That night, Gauthier's dreams were filled with Tarrasques. He clutched the sword to his chest, feeling the cold steel handle in his death-like grip. 

He felt sick and awoke from his night terror screaming and thrashing about clumsily with the sword. 

No one came in to check on him like the other two nights. 

He let out a sigh, Has it been three days? He had been given food and water, as well as a place to bathe and refresh himself. All he could do is lay in his bed, and stare at the sword in his hands and contemplate his fate.

He looked down to his new sword, his attention latched onto the designs and intricacies of the handle. His mind working out the motions to reproduce such exquisite detailing.

You can at least clean me if you're going to unsheath me with your eyes.

"Umm... hello?" Gauthier said, shaking the sword and holding it up to his ear.

He got no response.

He decided to oblige with the suggestion since the voice hasn't been wrong to him yet... and it did save his life. If it's asking to be cleaned, then that's what he'll do. 

He gathered up his belongings and his sword and left the room. He needed to find the proper oil and rags, as well as a good whetstone. As he headed downstairs, Erin and the rest of the staff silently watched him leave and head into town. 

"Will he be okay?" Primrose asked Erin smiled.

"He'll be fine," she said. "I have a suspicion, but I think we'll be having a new member soon. As to what he'll pick, I have no clue." 

He had never been outside except when Knok brought him here. It was strange, there was no sun, no stars, nothing in the sky to really indicate where they were. It was always twilight. You can see well enough, but people still use lights to brighten up areas.

The city wasn't very big, but the massive walls can make it feel claustrophobic. Everyone smiled and nodded at him. There were shops and street vendors, but as Erin said, they just gave what they had to the person who asks. 

He asked a random local where the blacksmith is, maybe he can ask them for supplies to clean his sword. The lady escorted him to the "The Dwarven Hammer" a massive open kiln where the rhythmic sounds of hammers and scorching water as near molten iron are plunged into it to cool. He thanked her, and she went about her business. 

A large and gruff looking dwarf approached him, Barechested and covered in scars and burns. His fingers black sooted and covered in oil. His face wore a wide grin and a short singed beard. Gauthier bemused that dwarven smiths must have a hard time keeping long beards.

"Oy! What can I do for ya?" He said with a thick accent. "You don't be lookin' fer some armour? I think we got some chain in yer size. Don't recognize ya, you must be newly 'displaced" 

"Yes," Gauthier replied. "I'm... I just got here a week ago. Um, I'm staying at the Explorer's Guild and um. I wanted to see if you had some supplies I can borrow to clean my sword?" 

The dwarf gave him a strange look. 

"You mean, you wish for me to clean it for ya?" he said, rubbing his ears like something was in them. "I bang that hammer twenty hours a day, my hearin' ain't so good." 

"No," Gauthier said. "Erin gave me this sword, and umm... I wanted to clean it myself." 

"And what does a twig-like yourself know about makin' and maintainin' weaponry, do you even know what you're clinging to like a child?" The dwarf said, moved forward and reached for the handle. Gauthier winced, and the dwarf smith yanked his hand back and rubbed it, glaring at the sword. 

"Don't you ever bring that thing in here." He said and spat on the ground. "Erin's a fool to hand that to you." 

He turned to storm off. 

"Wait!" Gauthier called out. "The cleaning supplies?' 

The dwarf stopped, his back still turned and he pointed to a cabinet. 

"Take what you need and get out," the Dwarf grumbled. Gauthier obliged and scurried back to his room. 

Gauthier burst into the Explorer's Guild's front doors, and rushed up the stairs to his guest room, slamming it shut. Erin and the rest of the guild managers just ignored him and went about their business. 

Erin received a letter from a messenger, read it over, and just let out a sigh.

"Who's it from?" Primrose asked. 

"Oh, the blacksmith apparently blackballed Gauthier from the forge." She said. "I'll work it out. It seems only Gauthier can touch that sword though."

"You don't think it's one of those intelligent weapons do you?" Lonnie asked, taking the letter from Erin's hands and reading it himself. "I've heard of things that develop sentience and just... sort of attaching themselves to certain people." 

"Do you know how long that's been here?" Erin asked. The rest of her team shrugged. "I don't either, and I searched all the archives, it's been in the records since the founding of the city. Who knows how long it's just been laying in the woods before we even got here." 

"Why are you all getting fussy and sad over a sword? They have one use, and that's to poke things with!" Ruthie said with a grunt. "Never understood the fascination with talking weapons and swords... would seem like a bad idea."  

"We don't have any proof of one thing or another. It simply could be a way Gauthier is coping with what's happening to him, let's just give him a few more days, and see where we are from there. 

Gauthier had locked his door and moved all the furniture up against one of the walls. 

He needed room.

Meticulously, he laid out the materials needed for what he was about to do, oils, cloth, whetstone, water, and a few other tools of his trade. 

His poor sword has been in that barrel for who knows how long. She wished for him to oil her, he can only assume she has not been used in ages and will need more than a quick cleaning. 

He was determined to give her a cleaning she had never experienced in her life.

He lit a few lanterns, casting the room in a dull orange glow. He moved to the middle of the room and set the sword down across from him. He traced his fingers over the leatherwork of the sheath, noting it was generically made, and not custom-designed for the blade. 

"Oh you poor girl," He cooed. "This must be so uncomfortable." 

He slid the sheath off the blade, and could almost feel a sigh of relief from his sword. 

"That's one thing swordsmen never understand, is that every sword is different, and you need to ensure the sheath fits correctly," Gauthier said while talking to himself. He set the sword aside and cut the leather cords holding the sheath together. It took an hour, but he was able to re-shape the sheath to a perfect fit.

He felt a wave of happiness and embarrassment from the sword. Gauthier pretended to ignore it and moved onto the sword itself. 

With well-trained fingers, he had dismantled the sword and into its base components. A sword blade, with a full tang, a handle, pommel and crossguard.

Wordlessly, he took each piece, inspected it intently and memorised every part of it. He ensured each piece was thoroughly cleaned and maintained.

Finally, after two hours of work, he was covered in sweat and pressed the final draw against the whetstone and inspected his work. 

I have never felt this good...

"So now you're talkative," Gauthier said. 

I didn't want to distract you... from your work. You do it very well.

"Well, I wanted to show you my appreciation for saving my life," Gauthier said and held the sword up to inspect it. "How did you come to be? I mean, you don't need to answer that if you don't want to." 

Not yet... I don't even know what's true or not. If you treat me this well all the time, I'll tell you sometime what I can remember.

"I see," Gauthier said. He laid back down on his bed, and put the sheathed sword next to him, and laid on his side to look at it while he spoke. "So... do you see things? or hear?"

I'm tired, I need to rest. You did a good job.

"I don't even know your name," Gauthier whispered. 

Lillith

She didn't speak for the rest of the night, and the next day.