The long table at Klingger’s held a morose, grim bunch.

Fawnlum and company sat, fresh off another battle, but silent and brooding.

“I’ve been watching you lick your wounds the last few days,” Klingger said, as he passed by.  “They used goblins for their fodder.  Didn’t you simply kill more?”

“They still have their army,” Sienna replied.  “We’re like fleas, biting at the flank of a large dog.”

Grave looks passed all around the friends, at the thought of what might be coming.  Bluntwerk grumbled the loudest in agreement.

“Blast it all!” Fawnlum said, pounding a fist on the table.  “The wizard still hasn’t appeared!”

“Of course she has!” came a call from the door.  “And she’s brought friends!”

Fawnlum snapped her head around, and stared at the source of the familiar voice.

Then she sprang up from her chair in delight, as Morgy entered the tavern, with Nepta and Honee close behind.  A throaty bellow boomed, as Torsar brought up the rear, with arms wide open.

With a loud and happy greeting, Fawnlum introduced her dwarf friends, the eyes of many other patrons looking at the people joining her.

Torsar eventually pulled Fawnlum away, and, in a brief exchange, he and Honee told her of a local friend, who had been kind enough to secretly house one of their party.

She was out the door before anyone else knew she was gone.

The door of the house opened quickly under a light rapping.  Fawnlum recognized the man who opened it, but he was different than when she had left.

Under the light whiskers in the dim light, his smiling face was slightly thinner, his cheekbones sharper.  His arms were still thick, but with less fat and deeper cuts in the muscle underneath.  And there were other clues – – subtle things that caused her concern.

“What is this?!” she snapped, as she walked in and gestured over him.  “Have you not been eating?”

Baneck blinked, and simply said, “I’ve been busy.”

“Busy?  Like you were busy when you forged Tungstil in secret?”

His smile quickly faded.  “Aren’t you at least glad to see me?”

“I’d feel better if there wasn’t so much less of you.  I never should have left.”

“Fawnlum, you’re not my keeper,” he said, as he latched the door behind her.

“You’ve been fighting.  I’ve been working.  Don’t tell me I can’t do right on my own.  And by doing right, I’ve done good things.  Can’t you appreciate that?”

“But at what cost?  Working yourself into the grave?”

He looked her in the eye and snapped, “Don’t tell me I can’t work!  It’s all for you!”

Then they looked at each other for a moment.  Fawnlum’s pride was aching to make sure Baneck heard more well-deserved reproach.  She had held her emotions in check as a leader, warrior, and representative of her kingdom.  But in her relationship with Baneck, she could let loose what was on her heart.  That was how it had always been.

The words were trying to escape his lips, just as sure as they wanted to spill out of her own.

With his fists on his hips, he slowly said, “It’s not a stubborn bur on a piece of iron I’ve come all this way to see.”

“I’ve been without you too long to be blind when you – .”

“Please,” he suddenly interrupted.  Then he calmly told her, “As I said, I’ve been working hard.  And to sacrifice a little weight to see this come into your hands is worth it.”

“Don’t avoid the issue,” she snapped, but he ignored her, turning away and reaching into a dark corner to the side, to pick up an elongated object, and hold it out to her.

“The fruits of my work,” he stated, calmly.  “The best effort I could give, to make something good enough for you.”

Watching him bite back his pride, Fawnlum took his cue, herself wanting happiness instead of anger, and placed a muzzle on her scolding for the moment.

She reached out to the linen-wrapped bundle.  The crisp cloth itself was a more costly thing than her pragmatic lover would ever spend the coin on.

And, she had to admit, he looked better right now, when he held something he had crafted with his own two hands, than if he was living a ‘soft’ life.  Maybe she was getting too protective, and becoming old before her time.

“This is not making me forget the state you’re in,” she said, even as she took the gift.

The touch of the cloth was fine, and she let the slow unwrapping exude a calming influence over her.  Even though only the hilt became visible in the glow of the humble house’s fireplace, the silvery metal shown vividly, accentuated by its carvings.  Not waiting for further hints, she pulled the magnificent saber from its scabbard, and stood in awe.

Its surface was polished to a mirrored finish.  The depth shone with a greater luster than any refined metal she had ever seen, like beauty put into the form of steel.

Absently handing him the sheath, she let her new weapon rest in both hands, testing its weight and swing.  At first grip, she knew it was meant for her.

“Icefire,” Baneck told her, barely able to keep the excitement out of his voice.

“Oh,” she started, but her words failed, as she was suddenly engrossed by the pattern of runes along its shining length.

She squinted as she looked closer.

“Why does it glow?”

“It’s the bane of evil.  It doesn’t like the evil that’s settled on this place.”

She traced her fingertip over one of the engravings.  She stared and blinked, as she perceived a will that was not her own, but had its own presence in her mind.  Alien it was in form, but touched her with a familiarity in its kindred nature.

She tried to find the words, as she looked between him, and the saber with increased puzzlement.

“You can feel it?” Baneck proudly asked.  “The will of a noble spirit has been placed inside it.”

“How….?” She stammered.  “How did you  – ?”

“Wintermore,” he gently said, with shoulders back and unfettered pride.  “It has let me do many things.”

Fawnlum continued to hold the sword, without reservation.  The spirit inside was surely there.  But as strange as it was to feel the alien will, she just held it aloft, with full faith in Baneck’s word.

“A goodly spirit, given power to seek out and slay wickedness,” he added.

He barely got the words out of his mouth, before she grabbed him and hugged him, with her lips mashed against his.  He embraced her fiercely in return, eventually breaking the kiss, and kissing her on the cheek, along the jaw, and working his way down.

As his face pressed into her neck, she lifted Icefire and again admired it.

And, as she had wondered when she had first seen Nepta’s marvelous belt, just what metal was this, shining with such strength?

“Thank you,” was all she could say, as she nuzzled him.

She kissed the weapon and re-sheathed it, then put both arms around Baneck, and they kissed hungrily again.

Breaking for air, they just stared into each other’s eyes.

Then she quietly said, fighting back tears, “I love it.  Oh, that every woman could have such a man.”

“Then you wouldn’t feel special anymore.”

“How long until the missus is back?”

“Awhile.”

“I assume your pallet is spread in back?”

As she tightened her embrace again, pressing acres of herself so tightly up against him, he kept her locked and gently swaying in his arms.  With nothing separating them except their clothes, he looked up at her, the bitter disappointment written across his features as plain as day.

“Your mother is the only reason I was able to come here,” he said, with pained caution.  “And with that came certain promises.”

Fawnlum had come up with quite a few creative curses for her mother over the years; and as her eyes flashed, she saw the expectation on Baneck’s face, of what she was about to say now.

Instead, though, she bit back the words, and bent down, giving him another smooch.  “Then we’ll keep your promises; but we’ll still need privacy.”

He buried his face against her chest, and gave a low growl as he squeezed, pulling her closer, and tighter, until he was lifting her off the floor.

“Ah,” she throatily moaned, still holding him with her powerful arms.  She stroked his head and neck, squeezing his face firmly against her upper bosom, and lifted her feet up, wrapping her long legs around his middle.

His speech muffled by her cleavage, his next expression came out as a series of deep mumbles.  Fortunately, they had played this game before, and she firmly held on, playing the role of navigator.

“Turn right.  A little more.  Now go straight, five steps.”

The blinded Baneck carried her into the next room, only slightly bumping the doorways, right to the furthermost chamber in the back of the house.

But instead of letting go, she squeezed a little more tightly, keeping her embrace locked, and tenderly stroked the top of his head.

“Baneck?”

“Mmmph?”

“Baneck?” she gently cooed.

“Mmph?!” he gasped, forcing a breath between her breasts.

“What’s this I hear, about you trying to kiss Honee?”

<*>                                                          <*>                                                      <*>

Daws locked the back door to his store, and walked into his secure workshop.  In the week since he and Armstrun had gone to the undercity, he had only seen Fawnlum in combat once, at the little fort made of felled shrooms.

Despite the overwhelming odds, and despite the heroes’ strategic retreat, they had no hope of stopping her from muddling their plans, as was evidenced by her brilliant strategy to flee when she was surrounded.

Then he carefully added the final alchemical ingredients to the small urn warming over the little fire.  The next time she went to that fort, he would be more than ready.