What Little Remains Of Terpsichore Ironheart

"There," I said, after tightening the last screw. "It should be working again now, Amelie."

"Ah, thank you, Joseph," Amelie said, slowly planting her hands on her walker before levering herself upright. She took a small, halting, shuffling step forward, and let the walker roll forward, before nodding. "Yes, that's much better now."

"It's a little funny," I said, standing up and putting away my screwdriver. "I keep ending up having to replace wheel bearings in people's mobility devices. Manufacturers these days just cannot do it right, can they?"

"They don't make them like they used to," Amelie said, shaking her head. "Well! While you're here, would you mind helping me cook something?"

"Sure thing," I said, nodding. "I like to think I know my way around a kitchen. Glad my uncle was around to teach me, honestly- neither of my parents are actually good at it."

"My condolences, Joseph," Amelie said, slowly shuffling from her chair to the apartment's kitchen.

Amelie and Robert now lived in Greenwood Village, in an apartment that was larger and nicer than Robert's old one- this one had actual bedrooms in it. Additionally, the apartment had been re-furnished by one of Antiope's daughters, an experienced carpenter and designer who'd done a lot of work on furniture that folded, was multi-purpose, or was otherwise uniquely suited to being maximally useful in the small floorspace of an apartment.

And right now, I was fetching the eggbeater and some mixing bowls from inside a rolling cabinet that also served as a mobile countertop and which could be lowered to function as a dining table. Jenny Jones was a very clever woman, and collaborating with her on my current project was one of the most gratifying things I'd ever experienced.

"Now, the thing about desserts is that they seem more impressive than normal dishes that take the same amount of effort," Amelie explained, while I got out ingredients from her refrigerator. "If you're looking to impress someone, a fancy dessert will work better than a fancy dinner. And chocolate mousse was one of my favorite go-tos, because of just how easy it really is to make."

"Considering it only has four ingredients, I suppose I can buy that," I said, looking at the ingredients in front of me: a pair of eggs, a small bar of dark chocolate, the pot of granulated sugar, and a bottle of cream. "So, how're you holding up after the surgery?"

"Much better," Amelie said, nodding. "You know how to separate eggs, don't you? Good. Yes, I'm doing much better after your father helped me. It makes me feel like a damn fool for not going to him from the start, but..." Amelie sighed. "...Well. No matter. I doubt you want to hear about centuries-old elf drama."

"Amelie," I said seriously, "I fucking love centuries-old elf drama. I know you're thinking that you don't want to paint my father in an unflattering light, but I don't care. I want to hear about the times before the war, and the disagreements between you and my father that led you to distrust his willingness to help." I blinked. "...Well, provided you're willing, anyways."

Amelie sighed. "It's... Well. Your father was a famous Mage-Knight, who fought to the bitter end. And I was... not. I was a servant of House Rosewood, one of the many people tasked with maintaining the household for our royal family."

"Apparently I'm a Rosewood myself," I said idly as I got some sugar melting in a saucepan.

"You're what?" Amelie asked, eyes going wide.

"Long story, I'll tell you later," I said. "Still your turn. Elaborate?"

"...Well, I was..." Amelie sighed. "I was worried your father would hate me, for surrendering, and ending up working for a human noble house. That he'd turn me away, or..."

"I understand," I said quietly. "It's... The war wasn't good for anyone, as I understand it. Even now, we're still bleeding. But... We can't afford to be fighting each other over this. Even if my father says otherwise, I will honor my commitment to help you, if you need it again in the future."

"You really are a Rosewood," Amelie murmured.

"An Ironheart," I said, shaking my head. "At any rate, Amelie, do you have any stories to tell that aren't about the war? Perhaps someone who was especially impressed by your mousse?"

"Oh, well, that would be Lady Emily," Amelie said. "Such a sweet young thing. She's Duke Sebastian Redwater's fifth child, and at only eighteen years old, she's already a fully-fledged Healer. And she has one hell of a sweet tooth. Oh, how my heart aches to remember when I had to leave the Palace for convalescence. She was heartbroken to realize she couldn't heal me herself. If only I could see her now..."

"Well, as it so happens," I said mildly, "I'm acquainted with her myself, and I've been knighted by Duchess Melody as Emily's sworn protector. I reckon that it'd be pretty simple to arrange for you to see her again sometime this week, if you feel up to it?"

"Oh, child, thank you, but-" Amelie paused. "...Hrm. First the fact you're a Rosewood, then the fact you're my hearth-daughter's sworn protector? You just love dumping shocking revelations on people."

"I have had carnal knowledge of Duchess Melody," I said dryly. She'd demonstrated rather a lot more than just how she kept a bag of holding in her cleavage, that day. I wasn't surprised she had a thing for elves, chasers were something I was quite familiar with, but with tits like hers, I'd let her chase me right down her rabbit ho- nope, nope, that's too much, abort, abort.

Amelie closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, and I continued working on the mousse as she sighed very loudly.

"No, I don't want Emily to see me like this," Amelie said, after a pause. "But... If you could tell her I'm getting better, and that I miss her..."

"I can," I said, nodding. "Although I do have to point out that, as a fully-trained Healer, Emily Redwater should be perfectly capable of handling the sight of someone who is in poor health. The fact that you're actively getting better should also help."

Amelie sighed, closing her eyes again. "I understand, I just... I'm her hearth-mother, Joseph. I don't... I don't want to upset the poor girl."

"It's your choice," I said. "And don't worry, I will convey your message to her. She'll know you're doing well."

"Thank you," Amelie said. "Now, the mousse- it makes four portions. Robert and I will each have one with dinner tonight, and you get one as thanks for all your help, but-"

"You'd like me to bring the last one to Emily," I supplied.

"Yes, if that's not too much of a bother?"

"Not at all," I said. "I'm sure she'd love that. Plus, it'd help convince her that you are doing better."

---

After the mousse was whipped up, it was portioned out into a set of four short drinking glasses- nothing fancy, nothing that'd grace the table of a duke, but still decent-quality glass that was clear enough to read a book through, if it weren't for the fact there was now chocolate mousse in the way. After being portioned out with the help of magic to avoid spills or waste, and ensure a smooth top, I put the glasses back into the refrigerator along with the rest of the cream.

At that point, Robert returned, and accepted a hug from both myself and his mother with grace and good humor.

"Would you like to stay and have another cooking lesson?" Amelie asked.

"I would, but unfortunately I've gotta get going," I said, apologetically. "Maybe next time."

I took my leave, returning home, and making a beeline for my garage workshop.

"Oh, there you are," Jenny Jones said, poking her head out the back of my latest creation. "Come on in and take a look. It's all done."

She pulled her head back inside, and I hustled over, up the ramp and through the door.

As Emily Redwater's sworn guardian, my first task was to safely transport her across a thousand miles of countryside from the city of Redwater to Mount Fate, without just taking the goddamn train like a normal person. Walking was out of the question, because even at the most optimistic estimate of three miles an hour and ten hours of walking per day, it would take an entire month to reach Mount Fate, and also, none of us wanted to walk a thousand miles across the countryside.

Now, there were other alternatives. My own mother, the great wizard Ariel Silver, could have just teleported us from Redwater to Mount Fate for a nominal fee. My own father, the great druid Napoleon Ironheart, could've turned into a pseudodragon and carried us to Mount Fate on his back. A few friendly acquaintances of mine from school were dwarves with family members who happened to work in a carriage shop, and could have helped me find a good deal on a high-quality charter carriage.

What I did instead was rely on my own skills, gained from years of machine shop and engineering classes (which was what endeared me to most of those dwarves, even if I did see them in Math and Language Arts and History too), to construct my own caravan from steel. On the outside, it was somewhat compact, measuring about two meters wide and four meters long, but on the inside...

Well, I wasn't just a machinist. I was a wizard, too, and creating spaces that were bigger on the inside was something my mother had drilled into me from an early stage in my training. Pocket dimensions were just so goddamn useful, and people would consistently pay good money for them- a wizard who knew how to make them would never go hungry.

And so in the back of the caravan, behind the cab, a space that had been a two meter cube had been enlarged to the size of a whole house. Just not a huge house- while I had managed a spatial expansion ratio slightly higher than 3:1 on the van, the end result was still only a 20 foot cube. (I never did understand why so many people had trouble converting between Dwarven and Hikaano units- a foot is thirty centimeters, and ten feet is three meters. It's really not that complicated.) Dividing that into two stories with ceilings about nine feet high, and allowing for hallways, closets, et cetera, I was able to fit in four bedrooms that were about eight feet square. Which was a bit on the small side, and therefore, why I'd been especially interested in Jenny Jones' work.

Jenny herself was one of the few half-elves who'd inherited the pointy ears from her mother, and from her father, she'd inherited skin like burnished bronze and hair like cloudy midnight, along with flatter, more rounded facial features than was ordinary for elves. She was wearing her shop coveralls, but had unzipped them and peeled the garment to her waist, exposing the plain, unremarkable white undershirt she wore under it, along with the thick cords of muscle undergirding her arms, shoulders, and back.

"So, as you can see," Jenny began, as she showed me around.

At the end of the tour, I was more than happy with the results, and happily handed over the other half of her payment- she'd been paid a full four thousand dollars for this job, and she was worth every penny.

And tomorrow, I'd have to convince Duchess Redwater to also be happy with this.