The interior of the house was much like the exterior. It was very nice, but not overdone. As soon as the door was closed, Verhaldar put the child down, and the kid immediately took off at a clumsy toddler run into the next room. Verhaldar followed, gesturing for Kaldalis to as well.

She led him into a sitting room. But for the lack of a television, it could have been copy-pasted from a modern living room. There was a wide cloth couch and two padded chairs arranged around a low wooden table. On the table was an empty white vase and a single hardback book with a frayed bookmark poking out of it near the end. There was a fireplace on the opposite wall, with a few clay gewgaws on the mantle. Against one wall were three paintings, all of a sunset over the ocean. They were clearly done by the same person, from the same spot.

The child was struggling to scramble up onto the couch, and Verhaldar almost absently lifted him up onto the seat as she walked past.

“Tea?” she asked. On the far side of the room there was an open doorway, and Kaldalis could see a kitchen beyond.

“No, thank you,” Kaldalis said. As soon as he spoke, he realized his mouth was going dry from nerves. “But I’d appreciate a glass of water.”

“One moment,” she said. “Feel free to sit anywhere.”

After she left the room, Kaldalis was suddenly overwhelmed by the awkward tingle of being in a stranger’s home. He was very aware of his hands - and, for some reason, his horns - as he moved to one of the padded chairs and sat down.

On the couch, the toddler bounced on one of the cushions for a minute - the little stub of green tail violently twisting back and forth for balance - before flopping down against the back and wiggling in place to get settled. Kaldalis didn’t really know anything about kids. He and his sister had been very close in age, and so even though she was younger, he’d never had to take care of her. He’d never babysat, and none of his close friends were parents, so he had no idea what to expect from even a human toddler, let alone a greenish child with little nubs of horn coming out of the wispy blonde hairline.

Luckily, Verhaldar returned quickly with three cups. Two were clear glasses of water, and the third was a carved wooden sippy cup. The kid made a needy noise and reached for the cup, but Verhaldar put down the glasses first before chiding the child.

“What do we say, Nit?” she asked. “Use your words.”

“Peas!” the kid said, suddenly finding actual language instead of grunts. Though they immediately fell silent and gave Kaldalis a nervous glance.

“It’s okay,” Verhaldar said, “he was a kid once, too. He knows what it’s like to learn to talk.”

Kaldalis obviously had no memory of learning to talk, but he smiled and nodded, as seemed to be expected.

“Peas wa-tah,” the kid said, carefully enunciating the syllables. Verhaldar gave him the cup, and he started to greedily drink.

“Cute kid,” Kaldalis said.

“He ought to be, for how much trouble he gets into,” Verhaldar said with a wan smile, picking up one of the water glasses and handing it to Kaldalis.

“Thank you,” he said, taking a sip and trying to let it soak into his mouth for a moment before swallowing. The water was crisp and cool, and he immediately felt better. “You said their name is Nit?”

“He,” she corrected, picking up her own glass and sitting in the other padded chair, giving the kid the run of the whole couch. “Full name Nitdir, but just Nit for short. I know it’s a little weird, but…” She shrugged. “I don’t imagine I’m going to get a lecture on normal names from you, Kaldalis?”

Kaldalis didn’t really want to let on how little he knew about Vathon naming conventions, and so he just laughed as he put his glass on the table. He had gathered that the convention was collections of three-letter syllables, and so his name being eight letters was atypical. But he had no idea why Nitdir was weird.

He wanted to make conversation, and definitely not talk about what he was actually here to say. But his brain threw up warning lights before any question could get all the way to his mouth. He wanted to ask about the kid’s father. About the nice house. About the paintings. But every question was a potential minefield. Considering the bomb he was going to end the conversation with, he wanted to stay as safe as possible until then.

“I’m sorry to ask, but I have to know,” Kaldalis said, “what was Haldir like as a kid? I can’t imagine him ever having been… You know. Carefree.”

“Really?” Verhaldar said, tilting her head curiously. “Why not?”

“He’s just…” Kaldalis tried not to wince. “Between all of us, the responsible one?”

“You know that probably says more about you than it does about him,” she observed with a smirk.

Kaldalis found himself laughing again. Just one quick bark of self-deprecating laughter.

He desperately clung to the moment of mirth, trying not to let it die instantly. Trying to hide the growing panic welling up in his chest. This was Haldir’s sister. His family. She deserved to hear it from him. Even if she already knew, she deserved more than a dispassionate bureaucratic letter. She deserved a moment of shared mourning and pain.

He just couldn’t stop thinking about that moment. When he punched Haldir in the face for no good reason.

She deserved to hear it from someone better than Kaldalis. But he was the only person he had.

It wasn’t until Verhaldar spoke again that he realized that he’d been quiet for just a little too long.

“How did it happen?” she asked.

Kaldalis’s vision blurred for a moment in panic.

“That’s why you’re here, right?” she asked. Her voice was still calm and even. No anger, no accusation.

“You already knew?” Kaldalis asked.

“You’re…” She stopped and swallowed, taking a breath for a moment, still forcing herself to maintain a facade of calm. “You’re not very good at hiding your emotions. You might want to work on that.”

“I’m sorry,” Kaldalis said. He felt his lower jaw shake a little, and he tried not to break down. “Shit. I’m sorry, I didn’t want to cause you any pain, but… I never could have forgiven myself if I didn’t do something. If I came to Baimer and didn’t at least try.”

Verhaldar was silent for a moment, and Kaldalis used the time to get himself physically under control. She seemed to be doing the same. As the silence stretched, she could hear her breathing grow briefly ragged before she got it back under control.

“Every time he leaves, he tries to prepare me for…” she stopped and took a slow breath. “Tried. Tried to prepare me for the worst. He was so serious this time, talking about the Infernal Horde. I thought it was because Radver left. Because I didn’t have anyone else to help with Nit. I should have known…” She stopped again, tilting her head back and blinking, stopping the tears from falling. “How did it happen?”

Kaldalis swallowed. He didn’t want to mention the fight. He didn’t want her to know that he punched her brother in the mouth right before he died. He didn’t want her to know that it might have been what drove him to be reckless. That Kaldalis was the reason her kid didn’t have an uncle anymore.

“It was the Infernal Horde,” Kaldalis confirmed. “The final raid to form Cotanaku into a proper town. They were stronger than we expected. More than we could have handled.” Kaldalis hoped that he was better at lying than he thought he was as he continued. “Haldir died a hero. He led a doomed charge to push out and buy the rest of us time to recover from the first strike. Without his sacrifice, we would have been overrun. It would have been the end of the expedition, and countless other lives.”

Verhaldar nodded. Her lips were pressed into a thin line. He wasn’t sure if she was seeing through his lie, so he just kept going.

“I made sure he got a proper burial,” Kaldalis said. “And we carved a memorial into the city wall. Everyone who arrives in Cotanaku will see the names of those who fell.” Kaldalis swallowed. He wanted another drink of water, but he didn’t trust himself to take hold of the glass with his hands shaking. “Haldir changed my life. I’m a better person for having met him. I’ve… I’ve gone to great lengths to make sure sacrifices like his don’t have to happen ever again. I’m just sorry I was so blind and careless. I never should have let this happen. I’m so sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you,” Verhaldar said. Despite the visible tears in her eyes - still unfallen - her voice was calm and even. “I’m sure you will carry his memory with you. He would have wanted that. He always wanted to protect people. I can’t think of a better way to honor him.”

“Are you…” Kaldalis hesitated, looking around at the house. “Are you going to be okay?”

“We’ll be fine,” she said, standing up. “Even if his stipend stops, he di-” She coughed, unable to say the word. “It was in the line of duty. The League will send... Severance. I’ll have to start painting again before I planned to, but our parents paid off the house decades ago, so it’s still going to be a while before I need to.”

“That’s… Not what I meant,” Kaldalis said.

She looked at him. That look alone told him everything he needed to know. Of course she was going to be okay. Eventually. Recovery was as inevitable as the loss itself. She was only human - er, Vathon - and would need time to mourn. But eventually it would just be another day. Eventually she would be fine.

That look also told him she was too proud to break down in front of a stranger.

“I’ve got… A meeting to get to,” Kaldalis said, getting to his feet as well. It wasn’t a lie. The meeting with the War Council for Garyung would turn into a timer on his quest log soon. “I’m so sorry for… For dumping all this on you. I just… I owe Haldir too much to not look you in the eye and apologize.”

“Just don’t forget about him,” Verhaldar said, her expression serious.

“Never,” Kaldalis promised.

She walked him out, and he pretended not to hear the first sob of her sorrow just before the door closed.