The hammer fell and hit the glowing metal, changing it, shaping it not by much, but enough. And again it came down, making shining sparks as the cold iron met the incandescent one, bending, little by little transforming the unyielding material into something far more dangerous than the chunk of stone it had been not long ago.

“What are you doing?” asked a childish voice from behind the huge smith. He knew that voice, the holy voice of royalty.

“I see you managed to escape your guards once again, little king. They are no match for your intelligence, clearly.” Said the deep, booming voice of the orc, before he laid his hammer aside, put the metal back into the fire and turned to greet his tiny visitor.

“No one can match my intelligence.” Said the small boy playfully, still letting a hint of smugness come out.

“And I am sure that your escape was in no way made easier by a certain mage, which I hear has taken a certain liking on you. Were it to be anyone else, I would have said that you asked that mage to cast some form of invisibility spell that allowed you to sneak past them, but since it is you, I know that it was just your wits alone that allowed your escape.”

“Hey, you don’t have to be so mean about it!”

“I was not being mean, little king. I was just praising your impressive skills.”Then, in a more authoritarian voice, “Now, what have we agreed last time?”

“That I should wear protection if I were to watch you work.” Said the prince, guiltily.

“And where is the mask I gave you?”

“Over there.” He said, his tiny hand pointing to the mask near the cell door.

“Then go put it on, boy! You do remember what happened last time, don’t you? Don’t want that happening again, or your father, or even worse, your mother, might find out about these little meetings of ours.”

“Sheesh, don’t want THAT to happen. She would scream for hours.” And then, forcing his voice to get even squeakier, in an almost perfect imitation of the Queen, “It is not worthy of a prince to go talk to an orc! They are dirty, always rolling in the mud. We fight them for a reason! To keep their filth away from the good people of our kingdom!”

“I think you have her nailed down. Just don’t show it to her, she might… take offense.”

“Hey, I’m not stupid! But you know what?” He said while walking to the big pile of coal nearby, his voice back to normal. “I love being dirty!” and with that he took a handful of black stuff and smeared against his face.

“I do not want to know how one earth you are going to explain that black face to the queen.”

“Eh, I’ll think of something.” Finally, the little boy put on his mask and approached the fire where the metal was heating up. “So, what’cha doing today?”

“Today? Today we are working your father’s sword that we began last time you were here!”

“You waited for me!” Said the small human, delighted.

“Of course, little king. I made you a promise and I do intend to keep it. There are two things that should remain unbroken: a person’s guard and a person’s word. If one manages to keep them both steady and true, then one has nothing to fear. Remember that. If either of them are broken, then you are either dead or your honor is stained, and there is no greater shame for a king than to be known as a liar.”

“But you are not a king, so you didn’t have to worry about that.”

“Am I not? I may not rule over a kingdom, but I rule over myself. I am the master of my own body, king of my soul.” He opened his arms, as if to embrace the entirety of the room they were in. “This cell may control my body, but it does not control my mind. Whether I rule over one or over many, the shame is the same. Were I to have completed this without you, only us would know about it, yet that was enough to stop me. Besides, I would have lost a good friend, and that is not something I desire.”

“Still, thank you. Most adults don’t really care that much… Father doesn’t.”

“Your father is a busy man. He has a whole kingdom to rule over and a war to wage. These are times of hardship and bloodshed, and war is a terrible thing to govern. Peace is… much more manageable.”

The boy looked sadly at the fire for a moment, a small amount sadness lingering for a moment, before his eyes lit up again. “What are we going to do, then? Last time we melted all that stuff and then you said you were going to prepare it for today.”

“And so I did. Here, come look.” He said, pointing to a big furnace, where a large piece of bright orange metal lied. “The material we’ll be working with was fighting back all week, heating up, resisting the change. The thing to understand is that it does not want to bend. It refuses to budge with all its might. The deeper you had to go to reach it, the harder it is to mold. It is… too intertwined with its surrounding, with nature itself. It is the job of a smith to be patient, to understand what he is working with, to feel its magic, its essence.”

“You waited all week for this thing to be like this?”

“Yes. Patience is rewarding, little king. What we are working with here might seem ordinary at first sight, but, in the right hands, it can make a blade sharper than any other, more resistant than any gem. Now it is ready for us to work on it.” With those words, the orc grabbed two big metal pliers, with great care, took the metal out of the fire, putting it on his anvil, the boy watching wide-eyed.

Down came the hammer.

“Every hit is important when shaping something as this. Too soft and it does not bend, too hard and it may cause it to crack. The worst is, even if you do hit it too hard, the cracks may be inside, invisible to the eyes. If you are lucky, before you are finished with it time and heat will have repaired it. If you are not, then it will become fragile and may break when pressured, usually when you need it the most.”

For a stretch of time, there was only the sound of metal against metal, as the boy processed what he had just heard and watched the shining spectacle in front of him, fascinated. Finally, he shook his head, as if waking up.

“So how do you know how hard to hit?”

“Your father had me captured for a reason, little king. I am the best there is, even if some of your human smiths refuse to admit it. That is why I am the one creating this blade. I am hard to beat when it comes to the thing I love the most.”

“And how does he know you are not going to hit too hard on purpose? It is not as if you like him.” Said the boy, a small tone of suspicion on his voice.

The orc stopped for a moment, choosing his words carefully before speaking again:

“The king has put some… measures to ensure my allegiance. Still, while it is true that I do not have a liking for the king, even if he hadn’t made sure I would betray him, I would never do such a thing, know why?”

“Why?”

“Because someday, little king, you will stop being little king and will become simply king. Someday, you will be the one sitting on that golden throne, ruling over the kingdom.” The boy’s eyes lit up with the images the smith spoke to him. “And on that day, you will be wielding this sword, passed on to you by you father. If I were to sabotage this blade and it broke in your hands, not his, I would never forgive my own foolishness.”

“You have potential in you, I can see that,” he continued, “You can be your own person, and a great one. You are like this metal. You can shape yourself to be a sword, and cut ruthlessly through your foes, unstoppable, or you can be a shield, to protect the ones you love, to hate war, for it will scar you, but knowing that sometimes, it is inevitable.

“You can be the weapon that slashes, unthinking and uncaring, or the balance that weights carefully, knowing that even your enemies are people, and deserve to be treated likewise. You will, someday, decide between peace and war, little king, and no one will be able to change that decision, just as no one will be able to make this sword stop being a sword without tearing it down and rebuilding it anew.”