Cold. And pain.

"Think Moss is saying to keep him warm..."

"-Wish we could actually talk to them-!"

"Köinzell." Artur's voice. A smith's strong hands holding him; though he couldn't feel the roughness of Artur's hands, just a vague, painful pressure. "Try to drink something. All right? Just a little..."

Sweet. And salt. Grit; like ground cuttlebone?

So cold.

But that vibration through his skull was Dart humming, and she didn't want him to die.

Exhausted, he fell back into the darkness.

"I've never seen anything like this." Nursing Gurye at her breast, Robin watched Dart and Moss flutter around the warm nest they'd built in the forge, and frowned. "I don't think Moss has, either. He's guessing almost as much as we are."

"Almost?" Artur rubbed the knots in her shoulders, and glanced at Parsifal getting his sister to gulp down a sandwich before she dropped off into an exhausted slumber. Corcoran was already out on the small cot Artur had set up for anyone who had to keep a watch on Köinzell. Between the four of them they'd gotten Robin to rest a bit, but not everyone in the village had bounced back from the sorcerer's gas or the stings easily. Elsi wasn't the only one napping where and when she could. Everyone in the village who had any healer's training had been nursing those with lingering coughs and horrors. The fae children in particular had been slow to recover; apparently enough gas to put down their elders was almost enough to kill littler ones.

In some cases, it'd been more than almost.

Artur winced at the thought of last week's funerals, turning his mind deliberately to those who'd lived. Miss Cord was hosting most of the ill fae herself, much to his amazement. And their spiders. Gwen was alternately squeaking at all the legs and running herself ragged making sure tiny fairies stayed warm and cared-for. The sickly little girl had never looked happier.

When everyone's a bit stronger, I'll ask Cord about that, Artur decided. And maybe tease her for Gormbarkan stubbornness being weak against cute little fairy babes. But not now. "So you think he's ways of knowing something about Köinzell we don't?"

"They can feel magic more than we do," Robin nodded, burping Gurye gently. "I think that's the only thing that kept Moss hoping, when... the dead flesh started coming off."

For a moment, Artur regretted getting his own sandwich. Just the thought was enough to roil a man's stomach.

Though Robin said it was actually a hopeful sign. Humans who'd been this badly poisoned would just die. But what she'd gleaned from Dart hinted that Köinzell might be made of sterner stuff. That instead of giving up and dying, his body had rejected the poisoned flesh; walling off wasp-stung tissue into layers of skin and muscle and shattered bone, and shedding them to save the rest of him.

The leavings had been enough to make even their tanner vomit, even though he'd never been about when the fairies dragged Köinzell's bloody carcass out into the moonlight to heal. But that bloody wreck was still breathing. And so long as he was, Artur was determined not to fail him.

"If only we could talk," Robin whispered, rocking Gurye asleep. "Really talk, not just guess at feelings and images."

"You're doing all you can, love." Artur kept rubbing, slow and gentle. "Köinzell knows that. Gods, if anyone's blaming themselves, he is. I'd bet you a week's salt he thinks if he'd been faster, Simon would be alive."

"We couldn't have come any faster," Robin admitted, eyes almost tearing. "We had to make the smoke-bombs, if we hadn't had those you all would have-"

"Shh. Robin. I know."

Wings thrummed. Dart hovered in front of Robin, then perched on her arm to peer up like a curious owlet.

"You must talk to each other somehow," Robin mused. "You understand us. And Köinzell knows what you're saying-"

Dart held up a hand, and shook her head.

"He doesn't?" Artur would have started, but that might have woken Gurye. "But he seems to understand you so well."

Dart smiled, and patted her hand over her heart. Pointed to Köinzell's nest, and tapped her hand again.

"So Jakob was right, he feels you?" Robin frowned. "But if he's fae, why can't he speak the way you do to each other?"

Dart's smile dimmed. She gestured toward Artur: give me your hand.

Curious, he reached around Robin, and held it out in grabbing range.

Dart pointed toward her ears, and held out a hand to wiggle her fingers. Pointed toward his ears, and then his hand. Stepped forward, wrapping her right hand around his index finger, then pulled his ring finger against it with her left.

"Artur?" Robin said softly.

This close, he could feel just a flicker of the images Köinzell had always described, warm with the pulse of Dart's heart. "Fae. And human. And fae. And human," the smith said quietly. "The sorcerer thought Köinzell was a creation."

Dart yanked her hands away, back stiff with indignation.

"Easy, lass. We both know he was wrong," Artur nodded. "But in a way he was onto something, wasn't he? That's why the poor lad's such a mess. The longer he's with us, and you, the better he's gotten. But call on that magic of his and he starts going to pieces again. He's part fae and part human, and the two sides haven't been getting along, have they?"

Dart took a deep breath. And nodded.

"How's that even possible?" Parsifal joined their little huddle, Elsi blinking blearily as she hung onto his shoulder and a crust of bread, evidently forcing herself to stay awake to learn about her most serious patient. "You either have elf blood, or you don't. You can't point to your ears and say that part of you is fae. It doesn't work that way..." Parsifal trailed off as green eyes stared at him. "Does it?"

Dart was silent, unmoving. Winced, and flew off toward the nest and Moss.

"Does it?" Parsifal repeated, shuddering as he looked at them. "Human bodies don't work that way!"

"They don't," Elsi agreed. "But you remember Uncle Artur's stories. Things patched together by Wischtech, things that shouldn't be real." She paled. "And if it can work that way for fairies - no wonder the sorcerers want them!"

"Hush now," Artur warned her, mindful of the apprentice sleeping in the corner. Corcoran might yet grow into a good smith, but he didn't know if the boy would be family. And at his age, the youngster didn't need dangerous secrets. "We'll talk about this more when Köinzell can tell us." If he'd tell them anything. If what Artur thought was true - if he really were one of the Holy Lances - then the man had damn good reason not to want those who'd betrayed him to learn he yet lived. "My, that looks like quite the argument."

Dart was shaking her fist at Moss, and looked half a breath from either decking him or pulling out his hair. On his part the fairy healer was hefting a polished blackthorn staff a head taller than he was, as if he were about to put a patient to bed the hard way.

Dart pointed at Köinzell. Pointed at them. Spread her hands, pleading.

Moss heaved a sigh.

This is a bad idea, Artur translated that set of fairy shoulders as Dart leapt into the air and zoomed to Elsi to tug at her crust. But it might help my patient, so we'll do it.

"What do you want with my bread?" Elsi wondered, breaking off half the crust for the scout fairy.

Dart winked, and flew off to the nest, disappearing inside with Moss and the bread. Reappeared almost a minute later, flickering across the forge to land on Artur's hand.

He stared at the crust, now stained with five deliberate drops of red. "Ah. Lass. I'm thinking your friend Moss might be right, and this isn't the best idea."

Dart bit her lip. Tapped her hand over her heart. Deliberately tilted it toward him.

"Artur," Robin said, very quietly, "what happens to Right Here and Dart's colony if Köinzell dies?"

"He's not going to," Elsi said hotly.

"He's a swordsman. Unless he's lucky, he'll always lead a dangerous life," Robin told her firmly. "Right Here lost three souls from the sorcerer's evil, and the fairies lost four. But neither of us would have gotten anyone back alive if we hadn't worked together. We need each other as neighbors. And that means we have to be able to talk to each other." She gave Dart a rueful smile. "At least as well as Köinzell can understand you."

Dart nodded. And rested her gaze on Artur.

"Well, then," Artur sighed, breaking the bread into five pieces, one for each of his family. "If we're allies, then I trust you know what you're doing."

Ow. Ascheriit blinked, feeling like someone had sandpapered the backs of his eyeballs. I hurt everywhere.

...Where am I?

Iron and coal; the warm air smelled like the forge, though there was an odd tang of herbs in the air. And Artur didn't make a habit of keeping soft cloth and furs like those wrapped around him near the anvil. Sparks flew too easily.

Near him, he could hear soft breathing.

With an effort, he sat partway up. Blinked and squinted at golden braids just peeking out from under a blanket; one with an odd streak of white in the gold. "Elsi?"

"Hmm?" A hand crept out from under woven wool, reluctantly lifting away covers from bleary blue eyes. "'S not time to go change bandages yet- Köinzell?"

Blankets went one way. The cot clattered another. Strong arms wrapped around him in a trembling hug.

"It's all right," Ascheriit said gently, as Elsi hugged him and cried. "It's going to be okay."

Not that he was at all sure of that. Elsi's arms wrapped all the way around him, as if she were holding a child. And he felt far too light.

When did I get so small?

"I hope Parsifal's old clothes fit well enough." Robin ladled broth into everyone's bowls, adding more substantial fare to everyone else's. "We weren't sure what would be the right size."

"It's fine." Köinzell gripped his spoon carefully, drinking broth down a slow sip at a time.

Artur tried not to hold his breath, and nudged Parsifal to kick Corcoran under the table so the boy would stop staring. They had to begin as they meant to go on, and while Köinzell might look barely ten years old, the man inside that body was older than Parsifal. So they had to treat him as a man.

...Just a rather short one.

At least the bath helped.

Well, it'd helped as far as scrubbing off the last remnants of skating too close to death for anyone's comfort. And the clean blue tunic and pants made Köinzell look less twig-thin, and more as normal as a long-eared half-elf could; hiding the tiny feathered wings, setting off pale skin and braided white hair to the point the youngster looked downright...

Ah well. There was no getting around it. The youngster was cute.

He had the sneaking suspicion that was starting to sink in for Köinzell, too, if the way the tiny swordsman mournfully fingered the braids Elsi had put in was anything to go by. Artur wondered if the man had actually been grateful to see his scar in the mirror.

That stayed with him, when everything else healed. Why?

So many questions. And he meant to get some answers, if Köinzell didn't go face-down in the soup first.

Now if only Corcoran would stop sneaking glances at Köinzell as if he thought the half-fae might catch on fire.

Deliberately ignoring the youngster, Köinzell tore a small roll into bits, using them to sop up the last of his broth. "I think I remember killing the sorcerer. What happened afterward?"

"Oh, the usual," Parsifal said wryly. "Things catching on fire, wasps brought down by hunting spiders, the rest of us running around like chickens with sacks to beat to death anything that got out of the ruin after the fairies wrecked it." He paused. "We lost your sword."

"A sword's a sword. I can always forge another."

Artur tried not to let his brows bounce up too much at that. He was a good blacksmith, and a fair weapons-smith in a pinch, but he knew the work that went into making a sword. You could spend a lifetime and not think you'd mastered it.

But I know of one man who did.

His much smaller friend rested his hands on the table, as if no one had noticed thin fingers shaking. "How many died?"

"Seven," Robin said simply. "Three from Right Here. Four of Dart's people. And don't you start!" she raised her voice as Köinzell looked stricken. "You did what you could, and you almost died saving us. That was a Wischtech sorcerer! We're lucky any of us are alive."

"But I've-" Köinzell cut himself off, and looked away.

Aha. Put that together with what he already knew, and Artur thought he could guess what was behind that flash of guilt. "When you can walk from the bath to the forge without falling over, we'll visit the graves," Artur stated. "I think we're just blessed Trader Vaan got here on time. We'd damn near run through the cuttlebone treating everyone who got stung."

"Cuttlebone?" Köinzell started.

"That's what Moss told us." Elsi smiled, even if it was still a bit worried. "Dart's people have dealt with wasps before. Smaller ones, but - he says something in the stings hurts people in the bones. So we fed everyone bone broth. I think it pulled people through the worst of it."

Red eyes narrowed, concerned. "He talked to you?"

"The way Dart talks to you," Artur nodded. Though they could talk that over more later.

"It's creepy," Corcoran muttered.

"Corcoran." Robin frowned at him before Artur could.

"Well, it is, ma'am," the teenager insisted, shoving around a last bit of gristle. "How do you know what's you and what's them?"

"It helps to be lost out in the Forest with only yourself to blame," Köinzell mused. "We could try that, if you like."

Corcoran blanched.

"Ah, a bad joke." Köinzell shrugged wearily. "You're not nearly well enough trained for that. Yet." His smile had just an edge of mischief. "We can work on that."

"I'm - um - going to be really busy in the forge tomorrow, lots of stuff to get to, now that you're out of it - may I be excused, ma'am, Master Artur?" Corcoran blurted all in one breath.

"Get some sleep," Artur agreed. "Tomorrow will be a busy day."

"Right!" Tipping his bowl into the dishpan, Corcoran bolted.

Artur waited until he'd clattered all the way up to the apprentice's loft to snicker. "You did that on purpose."

"Well... just a bit?" Köinzell looked almost innocent. "You have the look of a man who wants serious talk."

True enough. He'd seen Köinzell's gaze flicking to white hairs that hadn't been there before the sorcerer's raid. But best to start with something a bit simpler. "Who's going to forge another sword?" Artur looked his friend up and down, from ten-year-old height to tiny feet.

Köinzell looked just a little pink. "I've been forging swords since I was five."

Erk. And oddly, not surprising. It fit what he'd begun to suspect, after all.

"I know I'm years out of practice, but-" he held out thin arms, and shrugged. "At least now everything's in the right proportions. I can do it."

"Who let you in a forge at five?" Parsifal said in disbelief.

"The blacksmith who adopted me." Köinzell folded his arms, and gazed right back. "I know it won't be cheap to get the steel."

"Vaan brought some interesting billets," Artur shrugged. "And I won't argue that we need the weapons, if you can-"

Köinzell was on his feet before the clatter reached Artur's ears, even if he was hanging onto the table to stay standing. "The back porch."

Ting!

"Fairies' bell," Robin stated, at Köinzell's startled look. "They were in and out of here so much looking after you, we decided it was just easier to make sure they could get our attention from outside."

"You stay put," Artur nodded, already heading that way. "If it were trouble, they would have rung more than once."

He glanced out the peephole in the back door anyway. No need to invite trouble.

Hmm. Looks clear.

Opening the door, he glanced down, and blinked at the triumphant pose of Dart and four other hunting fairies atop a freshly defleshed dragon skull. "Well, now. I think our friends found the sorcerer's dragon."

Grinning, Dart held up a familiar dagger, almost as tall as she was.

"They did indeed," Artur chuckled, accepting steel with a polite bow and waving them all in. "Dart found your knife."

"Good," Köinzell nodded as Artur headed back to the table. "The last thing we need is for one of his fellow flesh-warpers to come tying up loose ends-"

A needle to a magnet, Dart sped to his cheek.

At this distance Artur could only catch the over-wash of emotions, even with Dart's gift. But there was relief, and caring, and something he couldn't quite place, except that it was trembling and fear and hope and wonder.

Then he sat down by Robin again, laying steel on the table so he could take Gurye and let her fuss over the fairies, and knew.

This is a life I saw come into the world. Let me do this right.

And didn't that open a whole new treasure chest of trouble?

Especially given what had happened these past two weeks. He'd talked over what they'd heard, and hadn't heard, with Robin. Together they'd decided what to ask if Köinzell ever woke. He just had to find the courage to say it.

Not as easy as it looks, that.

But the fussing was dying down, and Artur screwed his courage to the sticking point. "You talked a bit, while you were raving out of your head. Not much," he added at Köinzell's sudden look of panic. "Elsi, Parsifal, even Corcoran - they all knew you were a swordsman, and you'd been in battle. But they didn't know the names."

"Names?" Köinzell was pale, even with Dart stroking his ear just as an older sister would to soothe a frightened elf-child.

"Hmm." Artur nodded. "Ergnach. Güsstav. Glenn." He paused, deliberately. "There were more. Thirteen of them, Robin and I'd heard before, though I don't think the younger half of the family remembers." He glanced at his children, Pieter's children, then back at Köinzell. "Thirteen. But there was one name you never said. And that would have made fourteen."

Elsi still didn't understand. No reason she should, she'd been far too young at Rielde-Velem. But Parsifal sat up straight, and looked at Köinzell in sudden shock.

"Fourteen names, for the Fourteen Holy Lances," Artur said quietly. "Köinzell. Who are you, really?"

Who am I?

He looked at small fingers, and felt Dart's slow strokes of here, safe, care about you. Twitched his back, and felt the nerve-wracking flutter of tiny wings.

I never wanted wings. Humans don't have wings.

...But I'm not human anymore, am I?

A human wouldn't sense Dart's hum of happy, relieved, youngling finally well. A human wouldn't relax under a fairy's touch with the sense of kin. A human wouldn't drink in the love and worry in Robin's hand stroking white hair; the frightening, heady mix of saved my child, belongs with us.

"A month ago I would have known what to tell you," he answered. "But I think I would have been wrong." He'd faced Wischtech and sorcerers and even a giant or two. He could do this. "Ten years ago, I was Blade Master Ascheriit."

It was a good thing everyone was sitting down. It looked as if he wasn't the only one who'd have trouble staying on his feet.

"How?" Parsifal said numbly. "I mean, the Fourteen Lances went out to stop Wischtech, and... the war stopped..."

"The winter before we found you," Artur stated. "About the time you found us, if Vaan's tales of the Empire are right." Rocking Gurye, he shrugged. "It'll be a hard tale no matter how you tell it. We've enough bad memories of our own to know that."

So they did. He'd heard dozens of tales of Pieter as Elsi and Parsifal had grown up, to the point he missed a man he'd never known. The healer who'd died at Rielde-Velem had done his best to be a good man and look after his children, and he couldn't think of a higher accolade to give a living soul.

The Empire needs more people like that. Not heroes.

"Fourteen Holy Lances," he mused. "Fourteen young warriors - or so I'm sure the tales say. I wonder if they tell you Barestar was a merchant's son, or Schtemwölech was a mountain bandit pardoned to fight. But so far as I knew we were all willing, and I believed... I believed them, when we swore to fight, and accomplish our mission, and return alive."

Robin drew closer to her husband. Elsi's hand found her brother's, as Dart watched them all, green eyes sad.

"Of course, we didn't," he went on. "You were at Rielde-Velem; you know Ergnach perished there. If I'd known what he meant to do, that he meant to root all the power of that fell fortress in himself-" He couldn't go on.

But I have to.

"Three of us died before we ever reached the borderlands," he said softly. "Eleven of us carried the Lances across the seal, into the Land of Shadows. Nothing else traversing that mystic passage survived. Our mounts died under us, even as we rode."

Elsi shivered.

"And then we were on our own in the Forest of Death," he said plainly. "Not the tame parts, like here. The parts where many-eyed giants roam, and fell beasts are around every corner, and your sheep wouldn't survive out there unless they had fangs and steel wool."

Dart glanced at the rest of them, and nodded.

"Eleven of us lived," he mused. "But seven of them... couldn't go on. I think Lebelont was the first to crack. He was terrified of what we'd stumbled into. What could a mere eleven warriors do against the whole Land of Shadows? He wanted to turn back, and he convinced Glenn, and that convinced... most of the others." Simply. Just the bare bones of facts. Not the whirlwind of rage and hate that still iced through him. "Four of us went on. Kfer. Güsstav. Krentel. And me."

Keep going.

"We accomplished our mission. We returned. We met the others on the edge of the Forest... not that far from here," he stated, glancing to the east. "They welcomed us, and then-"

Fingers closed on the polished edge of the table, trembling. He could see the hooded cloaks. The gleaming blades. The mocking, manic grins.

"-Then they laughed like madmen, as they murdered us."

Under his hands, oak cracked.

"They said the glory and accolades should go to those of noble blood, not foundlings and wild folk from the disputed lands," he said numbly. "And we should just give up and die. But I... I refused to die. They maimed me..." Against his will, one hand lifted, almost touching his scar. "They tore me apart. And then, when I still wasn't dead, they tossed me into a ravine, like so much rubbish, and left me to die." He took a breath. "But I didn't. I lived. I won't tell you how; I'm not quite sure myself. Dart probably knows more than I do." He glanced at familiar faces, and the new streaks of white in hair too young for it. "And it looks like you already know... something."

"We know a bit more than we did," Artur allowed, nodding at Dart. "Though if Right Here and the colony are going to stay allies, I suspect some things are going to have to stay very quiet. There's a world of difference between a gift freely given, and someone wanting to take it."

I will not flinch. "I don't think it was a gift," he said, very quietly. "When I regained my senses, something had already happened."

"Something a bit more serious than a drop of blood on bread, I'm guessing," Artur said gravely.

"Yes." So blood will do as well. Is that what sorcerers are after? The thought of a sorcerer being able to heal as well as he had was terrifying. "I don't think I was in my right mind. And once I was..." He couldn't find the words. The rage. The betrayal. The guilt. "You know the names of the Lances. But I'm not sure you realize who they are. Noble, yes. But even without fame, they are people who will inherit incredible power over vast stretches of the Empire. If they come to that power, if they're willing to build our land on lies, betrayal, and murder..."

They wouldn't be the first. If Artur knew even half of the secrets I know of the Empire... we need to be better than our past. Or why even bother fighting Wischtech?

His hands were shaking. He braced them against each other, unwilling to break more of Robin's table.

"I have to stop them. Even if I'm not the man I was, I have to kill them."

"Hmm." Artur looked him up and down. "Might be a bit of a tall order at the moment."

He stared at Artur. And he was not going to look at Elsi's shy grin, or Parsifal's stifled snickers. I'm telling you I'm set on cold-blooded killing, and you're making short jokes?

"We've done a lot of talking with Dart and Moss," Robin nodded. "They think your mixed blood was fighting itself. Now, it's stopped." She raised a brow newly threaded with white. "If you want my guess, based on my past examinations and what I see now... your body had struck a truce between the two bloods, but they weren't cooperating. And every time one side gained an advantage, the other tried to tear it down." Reaching out, she brushed the back of one small hand. "But this time you almost died. And if you attack reluctant allies with a stronger enemy... well, they might decide they're not so different after all."

Oh. It hurt. But at least Robin had tried to make it a clean cut. "So you think I'm right." Gods, it wasn't easy to say. "I'm not Ascheriit anymore."

"If Ascheriit's only the human swordsman who went off to save the Empire and die for it? No, lad. I'd say not." Artur's eyes were cool, unflinching violet. "But if Ascheriit's the man who held to his vows, and lived to honor them, and never turned aside from evil no matter what the risk - you haven't lost him, Köinzell. I doubt you ever could."

It did hurt. But so did the surgeon's knife, cutting away sickness. Robin wasn't the only healer in this family. "Köinzell?"

"You know how Dad's clan is about private names," Elsi said firmly. Pieter would always be Da, it seemed, but Artur had more than earned Dad. "He made sure we had them too. What's wrong with Ascheriit being yours?"

Parsifal nodded. "Not to mention, if you march into the borderlands saying you're Ascheriit-"

"They'll think I've gone mad?"

"Maybe," Parsifal said, undaunted. "But what if they think you're not?"

Oh.

"Nobles, Köinzell," the young man went on. "You're after nobles. You're the best swordsman I've ever seen, but nobles have armies. And assassins. And the money to get a lot of both."

"A valid point." He managed to unclenched knotted knuckles. "Even if I get back some of my skill, I can't kill whole armies on my own. I did try it. Once." On the way to the Forest of Death. Gods, all those young faces, wiped out by a Wischtech giant just to give the Lances a chance...

He took a breath, and tried to push the past back. "And I don't want to kill our armies. It wouldn't be their fault that they're bound to madmen." He glanced around the table, realizing something rather important. "Why aren't you trying to talk me out of it?"

"One of my old sword-teachers told me something years ago, before I ever met Pieter," Robin said gravely. "You should never try to kill a man - and miss."

"He tends to take it personal," Artur nodded, eyes glinting mischief. "Mind, if you tried haring off now, I'd sit on you." He nestled Gurye back into Robin's arms, freeing a hand to tick off fingers. "You've no sword. You've no armor. And no matter how skilled a sword you are, you've lost nigh a foot of height, and how long has it been since you've fought at this size?"

"All very good points," he admitted. "But none of them can change what I have to do-"

Dart poked his ear, then leaned against his cheek.

Moons setting and rising, Summer leaves coloring with autumn, swept away in winter, budding out in spring. An elf-child striking at targets in the sun, slowly growing taller.

He blinked. "Are you seriously telling me to grow up first?"

Elsi covered her mouth with both hands, cheeks glowing red. Parsifal didn't even try to hide his snickers. Robin and Artur traded grins. "Just a bit," Artur allowed. "Until you can show me how a master forges a sword. Köinzell."

"Fair enough." Köinzell. He sighed, and leaned on Elsi when she scooted her chair closer; tired, but feeling more at peace than he had in years. I think I could like that name.

A/N: This world isn't scientific, but if you were going to take any of the biology in here as actually working - yes, a bit of a shock is exactly what's needed in an embryo chimera to get the two sets of cells to treat each other as normal.