#i do woodwork and i used to do some minor blacksmithing never got to knives tho

[modern-inheritance]

Modern Inheritance: Putting Iron in Irony (Eldest Short)

(A/N: I was writing a few ideas out for the next part of the Escape series and remembered something, realized yeah Brom would probably know that about Arya, and promptly had to stop writing that so I could write this. Another small additional note at the bottom.

Oh, also. This is my first time writing Rhunön. She'll probably change a bit when I get around to writing more of her, but despite everyone blaming Brom for teaching Arya to swear and being all un-elf-like, they really forgot about the 'I kinda hate what our culture has become' grouch living in Ellesmera 24/7 as opposed to Brom's popping in and out, huh? I bashed this out in an hour and didn't check it over be gentle plz)

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“Hey.” Rhunön’s shoulders rose and fell in only a way Arya could pick up after so long, a little sigh the smith always did when the woman appeared at her forge. It was force of habit now, not actual exasperation, and it always brought that wild child grin to the younger elf’s face. “Up for some commission work?”

Rhunön banked the coals she was coaxing into white heat and turned, that ever present lift of her lip in false annoyance on her face. “I’m not making you another sword. No weapons. ”

Arya waved her off. “I’m more in the market for a tool. Something useful for daily tasks. And…” She reached into the bag slung at her hip, fishing out the wrapped bundle. “I have the steel for you to use. If they’re of quality, that is. I sort of doubt they are, but it’s good metal and I’d just hate to see it go to waste.”

The smith rolled her eyes. “You couldn’t tell good metal from slag if you were hit in the face with it.” But she still gestured to the workbench that separated the courtyard from the fires, joining the woman there as she set the bundle down with a soft clank. 

Arya unwrapped it with little flourish and braced her elbows on the worn planks, grinning like a cat who had just chomped down on the Queen’s favorite raven. Rhunön stared at the presented materials for a long moment before she looked up at the cheshire smile, entirely deadpan in response. “Really, Arya?”

“Really.” There was a hint of a giggle buried there, sharp teeth glinting in the fire’s light. “Can you do it?” 

Rhunön picked one up and examined the metal closely. Arya was right. For a set of shackles made by Broddrings, it was good metal. She tested them in her hands, flexed the steel and let out an appreciative hum. Somewhat springy, even at this thickness. Specially made, surely, after seeing that scrappy thing’s strength. Or even made to contain that nasty Shade if he were to go rogue. 

“Of course I can do it.” Rhunön sniffed. She set the piece down with its twin, noticing from the corner of her eye how the elfling shifted just slightly away when she brought the offending object closer to her side of the table. “What do you want? A bracelet is out of the question.”

The barred teeth took on a more pained clench before flickering back to amused. “Very funny. Like I said, I was thinking something utilitarian. Daily use, good in all situations. More than one thing if there’s enough, but otherwise…” Arya shrugged, that light never leaving her dark eyes. “Surprise me.”

It was a long moment of quiet but for the occasional pop from the still heated forge. Rhunön stared hard at the two shackles, her mind already awhirl with shapes and movement and fire and steel. 

When she looked up, the ancient elf had her razor sharp teeth barred in a similarly wild smile. “Come back tomorrow night, little hatchling, and I’ll surprise you.” 

~

True to her word, Rhunön did surprise her. Arya wasn’t sure what she had in mind, really. Maybe a new magazine for her rifle, or some container for the gems she and Glen kept for storing energy and spells. 

When the ancient smith presented her with a sheathed knife the next evening, Arya paused. 

“I thought you swore to never make weapons again, Rhunön.” She couldn’t help the troubled confusion in her voice. There was no point in trying to hide it anyway, the old elf was too good at picking up on what she felt. 

The polished brass of the knife’s pommel promptly bonked the younger elf on the head. Arya yelped but didn’t move to defend herself, knowing it was the only blow and barely one at that. “This is not a weapon, you nincompoop.” Rhunön chided, holding it out on upturned palms yet again. “This is a tool. Take it. Before I hit you with it again.”

The grain of the handle was cool against Arya’s fingertips when she seized it. The wood was beautiful, polished and glowing from within to highlight the interwoven scales yet still holding to her grip without slipping. The sheath was leather, not oiled to a gleam but wellworked and firm. She could feel magic in it, a tingling warmth, protection, something to hide, something to keep it safe. 

“Handle’s some Gidgee I had laying around.” Rhunön waved a hand vaguely, gesturing towards the stacks of wood blanks in the back of the shop. “I know how much you just love that damn leather backing on your little jacket, so I scraped some up from some old project.” 

That Rhunön was acting so dismissive of something she had crafted was…unusual. It wasn’t until Arya saw one of the old leather aprons in pieces on a far bench that she realized why, and she buried the upwelling of emotion deep down in her chest. 

“It took a bit of work to get it to hold an edge properly.” Arya didn’t look up, unsheathing the small blade to examine the true marvel of craftsmanship. The blade itself was simple. Flat spined, a hidden tang. Rhunön had left some of the hammer marks along the sides, the only bright and burnished steel being that along the edge of the single, sloped cutting side. More of the blade was flat than curved, a gentle slope a good bit more than halfway down curving up to the point. “It’s an old style of work knife. Pokaio. From back when we weren’t dragon bonded.” 

Arya beamed. She finally looked up at her old friend, unable to wipe the expression away. “Rhunön…it’s beautiful.” 

“Of course it is. I made it.” The smith sniffed. “I’ve enchanted it so that it’s not easily found if someone is searching you while it’s sheathed. Keep it in your boot or something for the next time you go running into a stupid situation. Don’t lose it.” The warning was the capstone to a confession in different words. Stay safe and don’t get yourself captured again. Dumbass. 

Of course, dumbass was a term of endearment for Rhunön, one she only used with her favorite dumbasses. Always said with the utmost buried affection. 

Arya’s smile grew wider. “I’d sooner lose Glen’s arm!”

Rhunön ignored the comment and picked up another item from the table. “There was enough left for one more thing. For your twisted sense of humor and for the irony of it.” 

“Oh?” 

The ancient smith held up a flat piece of metal no longer than her thumb and no thicker than a pocket knife. At Arya’s raised eyebrow the cheshire grin returned to Rhunön’s wire-etched face and she thumbed the side. An array of oddly shaped pins fanned out, an L shaped bracket popping from the top. 

“Lockpick set. To wear with your dogtags.” 

Arya’s sharp teeth mirrored her friend’s, eyes glimmering with dark mirth. “Oh, Rhunön, you are such a treat.”

~~~~~~~~~

(Post A/N: Yeah it's a Finnish Puukko knife. I've always wanted one.)