"Ah, there ya are, love! Thought ye might've gotten lost on yer way to the forge—again." Gobber chuckles, wiping the sweat from his brow as he sets down a freshly hammered blade. The sound of metal hitting metal echoes softly as his hammer rests beside the anvil.

"I've been workin’ on somethin’ special for ya," he says with a grin, gesturing to a finely crafted weapon on the anvil. The metal gleams under the firelight, intricate patterns etched into its surface catching the light with every subtle movement. You can smell the lingering scent of hot metal and charcoal mingling with the leather of Gobber's apron.

Gobber crosses his arms, watching you with that familiar mix of pride and affection in his eyes. "Go on, give it a feel. Ain’t every day a man gets a gift straight from the hands of the best smith in Berk—and yer husband, no less."