Silver and steel

Written by Mathi

Thragazi was windier than usual. Mathi did not suffer that much, thanks to his goller he wore over his other clothes. He watched the final preparations being made as the dwarf warriors were forming up and formally took over control of the tower from the human guards. Yet it was a somber occasion, some pomp, but not more than necessary to maintain protocoll and honour. The grizzled greatsword champion gave a final salute to the thane and the human soldiers switched place with the dwarves.

Mathi took his time looking down at the weapon he was carrying on his shoulder. It was a wellbalanced zweihänder, not overtly decorated by clearly well made. Along the centre of the blade a line of dwarf runes in silver gleamed with a slightly different shine than the fine dwarf steel that made up the blade.

As he touched the hilt Mathis mind travelled back in time, back to an age before life became truly complicated. A life before the darkness of the mind and scars in the heart.

”There you go, little lad! Just like that. Careful when you grip the stone so you do not cut your fingers on the edge. See, a good blade deserve careful treatment. Much more than a poor blade.”

”Opa, why do you always sharpen and polish your swords yourself. Why not leave it to Claus as papa does?”

A chuckle came from the old man who smiled and looked at his grandson with a loving gaze.

”You see, I believe that man should always take good care of the things he entrusts his life with. His wife, his kids, his animal companions and his weapons…”

”And his knife and his firetools, I know that, Opa! You said it a thousand times! But do you mean Claus is not good at what he does?”

”No, no. Claus is good. VERY good. But a good man should be able to do all this for himself. Because he cannot know if he will sometime be forced to do it on his own. And if you have forgotten how to start the fire properly…”

”… You will never figure it out when you really have too!”

They both laughed, old man and grandson. Isaac ruffled his grandsons hair and carefully took the greatsword from his hands. He looked at the edges, turned it around and nodded approvingly.

”You have made a great job, Mathi! Really good. You really have a talent for this. You know what? I will ask Claus to take you with him in his workshop for a day or two. He can teach you some tricks he learned from the dwarves.”

”But I like to learn from you, Opa!”

”And I like to teach you, little Mathi. But when it comes to sharpening and polishing there are a few things Claus knows best. But you really made a good job on my zweihänder! Sharp enough to cleave a beastman in two!”

The sounds of a dwarf horn brought him back to windy Thragazi. The Silverhand tower rose before him, and from it top now flew a dwarf banner. He looked at the face carved above the reinforced entrance gate. It was a portray of a dwarf, but a naturalized one and not stylized as per normal dwarf traditions. But the ornamentation around aswell as the runes were of classical dwarf workmanship.

Still, it blended in so well. Mathi meet the gaze in the eyes of the stone face, the eyes having been formed out of gems. They seemed to look back at him, just as fierce as he remembered them. He shuddered down his spine. Still, there was something else there, a recognition of sort.

Mathi strode forward alone at a ceremonial pace. He came face to face with the thane whose face so much reminded him of a younger version of the old slayer. It was when he looked down into those deep sat dwarfen eyes that Mathi could hold it no longer. He could not hold back the tears anymore.

At first he tried to fight them back down and keep the composure so he would not ruin the ceremony. But it overwhelmed him. He saw the defiant slayer before him in the moment as the bullets struck him and he saw the body of his grandfather, bloodied and wounded heaving his last sigh, javelins through his body and half a dozen norsemen lying around him. His legs would not carry him and they buckled under him.

A steady dwarf hand reached out in time to stabilize him, enabling him to land on one knee. Eyes level now, two warriors standing face to face.

”I… I am sorry…” Mathi whispered. He was unable to care about ceremonies and protocoll, or about what was suitable and not. The memories just flashed over him, mixing and intermingling. He saw the old dwarfs face where his grandfathers should be and his grandfathers instead of the old dwarfs.

”I was… I am… There is such a darkness there. I still miss my Opa so much it blinds me and all that remain is rage. A burning rage…”

”I know what you speak of, manling. It is a rage that will consume you and burn you from inside out if you do not take care. In the end, the only one we make happy is the Lord of Blood.”

The thanes voice was remarkably low and mild, and Mathi could not find much trace of hatred. Where there had once been steely eyes, there was now a mild look and Mathi could infact see tears forming in. He could hardly believe dwarves were capable of such emotions but here up close he could see it with his own eyes.

”We have both been wronged and both suffered deep losses. I have heard your story and I cannot imagine what it must be like. Had I been a mere child, I fear I would have been consumed by hatred too. I do hope you will get the re-compensation your family deserve because now I know that you are not blind to your own errors and are willing to do what you can to make right what has been done wrong. I will pray to the Ancestors that those dwarfs who wronged your family will see their own errors too and offer you the justice you deserve.”

Mathi slowly lifted the great sword from his shoulder and held it forward so the thane could grab the handle.

”Your grandfather made this blade in his youth and my grandfather carried it. He used it when he protected me, giving his life so I could survive. I know swords are not the weapon of your folk but I hope it will at least be a measure of re-compensation for my deed.”
The thane took the swords in his two hands, tested the balance with small gestures and studied the blade carefully.
”A blade made by my grandfather is not something I would ever sneer at. It will take the pride of place in the shrine of our ancestors, reminding us of the sacrifice made of the old generation in order for the younglings to survive. Your compensation is well and truly accepted, Mathi von Heidenmund. I hope that your heart will start to heal and that you will one day rejoin your grandfather in the Halls of Morr."

For the gathered people it all looked as if it had been a carefully crafted ceremony. After handing over the zweihänder, Mathi rose to his feet and man and dwarf grabbed each others hands exchanging a few final words of friendship.