All characters are 18 or older. This is a long build up one, if that's not what you are looking for, then I am sorry. This is just how this story is.
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One
Lilly scrambled through the underbrush as fast as she could. The drunk frat boys were still behind her, still cat-calling, and asking why she left. She was terrified. After Trevor, the big one, had tried to rape her in the backyard, she ran. He grabbed a couple of his buddies and gave chase. Now, here she was, heading deeper into the woods, the sunset fading fast, and hounded by three would be rapists. She stumbled over a fallen log and found herself leaning against a fencepost. She looked around as saw she was next to a large yard.
The house ahead had a couple of small lights around it, and she could hear a methodical 'ping' of something metal clanging in an even tempo. She slid through the lines of barbed wire as quick as could, getting small cuts over many parts of her body. She didn't care. She ran to the house, and went around to the right, looking for a door or a person or a window with a light on, or anything that might mean help. She called raggedly, her breath all but gone.
The metallic pinging stopped as she rounded the corner. She found herself face to face with something that seemed to be out of a history book. A large man stood next to a large anvil, one hand holding a large hammer, the other a pair of tongs. He wore a large leather apron and heavy leather gloves. He glared at her, frowning, as sweat ran down his scruffy face.
"Please. Help. They. They're following me. They hurt me." She gasped and panted.
"Move." He grunted, tossing the tongs onto the workbench next to the anvil.
She collapsed against the wall as he limped past, his fist tightening on the hammer. He went to the corner of the house and stood there, watching the three drunk frat boys fall through his fence, laughing and cursing at each other. The first one noticed the man and waved.
"Hey man, you seen my girlfriend around here? She got pissed at something and took off; I'm trying to let her know it's alright." At this the other two howled laughter, slapping each other on the back.
"Leave. Now. Or this gets bad." The man growled, starting to limp towards the three young men.
"What? What dude? You think you want a piece of us? You can barely fuckin' walk, limp dick! Step on up, son, let's rock!" the biggest one shouted, getting pissed. He strode quickly up to the man, started to shout something else, but was stopped by the head of the hammer being thrust into his solar plexus; not a terribly hard hit, but a surprise that knocked the breath out of him a little bit. Following the young man's grunt of surprise the older man lashed out with the leg that didn't limp, his boot slamming into the side of the kid's knee, dropping him like a rock. When the kid's buddy started a drunken rush forward, the man reared back with the hammer, ready to inflict some pain. The kid thought better of his charge, and slowly walked forward, hands out, and collected his friend.
"Get the fuck off my property or I'll kill you for trespassing." The man said evenly, the hammer still raised. The three frat boys thought for just a moment before climbing back through the fence, hurling petulant threats and curse under their breath.
The man lowered the hammer and began limping back to where the young woman was standing by the house. She was tall, almost as tall as he was, but skinny. She had the frame of someone who ate light and ran perhaps a little too much. Her makeup was smeared and running down her cheeks. Her tears had dried, but she hitched and sobbed every so often.
"The road is right over there, past the oak trees. Those fucks shouldn't bother you again tonight." He grunted, brushing past her the fridge under the small patio. He took out a bottle of water and a beer. He tossed her the water opened the beer for himself.
"Thank you, sir. The one you hit, he tried to rape me, he, he," she started crying again, and took a large gulp of water before continuing.
"I ran. I was at a party, and he seemed nice, but," She trailed off.
"Most men do until they see an easy target." He replied shortly before grabbing the tongs and pulling a bar of glowing metal out of the small coal pit. He began hammering, seeming to ignore the young woman completely. She watched, fascinated as he worked and shaped the metal quickly. She sipped at the water as he turned a thick, blunt bar of metal into a gently curving arc of metal with thin, smooth edges in a matter of maybe ten minutes. He switched hammers to a more round faced one and began to hammer along the edges, softer than before. He turned the piece over and over, hammering here and there, and then stuck it into a bucket of water, producing a hiss and steam. He took the metal to a grinder on the work bench, and worked the edges, showering sparks. That done, he pulled a length of hemp cord from a spool hanging from a small post set into the support pole of the patio and cut it with the blade he had made. With a few quick turns of his wrist he had wrapped the handle portion and knotted the makeshift grip tightly into place. He turned it over a couple times, inspecting the simple and crude but shapely and sharp dagger. He flipped it in the air and caught it by the tip, holding it out to Lilly.
"Here. If you run across them again, wave this in their face and they ought to get the idea." He instructed. She reached out slowly, and took the handle, hesitating. She had no idea how to use a knife to fight, and was scared she would cut herself with this wicked little dagger. She had never held anything larger than a steak knife before, and this blade was about a foot long. The metal was unpolished, unsmoothed, and looked mean. No glimmering and subtle chef's knife, this was a sharpened bar of iron, made not for looks but for business. It scared her a bit.
"Just hold the handle where the rope is. Then swing. The knife will do the rest." He grunted, pantomiming a few fast slashes. She imitated his fluid movements with a few jerky swings. Not graceful, but if the blade touched anything in those swings, it would get cut. She felt fear, but also power in swinging the knife. She looked at it a moment, turning over the idea that this man had just forged this knife for her, it was still very warm, and now here she was swinging it through the air, feeling the heft of it. She felt overwhelmed with gratitude. She looked up at him, her eyes threatening to spill more tears.
"Thank you. Thank you so much. I, I've never really used a knife except for eating before. How did you make this so fast? Where did you learn to, I," She stammered and sputtered as her eyes made good on their previous threat.
"Time and practice. The same as anything else." He said evenly, "Give it some time, practicing moving with that, and you will get comfortable with it. You don't have to be comfortable with it for it to cut though." He explained. He went to the work bench and picked up a bar of unshaped metal. He jabbed it out in front of himself, then swung it in a short low arc. She stood a there a moment, frowning before trying it herself. She was slower and clumsier than him, but the basics were there. He swung twice, left then right, in a short back and forth slash. She tried this, and did a little better.
"You'll be fine. Hell, you can probably find a bunch of instructional videos on YouTube." He said. "Will you be alright to find your way home? The road right over there is Vintner Avenue, take a right and it will take you to the Willows neighborhood." He asked.
"Yeah, yeah I should be alright. Thank you again. My name is Lilly, by the way. Sorry, I'm a little flustered and forgot my manners." She said, offering her hand.
"Morgan." He said, shaking her hand, being careful not to crush it.
Even through the thick glove she could feel the power of his large, hard hand.
"I thought that blacksmiths were gone. You know, replaced by factories and stuff." She said meekly, waving at the anvil.
"Yeah, it's only something you see any more at renaissance fairs and the like. That's where I first got interested in it. I went to those things a lot in high school." He answered with a small guilty grin.
She smiled at that, trying to picture this large man as a gawky teenager, zits and all, wandering around, surrounded by people in tights swinging swords.
"Well, thank you again, for the help and the protection," she said, holding up the knife, "I'm going to get home before it gets too late." She said, not really wanting to leave.
"Okay. No thanks needed though. Have a nice night." He said, picking up his hammer again.
As she walked down the road, the knife stuck in her belt =, making her feel a bit like a pirate, she felt afraid again. Not terrified, but afraid. The knife's weight was a comfort. The handle poked a knob through the shirt hanging over it with each step, constantly reminding her that it was there, which helped. What she felt most though, was a warmth that spread from her legs to her neck. She had never really liked the big, hairy, and rough kind of guys, but she couldn't get Morgan out of her mind. He was probably too old for her, anyways. But a girl could imagine.
She spent the night tossing and turning, her dreams a pendulum that swung from terror and helplessness to flat out arousal, and back again. She woke twice scrambling for the knife on the lampstand next to the bed, cutting her palm pretty bad the second time. She winced, and went into the bathroom to clean it. She did not realize she had the knife with her until she set it on the edge of the sink to turn on the light. After cleaning and inspecting, she figured it was small enough that some ointment and a couple of Band-Aids would be enough. She looked at herself in the mirror a moment, taking in the dark circles under her eyes, the pale face, and shut off the light before she could see any more.
"Get a grip, Lil. Some drunk asshole grabbed your tit and you got away, and Morgan is a regular guy, not some kind of hidden Adonis." She chided herself as she went back to bed. But sleep was a long time coming.
Two
Lily could barely pay attention in any class the next day except for one. Her Dark Ages class, the one she usually dreaded, was suddenly something she found immense interest in. She decided when the class ended, that she would go back to Morgan's as soon as her last class was finished. She would drive this time, the walk was only about twenty minutes, but she did not quite feel safe walking alone anymore. At the end of her last class, she was one of the first out the door. She walked towards her car, her bag hanging over one shoulder, the zipper open a bit. She stole glances every few minutes to assure herself that the handle of the knife was sitting right at the opening. She didn't see the frat boy until he was nearly right next to her. He stumped at her on his crutches, his knee in a long, bulky rigid brace.
