Granny Thayer, Demon Slayer || Collab with CMF_Wright

Chapter 2: Granny Thayer Looks at Cows

For the third time that morning, Granny Thayer patted her grandson on the shoulder. The poor boy had taken the oracle's prophecy hard, and he was currently sniffling into his scrambled eggs.

"I don't understand." He pushed a piece of egg around on the plate without lifting it to his mouth, his eyes downcast. "I think, deep down, a part of me just assumed that I was special. That I was meant for more than just some lowly life as a farm boy. That the obsidian sword actually meant something."

"There, there." Granny Thayer rooted around in her pocket for a handkerchief. "The obsidian sword did mean something special, you know. I picked it out for you especially. I saw it at the yard sale our neighbor Granny Smith was having, and I thought to myself, 'why if that isn't just the sort of thing little Arty would love for his birthday!'"

"You told me it was a family heirloom!"

"Well, it technically was. For Granny Smith's family. But she doesn't have any children, and she's not getting any younger, so it's ours now." She patted Arthur's shoulder. "I had to argue with Aunt Myrna to let you keep it. She was sure you were going to lop off a toe on the very first day. She kept exchanging meaningful glances with me about it during your birthday party."

Two days had passed since the oracle had visited their quiet village in the valley—two anxious, nerve-wracking days. The oracle had given Granny Thayer dire warnings about what would happen should she choose to ignore the summons—Pain! Destruction! A horde of zombies!—and directions for her quest—Seek out the King of Rivia! Go to the castle!—but it hadn't been able to explain why it had to be her who embarked on this quest to defeat the Dark Lord, as opposed to trained professionals with a few dozen Evil VillainTM slaughters to report on their CV.

Then the oracle had left, in a haze of silver sparkles, leaving a very conflicted Granny Thayer stewing over her tea.

She was too old for this. Too old to go traipsing about on quests, slogging through the countryside with nothing but dry crusts of bread for food. She didn't even want to think what camping out on top of rocks or trudging over mountains would do to her rheumatism. Besides, how would she recharge her hearing aids so far from civilization? Maybe when she'd been her grandson's age, she would've welcomed this sort of thing. Back then, she had dreamed of adventure, of making a name for herself as a renowned demon slayer (not that she'd ever actually slayed a demon, but it was always fun to imagine). She'd daydreamed about going to palaces, meeting handsome princes, befriending bards, and running with werewolves.

And then Dole Thayer had entered her life.

Followed by a lot of babies.

"Are you sure you don't want to send me off to defeat the Dark Lord in your place?" her grandson asked hopefully, from his seat across the table. "I think I'd be quite good at it."

"No one from our family is going to be defeating the Dark Lord today," said Granny Thayer firmly.

"But if you're not going to do it, and I'm not going to do it, then who is?" Arthur spread his hands wide. "You heard what the oracle said! People are dying! If something isn't done, the Dark Lord will destroy the world."

Granny Thayer snorted. "If the threat is even real. We've only the word of a fumbling oracle for it, and that creature seemed to have a few screws loose in the head. Besides, if I were to leave to go a-questing, then what becomes of you and the rest of the family? I've babysitting duties at your Aunt Myrna's every Sunday, I clean your Uncle Felix's house every Thursday, and your poor Auntie Lila just had her first baby and lord only knows that she needs my help what with that baby being at the age where it's constantly spewing things out at both ends. Not to mention if I left, who would milk the cows every morning and do the dishes, sweep the stoops, do the mending, and knit clothes for all the babies?"