The Blacksmith King

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What heart yet drives the tool? If the king is dead, who takes the throne? The Blacksmith, or the Fool? No longer may we be swung by the whims of emotion, nor will we be led by the dispassionate rule of a Queen who is out of touch with those she claims to represent.

No, today, we are united under the Blade! The Blacksmith did very little different after being placed upon the throne, surprisingly to some and unsurprisingly to others. They listened with rapt attention as he explained the coming conflict, and they all continued to purchase swords, long after they ran out of hands to hold them in. The Guildsmen, however, were reaping unprecedented riches. The Archbishop and his congregation, realizing that this new regime was no closer to the good old days he spoke for, began to grow discontented.

Back when I was their age, we did things different, and we followed the rules. What happened to all the good Knights? They had the right idea. The Grandmaster and his Knights, of course, had not been heard from in many moons, and they were assumed to have either died, been lost, or simply to have given up. By this point, the Nobility had split completely in all ways except in the public eye. Those who had aligned with the Archbishop had begun to scheme against those who stayed with the Blacksmith, and tensions started to rise again.

All the while, the Blacksmith carried on, as eloquent as ever but with the grandiosity that the resources of the throne provided. He had begun to grow a bit too old, and a bit more frail, and some elements of the crowd seemed to sense this on an instinctive level. Then, in a moment of painful lucidity, the Archbishop could no longer maintain his wistful state. He met one night with his portion of the nobility, and announced that they could not support such a blatant lack of ethical behavior, that such a faithless man could not be permitted to hold such sway over the impressionable youth, that they had to find a leader of some moral fortitude, someone of the cloth, of course.

They came for the Blacksmith at his weakest point- in front of the crowd. Now, with the dissent growing, they came in force. Many of the clergy, and those of the Nobility, even those who publicly supported him and broken bread with him so long ago, descended en masse upon the throne room. The Blacksmith fell from the throne that day, and rather than accept his defeat, he returned to his shop, enfeebled, but still determined, and he continued to speak to those few who still cared to listen.

The Nobility, most being the sort unable to commit to anything strongly, felt that his pseudo-exile was punishment enough, and some even paid token acknowledgement to his demonstrations in a cruel attempt to maintain their place with those who still resonated with his words. The Archbishop, not the sort to take charge of anything, let the throne remain empty. He continued to exhort the kingdom to have faith, and the picture he painted of a better time when the King was around were enough for some people. However, the skies continued to darken, the chill increased, and winter fell without remorse.

After what seemed like ages, he finally saw it on the horizon.

The Blacksmith Lyrics

It had grown considerably since that last backwards glance so many years ago, but it was unmistakably the same castle and keep. The land was barren, and cold. No crops grew in the field, no animals grazed, and no people walked the streets. The flame of the torch in his hand even seemed to shrink against the chill. He tugged at the reins, and his horse carried him slowly through the streets, once full of life.

Snow crested the roofs of houses, some caved in from the weight. He continued forward until he came to the cathedral that he had come to see the Archbishop speak in each Sabbath. The room was filled with the frozen faithful, hunched over in an eternal, desperate prayer. At the altar lay what was once the Archbishop, collapsed across the platform with a chalice in his hand.

The Grandmaster shook his head, and left the bitter tomb. He continued to the center of the Kingdom, and entered the throne room. The corpses of the nobility littered the floor, though these did not appear to be victims of the cold- rather, it seemed they had turned on each other.

Many lay with knives in their backs. He proceeded into the council chambers, where he found the former Guildsmen- emaciated, sickly bodies, and surrounded by towering piles of gold. The Master of Coin was among them, and he shared their withered fate. From here, he continued up the staircase to the highest tower, where he came upon a closed door. To his surprise, it pushed open without resistance, where he found the body of the Queen, dressed all in black, and laid out neatly in her bed. Fate had been kind, as she was hardly touched by the horrors that had consumed the city below.

The King and the Noble Blacksmith

I have tried to mend the kingdom, but I cannot mend my heart. My only wish now is to find you on the other side, for there is no love to be found in this world. It took many years, and by the time it was done, the Grandmaster was an old man, but he had reunited his group of virtuous Knights from the far corners of the land. They had learned of many foreign ways and peoples in their time, and some had even established their own following. All had been changed by the process, none less than the Grandmaster.

There was one thing they had all come to understand in their search for the King- it was not the King they truly needed, not really.

What mattered was that they cared to search, and it was in the searching, the striving, and, at times, the strife, that they discovered what truly mattered. The band of Knights, weary and wiser, returned to the remains of the Kingdom with their Grandmaster. For the first time in countless ages, the clouds parted above the broken city, and hope burned in their hearts.

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This story is an expansion of this thread. For more, read-. Traitors in the Palace: Ideology in the Absence of Truth. The Desert of Nihilism and the Throne of God. Garrett Dailey is a formerly homeless D. To that end, he has committed to a lifelong journey to become the best version of himself, and in the process, create a community for others who wish to do the same. May we all be led from ignorance to the truth.

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    Blacksmith: King of Craftsmen

    Opal and Ruth were there first. Then Jennifer. They smothered her with hugs and warmth and love. They put her into a warm cotton nightgown that was just a little bit big on her. Mable presented Lila with a warm cup of steaming hot chocolate.

    They heated her up so well Lila could barely remember she had been cold, but she remembered. Lila snuggled up next to her aunt after they warmed her up so well. But now … all Lila wanted was her own home, her own room, and her own bed. Mama and Daddy had just told her about the baby.