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Within the walls of the Emerald Citadel an elf and a dwarf play a game of strategy. They do not wager for coin. The stakes are far too high for that.

Once a month Syldor Vessar set out the circular board and pulled the chair constructed for shorter bodies to his desk. Once a month Broden Greyspine, Kraghammer’s ambassador to Syngorn, walked the long hallway from his office to the office of the Warden of Diplomacy. The players always waited until their own staff had left for the evening meal.

“Your head isn’t in the game,” the dwarf said. In spite of all the grey in his beard, his eyes and mind were still as keen as the edge on his axe. “You missed an easy capture.”

“Perhaps I’m laying a clever trap.”

“Hmph, your traps are never that subtle. What’s weighing on your mind?”

“A letter I received.” Long, slim fingers moved an archer piece away from cover.

“Oh?”

“My son-in-law has informed me that I shall become a grandfather in a few months.”

“Your first? Well, congratulations!”

Broden hopped out of his chair and strode to the liquor cabinet. He pulled a bottle of the finest brandy from the lower shelf, plucked a couple of glasses from the rack, and sauntered back to their table. He poured a snifter for himself, then a shot for his counterpart. He climbed back into his seat and raised his glass.

“The start of another generation is always cause to celebrate. Here’s to your impending grandchild!”

The elf, however, left his glass untouched. The dwarf lowered his brandy without wetting his lips. “Don’t tell me you’re looking so glum because this news makes you feel old.”

“I am feeling old, but that’s not the reason,” Syldor said, toying with an infantry figure. “I was…not the father to my older children that I am now. I pushed them terribly to prove themselves fit for elven society. They fled the city before they had finished their education. I let them go. But I’m certain you already knew of this.”

“Just because one statesman knows—”

“Does not absolve the opposing state from the obligation to speak the words. Yes.” He sighed deeply, placing his pawn in a weak position. “Now I fear that my eldest may not allow me in my grandchild’s life because of the way I treated them.”

“This is the daughter who married that duke of Whitestone?”

“Baron.”

“He’s human?”

“Yes.”

Broden switched his large glass for Syldor’s tiny one. “You need this more than I do.”

“Perhaps.”

“Your High Warden must be pleased.”

“I haven’t told her yet.”

“You really think she hasn’t found out?”

“I would not be at all surprised.”

“So what do you plan to do?”

The deepening lines around the taller man’s mouth made him appear even more troubled. “Many in Syngorn believe I have tainted my bloodline.”

“Many in Syngorn have their pointy heads so far up their asses, they believe their own shit smells like roses.” Broden slapped one of his mage pieces in the gap between two opposing knights. “Those ‘half-breed’ children of yours took down five dragons and a newly-minted god. Deeds straight out of elven legend. Your bards should be singing their praises. The humans are.”

“My father would expect me to repudiate their existence. And the child’s.” He moved one of his knights in the only direction it could go.

“Your father is dead. And you’ve carried on enough of his mistakes.” Broden took the remaining knight.

“You sound like a man who places no value on tradition.”

“You sound like a man trying to convince himself of a belief he no longer trusts.”

Syldor picked up the lone knight, placed him back on the same square. Broden gave him a moment to ponder his next move.

“Did you ever tell your twins you were proud of them?”

“They knew. How could they not know?”

“That’s the politician in you talking. Answer me as a father.”

Syldor said nothing.

“Did you ever tell them you loved them?”

Again Syldor said nothing.

“Tell your daughters. Especially your eldest. Tell her how you feel about your son. She needs to hear it.”

“I may choke on my own pride.”

“Then choke. Think of the pain as penance for sins of omission.”

Syldor moved one of his clerics from the first ring of the battlefield to the top of the castle sitting in the center of the board. “Or I could just give her what she wants. Stay out of her life beyond the duties of our state positions. Stay out of her child’s life.”

“Are you so certain that’s what she wants?”

“I am certain she wouldn’t want me teaching her children the ways of elven culture.”

“Children aren’t clay, Syldor. No matter much how we try to sculpt them, they always shape themselves.” 

Broden moved a battleaxe. Syldor surrendered the abandoned knight.

“I have already lost my son. I can’t bear to lose my eldest daughter, too.”

Broden debated pushing his own cleric into the second ring of the board for a frontal assault. He chose a different tactic.

“How is your younger daughter?”

“Better. She’s still sleeping like a toddler, but she no longer wakes up screaming.”

“Good, good. That had to be rough on your lady.”

“My wife is finally able to meditate without distraction again. We’ve begun easing Velora back into schoolwork, but it will be some time before we can even attempt having her back in class. The schools have been under extreme security measures since her kidnapping. Devana is worried that any blame from the other children may undo her recovery.”

“She has a point.”

“Yes. A very sharp one.”

“Your little girl would enjoy having cousins on this continent. Keeping her from them will only get harder the more she grows.”

For an elf not quite middle aged, Syldor looked as weary and careworn as Broden often felt. The elderly dwarf took a sip of brandy.

“…You know, I have a son born on the wrong side of the blanket.”

Syldor exposed a bit of a smile. “You, Broden?”

“Knock it off. I know damn well that you have a dossier on me with every detail of my life. You track my daily vices better than my healer does.”

“Sorry, I thought agreeing with you would sound smug.”

“Everything you say sounds smug. It’s your nature.” 

“Ah, there’s the old nemesis I’ve come to know. Do I feel a lecture coming on?”

“Shut your mouth and open those long ears. We took in the boy after his human mother died from the lung rot during that terrible winter when the rivers flooded the farmlands. My wife was furious with me, but she treated the child with kindness. Dwarf is dwarf, no matter what other rock is embedded with the gold.”

“That apology gift must have cost you a mint.”

“Oh, yes. My lady now owns a queen’s ransom of sapphires. She puts on a piece of that jewelry to remind me whenever I do something careless.”

“If she ever shows up wearing the entire set, you’re in big trouble.”

“Don’t try to change the subject.” Broden drained his drink. “Under the household’s care my half-human son grew tall, strong, and more nimble than his much older siblings and younger cousins. Even though he’s not as sturdy as they are, that didn’t stop him proving he could hold his own in their rough-and-tumble games. These days he’s a champion at throwing axes, and he crafts the most delicate metal inlay coin can buy. I’m as proud of him as I am of my full-bearded children.”

“If you’re making the point I think you are, it’s too late for me.”

“The point of my story is, I also learned to be a better father and husband because I finally saw how much I had to lose if I didn’t. I spent far too many nights tossing and turning on the pillows in my office. I worked hard, I felt unappreciated, so instead of saying so, I doubled down on my pride. All I achieved was hurting those who trusted me most. On both sides of the blanket.”

“Sleeping in your office—this was during the last negotiations with the Mithril Fellowship?”

“Yes. I was surprised that you never used the affair against me. You can’t tell me you didn’t know.”

“I knew. I also knew that using your personal life to humiliate you at the bargaining table would destroy your standing in Kraghammer. There is playing hard, and there is playing dirty. You have never threatened Syngorn enough to deserve that. And I have seen too many children suffer because of politics.”

“Thank you for that.”

“Besides,” the elf smirked, “I didn’t want the annoyance of breaking in your replacement. Getting used to your accent and rough manners took me ages.”

The dwarf snorted into his beard. “There’s my old nemesis!”

He shifted his second mage directly in front of the castle. Then his eyes turned serious. “Progeny are a form a wealth more precious than platinum. More versatile than gold, even stronger and longer-lasting than mithril. I’ll never understand how you elves could afford to throw away a fortune in half-blood children.”

“We can’t.” The elf moved his last archer to safety. “We really can’t.”

“You may have given your daughter good reason to construct a vault around her heart, Syldor, but this grandchild offers you a chance to earn back some of that wasted wealth. You’ll have to haul tons of stone for many years, and step carefully, using all your skill. Maybe even shed some blood and a few tears. But it’s better than dying alone as a bitter old man unloved by his family.”

Syldor pressed the latch on the castle. The silver drawbridge lowered to admit Broden’s forces, surrendering the game.

Broden refilled his shot glass and raised it. “To grandchildren: May we become better men for them.”

Syldor raised his full snifter to return the toast. “May we, indeed.”