Dwarfslayer

23

Damon knocked on his house's door, and his mother answered in an instant.

“Damon!” She pulled him in a large hug, and held him for nearly a minute. “Congratulations! You’ll never believe how fast the news came over here, and how fast everyone realized I was your mother. They brought so many gifts. I arranged them all in your room.”

“It's great to see you, too, mother.” Damon said. “Is father home?

“Yes. He’s been home for a few days now. He told me you were so tired after all that fighting that you’d slept for days, and he'd left earlier because he wanted to get back home and see me.”

“He said that?”

“Yes, he did. Isn’t he romantic? I swear he’s full of Light, your father. Not a pinch of Dark in him.”

“Can you tell me where he is? I need to talk to him.”

“Oh, he’s in the shrine.”

Damon walked past his mother, and walked into the Dwarfslayer’s room, where his father stood, staring at the empty wall where the Dwarfslayer’s sword had once hung.

“You’re back,” he said.

“Good to see you, too.”

“You’re mother thought you’d been eaten by wolves.”

Damon ignored his father’s comment. “What are you doing in here?”

“Thanking the Dwarfslayer for your victory. If it wasn’t for that sword you have in your sheath, you probably wouldn’t have won.”

“Trust me, father, it had nothing to do with the sword. If there’s one Dwarfslayer that should be thanked for my victory, it’s you.”

“Oh, now you tell me.”

“I’m serious, father. I guess I was so overwhelmed by the victory that I wasn’t thinking right.”

“All those drinks probably didn’t help much, either.”

“No, probably not. But that’s not the point. The point is I’m sorry, father. I messed up. I just don’t want you to be angry with me, anymore.”

His father said nothing for a moment. “Tell you what, Damon,” he said, finally, “I’ll forgive you. That doesn’t mean I’m still not angry. That’ll take some time.”

“Thank you, father.”

Damon’s father looked back at the wall. “So, are you gonna keep the Dwarfslayer’s sword for when you become a Guardian?”

“Oh, that. Well, let's just say that saying ‘thank you’ wasn't the only thing I forgot to tell you. I also refused the position of Guardian.”

    His father looked at him, eyebrow raised, mouth slightly open.

    “I spoke with Stephen - I mean the king - about it.”

    “So,” his father said slowly, “Does that mean you're returning the sword?”

“Actually, no. I met this man at the banquet dinner that sets up duels for me to fight. If I win, I get paid.”

“So that’s what you were doing outside the inn!”

“Yeah. Well, that man’s here, and I’m going to continue doing it. If you want, I can give you some of the money.”

His father shrugged. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt. Does this mean you won’t be working with me, anymore?”

“Well, I wasn’t very a very good blacksmith, anyway.”

His father chuckled. “No, you really weren’t.” He walked towards the door. “Anyway, you must be hungry from all that traveling. I know I was, and, trust me, there is almost no moment in my life I treasure more than eating that first meal your mother made me when I got home.”

His father left, but Damon stayed behind. He looked back at the candles on the far wall, and placed his hand on the hilt of the Dwarfslayer’s sword sheathed at his waist. “Thank you,” he said.