The weekend came quickly and Oriana hitched a ride with her wares in a farmer's cart on the way to the market. The distance wasn't far, since Oriana's Smithy was right in town, but it still quite a bit of distance for someone who didn't have a cart or cattle with which to transport her wares. Mr. Doir didn't mind in the least though since he was very familiar with the Farrah's for as long as Oriana could remember. Her father would always fix or replace the man's tools for as long as she could remember and when the Smithy became hers, she also did the same. Oriana never spoke much, which worked fine since Mr. Doir could speak a mile a minute about the most mundane things, however as they neared the market, Mr. Doir began to speak about more than his usual idle chatter, but Oriana went along with it anyways since the man wasn't terrible company.
"When was the last time you wandered around town, Ana?" he said, using one of the few nicknames that had unfortunately stuck around since Oriana was a child. Everyone knew better than to call her Ori, though.
Oriana hummed. "Since the last time your cart carried me there, it would seem," she replied simply causing Mr. Doir to chuckle.
"I shoulda known," he chuckled, "but word around town is that their majesties themselves are holding quite the contest for blacksmiths."
That got Oriana's attention. "You don't say?"
"Aye, I do," he hummed, his throat rasping as he did so and beard quivering. "Sounds like the Prince is looking for a blacksmith with which to arm the royal army." Oriana said nothing, and Mr. Doir took it as a sign to continue. "Everyone around here thinks that you should enter the contest."
She looked at the man, squinting her eyes. "Surely you can't be --"
"Ana, I'm completely serious," the man said, giving her a stern look that was uncharacteristic of the light-hearted, companionable man. Oriana was stunned to say the least. "You're the finest blacksmith I know. Better than your own pop was and still so young as well. Ya got a mighty reputation around here and even merchants in the capital have begun to take notice."
"I couldn't," Ana responded.
"Ana, you're the bes-"
"Not that," she cut him off, for Oriana had always taken pride in her trade. She knew she was skilled, confident in her abilities. "But I have a business Doir," she explained leaning back against the cart she currently rode on and sending the man a look. "They want me to present weapons to the royals at the Capital, and that's too much of a hassle. I have to make weapons that others can buy at the market. That's how I eat, Doir," she went on. Mr. Doir looked as if he was about to object but Oriana continued. "I'da spend all my time and money tryna craft the finest blade I can and for what, Doir?" Mr. Doir was silent, seeing the reason behind Oriana's words and knowing it was futile to try to convince her otherwise after having known her for so many years. "If I didn't win, what would I do then?" she reasoned.
Mr. Doir nodded as they were arriving to the center of the marketplace. "Jus' think about it, Ana? Ye can do much better for yerself than ya can hear," he said, setting his hand on the woman's shoulder. Oriana's lips quirked up in the corners slightly and she patted him on his back with one calloused hand. She hopped off the cart and gathered her wares, set up her stand and really did think about it.
Which was why, when she returned to the Smithy, she had all of the materials she needed to make the finest sword she ever would forge.
-----
It was the day of the contest, one month later, and Mr. Doir stepped into the Smithy to find a 22-year old Oriana passed out at her workbench. The man smiled and scratched his beard as he made his way over and shook the woman's shoulders. Oriana startled awake and looked around dazedly for a moment before realizing where she was. "Mr. Doir!" she exclaimed with wide eyes. She was caked in dirt and dust from grinding and polishing the blade and scabbard and essentially, looked an absolute mess. "I haven't seen ya in the market lately, figured you might want a ride to the Capitol," he stated simply.
"I- yes, thank you," she said, letting her shoulders droop in exhaustion. With a grateful smile lifted the rapier in its scabbard and hopped onto the cart. The Capitol was only a short ride away, the town in which they were located was just outside the city's walls. In fact many, townspeople go to the Capitol to trade, however since so many merchants travel through their town, many find they have plenty of business staying at home.
"Ya look exhausted," Mr. Doir commented.
Oriana snorted at what was possibly the greatest understatement she ever heard. "I look filthy," she said honestly to which Mr. Doir commented with a simple 'Aye'.
"I can't imagine forging one blade would tire you out so much."
"Of course not," she commented, waving her hand at him. "I have a business," she repeated the phrase she had used in the same cart a month ago. "I still had to make wares I could sell at the market next weekend."
Mr. Doir's eyes widened, "You still made your other weapons and armor?"
"And then some," she said with a sharkish grin that was cut off with a yawn. "I refuse to let this silly contest drive my father's business to the ground, you see."
Mr. Doir whistled, "No wonder you're such a mess." To which Oriana simply snorted and wiped at her face, grimacing at the dirt and dust that she had simply managed to smear around her face. "Not that the sword you made isn't fantastic - amazing, really, Ana - but I thought you would make something much -- "
"Larger?" It was true, Oriana had a huge preference for large weapons like Oakenshotts and Claymores and battle axes. But this time around she went with a simple rapier, with a simple leather scabbard. She smiled, "The hilt is patterned and welded with silver and gold, you see. And I made the blade with spring steel, practically indestructable. But --" she paused, getting haughty in her demeanor, "There's a hidden dagger in the hilt," she commented, just as they were arriving to the townsquare in Belvath, where the contest was taking place. "Wish me luck, Doir," she said as she hopped off the cart.