Author's note: I've been working on this ever since I first introduced the swords back in Vigilance and Sacrifice. Yes, that long. I hope they did them justice.
In a cold smithy that was lit only by the streamers of light from the full moon overhead sat a man with the powerful upper body of a smith. The cool light made the medium brown of his shaggy hair seem almost black, though it limned the faint gray into threads of silver and did the same to the beard that covered his face around his mouth, leaving his cheeks clean shaven. A small ale cask rested on the work bench in front of him as he noisily drank from the mug in his hand in between long moments of staring at the contents of the bench.
"Brother, are you all right?" questioned a man rather worriedly from the doorway. The moon a little kinder to the clean shaven man with high cheek bones, slightly hollowed cheeks and lightened his hair to almost blond.
The smith slurped from his mug before grunting, "Just drinking and thinking."
Now annoyance crept into the brother's voice, "For shame, Mikhael. You've got your wife worried sick. She thought the crusty old bastard up in the tower got you."
"Avernus is the last of my worries, Levi."
That gave Levi some pause before he carefully made his way into the smithy. Not that he should worry about tripping over anything, Mikhael was a stickler for everything in its place and a place for everything in his shop. Maker help the poor soul foolish enough to disrupt the smith's order. Still, it wasn't entirely familiar territory for the trader who had no wish to upset his brother any further. Once he was closer to his brother, he asked, "So what is your worry?"
Mikhael gestured to the contents of the work bench before emptying the cask into his mug. Frowning, his brother studied what was on the top of the bench. Or tried to. Trying not to sound peevish he said, "I don't have the eyes of a cat."
Without saying anything, the smith lit the lantern that was sitting nearby before gulping down the last of the contents of his mug. He gave off a yeasty belch.
In the warm glow of the lantern, Levi's breath caught when he saw the broken remains of Starfang, a weapon that Mikhael had considered the height of his craft. It had once been a beautiful gray blue sword with icy blue veins running through its length, it always had an icy air about it, so much so that it sometimes seemed to have hints of snow swirling about it. Now it was an inert, dull gray, the icy traceries now a dull red. It looked almost like blood, but not quite the right shade, even in the light of the lantern.
Not to mention the strangely melted appearance the ruined blade had.
Next to the broken sword was a two-handed bastard sword of indifferent work. It too had a slightly melted cast to it, as well as the reddish substance covering both hilt and blade.
Laid out in a neat line were long slices of a material that would have reminded Levi of bone, except he knew of no beast that had bones that shimmered in such a fashion. There were also strips of leather, far finer than even the best quality dragon hide he'd seen in his time as a merchant.
Individually the items weren't awful, but as a whole they gave him the shivers. Trying not to think of that, he said the first thing that came to mind. "Oh, Mikhael, I am sorry for the loss of the Starfang."
Mikhael shrugged in response, "It served well and died in a battle worthy of such a weapon in the hands of a hero."
The other nodded slightly then frowned a little, "Why didn't they clean the blood off it? If that's the blood from the Archdemon..."
"It's baked in."
"Baked..." Levi stopped and shook his head. He was beginning to see what maybe troubling his brother. "This was the King's commission you mentioned earlier?"
"Aye. Though he had more details than just make a pair of swords."
"Like what?" Levi always thought Alistair was a fair man, he didn't think being King would change him so quickly.
"Well, it's to make a pair of twinned swords. But he wants Named ones. Not just Named, but with purpose."
Levi blinked a little, he didn't know his brother's craft that well, but he knew that making weapons to be deliberately named and given purpose... Not many smiths could make such things, since those were the type of thing that would grow their own legends. He'd always warned his brother on the dangers of bragging about being able to make wonders, now he was being called on it by one of the people who had the right to do so, and not just because Alistair was their King now.
It had everything to do with the fact that the Dryden clan owed him and the woman now known as the Hero of Ferelden. Owed them a great deal.
"So what exactly was the King's commission?"
"To forge a pair of twinned blades made for a specific person. One to be named Vigilance so that she would always have something to watch her back. The other to be named Sacrifice so that she would no longer have to sacrifice herself."
Stunned Levi found another stool nearby and fell on it rather than sitting down. Sweet Maker, that was a tall order. If it were any other smith than his brother, he'd say it was an impossible request. But given the passion Mikhael had put into learning his craft, he was likely the only smith who could fulfill that particular commission.
But given the materials involved, it was a troubling one. He cleared his throat, "So that's why the crusty old bastard came down from the lofty heights?"
"Yeah." The smith scrubbed his face with hands calloused, singed and battered from working in such an unforgiving profession. "Given that he knows far too much about uncanny things, I figured he was the best choice to examine them."
Levi had remembered seeing the troubled expression on the ancient mage's face as he returned to his equally ancient garret after spending far too much time in the smithy. "What got him so worked up?"
"Well, the one good thing is that there is no Taint. It's just, the blood that's baked in, it's not just the Archdemon's. It's Marlana Cousland's as well."
"Maker's breath. Is the King aware of that?"
"It's too soon to tell and I don't know if I'd get an answer in time to be able to make the swords in the time he wants them." Mikhael said uneasily, "He intends them to be a gift to his new bride."
That at least didn't surprise Levi at all. During the winter the Wardens spent at the Keep with his clan, he'd had a chance to get to know the two of them. Marlana wasn't a woman to be caught by the usual fripperies that were an easy gift for a man to give to a woman he cared for. But a pair of exquisitely made swords just for her? Yes, that would appeal to her far more than anything considered properly feminine.
"So you were worried this might be something akin to blood magic?"
"Yeah. Crusty old goat told me that I may work magic in my smithy, but it's not the type to tempt demons."
Levi had to chuckle a little at that. He had as little to do with Avernus as he could, but he could see the old bastard saying something like that. Even Mikhael smiled a bit. He shrugged, "So what's the problem?"
"He said there was a power in the blood he never encountered and that it might affect the weapons."
Now he understood his brother's reluctance. This was a challenge worthy of the master craftsman's skills, and one that he desperately wanted to answer. But it was clear that the odd nature of the materials concerned the smith. "So did he say they weren't safe to use?"
Mikhael rubbed the back of his neck, "No, just that the weapons maybe more than what anyone expected, but wouldn't say how."
"Huh. Well, you have two choices. You can pack the stuff up tonight and send it back to the King with your regrets. And likely regret not making the attempt. Or -"
"Or I can actually make them", Mikhael finished for his brother in a growl. He lightly touched the broken remains of Starfang. "I will make them. I wouldn't trust anyone else with this weapon, no matter how skilled they may seem. Now get out of here so I can start planning."
"Just make sure you're not up too late, else your wife will have both our heads", Levi commented with a smile as he left the smithy.
It took a week for all of the preparations to be completed. The preparations were more than just the planning out the process of making the weapons. It was also insuring that there would be sufficient supplies stockpiled since Mikhael didn't want anyone else present while he worked on the swords. Mainly because he was worried the materials might be hazardous after all. The secondary reason was that he knew when crafting such objects, his attention was be solely focused on his creation and wouldn't be able to direct anyone, even the most skilled of his apprentices.
Due to that focus, he would be spending the entire time in his smithy and so spent a good portion of that week with his family while his apprentices saw to the supplies.
Then the day came, he rose with the sun, kissed his wife, tousled the hair of his boys, much to their mock dismay, before heading to the smithy.
In the place that was only his, even if he often shared it with others, this was his little personal domain in the world, Mikhael Dryden took the moment to think over the undertaking he was about to start. And to utter a quiet prayer to the Maker and Andraste to watch over him, even if he normally wasn't a praying man.
Having shaken off the last of his nerves, he went to work.
Once the forge was going, using firerock the mages had come up to make up for the lack of lava like the dwarves had when they still forged dragonbone, he started by smelting the swords to draw off any impurities out of the metal, including possibly the blood. Usually it was a long, boring process since it was meant to extract the metal from the rest of the materials. Even when melting down metal from items that had been made and were being remade into something new, it was often tediously long. But not this time.
He watched in amazement as the swords flared with light once in the smelter and easily melted. Before he could skim off what impurities floated to the top, there was another flare of light and the floating scum was gone. Somewhat apprehensively, he added in the bone to molten metal by using long tongs so to avoid getting scorched by the intense heat.
There was no flashes of light, the bone undramatically dissolved into the molten slag. He frowned a little. Bone just didn't melt like that. Even dragonbone or even that of an archdemon.
After studying the mixture, he finally shrugged a little to himself, carefully withdrew the small vat from the smelter and poured the contents into the two waiting blanks. There was less material left over than he had expected. The broadsword alone would have provided enough metal for the two smaller, lighter swords he was going to be making.
Sweating more from unease than the heat, the mastersmith took the opportunity to drain a couple of mugs of water, while watching the uncanny material to see if it was going to cool any differently than it should.
As if to be contrary, it didn't cool with the speed it had melted, instead cooling at the rate he had expected from ordinary materials. As if the remnants of Starfang and archdemon bone were "ordinary". While waiting, he debated on which blade to start with. Creating the blanks was the simplest and easiest part of the process. It was the forging those blanks into the intended weapons that would be the real work, and each sword would require different things to be made to their purpose.
"First the eyes then the claws."
He spun, looking for the source of the whisper. Tried not to shiver when he didn't see anyone else. The voice had been masculine, far too deep to be one of the scamps that served as his current crop of apprentices. None of the adults would pull such foolishness when he was working in the forge, including the mages. Or maybe especially them. They valued his work too much to pull such pranks during a project of this magntitude.
Particularly given the fact they wanted to see how their firerock worked out.
Sure there were a few youngsters among the mages who weren't above pranks, but the adults kept them in check. And he'd know if were any of the scamps that were in his family.
When there were no further voices, he relaxed slightly and looked down at the bars awaiting the lick of flame, the touch of the hammer, the cooling embrace of water to finish the tempering. The eyes, huh? Well, that was clear enough.
Gathering the material he needed, Mikhael began the process of forging the sword that would be known as Vigilance.
An unknown amount of time later, he set the partially forged blade into the solution that had been specially prepared for the temperatures he'd been working with. Exhausted, skin slick with sweat from the incredible heat he'd been working in, the master smith thirstily gulped down mugs of cool, sweet water and wolfed down some food he didn't taste. Once those needs were seen to, he collapsed on the cot he'd setup off to the side to fall into a deep sleep.
It wasn't a dreamless one though.
Mikhael found himself in a rather improbable courtyard made of white marble bathed in the warm sunlight of late afternoon of a perfect spring day. At least the floor of the courtyard was white marble, he couldn't tell what the walls were made of since they were covered in thick vines bearing beautiful, lush red roses. The thorns of the flowers looked like they could be used as blades for daggers.
A man who looked much like King Alistair, but whose jaw wasn't as broad, and his future Queen's sapphire eyes stood up from the bench he'd been sitting on. The man gave him an oddly shy smile, "Hello Mastersmith. Thank you for coming."
"What is this place? And who are you?"
"You would call this the Fade, I believe. It is the place of dreams. And magic. And spirits."
He should have been afraid, yet he didn't feel any fear. The place was oddly soothing and peaceful so he looked about with genuine curiosity.
"Will I remember this when I wake?"
"That's up to you."
"Then I suppose that it depends on what happens here."
The man flashed one of those disarming, boyishly charming grins that Alistair had used more than once to get his way with someone during the winter he and the other companions of the Lady Marlana had spent with his family. The only ones who proved to be immune to it was the strange witch and the taciturn Qunari. He didn't let himself think about the golem, that had just been too much. "I have a favor to ask of you, Mastersmith."
"Mikhael, I'm not the formal type. And who are you? You've the look of the new King and his future Queen, but they're far too young to have a grown child."
The grin shifted into a chagrined grimace. "It's...complicated as my mother would say. You can call me Oomri."
Oomri? What kind of name was that? He regarded the young man steadily, there'd been some rumors... The young man shifted uncomfortably, that was when Mikhael noticed that Oomri was wearing some type of mage's robe, only it wasn't the usual gaudy colors that many seemed to favor. Since this was a dream, though it didn't feel like one, he boldly pressed on, "You're their mage child, aren't you? Then why aren't you with the rest of the mages? And by the Void, why do you appear as a grown man instead of a child?"
He knew that sober look, he'd seen it in Lady Marlana's eyes often enough during that very memorable winter. "There are things I cannot tell, but they had to send me away for my protection. And though they didn't know then, for their protection as well."
If the smith had been dealing with Avernus only, he'd agree with the Chantry about locking up the mages. Only there'd been the two with the Wardens, even if one was a strange witch, and the mages that were now his neighbors, and probably the best customers he had so far. In fact, they'd proven to be better neighbors than many he had in the past. Sure the young ones got into trouble, but what kid didn't? And for that matter, adult? Sure there was the odd explosion, but so did other smiths when they weren't careful about what they kept in their forges. And they cleaned up their messes fairly quickly.
Considering their positions, he could understand just why they had to send their baby away. And because this was the place of dreams, he could see why Oomri would choose to appear as a grown man instead of a child. If he was as young as he suspected, it would've been an awkward conversation.
Of course, this could be a demon, but from what he understood, demons tried to tempt a man with something, not ask for a favor. Then again, he hadn't heard what the favor was either...
Though if Oomri really was the child he was claiming to be, he pitied whoever the poor soul was that ended up as his caretaker, he looked like he inherited traits from both parents. And he imagined they must have been a handful when young.
Not bothering to conceal his wariness, he replied, "Very well. What's the favor?"
"You've got children, right?"
Even more warily he nodded.
"Would you mind sharing the lessons you've taught your children to my. Hm. Brothers if you will. Brothers of my heart and soul."
That was something he didn't expect at all. And didn't sound at all demonic. He scratched his head, "Why me?"
"I have it on good authority you're a good man and a better father."
More than a little embarrassed he shrugged, not sure what to say.
A cute little sky blue ball of fluff peered around Oomri's right leg. It took a moment to register the beak, which made the rest of the of the fluff to resolve into the shape of a griffin. An adorably cute baby griffin that looked like a stuffed toy he would've given to one of his sons when they were a toddler. It looked at him with bright eyed curiosity and chirped, "Hello?"
Sweet Maker, it talked. He didn't think griffins could talk, but then again this was the Fade... He crouched down before the little fluffball so they were approximately eye to eye, it didn't seem right to loom over him. "Hello, I'm Mikhael. Who are you?"
"I'm Virgil!" came the happy squeak. Odd, but better than Oomri.
"Stupid," commented the little, bright red dragonling that came around Oomri's left leg. "Can't even say your name right."
Oomri gave him a pained look that said see what I'm going through here?, as Virgil growled at the dragonling. It sounded as threatening as a kitten.
Rubbing the back of his head, he carefully asked the little red dragon, "And what's your name?"
There was nothing cute about the little beast, but it was handsome and would likely grow up to be something magnificent. It drew itself up proudly, "I'm Scaryface!"
"You said I'm stupid?" Virgil asked sourly, "You can't even say your name right."
Squalling angrily the dragonling pounced on the griffin who shoved back. Soon there was a rolling blur of red and blue with bits of fluff and scale going flying. Without thinking about it, he roared at the way he would his own sons if they acted in such a manner, "BOYS! Just what do you think you're doing?"
They paused in midroll with Virgil on top of Scaryface, both of them staring at him wide eyed. He nodded in approval. They may not have human faces, but the expressions of his own miscreants when caught in a tussle. He just raised an eyebrow and the two separated with heads hanging. Just like his boys. He had to suppress a grin, very solemnly saying, "Thank you."
He looked up to see Oomri hopeful look and just nodded in agreement. Mikhael absently ran his fingers through his beard, "I don't suppose you have a place we can let them work off their energy?"
The young mage thought about it, then nodded. "If you go through the archway behind you. There'll be boundary markers, don't take them past that point."
Wondering what was out there, the smith headed out with a pair of eager children, even if they ran on four feet at the moment since their stubby wings wouldn't support them in flight yet. He watched them play as youngsters would, then when they were tired and curled up against him to nap (Though how could someone sleep in the Fade, weren't they already asleep?), he told the sleepy children the same stories he told his own boys.
When he woke in his forge with sunlight streaming in his eyes, he felt more refreshed than he expected given the eventful dream. But it didn't feel like a dream. And he had a good idea who those two scamps were. He looked over at the forge. Oh yes, he had a very good idea. Virgil and Scaryface indeed!
From that point on, his waking hours were spent working the metal into the weapons they were meant to be. His sleeping hours spent teaching their spirits what he wanted his boys to learn. And the two grew so quickly in those nighttime hours. He was there when they took their first clumsy attempts at flight. And cheered them when that clumsiness gave way to their first true flight.
And desperately wished there was someone else he could share that bittersweet joy. Since there wasn't, he resolved to cherish the time he had with his own children before they went out into the world.
It wasn't long after their first true flight that he found his conversations shift to what he wanted to tell his own boys when they turned into men.
The night before he was going to put the finishing touches on the swords he was greeted in his dream by Vigilance and Sacrifice.
Vigilance, now a fully mature and very handsome griffin with dark cobalt fur and plumage, bowed to him and simply said, "Thank you."
Sacrifice, whose scales were the color of freshly spilled blood and was far more magnificent than he had thought, didn't say anything, but gently tapped him with the tip of his muzzle. Unable to say anything himself, Mikhael lightly rested a hand on Sacrifice's muzzle and the other on Vigilance's crest.
When he woke that morning, he let himself shed a few tears in a silent farewell to his foster children.
Because he wasn't a man who was that good with the written word, and had no way of explaining himself to someone who did, he kept the note he wrote to go with the swords short and sweet.
Warden,
Try not to break these like you did Starfang.
Mikhael Dryden
After all, how did you convey that you were giving a piece of yourself to someone else for their care?
Once the blades were settled into their carrying case with the note, he gently patted them in one final goodbye. To some they would mark the greatest wonders he'd ever crafted. Once, he might have agreed.
But not now.
No, now he knew the greatest wonders he'd help craft were the two boys of his that were playing out in the yard with their cousins and the mage younglings that had come over to visit.
