes fell on the forge.
"Wait."
Alyssa turned back, eyes curious. The smith nodded towards his forge. "This here's the greatest forge in Skyrim. It burns hotter than even the Skyforge. The reason is because I use Fire salts."
Alyssa walked back and stood before the forge, feeling the heat. Strange, it didn't seem very hot. Her eyebrow quirked at him. He sighed, understanding her thoughts.
"At least, it was. The salts are almost gone. I hear you are… very capable. If you were to retrieve 10 Fire salts, I would be grateful. And, I would pay you for your trouble."
"I would be happy to." She gifted him with another smile. Gods, what was it about this girl? She had him feeling like a whelp looking to rut. He shifted again, focusing on the task at hand.
"I'm afraid it won't be easy. I have tried the apothecaries. It seems the best way to get them is to harvest them. They're… they come from Fire Atronachs."
Her eyebrows rose. "Oh, is that all?" She asked cheekily.
He chuckled. "Like I said, I will pay you for your trouble."
She bowed dramatically. "I will do my very best. However, I believe I will need an extension on time. How about… a week or so?"
Balimund almost balked, but remembered Asbjorn's praises of the adventurer.
"That will be fine. Now, if you're in need of armor-"
"Oh, I should be fine. The Nightingale armament is my favorite, but I have one or two other choices."
"Very well. Good luck to you, Alyssa."
This must have been funny, because she laughed. "I am counting on it!" Before he could comprehend her meaning, she left. He tried. He really tried not to follow her with his eyes.
He shook his head again. He needed to keep his lust in check. She was a client. Balimund didn't normally mix business and pleasure, though he'd be lying if he said he wasn't considering breaking that rule. He was a red-blooded Nord, with the same needs as the next one. He'd even enjoyed Haelga's company before. But this girl seemed too innocent for that.
A sobering thought hit him: Alyssa couldn't have been much older than the apprentice, and he was about twenty years his junior. Sighing, Balimund grabbed the sword and hammered with a bit more effort. Best to just put her out of his head. At least until she returned. Then he'd do the job, give her the armor, and that'd be it.
Something she said finally clicked in his mind.
"Nightingale?"
