Chapter Text
The sun rises over Skalitz, and with it rises a blacksmith, capable and humble. Every day starts the same for Henry, but he wouldn't trade his profession for anything in the world. He's right at home behind the anvil, with a hammer in one hand, and a piece of hot metal in the other.
With every sword he forges, he brings honor to his father's legacy, and he's not afraid to be proud of his accomplishments. He's trained for years to get to where he is; this is all he knows, and he's happy with his simple life. He's crafted fine blades for knights and nobles alike, and they have carried his name to the winds, bringing more customers to his forge.
These days he is drowning in work, but good business means good money, so Henry would be the very last person to complain. He doesn't have a wife or children of his own, nor does he want that for himself, so there is nothing stopping him from fully dedicating himself to his craft.
Today he is looking to finish another sword for a lord from Rattay, adding yet another piece to the nobleman's collection. Lord Hanush is a good customer, and he always pays well in coin as well as word of mouth, so whenever another request comes in, Henry is happy to get started on it right away. It's mostly due to Hanush and his numerous requests that Henry and his parents can live this comfortably.
This morning, Henry is greeted by the most delightful sight – he is hammering away at what will become the blade of Hanush's next sword when his whistling is joined by the carefree song of a bird. Henry stops dead in his tracks and looks up slowly, spotting the small yellow creature perched on the barrel that he tempers his work in. What surprises Henry is that the bird is this close; after all, most birds are skittish and scare easily. How it found the courage to get this close to Henry and his forge is beyond him, but he smiles at the brave little bird regardless.
“Hello, friend,” he says in a soft voice, the smile only growing wider when the bird chirps at him as if to greet him back. Allowing himself a short break, he puts his work and tools aside and carefully sits on the ground, coming face to face with the bird. The yellow of its feathers is bright and striking like dandelions, only interrupted by a few orange and brown feathers here and there. Henry is not too sure, but he thinks he's looking at a yellowhammer, and a very beautiful one at that.
“You're a brave little guy, aren't you? The forge is dangerous, so please don't hurt yourself, yes?”
But the bird just tilts its head at him. Of course it doesn't understand him. This is incredibly ridiculous, but he simply doesn't care. He's always talked to animals like they're having an actual conversation with him, and he's definitely not going to start being ashamed of it now.
Henry watches as the bird looks around his forge and then jumps off the barrel, onto the ground. It hops towards Henry, which (in his opinion) is the cutest thing he's seen in a good long while. The bird stops right in front of him, looking up at his face with curiosity. Henry doesn't move a muscle, waiting to see what it does next. They just look at each other for a long moment, and then the bird takes flight, sitting on the rafter above him. Well, as long as it doesn't shit on his head, he can live with that.
Deciding that his break is over, Henry rises to his feet and goes back to work. He can't idle around for too long if he wants to have the sword finished today.
And so time goes by; just as he puts down the now tempered blade, the telltale sound of hooves draws his attention. A familiar messenger from Rattay stops right at his humble forge and looks around before addressing him.
“Lord Hanush sent me. There is something I have to ask you, Henry.”
“If it's about his sword, I already told him he could come collect it tomorrow,” Henry replies, his forehead wrinkling in confusion.
“No, this is about a different matter altogether,” the messenger informs him as he dismounts his horse. “Have you seen Sir Hans? He left Rattay two days ago and hasn't returned. We've looked everywhere, but no one knows where he went. Not a soul has seen him, and Lord Hanush fears that something has happened to him.”
Henry remembers the man in question – a young noble, about the same age as Henry, with a short temper and a talent for archery. Very handsome, too, and painfully aware of it, to the detriment of all young women within reach. A proper skirt-chaser he is, that man. Maybe someone took offense and got rid of him.
“I'm sorry to disappoint you, but he hasn't come through here as far as I know. Are you sure he wasn't murdered by some girl's father or sweetheart?”
Above his head, the bird squawks loudly, puffing up its feathers as if offended by his words.
“Absolutely sure. There are no signs of foul play, and he was armed when he left, so he could have defended himself. Though, between the both of us, I wouldn't mourn if he really got himself killed somewhere.”
This time the bird all but shrieks; the messenger looks at it with clear annoyance, and before Henry can stop him, he picks up a small rock and throws it at the bird. It misses, but the bird is startled anyway, immediately taking flight once more.
“Hey, leave the poor animal alone,” Henry admonishes him, and the bird very much agrees, because it darts for the messenger and shits right on his head. Henry has to do his best not to laugh out loud.
Shocked into complete silence, the messenger slowly touches his forehead in utter disbelief, his fingers coming away with evidence of what occurred. His face distorts into an angry grimace.
“Oh, that little-”
The bird just lands on Henry's shoulder and preens itself like nothing happened, entirely unbothered by the messenger's outrage. Henry shrugs with his free shoulder.
“You were kinda asking for it, I don't know what else to tell you.”
“Great, now I have to find a place to wash this off,” the messenger laments and gets back on his horse. “Not a word of this to anyone,” he warns. “And send word if you see him, alright?”
Then he's off, the horse kicking up dust as it goes. Henry waits until he's out of earshot before he finally lets go of the laughter he was holding back. The bird gives a bright and happy chirp in reply.
“You really did that, eh? Can't say he didn't have it coming after throwing that rock at you.”
Carefully, he holds up a finger, and the bird climbs onto it without hesitation, holding on tightly but not digging its claws in. Henry lifts the small creature up to his face, looking at it with a grin.
“You, my friend, are a menace. I like you, remind me to get you a treat later.”
The bird chirps again, and Henry raises it above his head. Understanding his silent request, it flies back to the rafter, getting comfortable.