She stared at the contents of the box, utterly speechless. She drew the weapon from its sheath and drilled her eyes into it. It was perfect! Not at all what she was expecting. The blade gleamed with a light truly unlike any she had ever seen, and it’s small crossguard was simple yet beautiful, made to look like raven wings. The pommel was exquisitely proportioned, tiny and regal, made to match a rose thorn’s appearance. She ran her finger along the blunt end of the blade, then put her hand around the hilt and drew it up, so that she could examine it in the faint light. Women, despite being the more important gender, able to ride the Royal Dragon and take thrones where men could not, were forbidden to draw swords. That was the man’s job, to defend and to serve. Daggers, however, were not forbidden. Raevyn had ample experience with the weapon, wielding it during her first days in the north. She had perfected the art of the Dragoncraft, a style invented to allow a woman to penetrate tough dragon skin and thick dragonbone and remain undetected. This worked by exploiting the physical weaknesses of a dragon, such as the exposed head and neck. True, the weapon she wielded in the north was nowhere near as fine as this. “And what smithy was it that created this masterpiece? To whom do I owe the honor?” Raevyn said, truly breathless. Frey was there to answer her question, chuckling a bit, preparing his voice. “Olympia, the queen in the east, owned a legendary slave-smith from the north. This dagger was his life’s work, and he named it the Thorn. When the east kingdom fell, the dagger was taken north, where it was given to my grandfather. I inherited the blade after the death of my parents, but you, m’lady, have proven yourself worthy of the Thorn now. It is yours forever. May it serve you well in all your… endeavors.” The bulky man said, a somber feeling radiating from his face, as if he really did feel emotion sometimes.