Day 371
I wake at 8 AM, early for me. The kitchen is buried in dishes in various states of completion as my love bustles about mixing ingredients. As I settle into an armchair she joins me, offering a small fried pastry.
It is crispy and fried and bursting with bright citrus flavour even more vibrant than the oranges at home. It's delectable and I keep my eye out for more as I switch to a wooden chair in the kitchen so I can be near her while she finishes up.
We talk as she cooks (and as I steal food whenever I can get away with it).
The way that dwarves prepare their food is meticulous and full of artistry. Much like elves take years perfecting something, dwarves will devote much time and effort to the construction and presentation of a dish. Each Clan has a flavour that is unique to them and infuses many of their favourite dishes, Lyssa tells me. The Smiting Hammer Clan is known for intense heat while the Deep Sea Spear Clan prepares mostly freshwater fish. The Purple Mountain Cloud Clan prepares food so light and airy that it almost melts in the mouth.
This leads into further questions about the dwarves. I know we'll have time to go over the cultural details later but I want to hear about her life and the people she's met.
About half of her time has been spent amongst the dwarves who keep to their strict castes while the other half has been in the Valley. There are too many Clans to count and they are further stratified into castes and families within castes. In general their culture is quite rigid and social movement is extremely limited. While it might be possible for a single dwarf to ascend to a higher caste they would need to leave their birth family and be adopted into a new one. You cannot bring your people with you and your new family will always see the ghost of your past on you.
In the Valley dwarves keep their Clans but are casteless. Lyssa herself has been adopted into the Rock family of the Star Ascendants Clan. I inquire about their food, of course. It is rich and long-lasting, apparently.
As delicious as the meal is, divided into thirty different morsels each with a different taste, I find myself rushing through it before I catch myself. It's silly...there's no need for us to sit at a table. I drag Lyssa back to the sitting area so that we can eat with our legs entangled.
The Valley itself is a dense, heavy area of magic. The dwarves there know it was a place of many battles long ago but nothing more. The silver spire that gathers lightning and smites intruders was there before the dwarves. The outside of the Valley can be traversed without trouble but if you were to take the same journey on the interior it would take three times as long - some magic makes it much larger on the inside than can be seen from the outside. And yet more is hidden from the outside as well. Lyssa tells me of enormous floating islands holding cities atop them, the largest of which is the size of the Imperial capital. There are well over a million people living there, not at all like the vague numbers I'd heard from Torrick and the Ventarri rumours.
And they have a culture of learning! She tells me of great and powerful schools that wield enormous political power as well as knowledge. Various schools of magic, of swordplay, archery, and more. I can't wait to see it. I can't wait to have correspondence with universities all across the land.
Some of their schools are devoted to a particular practice of magic or style of fighting and still others are dedicated to the life of a particular dwarven hero. Legendary patron heroes whose lives are to be emulated garner worship and disciples determined to follow in their footsteps.
"I've become the Sacred Lightning Hero," Lyssa says tiredly, "The Storm was so overwhelming and so many were lost in the early days that I had to gather up whoever remained and shape them into people who could survive. They think I saved them all and they consider it a debt they can't repay,"
Dwarves lead from the front. Their most powerful lead armies and throw themselves into battle first. When the fight is too great it means that their heroes are lost first. And they still consider this heroism. People venerate a glorious death and even seek it out if the time is right.
The most horrifying things I saw were the widows of fallen heroes. If they didn't have children they made it clear that their path was to cover themselves in glory so that they were worthy to see their love again when they died. They throw their lives away.
They know too much about how to die and not enough about how to live.
I wonder if dwarves would think me a coward. It is elvish to lead from far back in the army's ranks, from high ground or a point of command. How else could we see the ebb and flow of the fight and spend our soldiers' lives respectfully?
At home, of course, Lyssa is accustomed to being in my shadow and standing in her own power when appropriate. Amongst the dwarves she has become worshipped in a way that stifles her. Hundreds want to be her disciples, learn from her, even marry her.
At this, I laugh. She's told people that they could never make a suitable partner for her unless they could defeat her one true love. In my absence she's had Randall face them instead and he has beaten them all handily. I think I owe that man a drink.
"You know, for a while I was worried of what you might be like when I finally found you. You had told us you didn't know how much you would remember. I told myself that if you didn't remember me I'd make you fall in love with me all over again,"
"Yours was the first voice I heard when I woke here. But I would certainly have fallen in love all over again,"
"It seems like you've gotten softer here, but not weaker. You speak of everyone with gentleness - elf, human, fae, dwarf, troll,"
I tell her more of the War of Fire and what I think our real goal here must be. It cannot just be about the Collective, though I intend to repay everything I owe them. We are here to put out the fire and remember all that we could have been. As I describe the different finds of fae and the war that led to the fae of seasons being the only kind remaining, she wonders hesitantly about my lifespan. I think this will be something we deal with much, much later. For now I simply tell her that I'm still an elf, still with centuries ahead of us.
The full story can wait.
For now we have three days of just the two of us and nothing else.
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