Two days passed, and He didn’t show. Her mind had been stuck on him; she realized it was happiness, he brought joy, and she was the last one to see it. She was determined to make him the best sword and had no answer to why. One sat on the counter on the third day in wait for him to stroll in. Dawn felt like she was enabling a repeat of her father, and she wanted to do it, without reason why. She wanted to make him a strong sword, but she also wanted it to break so he would come back. By the fourth day, she started to worry, reached out to see if anybody had seen him, even travelers. Her mood shifted, her body hurt here and there if she thought too much. A fear crept that worried he might’ve died because her weapons were too weak. A few more days passed, she lost her appetite, and the forge long burned out. She looked at that sword on the counter that waited with her, and she broke down in sobs. She refused to work unless she had to, tried to stave off her feelings with drinking, refused to discuss it with anybody, even though they knew.

One day at noon, somebody banged on her door, which woke her up. She stomped downstairs.

“I’m closed,” she yelled.

The banging continued, she grabbed an empty bottle, and flung the door open to his happy face. She growled and swung the bottle at him, followed up with a punch, but he dodged both.

“What’s wrong, Dawn‽”

“You left, you left and didn’t come back,” she screamed and landed a punch.

Dawn saw a new sword on him, grabbed a sheath, and shoved him to the ground.

“Who made that?” she yelled.

She sat on him and raised the sheath over her head to hit him, but it slipped from her grasp as she started to cry. He noticed they were being watched. He sat up and repositioned her so he could carry her inside. He saw the state of her shop and home, sat her on the counter, and surmised she had not been working. The sword sat next to her.

“I was fighting in the war, like I have been.”

“I don’t care! You should’ve said you’d be gone longer!”

“You seem mighty angry at somebody unwanted in her life,” he joked.

“Don’t be daft, and you have another sword I didn’t make!”

“I lost yours, but it didn’t get broken.”

“Excuses! If you lost it, you should’ve come for another,” she cried.

He looked at her for a moment. “I wanted to. But we weren’t here; we were sent to support another part of the militia.”

“Another excuse! You could’ve come anyway… without that ugly sword!”

“Dawn… please. I didn’t have a choice.”

“Yes, you did!”

“What’s your problem? This isn’t like you,” he spoke more seriously.

“My problem is you left for so long, and just strolled back in with some low-quality sword, instead of getting one from me.”

“We were days away from here. Surely you’re tired of fixing and giving me swords all the time?”

“More foolishness! I care not for how many you break, for you come back. The swords don’t matter if you come back. You should’ve told me you would be so long.”

“I’m a knight… I had no choice; it was a quick notice, and we had to go. You’re not using logic.”

“Get out,” she yelled. “I don’t want to hear any of that, just leave and go back from whence you came!”

There was a momentary silence between the two as she sobbed. He reached into his bag and pulled out a small bag of money and placed it on top of the sword. Her body jolted with a dull glow that left him confused. He wanted to say something, but she was being unreasonable, so he turned to leave. She tossed the money at him.

“I don’t want your money or anything.”

He turned around. “That’s how this works.”

“Fool… knave… idiot! How stupid are you to think that’s all it was? You waste my time and everything… get out!”

“Okay… what’s going on?” he asked firmly.

“Nothing that mattered anymore, so leave for it would be better that way.”

“Not without answers.”

She turned away from him.

“You’re being childish. What did I do for you to act like this?” He grabbed her shoulders. “Why are you mad? Why won’t you take the money? How is it wrong that I protect our people‽”

She clasped her hands that shook. “Because I love you! I fell in love with you, that’s my problem! I’m not supposed to… I can’t, shouldn’t… yet I can’t help it. All you wanted was a weapon, to seek power.”

Her body started to glow.

“Why are you glowing?”

“That’s all you wanted, but you got me too, and you squandered and used me.”

“What’s happening to you, Dawn‽”

“I started to love you too much… the first time I let myself fall in love like a fool. I wanted to make you a sword that would make you undefeatable, even if you never came back… I wanted to love you… When I knew the risk.”

She started to glow brighter.

“I wanted to push you away, I’m sorry I yelled. But I wanted you too.”

“Wait… is this a curse?”

She nodded. “I was cursed because of my father. Pick love over power. If I fall in love with somebody like him, and they don’t love me more than power, I turn into the strongest sword. But for you… unlike my father… I’m fine. I was scared to love, but I’m happy I did.”

“Wait! Please!”

“My love will make me the strongest sword for the selfish man who steals my heart without a care, the one who cracked my armor to get inside. I want you to have my heart.”

She eased off the counter with the sword in hand and slipped it into his belt.

“I put my heart and soul into making the best blade, but it wasn’t enough… so now you have it all. I’m yours and yours alone, and despite how afraid I was it would happen, I’m happy my love will protect you.”

Her light grew brighter, she pressed herself against him, she pulled his face to hers, her lips just started to touch his. Her light was brighter; he thought he would be blinded and burned away, then it was gone, all but the faint touch of her lips. A clatter to the floor, and all was dark again. He looked down, his eyes adjusted and found a sheathed basket hilt sword that seemed to glimmer in the darkened shop. He picked it up, pulled it enough to find a flamberg  saber. It felt warm and sent tingles through his body; he felt like a formidable force, that he alone would end the war. He pulled half the stolen sword from the sheath and dropped it on the floor, tossing the rest as he exited.

A few people were still around. They saw him equip the sword as he left.

“What was that light?” a person asked.

“Where’s Dawn?”

Lazarus solemnly grabbed the sword. “She’s right here.”

“What did you do‽”

“I… didn’t. She was cursed. She fell in love with me, and… I didn’t. I guess I wanted too much power.”

“What does that even mean? You speak in riddles,” a guard asked.

“It means because I wanted her more for what she provided than I wanted her for her. She fell in love, and I didn’t, so she turned into a sword!  I didn’t make the curse… I didn’t even know she was cursed! I’d ask her to explain it better… but I don’t think she can talk.” He gripped the sheath.

Somebody rushed into her house and back out. “She’s not here!”

“Because she’s right here! We just went over that! She’s my sword now… she gave up everything for me.”

“We need to break the curse,” a woman yelled.

“I plan on it.”

“Not you, bastard! It’s your fault! Now give Dawn to us; you brought this on her.”

“There’s nothing any of you can do to save her,” the town mage decreed. “She came to me about the curse, years ago. If Dawn fell in love with a warrior who only desired what she could provide… powerful weapons, then through her love, she would be that weapon. That’s the secret to why she was the way she was. She was afraid to get close to anybody for this very reason. Dawn somehow found you worthy of her love… now… her curse is also yours to bear.”

“I’m going to break the curse, if it’s the last thing I do.”

“Will you? I can feel her power she granted to you. More than enough to corrupt a man. And you’ve been boisterous about your growing accolades.”

Somebody threw a rock. “Get out of our town!”

“Don’t come back until she’s cured! You ruined her life!” They threw a rock.

“I’m not the bad guy here! I don’t like this either! You fools act as if I knew about it!” He started to walk away.

“She was finally happy because of you, and look what you did,” a man said.

“I didn’t know,” Lazarus yelled.

Some followed him to the front gate, as he walked through town, people were seen pointing and murmuring about the sword in the brunette sheath.

Lazarus joined back with his men, with a card players face to hide himself.

“Did the blacksmith give you both of those?” one asked.

“Aye… she did.”

Another laughed. “She must’ve given him two, so she could get a longer break from him!”

“Used all the money and took a vacation!” He laughed

He could only smile an empty smile. They asked to see the swords, and he unsheathed both. They started taking bets on how fast such a ceremonial, weak looking saber would last before it broke. He took them up on that offer, with a genuine smile, with full trust she would not let him down.

——

After the last skirmish, they were impressed, except for the few who bet it would break by the fourth time it was used or the ones who thought it wouldn’t survive the day. After collecting his money, he went to have a meal on his own. Her unsheathed, he proudly inspected her; she was still pristine. She easily sliced through enemies and pierced armor.

“I have reinforcement magic.”

Not too uncommon, but usually only those who were trained in combat developed the skill. It was as if she was an extension of him, read his mind and muscle.

“She wielded that broom like a longsword!”

“Maybe the curse gave her sword skills,” he thought.

The way she would burn with her cuts, sometimes leaving trails of flame.

“I have some resistance to fire.”

Blood and pretty much anything else made hot butter on a knife slide like molasses.

“She was indeed a powerful sword.” A knight walked up. “With effort, it could probably cut through sword and armor. I was amazed at the fiery slashes sent through the air as ranged attacks. May I?”

He reached for it in Lazarus’ lap, the moment he grabbed the handle, a hot pain shot through his body that seized every muscle, but his fingers. They were both taken by surprise.

“I’ve never seen a sword do that before.”

“I hadn’t a notion it did that. Are you okay?”

“The pain stopped the moment I let go. I need to have her make a sword like that for me.”

“She said she put her heart and soul in it… just for me… I don’t think there will be another quite like it.”

“You truly are blessed. She didn’t make that for the coin. You’d be wise to see her again… she may offer more to you than sharp blades.”

He nodded. “Aye… I plan on seeing her again; until then, this keeps her close.”

During the next fight, there were Trolls with clubs. Their swings were heavy, and the way his blade clashed left nicks, but wouldn’t cut through. The weight of the club seemed too heavy. Iron wood, he thought. Fear she would break, started to fill him, she was knocked from his hand, he dodged the downward swing, rolled past another’s cross swing, further from his precious blade. He pulled the other blade to block the next attack and ran it through his enemy. As the other came, he reached where she was, his hand held out to grab. She flew past another knight to his hand, where he blocked the next attack, and used his other hand to gut the Troll. The way she rang out had him concerned.

He slept with her close every night, cherished her, despite the fact that she seemed impossible to steal by others; he found the extra steps eased his mind. It just didn’t feel right, with any space between them.  She gave her life for him, and he would kill for her honor. Every situation where he thought it risky for her petite blade by comparison to the standard issued swords, and the one she made, he wanted to use her less and less for fear she may break, even if she shown no sign of it, much less wear or dulling. Even if it felt wrong to not use her. His hand practically started to itch in battle when she wasn’t in it. He often thought about her. When there was a reprieve, he thought of their last words, about who she really was, and why such a curse fell on her. One night in another town, he asked mages and wizards if they had ever heard of the curse. Neither knew. He would ask everywhere.

The more he thought about her, the more risky moments he had, he wanted to use her less, and hoped the war would end soon. She gave him more responsibility, and she was useful as they got stronger together. A brief battle with Golems, which was arduous, he managed to cut through them, the melted rock, he just didn’t want to use her, although he was compelled to, he fought it. In another town, a few went to the blacksmith for repairs.

“Why are you relying more on that sword?” one asked.

Much to Lazarus' surprise held up mostly fine, just dinged and chipped. “I don’t want to risk her as much as I have been.”

“I’m certain that swords are indestructible,” his captain surmised.

“I’ve never seen him sharpen it. Blood flows off, like fish in a stream.”

“I just don’t want my luck to run out with my new rank. He can’t have her broken.”

“Do you find it odd he has been calling it a ‘her’, a lot?” one whispered to another.

It reached a point where he hardly used her at all. She stayed by his side, and he held her in battle because he had to. Despite the decency of the last sword she made, to use it well, he relied less on raw power, more on dexterity. He started to learn it wasn’t all the sword's fault, but his, that they broke so much. Lazarus often found desperate enemies reach for her, grab at her to use against him, with failure to deal with the sheer pain. He told himself she was only for his use, like she said. She would never let anybody else use her; only he was worthy. Although he wondered if she got mad at him for not using her. Would she understand if he explained it, or would she think him a fool? Could she think or feel anything? He imagined her scolding him for the foolish things he did, that she would laugh at his jokes, her toiling away at her forge, blood and swear at the next weapon, being proud for how long his sword lasted. She was too much for him. In one battle, an enemy fought through the pain and attacked him with her. She almost cut through the other sword; he felt the impacts, yet she did not hurt him, the one she loved. He cut them down and retrieved her.

——

Lazarus started trying to leave her at camp, but she felt like too much responsibility. He thought of getting rid of her, but just couldn’t part; she was like a drug. No magic user was any help to him. It had been months, and another spring came about. The war ended, and it was back to the usual. He found himself escorting a dungeon; they made short work. He was back among people, had spent a few nights with women, but felt shame; they did not satisfy his needs and wants as they once had before, before he met Dawn. One night, he was at the pub, drunk, and the people watched him cry.

“Why did you have to do this to me?” he yelled and slammed her on the table. “You shouldn’t have loved me, now look at you! And me! You really are cursed… my curse, you overbuilt heifer! Why? Why do you do this to me‽ Make me want and need you! Damn you, Dawn, damn you for haunting my thoughts and being my strength!”

Everyone was uneasy; his fellow knights and the adventurers he was with removed him from the bar.

“I think you’ve been too stressed and drank too much. Go home… walk it off and sleep,” a knight said.

“She’s even worse when I sleep,” he cried.

“I’m giving you a choice. Walk it off, or keep being a disturbance and spend the night in a cell without her.”

“You know I can’t be without her.”

Lazarus walked with her, clenched and found himself in the woods. Tired, he lay against a tree and spoke his truth.

“I’m… sorry… I know it’s not your fault. I’ve tried to find help. There is no one. I’m just so angry this is your life now—you squandered it for me. I guess I was like your father… if I knew him, I would use you to end his life; the act would be poetic justice. I don’t want this anymore! I don’t want you! Not like this. I want to experience your love, truly, and this is not it. I do love you, I have for a while now. I want your love in a way we can exchange it. It’s so hard to love you like this. I need to brandish it the same way I need to brandish you in battle. I need you, not some perfect sword. I need your flaws, your hurt, anger, the womanly wiles of your nearly manly physique. I fathomed once that you don’t need protection, but I’d do it anyway, like how you’ve given everything to protect me. I love you, and my heart feels empty without a way to give it to you and accept yours. I want you back, Dawn.” He clenched her tight to his chest.

As day broke, he felt something heavy on him; his head pounded, and there was a groan in his ear. Something pulled away, he thought somebody wanted to take her from him again, so he held it tighter.

“Don’t hold so tight… you’re crushing me,” a whiny, tired voice spoke.

He released his grip, and there was a moment of silence. His eyes opened, and the sun was bright. He held what or whoever it was in his view until his eyes focused.

“Dawn?”

She mumbled and woke up groggily, yelped in surprise, pushed away from him and looked over herself and the surroundings in near panic.

“Dawn.”

“Why aren’t I a sword? What happened? Did I break, am I dead‽”

“Dawn!”

He sat up, held her face and kissed her lips. She felt the heat on her skin, the air that filled her lungs, once the kiss ended.

Her voice stammered. “The curse… I’m—but I’m supposed to be—”

“The woman I fell in love with. More valuable than a sword that can strike down the gods themselves. I was a fool… I beg for your forgiveness.” His head lowered.

“Your love broke the curse… how could I not forgive? I longed for you, willing to embrace my curse for you. I want you to be mine.”

He stood and scooped her in his arms. “In the midst of battle, I forgot what I fought for.  Your curse was mine, I learned to truly treasure you.”

She pulled him close for a kiss.