Tyleril Silversword

With a patience that was almost absurd Tyleril leaned over the metal blade he was polishing. Each inch of the blade had been overseen by his Pop and now it waited for its owner to claim it- a farstrider, Samiel had guessed. The blade was made in an older style, vines and flowers of iron holding the sharp blade to the hilt. The blade glowed with a dark light at the edges of his peripheral vision and Samiel wondered what enchantment had been applied to the weapon. It was a beautiful blade, a sign of Pop’s skill and Samiel felt his chest swell with pride. Pop was the best, out of all of them.

“-Ask no questions and hear no lies, turn the cheek and blind the eye, let it gooooo…” Tyleril’s words were soft and the song unfamiliar. It sounded old. “…and your already sold your soul. It’s blasphemy, but your words don’t make sense anymore. What would your family say? When you’ve lied to them all?…”

Samiel sat atop the highest crate. Pop’s songs were interesting, but they didn’t distract him from what went on in his mind. Trying to understand and to figure out this new puzzle.

“Some things you won’t understand without age or experience.” Tyleril knelt in front of him, still tall enough to block Samiel’s sunlight. He took a moment to study his Pop closely. Pop’s eyes were gold, a sign of how deeply and often he called upon the Light. But beneath that Samiel knew they were a solid grey the color of cobblestone. The v neck of his robes were cut low- a attempt to make them last longer by cutting and sewing new hems. Surgeon’s stitches kept the new hem nice, not hiding the curl of chest hair peeking out that was the same dark brown shade of his hair. His skin was white but working in the sun had given it a light brown tan to it. The halo over Pop’s head was to unique for words.

Pop was to nice. He always was. Samiel had learned that from a young age. Pop didn’t see it when people were rude to him and lied. He didn’t like anger or conflict, shying away from arguments. But if Pop thought it was for Samiel he would speak when silence would be wiser. He wore his heart on his sleeve, trying to be nice to everyone. Samiel knew that people were bad. He’d chased off enough and been bullied to much to forget how cruel people could be.

In Pop’s hands was a wicked looking knife. It was simple enough, but Samiel saw the runes engraved on the edges and could read them. They were a prayer for death, a fanatic’s words from a book that had been forbidden to Samiel. But he’d read it anyway. 

“Why do you even have that? It’s not like you could use it.”

“I always have a w-weapon on me  S….s-samiel.”

“Why.” It was meant to be a question but Samiel had never liked or agreed with Tyleril’s Altruist vows.

“If I need to then I will. You might be old enough to understand it-”

Samiel nodded. he wanted to be. 

“I’ll die for you. To protect you. To keep you safe.” The intensity in Pop’s gaze was uncomfortable but he stared back, unwilling to look away.

Now he sat, watching Pop sing softly as he worked. Pop’s face was serene and calm. Absorbed by his work.

Some things you can’t understand until you’re older.

His mind worked at this puzzle, picking at it, thinking and running it through his mind.  It wouldn’t be until Thallus came to visit the forges that his mind would stop and he would eagerly go to greet the Blood Knight.