Chapter Twenty-Three: Temper

A/N: My thanks to Warrior4 for helping with this chapter!

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"Patience, King Edmund. You didn't learn to run a kingdom in a day."

I sighed in frustration and disappointment, looking up from the table to give Gran a wry look. Another round of labor – this time with Brickit himself breathing down my neck and complaining that I was too tall – had resulted in yet another failure. The blade had cracked and had to be abandoned. "I've been at this more than a day. And I'm still not too sure about my ability to run a kingdom."

She chuckled and patted my shoulder. "We've a saying among our people, young king: Only a fool gilds refined gold. What you lack in skill and experience you make up in drive. You can do this, unskilled though you may be. I can see it in you. You've the glint in your eye that tells me you will do your brother the High King proud."

I considered for a moment. "And Brickit?"

The old dame smiled. "Oh, lad, he couldn't be prouder than he already is."

Her words pleased me more than I could say. To think that when we met Brickit and I had done nothing but exchange barbed words and snide remarks! We still did, but the intent behind them had changed so gradually over the past few weeks that all the bite was taken out. "I have only three more days here before I have to go, Lady."

Gran gave me a look at once sly and wise. "Mighty Aslan sang the world into being in a single morn. Think of what you, his chosen king, might accomplish in the time you have left here. Remember success is not always measured in the finishing, but in the trying."

I blinked, astonished at her faith in me. It was amazing, really, the level of confidence Narnians placed in us, their kings and queens. At times it was daunting, but right now I let her trust bolster my enthusiasm.

Brickit sat down beside me a few minutes later. As soon as we were fed our evening meal I poured him some beer and fixed him with an indomitable look. "Hurry it along, Chief Smith," I insisted. "We've work to do."

He smirked at my expression and tone, but I noticed he also ate faster than usual.

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Once again I started with a blank hunk of silver-gray steel, and just as every time before I thrust it deep into the glowing embers of the fire until it shone yellow-hot and ready to be shaped. I hammered and sweated and ignored the sparks burning me and my clothes as I poured every effort into keeping my word to make something worthy of Narnia's High King. The only difference now was that I had the Chief Smith directing every move and every hammer strike with a precision that was remarkable. He stood opposite me at the anvil, with a slim wooden stick in his hand that he used to point to the exact spot for me to strike with the hammer. By the tone of metal impacting metal he could tell if the strike was hard enough as I pounded the steel into shape, and under his direction a long, narrow blade began to form that was superior to anything I had produced thus far.

"Harder," he ordered, pointing to the cooling metal. We were both intent to the point of obsessive. There were no words exchanged between us. There was no calling for conversation. The only sounds were a hammer hitting steel, the soft rush of the fire, and the Dwarf's gruff voice as he commanded each step. "Again. Turn. Here. Lighter. Again. Again. Back in the fire with it!"

And so we went on, coaxing the steel with heat and hammer blows, finding balance and heft and symmetry between us and in the metal. We were alone in the shop, the masters having left long ago. I had no notion of time or any thought beyond following his terse instructions. Now and then he took the hammer and worked the knife a few blows, his expertise correcting the flaws my inexperience wrought. Still, the majority of the actual labor was mine. I was so focused, so bent on following his orders that it didn't seem like work at all. I didn't grow tired, my attention never wavered. The need to work and to do this well consumed me utterly, overshadowing any desire to pause and rest. We moved from the hot aura of the forge to the relatively cool air by the anvil, sweat mingling with sparks as the day turned into the evening and then into the night.

It was very late when Brickit left me for a while, grunting at me to watch the fire. The knife was resting back in its fiery bed of coals when he returned. To my surprise he had two buckets of fresh water and he dumped them into the slate slack tub close by the forge.

"Pull that free," he ordered, motioning towards the knife.

I obeyed, pulling the glowing metal free with a pair of tongs. It shone with radiant heat in the barely-lit shop, a brilliant cherry red. I studied my handiwork at a safe distance. It felt right this time. It would not crack. It was balanced and well shaped.

This was a knife for my brother. Finally.

"Steady," said Brickit, staring at the blade. "Wait a moment. When I say, into the bath with it. Point first."

I waited, staring, wondering what he was waiting for. Brickit never even blinked as he looked at the knife. A few long moments passed as I tried to calm my pounding heart, and then he snapped, "Now!"

I dipped it into the stone tub. Immediately an angry, almost pained hiss rose up sharply and steam filled the air. The sound was squelched as abruptly as it began when the knife was immersed and at Brickit's order I dropped it fully into the tub and backed away. Hot steel met cool water and the liquid instantly boiled. I wiped my brow, suddenly tired and breathless. It was a good feeling, similar to the end of a long, hard practice session on the training grounds at Cair Paravel.

"Why did you have me wait?" I asked after the water and my heart both calmed.

"Hmm?" he rumbled, frowning.

"Why wait? Why not quench it immediately?"

Brickit realized what I was talking about and a faint smirk touched his lips. Taking the tongs from my hand, he moved to the tub, fishing about in the steaming water. He lifted the knife by the tang and examined it from all angles in the dim light. After a long while he nodded, satisfied with what he saw.

"Because timing, Spawn, is everything. For the temper a blade such as this needs, the metal was too hot." He offered me my own work, and I tested the metal with my gloved hands before I took it from the tongs. I turned it this way and that, aware that he was minding me closely. I could not keep a slow grin from spreading across my face. I held it out to him.

"What say you, Chief Smith?"

He took the still-hot blade in his calloused hands, holding it between his fingers by the point of the blade and the tip of the tang. It was more than a foot long and the metal shone with a dull, silver sheen.

"I say get some rest," he replied after a few minutes of contemplation. "Tomorrow we'll make the cross-guard and you'll get to learn the very fine art of filing and polishing Blue River Steel."

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"Talons, feet, and claws,
Belly, fins, and paws,
Hooves, hands, and tails,
Wings, mouths, and nails."

Baia and I straddled a bench in the long house, hands before us a she taught me a Narnian clapping game. Unlike the clapping games I had seen Lucy play with her friends, Baia and I each kept one hand before us at all times, the backs of our hands maintaining constant contact. Our free hands met above and below the stationary ones, sometimes clapping against our own hands or thighs, sometimes twisting over to strike our partner's hand. My fingers were still quite sore but she had mercy on my novice status in the game and moved slowly enough for me to follow.

"Southern Marches swampy,
Northern Marches cold,
Eastern Sea so soggy,
Western Woods so old."

Like many Narnian games and rhymes, this one taught as well as entertained – in this case the game focused on navigating around Narnia. I smiled as Baia concentrated. She had much further to reach when playing with me as opposed to her friends that were closer to her in size, though I tried my best to make it easier for her.

"Leopard, Ship, and Horse,
Spearhead pointing north,
Culros, Hammer, Crown,
Shine when sun goes down."

I missed a beat and her hand and she giggled at my efforts as I tried to compensate. Brint came and sat beside his daughter, watching us play.

"Teach him well, daughter," he said with a laugh, and there was obvious pride in his voice. "We don't want him getting lost in this land he rules."

"I still get lost in my own palace," I admitted, much to their amusement.

"And by the by," added Brint, "the parents of those Fruit Bats you sent to Cair Paravel came looking for their brood last night while you were making a racket."

I stopped mid-clap. "What?"

"Seems the Robin you sent asked the wrong family for volunteers."

I closed my eyes. I should have known. "Oh, no . . ."

Brint let me suffer a few moments longer before he shrugged. "No worries, boy. They're more upset with their offspring than with you. They at least should have known better." He chuckled. "Every family has its idiots. This generation of Bats is just more blessed than most."

Shaking my head, I said, "I'll have to apologize."

"Don't bother. It will do the young ones some good and as I said, the parents laid the blame where it belongs."

"Still."

There was no time for further conversation as the daughters began to serve breakfast. I thanked Baia for the game and took my usual seat. Almost immediately a plate of food was set before me and Brickit dropped down into his chair next to me.

"Hurry it along, Spawn!" he all but yelled in my ear. "We've work to do!"

I grinned, delighted to obey.