Colette's Covenant

The Lady and the Knight

"Ferrant!" She yelled again when he didn't respond.

"One minute!" He called back, not even pausing in his strokes.

Colette practically danced in place as she waited impatiently. Ten seconds passed.

"Ferrant, you're doing this on purpose!"

"Patience is a virtue, Colette."

"We are not in church, do not preach to me. Hurry up! I have something important to tell you!"

He did not hurry up. He took his time, continuing to meticulously hammer the horseshoe in his tongs into proper shape. He dipped it into the water, sending steam hissing into the air. Then he brought it around to set next to the other three he had just finished. Only then did he put down his tongs and hammer. He blew out a breath and turned, giving her a smile.

"All right. Now what-"

"We just got a message and you'll never guess who is coming here!"

Ferrant's eyebrow raised curiously. "Who?"

"Sir Nicolas Sacha!"

"Is that a name I should know?"

"Ferrant!"

"I'm kidding, I'm kidding," he laughed, lifting his hands to calm her down. He blew out a breath, sending an errant strand of sandy blond hair up and away from his face. It wasn't able to join the others bound in a tail at the nape of his neck though and began floating back again.

He started walking around her, wiping his hands off on his apron. "So, what's an honorable knight of the crown doing coming to South Gate?"

Colette was nearly squealing in delight as she walked with him to rinse off his ash covered hands in a trough of water set to the side. "Apparently, he's recruiting for the military."

"Really?" He hummed thoughtfully with a frown. "First those rumors about Gascony, and now a high knight is coming recruiting? You don't think there really is a war looming, do you?"

Colette shrugged with a grin. "If there is, you'll find me on the front lines!"

"Please don't joke about that," Ferrant said seriously, standing up straight and drying his hands on a towel he grabbed from a bar above the trough.

"Who's joking?" She gave him a big, toothy, wicked smile. "I almost want it to happen. There's no one around here that can challenge me anymore. I haven't had a good fight in ages."

"You're entirely too naive, Colette," he gave her a look as he started walking towards the storage chests leaning against the only wall of the forge.

She gave him a look as she followed. "You're one to talk. You don't even know how to fight."

"I don't believe our problems should be solved with violence," he told her, opening a drawer of the chest.

Colette grinned with crossed arms. "Boy, did you pick the wrong profession. And friend."

He sighed sadly. "What do you mean 'pick'? Here."

Ferrant turned, holding out the prize he had pulled from the drawer. Colette gasped in delight as her eyes widened. She eagerly snatched the sword and sheath from his hands. She grabbed the blue leather handle, beaming at the filigree gold knuckle guard before jerking the sword free. She nearly cried at the beauty of the metal, shining as bright as a mirror.

"Oh, Ferrant! It's gorgeous!"

He smiled, leaning against the tall chest with crossed arms. He may not believe in violence, and he certainly would never wield a sword, but he could craft them as absolute masterpieces.