Chapter 18:
Mahvir sat up in the main room of their chambers. The soft candle light flickered over the gifts to Lorien he had been working on most of the night. His mind felt numb to it all. He kept replaying the moments of yesterday over and over in his mind. He had known going in he would see one of his children again. That he would see said child old and dying, and yet, despite this knowledge and the feeling of horror going in, he now felt as if his heart was being ripped out with each new beat it took.
Another child? How could he live past another one? No, he had to hold to the hope Solas would kill him in the end battle.
His hand slipped the knife sliced through his glove and finger. Blood dripped to the table. For a moment, Mahvir just watched the blood; then, he closed his hand, balling it into a fist. He didn't feel the wound. Physical pain was nothing to one who had known it all his life. It was the pain of heart which ripped him apart, tormented him and haunted him each time he closed his eyes. His body could be turned to ash and such pain would never compare.
His hand shook. Then, he unclenched it. "No," he whispered to himself. "Focus on what needs to be done." The words rang hollow in his ears.
Four months. Four months and if Solas didn't kill him, if Solas didn't take his power, then Mahvir would witness again one of his children passing before him. His eyes burned with tears he knew wouldn't come. He had cried silently most of the night until the images had been all which were left and his tears had run dry.
He stared at his hand for a long moment before he wrapped the wound so he could continue working. The rhythmic motions of carving helped his mind go blank.
The wolf stood in the center of the table, complete. Now he was working on a puzzle. He had started it out of remembering Lorien saying she wanted one and remembering how much Valendrian had- no, he still loved puzzles.
The knife slipped again. The sharp blade struck his other hand. A soft growl of frustration came from Mahvir. He was on his feet and the sound of him striking the vials of paint filled the air as he let out all his frustration in a scream. The vials of paint struck the ground, shattering.
Why?! Why did he get eternity?!
He glared at the toy wolf, eyes burning. Blood tapped against the floor from his wounded hand. More cuts laced it from a night spent trying to carve out his pain. Each time he had thought on his son, he had missed and hit his hand. Over and over.
Why him?
"Mahvir?!" Footsteps pounded and soon a hand was on his shoulder. "What happened, are you all right?"
"Fine, Nimwen," Mahvir stated, though his voice felt just as hollow as he felt right then.
"No, you're not." Nimwen's voice was firm, but mostly concerned. "You haven't been since we went to the alienage. Talk to me."
Mahvir stated at the wood shavings and blood on the table. "He's dying," he whispered. How was he supposed to feel when watching another of his children whither and die while he remained twenty-five?
"Is everything all right in here?"
"We're fine, Cullen," Nimwen lied. "Mahvir cut his hand, that's all."
"You're sure?"
"Yes, we're fine."
The sound of Cullen closing the door was followed by silence.
Without a word Nimwen took Mahvir's injured hand in her's. A soft green light emanated from her palm as she used her magic to start healing the cuts. "Ir abelas," she murmured. "I can't imagine how you feel, nor do I know what I can do to help."
"The only thing which would help is to die, for once, before one of my children did," he stated, then gave Nimwen a weak smile. "Ir abelas, Nimwen." He slipped his half healed hand from hers. "I'll be fine." He knelt down and started to clean up the mess on the floor.
"You want to die?" There was disbelief and horror in her eyes. But mostly pain.
Mahvir stopped cleaning. "I've lived for over eighty centuries, Nimwen. In the past twenty, I have raised many children and watched them age and die while I remain unchanged by the passage of time, locked forever in the moment when my gift was unlocked by…" he stopped. "I am tired, Nimwen. I fear eternity and know it is all which awaits me. I can't die."
"I'm...sorry." The tears that pearled in the corners of her eyes now spilled down her cheeks, caught by her hand. "I can't-but I don't...no, I do get it. All these years, everyone around me is leaving. They're off moving on with their lives. Marriages, babies, books, titles, they're growing and reshaping their lives and I'm just...stuck. I can't move past being Inquisitor even with my Inquisition gone. I want to move on, but I can't, and I just have to watch everyone moving while I remain frozen." Nimwen let out a hollow laugh. "Look at me, trying to compare myself to you, feel free to berate me right now."
While she had spoke, his hands had stopped moving. It wasn't the same, her pain was fleeting. Soon enough she would feel love again, her life would progress. She would have more love in her life than she would know what do with. She would age and die in a blink of an eye to him.
"It is as close as you can get to understanding it," Mahvir stated as he finished cleaning the paint and glass from the floor.
In the end, he supposed Solas's wish for the fate of Dirthamen had come true. A part of Mahvir almost longed for the physical torment the others were in within the Black City.
"Let me see your hand, I didn't finish," Nimwen requested.
"The moment physical pain bothers me, Nimwen, you will be the first to know." He gathered the glass and moved to toss it.
"I don't care, you're hurt and I'm fixing it." She grabbed his hand and the healing light returned. "Sometimes injuries hurt more than just the afflicted," she murmured.
Mahvir looked away from her. "You can't heal me, Nimwen," he stated. "I've been broken too many times." The words were meant to tell her to stop trying to understand and put the pieces of him back together. He had been shattered physically by Elgar'nan and the Imperium. His mind and heart by centuries. "You need to focus on putting Solas back together, not me."
"I am going to put him back together." She pulled him into an embrace. "But you are a vital piece of the puzzle."
In that moment, the future he saw Solas destroying him vanished completely. Mahvir didn't move from her embrace, just stared, numbly, into the darkness of the room. She would do whatever it took to save both of them. In doing so he would live and shatter twice over. He would watch again, powerless. He would die on the inside. Mahvir closed his eyes. His eternal fate.
Nimwen's voice was soft, comforting. Motherly kindness personified in the ancient lullaby as she began to sing:
Elgara valas, da'len.
Melava somniar.
Mala tara aravas,
Ara ma'desen melar.
Iras ma ghilas, da'len,
ara ma'nedan ashir.
Dirthara lothlenan'as,
Bal emma mala dir.
Tel'enfanim, da'len,
Irassal ma ghilas.
Ma garas mir renan.
Ara ma'athlan vhenas.
Ara ma'athlan vhenas.
Mahvir kept his gaze on the shadows of the room. He remembered the last time this song was sung to him. The difference in Mythal's voice compared to Nimwen's. Nimwen's was soft and gentle while Mythal's voice had been strong and confident. He thought back on those moments. The feeling he had as a child to the one now. He was in pain now. Yet, Mythal's singing would never have calmed him. He had known her love was for Falon'Din. This was different.
Mahvir - no, he couldn't keep calling himself that. He was running from his fate, from himself and what he had born to be. He was forever Dirthamen. He had tried to deny this. Said he had died the moment his brother had betrayed him. Yet, he was still the secret, still the keeper of all secrets.
"Ma serannas, Nimwen," his voice was hoarse as he whispered this. Dirthamen closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He straightened.
"Neither one of you are broken." Nimwen whispered. "Those who are truly broken are those with no hope of redemption. You care, you are kind. You suffer because you care so much for the world and the world has not been kind to you. So long as you continue to care, you will never be out of redemption's reach, this I promise." She hugged him tighter. "Don't give up. You are cracked, but never broken. I know you can heal yourself, and I will help however I can."
Dirthamen didn't respond to this. He could see a brief flash a future she spoke of. A woman he hadn't met, love and warmth replacing his pain and… He closed his eyes. It wasn't a future he wanted or one he knew he deserved.
"My thanks, Nimwen." He wrapped his hand around her arm. "I am fine now. You should get some sleep. I would like to finish Lorien's other present before she wakes." He tilted his head to the table and half finished cutouts of the puzzle, the pieces large and just the right size for such a young child as Lorien.
"Very well, I won't keep you from it any longer," she said as she stood. "She's going to love it."
"That is the hope." Dirthamen smiled at her. The puzzle had been painted already to show a white wolf licking the face a pale pup which looked almost like the wooden toy. He had sealed the image before he started to cut out the pieces. "I just wish I was half the painter Solas was. Sadly I can only paint so it looks real and not what I feel like he can."
"You're both fortunate you can paint at all, I can barely stay within the lines," Nimwen chuckled. "And Lori is more fond of splashing paint everywhere than actually painting the picture."
Dirthamen chuckled. "You should have seen some of Solas's early pieces. Granted they looked like splash paintings because he hadn't figured out how to thicken paints yet." He shook his head. "It was long ago though."
"Maybe someday I'll have an artist," Nimwen sighed.
Dirthamen just gave her a small smile. "Get some sleep, Nimwen. Perhaps take Lorien to see some of the sights tomorrow. I am planning to be with Dagna most of tomorrow and you two do need a break from the chaos which is Solas's side of the family."
"Very well, I hope you have fun with Dagna. Granted, let's keep the fun involving deadly chemicals and explosions to a minimum, all right?"
"I fear that is her speciality, not mine." Dirthamen chuckled. "But I will do as you ask." He bowed to Nimwen. "May your dreams be guarded, Nimwen."
"What does that mean, exactly?" she asked. "You say it often; yet, I don't know the meaning."
"It was something during the war with Forgotten. They could slip into dreams and twist them, even kill the dreamer through the dreams. Solas used to spend time guarding the dreams of our family and the People. It is just a phrase kept in reminder of when we did guard our dreams," Dirthamen tried to explain. "It's also where most Dalish stories come from of the Dread Wolf entering the dreams of the People. Granted, he didn't do so to be the villain as the stories make it out to be, but rather guard the dreams as I stated."
"That sounds like him," Nimwen murmured. She gave him a quick hug. "May your dreams be guarded, Mahvir."
Dirthamen bowed his head to her. When she was gone he returned to the puzzle. Around dawn he had finished the puzzle and wrapped both it and the wolf for Lorien's birthday. The night was the last time he would have time to work on the piece. Today would be spent with Dagna in a slight time warp to finish Nimwen's arm. Then tomorrow…
He sighed and set down the pen. He looked at the fresh ink of the letter to Lorien. The letter which would be placed with her gifts on her birthday. He folded the letter and sealed it.
Dirthamen stood and stretched. He placed the gifts into his bag along with the letter. He settled back down and started to write another letter saying he had gone to the Dagna's shop.
"You are going to run again," Fear's voice echoed in Dirthamen's head.
"Go back to scouting the city for Solas," Dirthamen told the raven.
"We are, no sign of him as you well know."
"We could get sweets from that mortal," Deceit huffed.
Dirthamen blocked out the raven's voices. He finished the letter and set it down before he stood and limped from the room. It took a little time to get the shop. His leg had stiffened in the cold of a Ferelden night and it took him longer to loosen it while he walked than normal.
Not to his surprise the shop was already open despite it only just being just passed dawn. He knocked on the door.
A second later the door was pulled open, revealing a smiling Dagna. "You're here!" She ushered him inside. "Come in, come in. I have cookies and coffee. Do you like it black or do you want stuff in it? I have to put sugar and milk and cream in just to let it go down. Helps perk you up though!" the dwarf giggled.
"I am fine without coffee and cookies, but my thanks for the offer." Dirthamen limped a little further into the room. "I believe I might have figured out how to get your arcane abilities to mesh better with my enchantments so that Nimwen will can move the hand with thought," he told Dagna.
"Really?" Dagna gasped. "That's fantastic! I've been wracking my brain for weeks for a way to incorporate mental motor control into the mechanism while optimizing function and weight distribution. This is wonderful. Let's go back to the workshop."
Mahvir limped after the excited dwarf. He leaned his staff against the wall outside the workshop before following her in. On the counter was the skeleton of the arm they had started the other day. He pulled a few parchments from his bag.
"Here." He laid them out beside the arm. On the parchment was a detailed design of gears, metal this time, with the runes he had crafted for movement of toys etched into them. More had been added as well. "I believe the added runes will act in the same way as tendons do in the normal body and will allow for communication between the brain and the arm. It will have to be tested a little first though."
"Oh, of course, can't use her Worship as a guinea pig. Well, we could, but I don't think she'd agree." Dagna took hold of the schematics and began to read them. As her eyes scanned the paper, her expression went from curious to awe. "This is some sophisticated runecraft," she said. "The only other time I recall something on this level was the Shaperate. Where did you learn this?" she asked.
"I fear I am self taught," Dirthamen said. "It's the reason my runes don't match what the dwarves use or those of the Circles."
"That is amazing." Dagna looked up at with him with a look of adoration, as if he'd saved her shop from orges. "To come up with something like this, with no formal training. You'd make the shapers in Orzammar purple with envy!"
"I hope not." Dithamen rubbed the back of his head. "Though, I do admit I did go off of some runes I found in ancient elvhen ruins." It was a flat lie, but he didn't much like all the admiration in her eyes. It made him feel uneasy. "Besides, we don't even know these will work or not yet ." Though, he knew they would work. He had already seen it.
"Right, right, sorry, I was getting ahead of myself," she chuckled sheepishly. "Let's try making some tests before we go adding them to the arm. Gotta ensure nothing goes wrong. I told Harret I'm taking a sick day, so we can work all day!"
Dirthamen chuckled. "Who knows we might actually get this finished today." He limped over to the skeleton. "It looks like you worked some on it last night." He eyed the additions she'd made of the hidden weapons and places for more to be added. She had kept the center clear for the main part of getting the arm to work. "Do you have tools I could borrow to try enchanting a few gears?" he asked, turning to Dagna.
"Of course, what kind of Arcanist would I be if I didn't?" Dagna smiled. "All of my enchanting equipment is over there. I have to keep it separate from my normal smithing equipment or things get mixed up. Harret hates that. Why don't you get to work on the enchantments while I work on the casing. I'm thinking Silverite. What do you think?"
"Expensive, but it will look beautiful," Dirthamen agreed. He turned to the enchanting equipment and frowned. It wasn't common knowledge, but he avoided using lyrium to enchant. His form of enchantments were a long process in which he managed to draw on the Fade in order to combine it with the elvhen runes he used. It was actually the oldest known form of enchanting. One he had made in secret as a child then showed June later on. It had been replaced upon the discovery of lyrium. It was easier to enchant with lyrium than by pulling on the connections of the Fade. Yet, it was the only way to get movement from objects Dirthamen knew of.
He moved over to the equipment and searched for a tool which wouldn't have touched the lyrium. It took him awhile to find one which hadn't and was sharp enough to etch the runes into metal.
Dirthamen settled himself next to the enchanting equipment and pulled out a test gear. It was made of iron instead of a stronger metal. He knew it wouldn't last more than just the tests with the other ones. He set to work.
The Veil always made it harder for Dirthamen to pull on the fine parts of the Fade needed for his form of enchanting, yet, because his connection to it was so weak he was the only one who could still use this form of enchanting. Not being a tranquil meant he still could touch the Fade, but not being a true mage or even barely elvhen meant he could safely weave the energy of the Fade into objects without calling demons or spirits or weakening the Veil. One could almost call it sowing through the thin layers of the Veil Solas had created. Where the energy he called forth was the string and his small magic the needle.
"That should do it." Dirthamen stood, holding around five enchanted gears. "They're brittle but will serve the purpose of a test," he informed Dagna.
"Wow, you work fast," Dagna said as she put her tools down. She picked up one of the gears and weighed it in her hand. "Pretty light as well, which will be good if this is going to be on her arm."
"I fear iron will splinter and break after a short time of use. These are just to test if the enchantments work. I will need a stronger metal for the gears inside the arm."
"Right, good thinking. I have an idea for the testing," she said. She went to the corner of the workroom and came back with a medium sized box. "We could attach them to the lid hinge, and see if we can get the box to open!"
"Good idea." Dirthamen nodded.
"all right, let's do it."
The two of them worked to get the gears into place. "You give it a try first," Dirthamen said. He would rather not be the one to try it. Sometimes enchantments reacted better to the weaver.
"Okay, here I go." Dagna sat at her chair and stared at the box on the table. "Thinking… openy thoughts." Her nose scrunched up and her eyes narrowed in concentration. It took a minute, but there came the sound of the box hinge creaking. "It's working!" she cheered. "Wait, gotta focus." Her grin returned to her concentrated face. After another minute, the pair watched as the lid slowly opened up. "By the Stone, it worked!" She jumped from her seat and pulled Dirthamen into a bear hug. "We did it!"
Dirthamen gasped. Then, he laughed. "That we did."
"Oh, sorry." Dagna released him, still smiling but with a hint of embarrassment. "When stuff like this happens, well, I get excited! Harret's used to it, though, he gets mad when I have oil on my apron and get it on his shirt," she giggled.
Dirthamen smiled at her. "It's fine." He pulled out the gears and inspected them. "Cracked." The gear was a crack running from one end to the center. "Another attempt and it will shatter."
"Be sure not to use up all my lyrium," she joked. The dwarf glanced at the gears and frowned in confusion. "Hang on...where is the lyrium?"
"As I am not a tranquil and obviously not a dwarf, I can't enchant with lyrium. I use other means to enchant items." Dirthamen removed the other gears from the box, inspecting each as he went. All of them showed signs of being cracked. Touching the Fade had made the iron too brittle as he had known it would. "Do you have any gears crafted from dawnstone?" he asked.
"Not any premade, but I do have some dawnstone leftover from a comission I did for a noble in Amaranthine," Dagna said.
"If we can craft those into gears they should prove strong enough not to turn brittle from the enchanting process. It's a shame I don't have ironbark. The wood would prove stronger than any stone and wouldn't be weakened from enchanting."
"What I would give to be able to work with ironbark," Dagna sighed. "Not that I would know what to do with it even if I had some. The only ones who can work it are the Dalish, and they're not about to share that knowledge as far as I know. I actually asked her Worship once if she could teach me, but apparently only the clan's crafters get taught. Shame."
"The key to ironbark is to never use heat while forming it to a weapon," Dirthamen told her only half paying attention as he moved the gears in his hand. He frowned. "I might still have a few gears made from it without enchantments on them, but it's been sometime since I was able to acquire any." Dirthamen limped over to where he had left his bag. He started to pull out the wrappings holding toys for children in search for his gear collection.
"I can't believe it, I get to work with real ironbark, I don't even care if I didn't carve them," Dagna squealed. clapping.
There. Dirthamen pulled out the box and opened it. There were just enough blank gears in it he would be able to enchant them for the arm. He frowned. He also did have a little of the precious wood leftover from making these before meeting Nimwen. He replaced the toys in his bag and stood, holding both the box of gears and the thin slices of bark he had managed to get his last trip through a wood before a clan took notice of him.
"Here." He held out of the wood to Dagna. "You might be able to use this down the line. It's not much, but at least you can try to see if it has any uses with what you do, Arcanist."
Dagna's eyes were wide as plates as she stared at the ironbark. "Oh, oh my. Give me a moment." Carefully, as if she feared it would disappear, she took the wood from his hand and into hers. "It's so...light." she said in astonishment. "And it's so pretty too. I mean, for wood it's pretty. Though, there is some really pretty woods out there. Like birch, or sylvans, of course sylvans would probably kill me. Sorry, I'm rambling." She laughed nervously. "But, thank you, thank you. This is such an honor, and it's an honor to get to work with someone with yours skills. The Inquisitor is lucky to have someone like you caring about her."
Dirthamen felt a little heat creep over his ears as she spoke. "My thanks. She is also lucky to have you." He bowed his head to Dagna. "Just keep in mind to not apply heat to the wood. It will warp it and make it useless. Weapons crafted from ironbark are as sharp as any made from steel and just as strong, but only if crafted correctly." He bowed his head to her once more and limped back to where had been working. This time he had his own tools which could carve into the hardwood.
Dirthamen set to work weaving the enchantments into the ironbark gears. These gears would hold the enchantments and actually become stronger for them. It had been an interesting experiment to see what would happen with metal, but even stronger metals like dawnstone and silverette would become brittle and eventually break. Ironbark gears would last Nimwen most of her natural life, if not outlast her.
The problem would become trying to get the wood to mesh with the silverette casing.
"Daggy, you in here?"
"Yeah," Dagna repled.
The door opened and Sera walked inside. "What are you two doin'? It's the middle of the day."
Dirthamen didn't look up until the weave of the enchantment was complete on the last gear. "Afternoon, Sera." He checked over the gears to make certain the enchantments were in place and correct. "The gears are ready," he told Dagna as he stood. "The problem now is getting them to mesh with the silverette casing. How is it coming?"
"I think I've almost got it," Dagna replied. "It's been tricky, but I think it should work so long as the measurements are right."
"Hold on, that an arm?" Sera asked. "Are you two making a person or something?"
"No, silly, it's for the Inquisitor," Dagna explained.
"Maker, why would we want to make a metal person? That sounds like crossing the line a little in morality and I would rather not incur the wrath of the chantry."
"I don't know what you two smarties get up to. People make stupid things all the time."
"Well, we're not making a metal person, I assure you. At least, not yet." Dagna let out a stream of sinister chuckles.
"Real creepy, love."
"I'm just kidding!"
Sera rolled her eyes and kissed the dwarf's cheek. "So, this thing gonna be better than the pirate hand?"
"Hmm." Dirthamen wasn't paying attention to the couple. He was over the schematics once more, editing them. He was trying to get it so that the attachment of the arm wouldn't painful or permanent. Granted, after it was attached by this current design it wouldn't hurt. Well until she was struck. The enchantments on the gears, if woven into the metal of the arm correctly, wouldn't just mean she could move the arm like her real one but could feel with it as well. It worked both ways saddly. Then there was the problem with not having the gears' enchantments being disrupted by the enchantments Dagna had added to the casing.
Dirthamen turned back to the ironbark and frowned. He had adjusted them while he worked on them and knew it would work with the what Dagna had, yet, he didn't much like the idea of causing Nimwen pain when the the arm was attached.
"So, you're Solas's kid, yeah?"
Dirthamen blinked and looked over his shoulder at Sera. "Nimwen told you, you are well aware of my relation to Solas." He turned to her. "You have questions?" he asked. Dirthamen removed his funny glasses.
"Um...I'm going to get more cookies," Dagna said, unease in her voice.
"All right, Dag," Sera replied, eyes still on Dirthamen. The elven woman waited until her lover left the room before she spoke. "Look, the Inquisitor said that you were nice and trustworthy, but she'll take anyone in, so, I gotta make sure for myself. So, why are you helping her when your old man's tryin' to do the opposite?"
"First, I am going to clarify, Solas is my father, yes, but he believes I am the son of his brother. Second, Solas and I haven't been on speaking terms for many centuries. Third, I will do everything in my power to keep this world and the people, not just elves, but humans, dwarves, and kossith as well from the agony Solas is going to put them through by destroying the Veil."
Dirthamen looked towards the arm. "Nimwen is the only one who can make him see this world is far better than one he once knew. That creating the Veil didn't destroy the world in the way he thinks it did. And Nimwen deserves to move forward with her life after this." He looked back at Sera. "Forgive me if I am not what you're expecting a son of Solas to be." He bowed his head to the archer. It was hard talking about his relation to Solas. Perhaps, because it was something which had torn apart his life during the final years of Elvhenan. Perhaps, it was because of other reasons. Just, he disliked bringing up his relation to the man he had onced believed to be his uncle.
"I… well, shite." The accusing gaze on the rogue's face fizzled away, no doubt taken aback by his answer. "I… guess that's good? It's just, her life's already been fuddled up by all this magic stuff and elfy elf nonsense, and I'm worried she'd gonna mess it up more by keep going at it. I don't want this Veil stuff and Solas stuff to hurt her, or Lil' Inky, you know? People need to stop punching the cat bag." Sera sighed. "All right, here's deal: you get the Herald her arm and stop the egg from blowing up Thedas. Do that, and don't get more trouble for her and Lil' Inky, and I'll leave ya be, yeah?"
"I will do what I can to not cause her any more pain." Dirthamen bowed his head though he already knew this promise was broken before he made it.
"Good," Sera nodded.
"I have snickerdoodles!" Dagna sung as she pushed the door open.
"Ooh, nice!" Sera ran to the dwarf and swiped three cookies from the plate, only to immediately drop them. "Ow!"
"Careful, they're hot," Dagna warned her.
"I know now," Sera grumbled as she held her hurt hand.
Dirthamen turned from the women and back to the work at hand. He saw a way to get the gears to work with the arm and, yet, there was still the problem Nimwen might not be able to remove the arm at all. Granted, with a normal enchanted arm of this level, she wouldn't have been able to remove it either. He let out a low breath and rubbed his eyes.
Dirthamen felt something placed on his head, followed by muffled snickers. He removed the cookie and placed it on the table before returning to his work on the designs.
A minute later a similar, but slightly heavier weight, was on his head. The giggles that followed were even louder.
He sighed. "While I appreciate the thought, Sera," Dirthamen started as he removed the sweets. "I do not care for sweets. I am certain they taste fine," he assured Dagna. "It's just, I've never much liked them." He placed the two cookies by the other one. "And it is a waste to keep giving me more of them if they're not going to be eaten."
Dagna gasped. "You don't like cookies?"
"Are you real?" Sera asked.
Dirthamen cocked an eyebrow. "Now, that is a question? We could debate if any of us actually exist; yet, I would rather complete this," - he gestured towards the workings of the arm - "before sunrise tomorrow. It is far more productive use of one's time." He turned back to the work.
"He's right," Dagna said as she put the plate of cookies down. "We have a lot of work to do and we need to get back to it."
Sera groaned. "Fiiiiine. But don't work to long, 'kay? I don't want to find you passed out in a puddle of goo."
"That was one time!" Dagna pouted.
"Whatever. I have a guy I need to meet, so I might be late," Sera said, turning to leave. "Have fun, and don't let her pass out in goo."
"One. Time!"
"Love you, Widdle," the elf winked, and then she was gone.
"She's ridiculous sometimes," Dagna sighed with a shake of her head.
"She only cares about you," Dithamen stated. Then, he changed the subject. "I don't believe there is a way to attach the arm such that Nimwen could remove it or not feel pain during the attachment. I've been back over the designs a few times." He shook his head. "I suppose it is the trade off since the arm does have to fuse with her to work with her brain."
"Hmm… maybe we could knock her out with something?" Dagna suggested. "I'm sure there is some sort of potion we could find to knock her unconscious during the procedure. Sera might even know somebody since she seems to know… everybody."
"They are her people," Dirthamen said with a chuckle. "Though, this is an issue for tomorrow. The main part now is to get the gears and enchantments to mesh without disrupting one another. This will take the most time."
"Right." Dagna stuffed a cookie into her mouth. "Let's get started," she said around the cookie.
"Let's," Dirthamen agreed.
By the time night fell, the two of them had managed to complete the arm and ensured it worked for as far as they could tell. Dagna had fallen asleep at the workbench while Dirthamen placed the final touches on the arm. He pulled out a blanket and draped it over the sleeping girl's shoulders.
"Sleep well, Arcanist." Dirthamen looked at the dwarf one last time before he cleaned their mess. He picked up the bag and left the room. There was one place he wished to be this night, the only matter was getting in and out with Shianni noticing.
Dirthamen slipped through alienage without notice of those few who were still awake. Not to his surprise, no light could be seen from Shianni's home. He reversed time on the lock and the door opened. He slipped into the house and glanced around, only the soft sounds of Valendrian sleeping could be heard.
Careful not wake him Dirthamen closed and locked the door. He moved over to his son and settled himself on the floor beside Valendrian's bed. He stayed until the first light of dawn could be seen outside the home. Dirthamen stood and gave Valendrian a soft kiss on the forehead.
"I promise I will return, my son," he whispered before limping from house. He used time magic to relock the door. None would know he had been there at all.
Dirthamen closed his eyes and took a deep, shuddering breath. In the end, he would return.