They arrived–finally–at the gates of Astohír in the afternoon, the sun grayed out by a rolling fog that had chased them since mid-morning. What little sunlight there was to illuminate the great stone walls of the ancient fortress-city was quickly being swallowed up by an approaching bluff of dark clouds on the horizon. Even if her companions couldn’t tell, there would be a thunderstorm soon. Judging by the winds, in less than an hour, now that they had stopped.

“Harral” Edrelle tapped her driver on his shoulder, passing him a bundle of dwarvish scrip. “This is for stabling your tersadox, and for finding some lodging. It’ll be raining soon and I’d feel awful if I left you out in it. We’ll need you yet for our trip to Lirûdan, so this should see you through a few days here in the city.”

“Righto, Miss Calamity. Only…” The orc ran a thumb over the cloth bills, “Y’see, Juni here doesn’t like the thunder, and she’s gotten skittish in her old age. I’d better stay in the stables with her.” He moved to hand the bills back, but Edrelle held up a hand.

“Then order you and Juniper a feast. Or keep the rest as a bonus for waiting. I don’t care which, just take the money.” ‘You noble old fool…’ she added spitefully in her head. The orc nodded, pushing it into the breast pocket of his vest.

After they had stabled Juniper (and Harral, for that matter), and after Cozca spent an egregiously long time comforting and petting the beast and talking to the Orc (‘I thought Southlanders were supposed to be the stoic sort?’) They were finally walking towards their destination, in the housing district. Cozca looked around, and skipped a bit, to Edrelle’s annoyance.

“I’m sorry, beloved, but may I ask you what the fuck you are doing?” Edrelle snapped.

“I’ve never walked on streets made of stone before!” The giant giggled. “Your shoes are so loud on it!”

“Cozca, if you were big in a human city, you’re gargantuan here. Save your jolly behavior for a less…prying venue? We’re being hunted, and the people here don’t like new things. They would be happy to be rid of us.” Edrelle resisted the urge to shout. She was doing this giant a favor, and once they’d stolen back the Southlander’s blade…she would be nearly unstoppable. Perfect for The Project.

“You’re no fun.” Cozca crossed her arms, which pulled her cloak inwards, tightening it around the sword slung behind her hips and giving her the appearance of an impossibly wide but flat butt. Edrelle had to keep herself from giggling. “And don’t call me ‘beloved’ either. I’ve had enough of your epithets, especially if you choose to envenom them with such sarcasm every time.”

“So would you rather I called you my ‘beloved’ sincerely?” Edrelle stuck her tongue through her teeth. She could push the giant’s buttons a little bit. As a treat.

Cozca crinkled her nose. “I’ll sincerely shove my foot up your ass.”

“Fine then, my beloathed. I’ll be more genuine in my feelings towards our mutual debt.”

“Beloathed. That’s fine.” The giant nodded, before striding forwards on those long legs. Edrelle was just surprised the Southlander actually allowed a nickname to stick. “Who is this friend of yours we’re seeing anyway?”

“She’s a dwarf researcher. She’s helping me crack the code on the Old Folk’s language, as well as detailing what I can get out of the Akled.”

“So she’s an accessory to your little heist, like me?”

“No, she’s a collaborator. You’re my only accessory, so far.”

“Fantastic.” Cozca moaned. “Feels great, feels special.”

Edrelle chewed her lip, a tiny bit of anxiety seeping in, “Well then beloathed, a few things to keep in mind. One, is that this associate of mine is quite…eccentric, especially by dwarf standards. Please be polite.”

“Got it.”

“Two,” Edrelle continued. “Dwarves are close-knit, like your people. Four generations often live under one roof.” The elf gestured to the squat, metal-roofed buildings, having finally entered the housing district. “Even though she has a relatively small family; brother, in-law, niece and nephew—they’re likely going to be there when we arrive, so–”

“Be polite, yeah I got it Ed. Don’t worry, I’m great with kids.”

“They’re hardly kids. Dwarves rarely leave their childhood houses. I can only imagine…” Edrelle shivered at the idea of sharing the same roof with her family.

“Yeah, because Elves would be so long-lived, and to be with your family for centuries…” Cozca ruminated.

“All while we’re stuck in a messy hormonal stage, usually the same one as our parents, since we catch up to each other in sexual maturity rather than the graceful cycle of death that humans march on…you’re lucky you only have a good couple of decades before you start looking and feeling like shit.”

Cozca gave Edrelle a steady side-eye. “I don’t feel very lucky to be confronted by my own mortality, but–”

There was a crack of thunder, and the gravid clouds overhead finally gave way as a downpour began to fall upon their heads. Edrelle quickly pulled up her hood, even though she disliked how it felt against her ears. Cozca instead chose to turn her head into the sky, stopping in her tracks.

“The hell are you doing?” Edrelle had to raise her voice over the sudden cacophony of the deluge pattering against the nearby metal roofs.

“It’s raining.” Cozca announced, smiling into the water splashing her face. Edrelle gripped the giant’s wrist and dragged her the last stretch of their journey, pounding on the door of the house she was fairly certain was the correct one. After a few moments it clunked open, a dwarf with a gorgeously braided salt-and-pepper beard standing before them. He had a ruddy face and strong features, but most notably, a metallic gauntlet on one arm, which Edrelle knew to be a prosthesis.

“Tnek!” Edrelle cried over the din of the rain. “Is Cal home? I need to speak with her!”

Even with her long ears, Edrelle could barely hear his approving grunt over the rain. He turned and led the visitors into the house. Edrelle got a bit of a kick out of hearing her tall companion swear as she bumped her head on the door frame.

Most dwarf houses were spartan in furnishing, but house Goodwine was an exception to most dwarf conventions. Every wall was covered in maps and art and peeling wallpaper, every surface was covered in pens, parts, chisels, books, stones, errant chess boards and pieces, and complicated mechanical bits from Tnek’s and his husband’s projects. Edrelle would need their help soon, and was glad they had been busy. Even the floor was littered with mismatched chairs, pillows, poufs and ottomans.

“Oh! It goes into the ground! I was afraid; all the houses look so small from the outside.” Cozca observed as she walked down the stairs into the pit-house. Edrelle grit her teeth, and Tnek, ever the conversationalist, simply grunted again. The house did indeed go two stories into the ground; the dwarves who built Astohír prided themselves as expert excavators, and the housing quarter was a simple in design, but masterful in execution.

“Tnek? Who’s here?” A voice came from deeper in the den. It was well-illuminated by lanterns and a few candles precariously placed a bit too close to paper, but shadows tended to cling to dwarvish dwellings. Humans, halflings and dwarves seemed to find it “cozy”. To the hyper-sensitive Edrelle, it just made her anxious. Tnek jabbed a thumb over his shoulder at the two visitors with another grunt, giving the elf the distinct impression that they were unwelcome guests. ‘Well, tough shit,’ she thought. She was here for business. She made it to the bottom of the stairs leading from the doorway, shadowed by her towering companion, who seemed all the larger in the dwarvish abode. Cal had left the kitchen and appeared at the head of the dining table, which was littered with scrolls and parchments and tools.

Orichalcum “Cal” Goodwine was Edrelle’s longest collaborator on The Project, and one of the closest things she had to a friend. Naturally, Edrelle hadn’t seen the woman in six years. The dwarf wore her leaden-brown hair in a messy flyaway plait, more to get it out of her face than for style. Her face was darkened by stubble—unlike most dwarf women, Cal shaved, though irregularly—and the dark circles under her eyes had grown a deeper shade of lavender against the tawny skin of her face. Other than that, she looked the same, something that Edrelle somehow found herself envying. Perhaps because they had reached middle age near the same time, and for an elf, Edrelle was aging rather horribly; her hair going stark white by the age of 130, while the near-fifty year old dwarf before her looked nearly the same since they’d last crossed paths. Edrelle sighed. Being sure to outlive everyone in that room was little comfort to her at the moment.

“Edrelle. Somehow, I’m not surprised.” The dwarf sighed.

“Cal!” Edrelle shouted, stretching her arms before her, walking around the long table towards the dwarf with as non-threatening a smile she could manage.

“No,” Cal said, whipping at Edrelle with a towel. “Oy, no!” She shouted again, poorly suppressing a laugh and running away as Edrelle chased her round the table. Elf legs won the footrace, and soon Cal was trapped in a deep hug from Edrelle. “Ugh. I’m still pissed at you, you know.” She said, wrapping her arms back around the elf. ‘Success!’ Edrelle thought. They pulled away from each other, and Edrelle turned to Cozca, who had bent to pick up a cat from the floor and was affectionately rubbing it between the ears with one of her big fingers, smiling down gently at it. Edrelle cleared her throat, and the gentle giant looked up, the kitten in her arms meowing at the sudden cessation of head rubs.

“This is my long-time associate,” Edrelle said, leaning her elbow on the shoulder of Cal, much to the dwarf’s chagrin, “Orichalcum Goodwine.”

“Yes, please call me Cal.” The dwarf slid out from Edrelle’s elbow, and the elf decided to hold the pose, tensing up her muscles to lean on air. She grinned at the Southlander and Dwarf, who rolled their eyes at her showing off, before returning to a neutral position, a little embarrassed. For some reason, Cal brought out her most childish behavior.

“I’m Cozca! It’s good to meet you, Cal Goodwine ma’am! You have a beautiful home!” Coz said, dropping the cat and shaking Cal’s hand. ‘Not that polite you awkward buffoon…’ Edrelle thought, her jaw tightening.

“Cozca, hmm?” Cal gripped the giant’s hand, pulling her down a bit and pushing the Southlander's sleeve up to reveal the skin of her arm, dyed coal-black by the tattoos. The giant was obviously surprised by this, and she yelped a bit when yanked down to eye level with the dwarf. “What clan do you hail from, Cozca?”

“I-I’m sorry?” The giant sputtered.

“Your kin, Cozca. You’re short for a Sutherland, and from what I’ve heard…” Cal pushed the sleeve up further, turning the arm over to count the thin stripes of unmarked flesh just below the Southlander’s elbow.

“Cal, that’s enough. She’s a business partner. On The Project. I didn’t bring her here for you to study. We’re going through with phase three.”

“Pity.” The dwarf released Cozca, who rubbed her sore wrist, pushing the sleeve of her cloak back down over her inked skin. Cal turned back to Edrelle. “She is quite the specimen though.” The dwarf said, nodding a head back to Cozca, who stared at Edrelle with a “What the fuck?” look. Edrelle back at her with as apologetic a look her face could muster, which probably came off as patronizing and sardonic. She wasn’t good at apologies yet. Getting good at them wasn’t on her list of priorities, either.

“We should get on with The Project. I’ve obtained the key, and–”

“No, no, won’t have any of that yet.” Cal said, waving Edrelle off. The elf bit her tongue. She hated when Cal did that, because she never had a good enough reason not to obey her. “Have a seat, it’s been six years since you disappeared. We need to catch up. Do you want some fudge?”

“You make fudge now?” Edrelle scoffed. During the first two stages of The Project, she had known Cal to have probably one of the highest body counts of any self-proclaimed scholar; a deadly wielder of the pollax whose skill Edrelle had yet to see matched by any other dwarf. And now she was offering them fudge.

“I make lots of things. Ever since Tnek and his family moved back in, I’ve had to turn my skills more towards patisserie than brawling. Time may stand still for the elves, but for us, it’s our most fleeting and treasured resource.” She pulled out another chair at the end of the table and gestured to Cozca. “Sorry about that, mate. Misunderstanding. Here, have a seat. Sturdiest one in the house, for you.” She said, rushing to the kitchen, patting down her flowery apron, and Edrelle noticed that the once heavily-thewed dwarf was filling out with healthy curves, a sight that she didn't exactly mind seeing from behind.

Cozca sat in the chair as lightly as she could manage, and it still groaned a bit under her weight. Edrelle failed to hide a smirk, and Tnek grunted from his corner of the room. He had nested in a pile of huge pillows and had lit a pipe of what smelled like ürd. Edrelle hoped for a secondary high, as she had left her own paraphernalia in the cart. Cal returned from the kitchen with a plate of fudge bars, and Cozca seemed to immediately warm up to the dwarf, which was the natural reaction to anyone bearing fudge.

“Scions of the Fifth Daughter, by the way.” The giant said, biting into a bar of fudge and leaning down to pet the cat who had returned to sidle up against her leg. “I’m surprised you even know about the tribes, most of the time–”

“Knowing things is my business, Cozca!” Cal interrupted, sitting next to the giant and biting into a fudge bar with her usual ferocity. “Fifth Daughter, huh? Hm…” She looked down at her fudge bar, while Cozca looked back with her usual dumb doe-eyed expression. Edrelle nibbled at a bar of fudge. She still couldn’t believe Cal had made it, or that it was so godsdamn good. The dwarf looked back up. “D’you want some milk? The fudge isn’t too rich, is it?”

“It's perfect, but I'd never say no to milk.” Cozca said. She reached behind her and took off her sword, leaning it against the table, and shaking out of her wet cloak. Edrelle had taken her hood down as soon as she had come inside, but her own expensive cloak was aquaphobic, and was already dry. Besides, she was only wearing a bandeau as a top, and didn’t want to have the prudish Southlander glaring at her to cover up if she took off her cape.

“Cozca.” Cal chirped familiarly from the small underground kitchen, rain pattering against the deep-reaching skylight bored into the stone roof of the house as she heated up a small saucepan of milk on her coal-burning range.

“Hm?” The giant looked up from the fudge in one hand and cat in the other.

“What do you know about Sutherland mythology and history?”

“Not as much as I should, I’m afraid. My great-grandmother went senile before I was born, and she was our family’s threadspinner. The few tales she did recall, I have memorized, though.”

“Ah! That's fantastic—I’m a bit of a collector when it comes to the histories of the different folk from around Aska, you see. I have most of them, and I intend to anthologize every story I can find. I have a theory that we can glean what precisely happened to the old folk if we just connect the dots between each religion.”

Edrelle decided to affect a yawn to interrupt. “I gave you all my notes on High Elf religion.”

“Yes, and it was a fascinating insight into history. To consider the Faclidæ as sacred sites, and the Old Folk akin to demigods, rather than seeing them as weak men cursed by hubris, as all the other people south of Elder's Ridge do, is a remarkable divergence from common thought. High Elves have an even older memory than the dwarves, as well…it makes me wonder if even they predate the scouring of the world.”

“I’ve told you all I know. I was a military brat, Cal, not a historian or zealot. I even stole a few secrets for you.” Edrelle said with no small measure of irritation. Goodwine was the type to squeeze a stone for every last drop of blood.

“Faclidæ?” Cozca asked, and Edrelle welcomed the interruption.

“Ah yes,” Cal passed Cozca a mug of warm milk before pulling off her apron and hanging it over a chair. “A common mistranslation during the Age of Kings was to drop one of the Oldspeak glyphs—we’ll call it “Falk," after its counterpart in Stonescry—when attempting to transliterate Oldspeak into Middish. Here, lemme find an example.” Cal began rummaging through the mountain of papers on the dining room table. “You see, what was translated as “Akled” is actually more accurately called a “Faclid” by the Old Folk. 'Akled' is a misnomer that has been in the common tongue for millennia. Only by my efforts are things finally changing to be more accurate. Here we are.” The dwarf triumphantly pulled a piece of parchment, stained with coffee, from her collection.

“This has always been your least attractive quality, Cal.” Edrelle said, finally finishing her first bar of fudge and grabbing a second, while Cozca seemed to be politely holding back after finishing hers (‘More for me then’). “You are always so caught up in pointless minutiae. The only people who would appreciate your correct naming of the Akleds died ten-thousand years ago.”

“But it’s important, for historical accuracy. Here. What do you make of these translations, Cozca? Surely a more cultured woman will appreciate the work I’ve been doing.” The dwarf pushed the paper into the Southlander’s hands.

“Oh,” replied Cozca with a polite smile, “I can’t read.”

Cal tossed the paper down onto the table with defeat as Edrelle laughed. "So much for more cultured!” She bit into her second bar of fudge.

“Fuck you, Ed.” The dwarf said in return, before looking back at Cozca. “What does she even have you doing, then?”

“I’m her muscle, I think.” The giant responded. Cal shot Edrelle a glare, but said nothing on it. She walked back around the end of the table, picking up Cozca’s sword. She didn’t ask for permission before pushing it out of its locket, inspecting the fuller and grip.

“Interesting sword.”

“You think so?” Cozca looked a bit surprised. “What kind of interesting?” Edrelle, in spite of herself, leaned forward a bit too, the sound of pec in return for a good investment ringing in her ears.

“Well, it’s interesting that you’re using one like this, as a Sutherland. Where’s your siderite blade?” The dwarf looked quizzically at the giant, and Edrelle’s excitement flagged.

The giant’s seemed to wane as well, and she deflated a bit as she replied. “That’s what I’m working with Edrelle for, I need her thievery services for getting it back.”

Cal looked at Edrelle, then investigated the holes in the fuller. “Interesting design choices. I don’t think I can exactly place its make. Tnek?” She looked to the corner. Tnek simply pulled the pipe from his mouth, and grunted, with a bit of plaintive a whine in it.

“They’ll be home soon, Tnek. No way they’re staying out at the workshop in this weather.” She assured the dwarf, who quickly enfolded his mouth around his pipe without another word—or grunt, for that matter. “Sorry,” Orichalcum turned back to her guests. “My brother’s not the talkative type. And I've made up for it by never being quite able to shut up. Now, where were we?”

“The sword?” Cozca ventured.

“We call it Aster.” Edrelle added, relishing the glare that Cozca shot her.

“No, no, before that. Also, ‘Aster’?” The dwarf looked confused.

Cozca pulled out the dagger she had gotten from Danvers. “And this is ‘Dis’.”

“Ah, that makes sense.” Cal said, sheathing the sword and propping it back up against the table. “Ah! Religions of Aska. You know the Orcs? They believe that gods of war fashioned them from clay, to be the perfect soldiers. After a few millennia of being pushed around like pieces on a board, the orcs rebelled, and, badasses that they were, killed their own gods in a revolt. Now they pay remembrance those that led the uprising against the gods of war, and the peace that it brought them. I theorize that the people that they interpreted as their gods may have actually been the last of the Old Folk, creating them with the alchemy of the Akleds to serve as bodyguards and warriors to retake their land. They built the Orcs for war, but the Orcs had enough of servitude, and destroyed the last few remaining Old Folk to survive the Scouring to free themselves from the bloodshed they were forced to partake in. Which is why they haven’t involved themselves in many wars; they hadn’t been in a war for over three-thousand years when they took up arms against the High Elves in the uprising. The Orcs and Sutherlands saved the coalition, and the alliances formed then are the reason why we call it the Last War.” Cal said, with a bit of sarcasm.” Then again, we may as well call every war the Last War, for the good it does us.” She added, in a darker tone.

“Well, I’m glad we did, if it meant freeing everyone from the High Elves.” Cozca said, with a withering look at Edrelle.

“Yes, well, not all High Elves are monsters. I ran a sort of intelligence network in the last few years of the war, using the ancient Dwarf tunnels to ferry information and refugees around the Midden, and if not for some very brave High Elves who put themselves in danger for the greater good, Tnek and I would not be here, nor would many in this city.” Cal explained diplomatically, sinking back into her chair. “All people are different people, after all. No one such thought or life is the same between anyone, Elf, Dwarf, Orc, or other.”

“You sound like my father.” Cozca said with a smile.

“Well, your father sounds very wise.”

Edrelle thought this was her best chance to interrupt. “Your father was just another dog in this fight. Just because he killed some of my kin in the war doesn’t make him some kind of hero. He was just some asshole who you’ve decided was the good guy just because he was captured long enough to pump you into some North-woman while a prisoner of war.” She sneered. She would have felt bad, but she was tired of hearing about Cozca’s stupid father. ‘If he was such a good father, he wouldn’t have let his daughter go wandering around the Midden alone, looking for a mother she doesn’t know,’ She reasoned to herself.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Cozca growled in a low voice. This surprised Edrelle. She had expected the giant to explode with rage, but this was something else. She decided to press further.

“Oh? Didn’t you say you were here in the Midden to find your mother, Eceba Lârs? The woman who sacked Indülon? The human woman who raided the great archives and slaughtered a city of dwarves? Doesn’t sound like your father was a very great man if he fell in love with such a monster. Sounds like he’s just another flawed, short-lived human, and these wars are all fought by flawed, short-lived humans, dying over ego and greed and bloodlust. At the very least, the High Elves had vision.” A sneer crept across her face as she saw the cogs turn in Cozca’s brain, saw her working up a response. But again, in her eyes was that frost-bitten look again, as if the Southlander was going weep a mournful tear for Edrelle’s sake, for some godsforsaken reason.

Tnek groaned from his corner, and Cal suddenly slammed her hand against the table, and both Edrelle and Cozca jumped with surprise. “That’s enough! Tnek lost his arm at Indülon. Edrelle, don’t you provoke my brother, or the guest you brought to my house. Cozca…” The woman studied the Southlander’s face for a moment, then dropped her gaze, sagging into her chair. “I guess I see the resemblance. I saw Lârs at the treaty signing.” She sighed, and Cozca’s hand went up to her face. Her cheeks were red, and her eyes looked wet.

“I knew she was…not a good person, when my father told me who my mother was. I didn't know about what she—if I had a choice, I wouldn’t wear her face. If I knew what she did to the dwarves, to this family, I wouldn’t have–” She choked and sputtered, and cleared her throat to stop her voice from breaking, and Edrelle very suddenly felt the guilt that accompanied whenever she ‘overdid it’. “Would that she weren’t my mother, but–”

Orichalcum held up a hand to silence the giantess. “Nobody can choose their parentage. All people are different people. You are Cozca, not Eceba. Yes, she did terrible things to the dwarves. And that she’s your mother does put a damper on my appraisal of your father’s wisdom. Not everyone has the vision of a High Elf, but maybe that’s because the rest of us don’t live atop an ivory tower.” Cal shot Edrelle a sharp look, but turned back to Cozca, taking the bigger woman’s hand and patting it gently. “You’ll be alright, dear. It’s fine, you have done nothing wrong. Have some more fudge.” She said, pushing another bar into the Southlander’s hand and patting it again. Cozca took a bite and had some of her milk. They sat in silence for a few moments, Edrelle desperately fighting the urge to gorge herself on more fudge, if only to bury her guilt in chocolate. She looked at Tnek–he had the worried, darting eyes of an anxious terrier while he smoked his pipe and feigned relaxation. She looked back at Cal, who she had never known to be so gentle in the near two decades they had known one another as she had just been to Cozca. Cal scowled back, mouthing the word ‘Apologize’ to her, and Edrelle sighed.

“Sorry, Coz. I just…don’t have a good relationship with fathers, so every time someone tells me they had a great dad, I just…I dunno if they’re lying, or if they’re trying to get under my skin. Just a personal thing. Didn’t have anything to do with you, I’m sure your old man is a great guy.” Edrelle forced herself not to try for any expression that would be interpreted as malicious and sardonic. She looked to Cal for approval, and the dwarf looked back with a modicum less rage, which she took for ‘That was the best apology I have ever heard you attempt’, which was true in any case. Cozca nodded gravely, and continued drinking from the little mug meant for beings that barely came up to her waist in height. Edrelle forced down a laugh and hid it behind a bar of fudge. She looked back to Cal. “Tangentially related, but unrelated enough to constitute a much-needed subject change—is your brother still in the prosthetics business?”

The dwarf raised an eyebrow. “Yes, he is. You’ve never taken an interest in his work, though. Why, Tnek’s wearing his latest model.” She nodded past Edrelle and into the corner at Tnek, who sort-of waved back with his metallic hand. It didn’t articulate like a real arm, but Edrelle hardly needed the dexterity of a hand. She just missed having an ankle.

“Good, because I’ve got a bit of a scratch I think he should look at…” Edrelle announced, and, having noticed she got Cal’s attention, dramatically pulled up the left leg of her pants and plopped her peg leg down onto the table, leaning back into the chair. Cal nearly fell from her chair as she got up.

“Gods and mountains! Ed, what happened to your leg!?” She shouted, running around the table. There was the Cal Goodwine she’d wanted to see. The headstrong researcher, the clever spy, the skilled warrior, and the caring friend. Most importantly: it was the Cal Goodwine who only had eyes for her.

“Got in a scrap with a pack of viper-dogs. Dodged them, but one of them managed to nibble me a bit on the leg. I made it out alright, but before it could heal, I got caught up in a street fight in Oste, and they couldn’t save much below the shin. Coz’ was there too, at some point.” She said, testing the attention span of the dwarf. Cozca gave Edrelle a beleaguered look, but said nothing.

“Oh, oh my poor Edrelle…what have those human savages done to you…” Cal said. 'Success!' The dwarf hadn’t even given Cozca’s inclusion in the story a second thought. With gentle precision, Cal unbuckled the prosthesis from Edrelle’s leg, setting it aside and pushing the leg of her pants up to inspect the stump at the upper shin, the heavily scarred and reddened skin that ran up to the knee. “Such a crude device. Bend.” The dwarf commanded, a calloused palm on either side of the knee. Edrelle followed the order, bending her knee, wincing a bit at the sore skin stretching. “Hmm…yeah, Rund will fix you up with a proper leg, with a matching boot as well for your other foot. Nobody’d know the difference. He could even enamel it to match your skin tone.”

“That won’t be necessary. Honestly, I’ve gotten used to the peg-leg, it’s just so damn unwieldy in a fight.” Edrelle said, smiling and looking back into the bronze-colored eyes of Cal. Even after twenty years, she still made her feel different when she looked at her like that, a vulnerability that Edrelle found nobody else could bring out in her. They held one another’s gaze for a moment, and Edrelle found that she did not ever want the dwarf to remove her warm hands from her skin, nor remove her gaze from her own.

“I’m sorry, did you say ‘Rund?’” Cozca unmercifully interrupted, and Edrelle would hold it against the Southlander for ruining that perfect moment until both their deaths. Cal turned away to answer her, but as soon as she did, the door burst open.

Wind, rain, and three dwarves quickly swept inside. They pushed the door closed, and, looking down from the atrium at the top of the entrance stairs was Orichalcum’s brother-in-law, with his son and daughter. “We got guests, Cal? Didn’t know, should have spruced up at the workshop…fat load of good that would have done me in the rain, but, y’know they say it’s the effort that counts.” He said, shaking out of his cloak and hooking the garment by the door. He was a strange dwarf; rail-thin by dwarvish standards, covered in scars from head-to-toe, and wearing a clipped beard; a trait often associated with more feminine dwarves. His graying auburn hair was in a ponytail that had become undone in the wind. He pushed the wet hair back out of his face and wiped his foggy gold-rimmed glasses on his wet petticoat, which only served to smear more water on them, as he jogged down the stairs. “Hey honey.” He said, pecking Tnek on the cheek, before replacing his glasses on the scarred, un-roguishly crooked nose that crept from his face like a button on a doll. He clapped is large hands together. “Alright, one new face, one old. Hello Edrelle, good to see you again.” He looked at her stump leg. “Looks like you came for me this time instead of Cal.” He laughed in good humor, but nobody else seemed to find it very funny. It seemed more like everyone remembered the circumstances surrounding Edrelle’s last visit and departure six years ago with much less comedy than him. He turned to Cozca, not letting his joke falling flat halt his mood. “And our new face! I hope it’s not rude of me to say you look familiar–I’ve only met one other Sutherland, so you’ll forgive me any rudeness in that, won’t you? What is your name, my friend?”

Cozca stood, her full height more imposing in the dwarf home. The cat that had been napping on the giant’s lap jumped away, brushing itself past Rund’s leg before scampering away towards Tnek, who was dumping the spent contents of his pipe into an ashtray next to him. “Corundum Lowtower?” Cozca said, her voice low.

“Oh that’s funny, we have the same name!” Rund said again, and again his joke fell flat.

“That’s Lowtower-Goodwine to you, waste-girl.” Tnek finally said his a surprisingly reedy voice. Everyone looked to him for a moment, the surprise at him actually speaking a small surprise to them, before looking back at the tense Southlander and smiling dwarf standing across one another in the living room.

“My name is Cozca, from the Scions of the Fifth Daughters of Axayoh in the Wasted Towers to the south. My father was Lex…he fought alongside you during the war.” She said in a trembling tone. Everyone was silent. Edrelle was half-expecting the Southlander to say ‘I have come here to kill you’ next and go for her knife, like a character in any good book would do, but instead when the giant moved, she knelt to wrap her arms around the dwarf. “He thanks you eternally, and I owe you my loyalty undying for your honor as his friend.” She said, and wept into the shoulder of the dwarf, who awkwardly patted her back, before returning the hug. Everyone else in the room let out a collective sigh of very confused relief.

“Loyalty undying is not necessary, child…gods, the man couldn’t have figured out how to send a letter? I’m sure it’s expensive from the Wastes but not that expensive.” Rund said, his voice a little tight from the strength of Cozca’s embrace.

“H-He…didn’t…know…where…y-you…went…a-after...” Cozca sobbed into the dwarf’s shoulder.

“Alright alright, I understand.” He said, rubbing her back until her grip on him loosened a bit. “Wasn't even sure the fool made it out alive…you know, he did a very brave thing, holding back those Northmen long enough for Cal to get us out through the tunnels. I’m glad to see he was still…productive after the war. How are your sisters?”

At this, Cozca wept louder, and he went ‘oof!’ in a choked tone as she ratcheted her strength down into her embrace. “Th-They're f-f-fine! I have one y-y-you wouldn’t have heard of, Ye-ye-eyetzi…” She continued shuddering and weeping.

“Godsdamn! That man just did not stop—ahem, child, how about we catch up over some food? You really shouldn’t be this broken up over a man you haven’t ever met…I mean, I only knew your father for a short time…” Rund said, his smile never fading. It took some pleading and cajoling, but they finally pried Cozca off of him. She blew her nose into Rund's handkerchief as they sat across from each other at the table, flanked by Saph and Cog, the twin son and daughter that he and Tnek had apparently adopted as teens in the first years of the war, and who were ridiculously close to their parents in age, Edrelle thought. Then again, she had a twenty year age gap with her own siblings on either side, so she didn’t think she was in a fair place to judge. She bent down to re-fasten the prosthetic foot back to her leg—she would have to get it inspected later, and the mood was thoroughly ruined for her now that she was no longer the center of attention.

She sighed, and Cal caught her eye. The dwarf motioned for the elf to follow, and Edrelle’s heart raced a bit as she followed her old flame into her study, one flight of stairs up from the kitchen. Inside was a half-domed roof, rain pattering against the expertly shaped glass. It was such a relaxing room to her, and the equally relaxing weather made her want to curl up under the desk and sleep, as she had done when House Goodwine was their base of operations during the planning and executions of stages 1 and 2 of The Project.

“You’ve changed it.” Edrelle said. The room had been maps, weapons, and intelligence missives when she had last been inside. Now each surface was covered in books–she knew that Cal was a bibliophile, but this was a bit much, even for her. What had once been a case of weapons was a bookshelf; where once a trusty pollax leant against one wall, now there was a stack of books taller than the dwarf herself. The desk, where they had once had a detailed map of The Midden covered in little pins and a dagger buried into the heart of Elder’s Peak (Cal had thought it was so hot how Edrelle had stabbed the hand-drawn simulacrum of her homeland with such rage), was pushed against the wall, open scrolls and ledgers on it, spent inkpots and pens haphazardly crammed into the one free corner of space.

“Things change, Ed.” Cal sighed, sinking into a more-or-less chair-shaped pile of books.

The little gray cat had followed them upstairs, and seemed to have found common mood with Edrelle, immediately hopping up onto a stack of books for a nap, then, finding its space too small, reaching out to the stack of books next to it until it lay across both piles of literature, its belly hanging low across the chasm between both stacks like a rope bridge.

“Is that comfortable for you, buddy?” Edrelle asked, and the cat responded with a meow before closing its eyes. She laid herself down on the dark wooden floor, looking up at Cal. It was a lovely view from her back, the bluish light of the storm outside casting Cal's strong features into statuesque relief. “Shave you?” She asked with a wink.

“Do what?” Cal always liked having Edrelle repeat her requests.

“Do you want me to shave your face? You have a shadow going. Could grab the straight razor, and y’know–” She drew her index finger across her cheekbone to illustrate. “Like I used to do?”

Cal got up, stepping over Edrelle and gazing down at the elf as she laid before her, thin elf body helpless below the powerful dwarf. She loved this view so much, and she knew Cal did too—looking down upon smug little elf that was always wrapped around her finger. They smiled benignly together for a blessed moment.

“Or do you want Cozca to shave you?” Edrelle had said it before she could think, and Cal’s smile soured.

“Why would you say that? She’s half my age, and I just met her.”

Edrelle closed her eyes. She didn’t want the image of Cal’s scowl in her head. Not a genuine one. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. You two got on so well together, I didn’t…I was jealous, for some reason.”

“Why would you be jealous?” It was a simple question, and it was always Cal's simple questions that Edrelle could not answer. She kept her eyes closed.

“I don’t know. I don’t know why I say things sometimes, I don’t know why I get jealous like that. I’m sorry.”

“I’m not yours to get jealous over.”

“I know…”

“I’m not yours to possess.”

“I know, Cal. I know.” Edrelle affirmed again. She couldn’t get the image of her scowl out of her mind, so she opened her eyes, to see that her old flame was looking down on her with an even worse look written across her noble countenance: disappointment. She got up. It was slow. Despite always wanting to show off for Cal, she didn’t want to startle her, or the cat, with the smooth quickness she was capable of. She didn’t have the energy to jump to her feet (foot) either. Her bones felt like lead. She turned to the dwarf, and approached. Cal backed one step away, and Edrelle stopped. “I want you with me on this one. I need you to be there, during stage three. When we finally open the Akled.” She said. She wanted to say so much more, but that was all she could manage. She could never, in the two or three-hundred years she had left to live, articulate what she truly wanted to say to the dwarf.

“As what? What will I be to you when you have me there at your side, opening up the Faclid?” Thankfully for Edrelle, Cal always knew what to say, even though 'Faclid' was stupid and never going to catch on.

“Whatever we were before.” Edrelle stepped forward again, and Cal didn’t step away this time. “I want things to be…the same between us. Before I ruined it, like the idiot I am. You’ve always loved this idiot, though, haven’t you? You still do?”

“I'm sorry, Ed. I still do love you, but whatever we had, it died the night you left, six years ago.”

“But we can start over again, right?” She took Cal’s hand, and interlaced her fingers with the dwarf’s. “Like we always have? We can be…together when we finally finish what we started?”

Cal gently squeezed against Edrelle’s grip. “Not this time. I’m not thirty anymore. I’m always going to be grateful for what you did for us during the war, but now…House Goodwine is established. For the first time since my grandparents lived here, it’s not just a base of operations. It’s a home, for people I love. I’m getting too old for running around the Midden, much less…for you.” She looked up at Edrelle with that thing she hated the most—pity. It was worse than disappointment. It was worse than if Cal had looked at her with burning hatred, and spat in her eye. Pity from the walking dead; pity from fools whose grandchildren she would outlive. It was always the damned, frail, temporal beings of this world that dared pity her, as if she deserved it. It was crippling when coming from the damned, frail, temporal being she needed more than any other. And she would never deserve that pity, not if she tried to atone for her sins every last second she had left.

“I don’t care how old you get. I’ll never care. You light my fire like nobody else, like no elf or anyone can. We’ve had only two decades of adventures and you make me act more foolish than anyone else has in any other period of my life. I'll never care how old and gray you become, just as long as you do it next to me, and I can love you like I did when you were thirty.” Edrelle rasped.

“I can’t, Ed. Not this time. Not after six years of silence. Things can’t be the same as they were.”

Cal’s hand had become a limp weight in Edrelle’s. She dropped her hand, her fingertips playing along the pads of the dwarf’s for a moment, and looked down, past Cal, at the floor. She tried to smile, but found that, for the first time in years, she couldn’t force one. Not this time. She heard laughter from downstairs, Cozca’s and Rund’s. Cozca had managed to forge a connection with a man she had only just met, while Edrelle was struggling to maintain one with the person she was pretty sure she loved; the only person in one-hundred and thirty years who had ever loved her back. She turned away, the tips of her ears were tinged pink with rage and heartbreak. She resisted the urge to push over the two towers of books the cat slept on. She felt a hand caress her shoulder.

“Ed…” Cal’s voice had taken on that new gentle tone that domestic life had lent her.

“Yeah?” She hated how choked she sounded. The corners of her eyes stung with tears.

“You can’t pull the past down with you. You can’t keep things from changing, from aging the same way you do.”

“I know that. I have to live with it. I chose this life down here, and I have to deal with the consequences of my actions.” She was so full of emotion she couldn’t breathe. She forced herself to inhale deeply through her nose. It didn't help. The air didn't feel real.

A laugh that reminded Edrelle of tinkling bells sounded behind her. “If I didn’t know you better, I would say that sounded like emotional growth.”

“Nah,” Edrelle said, wiping her eyes with her sleeve before turning back to Cal, forcing her lopsided smirk and damning herself for allowing it to falter. “I’m the same heartless bitch you’ve always known, Cal. I’ll be the same forever.”

Cal laughed again—that beautiful, musical laugh that made Edrelle wonder if there were any other reason left to exist for—and pressed her head into Edrelle’s chest, hugging her deeply. Edrelle didn’t say a damn word. She didn’t want to ruin this moment like every other moment she’d ruined.

“I’ll get my straight razor. In the meantime…we need to talk about how long you’re staying, to make you the prosthetic. And the boots. And to go over phase three.”

“Don’t go. Not yet.” Edrelle tightened her grip on the dwarf in panic. “I can shave you later. Was thinking I'd stay a few days.”

“A few days should be fine. I’ll get your old bedroll out, I know how you like to sleep in the study. Especially when it rains.”

“Mmmh.” Edrelle answered intelligently, burying her nose in Cal’s hair.

“My beard’s getting all scratchy against your cloak, Ed. I need to grab my razor if you’re doing this.” The dwarf said as the elf drank in the smell of her hair. Nutmeg, chocolate, and petrichor. Perfection.

“Yeah we should get right on that.” Edrelle answered. Neither made any effort to move. They held each other for a few more minutes, Edrelle trying her best to ignore the conversation from downstairs, focusing instead on the heartbeat of the woman she loved; the woman who could never be hers.