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Dear Senshi of Izganda
It feels weird to use such a formal title, but I’ve never got to say it while we were together, so forgive me for indulging a bit.
If you’re reading this letter, I am probably dead.
If not, feel free to stop reading. Or maybe not, because I do mean everything I write down here, and you know how hard it is for me to open up. But if you got your dirty paws on this letter before my time is up, do give an earful to Marcille in my name. Or even better, tell me, so we can go together. So much for keeping her promises, elves truly are irresponsible.
When Marcille first mentioned her dream of bringing the lifespan of different races closer together, back in the dungeon, surrounded by monsters and other awful creatures, I honestly felt insulted. What am I supposed to do with a thousand extra years to my name? We half-foots have come to accept our shortcomings with such a limited time we have, long before we integrated into modern society. For us, life is but a fleeting moment of experiences and memories blurred together, until our bodies get pulled under dirt, going back to where all life spurred from once.
Sounds poetic, doesn’t it? It’s from an old children’s book I used to read to my girls.
When Puckpatti was only four years old, our cat had died. I no longer remember her name, but if you’re curious, ask Meijack, they had a bond like no other.
She was a good barn cat, back when we lived far from the Island. Black and white with stripes all over her body and a pair of mischievous green eyes, she tipped my bucket of goat milk over on more than one occasion. But she was a kind soul, sometimes, and would always rub against my legs as a half-hearted apology.
When she died, the girls were unconsolable.
They’d scream and cry and beg me to bring her back, but there was nothing I could do, she was already gone by the time our rooster was perched on the fence to greet the Sun with an enthusiastic crow. I can’t remember her name, but I remember how cold and rigid her body was, laying on a haybale.
She died due to old age; it wasn’t a surprise to me. The signs were there, reduced appetite, rapid weight loss, weakness, change in mood. I knew, but they didn’t, because they were still kids, so little, so innocent, and although half-foots don’t live for long, it’s not like they experience loss more frequently than long-lived races do. We live together, age with the same pace, and go when our time comes.
My girls cried for days after that cat was gone. They might cry after I am gone too.
They’re no longer unfamiliar with the concept of death. They’re roughly the same age I was when we met, after all. But they’re still my girls, all three of them.
Look after them, would you?
You had your fair share of tragedies in life, and will continue having them for a bit longer. That is the fate of dwarfs, or any other long-lived race for that matter. I honestly feel guilty for even writing it down here.
Do you remember the night I blurred out a drunken, half-awake confession, declaring my love for you till I puff out my last breath? Remember the morning when I got cold-feet and ran away for a week, leaving you behind all confused?
I was afraid.
Not for me, but for you.
You are a good man Senshi, and an even better partner. You are loving, sensible, secure. And you are, unfortunately for me, stuck on Earth for a bit longer than I am.
I tried to combat this of course, there is a reason I only drank on our dinner nights. We went on walks, worked hard, ate good, exercised, and had ample amount of sleep, just like you wanted us to. Me personally, I was never one to bring up healthier options, I think it is a general rule of thumb with half-foots to enjoy life to the fullest, be it filled with alcohol, or even ecstatic nights spent in the arms of someone we only met thirty minutes in advance. Who knows, those meetings could be fated.
Do you remember how scared I was to put a name on us, on the thing between us? Coworkers, partners, husbands. I am even more scared to put widowed on you. You don’t deserve such a rotten status.
I asked you if you were fine with me leaving first, on that night on the beach. You got quiet, as if you never really considered the possibility of that before, and it confirmed my suspicion. Although you are a dwarf, you spent decades wandering around the dungeon, all alone, and your sense of time is warped beyond repair. Hell, it feels ike after years of being together, you still get surprised by the amount of grey hairs on my head.
I used to pull them out, you know. I saw it in your eyes, the uncertainty, the fright, you don’t have the best poker face you know. But it would look weird if I was walking around with a full head of auburn hair while my skin was losing its bounciness, so I stopped when I turned 40. No point of hiding what’s written all over my body, all over my face, my hands, even my voice.
Aging is a scary process you know, and it is even scarier when you know you’re leaving people behind.
I wouldn’t have minded dying young. Back when we went on that suicide mission, back when we conquered the dungeon. I wouldn’t have minded, because it didn’t feel like I had people waiting for me on the surface.
Now I know how stupid it is, with how frequently the girls have visited us, especially in the last few years, but back then, I truly didn’t see the light at the end of the tunnel. I’m glad you are such a good chef, or perhaps Mercille couldn’t have revived me as easily as she did, with the amount of fat – or perhaps, lack of – I had on my body. At that time, I didn’t understand the horrified stares I got when I undressed, ribs showing and hip bone sticking out from concave midsection. Staying thin was a given as a locksmith frequently hired for dungeon expeditions, especially for half-foots my size. I’m glad you beat some sense into me. Eating truly isn’t scary, with the right company.
Don’t think I didn’t see the sadness on your face in the last few years, when I started to have more bad days than good ones. If I was kinder, I’d let you live in oblivion until you figured it out yourself, but since I am not, you can carry it with you on your next journey. Maybe I am selfish, but knowing you’re carrying a piece of me in your heart brings me a strange sense of pride and accomplishment. What a giant hypocrite I am, for calling Laios a psychopath all the time while there’s something wrong with me too. Maybe he rubbed off on me, or I was already born deranged.
I don’t ask you to continue living in our home. If you plan to move, give the keys to Marcille. The place is small, but big enough for a laboratory close to the castle, but still far enough from the bustle and hustle of the city. That girl needs some more fresh air, I’m telling you. A thousand years be damned, living a healthy life is the key to a life worth living, to quote you, Dear.
I am not asking you to stay faithful. I want to say it’s because I want you to stay close to my family, to visit my girls, my grandkids, the guild, perhaps the grave of my ex-wife’s, but I won’t, because there’s no point in doing so. You’ve always been a guy who preferred the already established over something brand new, at least when it came to your relationships, be it platonic or romantic. There’s a reason our party was the first you joined, when that dungeon was open for 6 years before you spotted us. Somehow I feel like when I die, I will bring a piece of your heart with me. The thought scares me deeply.
I wasn’t scared of dying, and to be fair, I am still not afraid of it now, even though it is approaching with rapid speed. What I’m scared of is leaving you behind.
My girls will be fine. They have each other, their partners, their kids, they have you, and they have the support of our king too. But you, what will happen to you? You outlived me, will outlive my kids, our king, Falin, and god knows who else. I don’t want you to wander aimlessly in dungeons again, you’re not in that age anymore. No one wants to see a greying dwarf chasing some monster with a butcher knife upon entering a dungeon. I doubt they’d willingly join you.
If you can, I want you to go on an adventure perhaps. There are many things we never got to see, go and watch them for me at least. I’d give an arm and a leg to see the Northern Lights. Laios and Falin wouldn’t stop talking about it, might as well see it for yourself.
I planned to write a few more letters for you Dear, forgive me for only finishing one.
I’d appreciate you visiting me once or twice. I bet it gets awfully lonely stuck underground, for both you and me. We both could use some great company.
The sound of you in the kitchen is strangely comforting. It’s a shame I can no longer join you.
When we meet again, let me treat you to some traditional half-foot cuisine. Even a chef like you deserve to get pampered once in a while.
Much love,
- Chilchuck Tims
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Dear Chilchuck Tims
I miss the joyful look on yer face as ye eat my cooking.
Perhaps, it isn’t the most romantic way to start a letter, but yer Senshi was never known for his particularly good word choices. Ye know how it gets sometimes, when the common tongue and dwarfish mix in one’s head. Ye were the same at my age, well, in half-foot years, looking at me all weird when I didn’t understand the words of your hometown. Aging isn’t such a precious thing as I’ve been noticing lately. My hair is all white now, the perfect match to yours at the time of yer passing.
Ye passed at the age of 55, and ever since then, 55’s been my least favourite number. Still, I can’t help but feel fascinated by the year 540, the year of yer passing. Such an uncharacteristically cold year from start to finish, to the point most of our vegetables didn’t make it. All I got from the ground were a few pieces of carrots and beets, I had to visit the golems to harvest enough potatoes for a big pot of goulash. It was as if the ground was trying to preserve your body, even though you got the nicest mahogany casket from our king. Nature gets attached to those who respect it.
26 years. That's all we got together.
I’m sorry for only writing to you now. I am now 195 years old, and just about done with life. A don’t think I will reach my 196th birthday, even though we are in the year 597 already. October is still so far away y’know, and staying under the sheets has become such a comfort. Maybe we rubbed off on each other too much, with ye outliving expectations and me never meeting them. I want to think ye snitched away those 5 years and glued it to your own lifespan. If ye did, ye can confess now, ye know I’d never be mad at ye for that.
If it wasn’t ye, I hope it was me. I would have given anything to spend even just one more day with ye. I was 132 when ye died. It’s been 63 years. Or maybe it hasn’t, I’ve never been good with numbers.
I’ve attended countless funerals since ye have been gone, the passing of both family and friends.
I’ve buried yer girls. Don’t worry yer pretty little head over it, they’ve passed a lot more dignified than we did. All passed in their sleeps just like ye did, must be genetics, ye looked so peaceful I didn’t even want to move ye after seeing yer no longer breathing. I hope I will pass in my sleep too, doesn’t sound like an awful way to go.
I’ve been struggling to get enough air lately, but I wouldn’t want to bother Fertom’s husband more than I do already, the young lad has his hands full with the kids still. Ye never got to meet them, but they’re an adorable bunch, a set of twins. They’ll outlive both half-foots and dwarfs, according to our elf lady. Mixed children are truly a wonder. One of them is already a teenager, while the other still so small. When Marcille had mentioned never fitting into the norm of her peers, I never understood, but now I do. She comes over sometimes, and is a great auntie to the kids too, all of them, not just the halflings, says meeting yer family gives her a peace of mind. Yer a lucky fellow, somehow all your grandkids got yer haircolour. Deep auburn, the nicest shade of autumn. Absolutely lovely.
Ye mentioned in your letter that yer scared for my well-being. I can’t say your anxiety wasn’t baseless, I didn’t deal with yer passing the nicest way. The first couple of years are a blur, and I know you’d frown in my face after hearing ‘years’, but I’m hoping writing to ye in advance could soften the impact a little bit.
I miss yer voice, yer face, yer body, yer smell, even if I can no longer remember most of them. It’s been 63 years, forget my forgiveness. It’s just, after a while, no amount of magic can keep your scent on yer favourite pillowcase, the soft, white one with the little blue flower prints. I’ve used it for years, after yer passing, carried it with me in my backpack, but nowadays I don’t dare touching it carelessly, the material is all worn down and old.
Recently, I passed down my pot and knife to Marcille, told her to do whatever she wants with them. Not like I can get up to cook your favourite dishes anymore. She thanked me, and her face was all red, eyes puffy. She’s not ready to let go. Still. After seeing my worry, she promised to cook up some potions with them, bless her heart.
I remember the night ye confessed, how can I not? Yer face was all red from the alcohol, yer bangs were sticking to yer forehead, and I was trying to get some bread into ye. But ye looked so full of life, so eager, and yer confession set my skin on fire. When I couldn’t find ye in my bed the next morning, I thought I dreamed the whole thing. But yer a terrible liar, even worse deflector, so I joined in your little waiting game, we both had time. Now, thinking back, I wish I’d have visited yer sooner, because yer life is so short compared to mine, and every day spent apart was torture. It still is, but I grew to accept it.
I remember the day ye asked me if I know what it means to be with a half-foot, back on that beach. I remember not understanding, what’s so different between us. But yer eyes were serious, and the sun hit yer face just the right angle for me to understand. Ye were aging, rapidly, but in my eyes yer never looked prettier.
I apologise for never noticing how ye could see the distaste on my face yer short lifespan was causing me. As ye had said, I do have a terrible poker face, Gillin often made fun of me for that.
A few decades after yer passing, Izutsumi had visited me. Her fur was all white with a few patches of grayish-black, and her body was no longer the agile line we grew to accept and love. In her hand, she held a bottle of wine with some strange letter on the label, said ye mentioned how it’s yer favourite kind, but it’s hard to come-by since it comes from a far-away land. When she saw it in the city fair, she snatched it without a second thought, but said the price should be enough to keep your ghost from haunting her for a few years at least.
We drank half of it together. That was the last time I’ve seen her.
Once I’m done with this letter, I will help myself to the other half. If I’m lucky, I can drink for two tonight. If it’s spoiled, we can just go buy a bottle later. We’d have all the time in the world.
Opening my letter with yer full name felt weird, but after carrying yers in the pocked of my shirt for more than half a decade, with you addressing me as Senshi of Izganda, it felt right. Seeing my name in yer handwriting was such a curious feeling. I hope my letter will evoke the same feelings in ye as well.
The twins are coming over today, I hope I can greet them at the door, my legs aren’t working the same way they used to. After yer passing, despite yer warning, I did visit a few dungeons, hunted this and that along the way, scared a rookie party half to death with my knife and pan. Their lockpick had the same freckles ye had when ye were younger. It was always a delight to see them come out when yer spent a few hours in the sun during summertime. My favourite part of our summer harvests was kissing each of them before bed, when ye were all sweaty and exhausted but still leaned into my touch. Ye better have them still, or I might just never visit ye.
I’m feeling a bit drowsy today, might just leave a short letter on the kitchen counter for the girls before taking a much-needed nap.
Yours forever,
- Senshi of Izganda
PS.: I never got to see the Northern Lights. We’ll just have to go and see them together.
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