The Revenge of the Blacksmith

When my ridiculously good-looking parents produced stunning progenies, they expected it’d be the same with me. Instead, my mother had only to gaze at my distorted features and my club foot and abandoning me was her logical action.

The one who found me looked beyond my aspect, then judged me clever when I grasped her finger. She loved me as I grew up and introduced me to those who taught me my trade. Loneliness was my constant companion on that burning mountain but word of my craft went far and wide. Heroes wore my armours and wielded my weaponry, royalty displayed my delicate jewels. Then, I discovered my powers, the magic within me, how I could infuse every object I created with it.

I should have been satisfied with this, if not happy even. Instead I was constantly seething with fury. My adoptive mother advised me to forgive, told me that often family is not determined by blood but by choice and love. I didn’t listen.

I’d always known about my blood family, the most important people in creation. When one of my blood brothers came to ask me to craft a present for our mother, the Queen, the time had come to show them all. They’d beg me to come back, to be part of my real family.

It took me so long to fashion the intricate golden throne, yet I was proud of the result. I went to deliver it, fighting hard to stifle my giggles as I was imagining what was about to happen.

I didn’t have to wait long…

My mother majestically swept by, without a look at my sooty visage, and sat on the throne. My father beamed his appreciation. He beckoned to her but my rage was all-consuming. As a result, she couldn’t get up, with her conceited posterior forever glued to her throne!

My father begged me to undo the spell and free his Queen. He promised love and beauty in the bride he’d give me. And, the fool that I was, I accepted, but that’s another story…