B is for Blacksmith
She had trained and strained all of her life. She made her body, head, and heart strong, following a set of rules to a specific outcome: fighter, not chevalier. Ferelden, not Orlesian. She had obeyed her father, even if she had not done as he wished.
But the wounds of war run deep in Ferelden. The Orlesian occupation is only recently over and new threats loom on the horizon. For Aveline, it was a small miracle she was even able to train to fight. She might have grown up in Ferelden, but her name, her family marked her, scarred her.
She arrived at Ostagar ready to fight, ready to rage. Her father was not long dead and Wesley was far away. All she had was a sword and a shield, and she was ready to dance with both. But the distrust still ran high, fueled by fear and jingoism.
She wanted to help? She could bend iron, not wield it.
Aveline gritted her teeth. She knew she was a capable fighter and that she was loyal to Ferelden. She was an officer with the army! And now that army was saying. . . . Well. Life had been a struggle to prove the obvious. She briefly debated about returning to Denerim or some other city. Just in case. . . just in case Ostagar didn't go according to plan, the other cities would need able defenders. But leaving wasn't an option, either. She wanted to defend her home, her people, even if they weren't quite sure they wanted her.
"Alright," she said, hand resting on sword handle. "Where is the forge?"
She picked her way through the camp, past the mages, Wardens, soldiers, dog trainers, past even the quarter-master. The smith was hunched over the anvil, heavy hammer in hand. Her hair was dark and her face darker, covered in soot and concentration.
"Captain Aveline Vallen, reporting for duty," she said, saluting.
The smith stood up, crossing her arms, assessing the red-haired woman. "Captain, did you get lost? Did you need something?"
Aveline sighed. "No, I'm. . . ." Being humiliated? Cast out from the very army she had served for years? Foolish? "I was asked to serve by tending the forge. My arm is strong. I know how to fight. I can learn how to forge or anything else you need."
The smith ran her hands through her hair, tying and retying her pony tail. "Well, Captain, there are a lot of soldiers out there who need to be prepared for battle. I'm grateful for your help. I'm Emma Underwood. Let's get going."
Emma found a blacksmith's apron for Aveline, brown leather and rough. There was not much time, before the battle; Aveline could not call herself a real blacksmith, not even an apprentice really. She fetched wood for the fire, carried metal and finished weapons, did some sharpening and repairing. She listened to Emma talk about her craft; Aveline absorbed the information, thinking it only right a soldier know her tools are made.
Still, as the battle loomed, Aveline made sure her own sword and shield were ready. Just in case.