Cennulf rolled his broad shoulders and flexed his muscled arms before wiping the sweat from his brow. It was hot in his forge at the best of times, nevermind on a summers day as bright as this one. A blacksmith by trade and love of metals, he adored his home away from home and each and every object he made here, but for all his joy at creating things of worth he would much rather be at his little farmhouse right now. If it wasn't for his wifes insistance that he fulfil this latest order from the mayor he would never have left her side this day.
With a heavy sigh, he laid aside his hammer and turned to take a cloth from a nearby hook. Wearily he opened the doors and blinked as he stepped outside into the blinding light of noon. Dipping the cloth into a nearby water barrel, he sighed once more at the welcome feel of cool liquid on his hands before wringing the cloth out and slowly wiping the soot and sweat from his bare muscled chest. It was then that the sounds of children shouting reached his ears and, with a soft curse, he flung the rag to the floor and sped off in that direction.
He knew exactly what he would find. It was always the same, but ever the optimist, he hoped that this time would be different. Sure enough, the scene was precisely what he had expected to see. A group of the village children stood in a circle, shouting and whooping as two of their number fought in the middle. Off to one side, and looking a little embarrassed, stood his nine-year old son, complete with dirty clothing and a bloody nose. Inside the ring, pummelling the face of young boy, was his five-year old daughter Blaecwyn.
Cennulf sighed and clapped his hands together loudly before pushing his way between two of the spectators. Silently he reached down, grabbed his youngest child by the back of her now-dirty and torn dress and lifted her bodily off the stunned boy. She hung from his huge fist like an angry kitten, still kicking her little legs out in an effort to catch the lad a blow or two for all that he was now a good few feet below her.
"Now then," Cennulf bellowed loudly. "Break it up and go home, the lot of you. You have some explaining to do, little miss."
Blaecwyn tilted up her head, turning her sullen glare on her father and shouted back, "He started it!"
Leoric came running over to tug at Cennulf's trouser leg before he could reply and the big blacksmith sighed deeply. He knew without asking what had happened. It had been this way for the past six months. Leoric, son of a blacksmith though he was, was rather small and scrawny for a boy. Because of that, and the casual cruelty of children in general, the other village boys picked on him terribly. His younger sister Blaecwyn, however, was large for her age and already possessed of a temper to match that of her mother. These two had always been close and now, with her growing bigger by the day, she had taken to defending him against any who dared say a bad word or worse.
He looked down to the battered boy and, holding Blaecwyn out to one side, reached down with his other hand to grip the boys shirt and aid him to his feet.
"Best get yourself home and get cleaned up, lad," he told the boy wearily. "Go on, get on with you. Leoric, come along with me."
Tucking his bedraggled daughter beneath his thickly muscled arm, he turned to stride back toward his house, Leoric running to keep up with his long-legged stride.
"What have I told you two?" he spoke as he walked. "No fighting."
"But pa," Leoric replied earnestly. "She was just trying to help, pa. He wouldn't-"
"He wouldn't leave Leo' alone!" Blaecwyn cut in, her red ringlets bobbing up and down with his movements. "I told him to back off. I gave him warnings, like you said, but he wouldn't listen! I did what you asked!"
"She did, pa," Leoric agreed, his high voice full of conviction.
"I'm sure that's so," Cennulf replied sternly. "But you can't be fighting right now. It's too hard on your mother. Promise me you'll stop this, Blaecwyn. Promise me you won't get into another fight."
Leoric fell silent, as did Cennulf as he awaited a reply from his daughter. It seemed like an age passed before she harrumphed and replied sullenly, "I promise."
"You promise what?" Cennulf encouraged her.
"I promise I won't fight again until next time."
Cennulf frowned and took a deep breath before giving his stern retort. "That's not what I asked you to promise, daughter."
"Yes," she agreed, her further explanation coming out in a rush. "But you also said that I shouldn't lie and if I promised never to fight again then I'd be lying, so I can't promise that because then I'd be breaking my promise not to lie and you said I should never break a promise once I've made it so I can only promise not to fight until next time I get into a fight."
Cennulf took a breath to reply to that but then paused as he thought it over. He began to chuckle good-naturedly and reached across to ruffle her thick curly hair. She had him there, he thought, her childish logic running roughshod over his concerns as her father.
"Alright, alright," he gave in, looking from one child to the other. "Just don't tell your ma about this. You two get yourselves cleaned up, then go into see her, understand? She doesn't need any more wrries right now."
"Yes pa," the pair said in unison. Cennulf leaned down to place Blaecwyn onto her feet, then reached out his arms to give the pair a tight hug before ushering them off to the waterbutt. He watched them for a time as they laughed and shoved playfuly back and forth before cupping their hands to splash water at each other. With a heavy sigh he turned away and pushed open the door to their small home.
Let them have their fun, their joy, he thought. For as long as it may last.
They did not understand, as young as they were, that their mother, the love of his life, was dying.
