The Blacksmith

Gerdur woke me up early the next day.

“Sorry love,” she said. “No sleeping in I’m afraid. We’ve got a lot of wood to cut today. But first, let’s put you into something more comfortable.”

After breakfast ended, and Gerdur sent Hod off to the mill, she opened her dresser. After pulling out a few dresses, and me trying them on, we decided that none of them fit me well enough. I’m tall, even for a Nord, and despite the fact that Gerdur wasn’t petite by any means, all of her outfits made me feel like a stuffed Niben Pike.

“Hmm,” she said, as she tried to tighten a leather bodice that hurt my hips. “Maybe we ought to visit Camilla Valerius, she’s very good with adjustments.”

“If it’s the same to you,” I said. “I’m not much of a dress person anyway. Does she do armour?”

“We’d have to see Alvor for that,” she said. “But it won’t be cheap.”

Alvor the blacksmith was already hard at work. He was a bear of a man, bearded and covered in soot already.

“Morning Alvor,” Gerdur greeted. “Are my parts ready yet?"

"I can only hammer so fast, Gerdur," Alvor responded, still beating a glowing piece of iron.

"They don't have to be perfect,” Gerdur said. Just send them over when they're ready. Anyway, I’ve brought a new customer."

“Did you now?” Alvor looked up from his work, and eyed me up and down. “And what is it I might do for you today, new customer?”

“I was looking for armour,” I said. “D’you have some?”

“For you? Not sure…” He inspected me from behind his anvil, in a way I’d punch any other man for. “Not a lot of warriors coming through here, especially not with your… shapes.”

“And what shapes may that be?” I asked.

“Womanly ones. If you don’t mind me getting technical,” he said, “most men believe a woman in armor needs a lot of space in their breastplate. Damn, some even think a breastplate for a woman needs to have the shape of breasts, or needs only cover them, leaving the rest exposed!”

He laughed. “Good way to getting yourself killed, I say. No, a woman needs more space at the hips. So do you, if you don’t mind me saying.”

“So,” I said. “Do you have anything like that?”

“I don’t, actually,” he said. “But I do know someone who does, so I’ll have to ask her if she’s done letting it collect dust.”

“You know her well?”

“I hope so,” he said. “She’s my wife.”

“Sigrid, dear,” Alvor called as we entered his house. “We have guests. One of them is interested in your old… uh dress.”

He picked up a little girl playing by the fire, and gave her a kiss on the cheek.

“Why would anyone be interested in an old dress?” A tall woman had come up the stairs, and crossed her arms.

“You go play with Frodnar, love.” Alvor put the girl down. “Papa has to talk business.”

“Okay, papa.” The girl skipped out of the house and ran off.

“The one you keep under the bed,” he said. “So Dorthe doesn’t see it.”

“I want my daughter to live a peaceful life,” Sigrid explained, as she unraveled a thick piece of cloth she’d brought from downstairs. “If she sees this, I’m afraid she’ll be inspired to follow in my footsteps.”

“She looks a lot like her mother,” Alvor said.

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Sigrid said, as she revealed a beautiful hauberk, in shining steel, brass rings forming a knotted pattern on the edges, complete with an emerald green belt with brass buckle, a deep moss gambeson and a brilliant helmet with a wolfshead as a nose guard.

“It’s beautiful,” I gasped.

“It is,” Sigrid whispered. “But I took it off when I was expecting Dorthe, and I never wore it again.”

“Are you sure you would give it away?” I asked.

“I am,” she said, “but you’ll have to do something for me. The whole village is buzzing with talk of dragons. Some have seen it, and swear it is still around. Combine that with the rebellion… I am worried we are no longer safe. If you take my armour, I want you to go to Whiterun and ask the Jarl to send some of his guards to protect us.”