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Hearthstone is grateful for the strange dwarf- Blitzen, he calls himself. Without him, Hearth wouldn't have survived. He seems genuine and mostly unthreatening. He smiles often, although they can't communicate very well. But just because Blitzen helped Hearthstone once doesn't mean Hearth can trust him.
Hearthstone has learned that nothing in this world is without a price, kindness least of all. So the way Blitzen seems to toss it around so nonchalantly can only mean he is keeping a tab of what Hearth owes him. It will be difficult to repay this debt, but not impossible. Not like Andiron's blood debt.
Hearthstone owes Blitzen his life. He owes him lodging for the week or so he's been living here. He owes him for a week's worth of meals, although Hearth does not eat much for that very reason. The more he owes, the longer it will take to return to his studies, the longer it will take to master his magic.
Blitzen says, in very broken ASL, that he has to eat more if he wants to recover his strength. Hearth shakes his head and signs, No, thank you.
Hearth has never met someone like Blitzen before. He seems so unweighted by thoughts of debt. He has not once mentioned what Hearthstone owes. (Hearth knows it will come.) Blitz is living alone. He does not seem to have a stable job. He cannot possibly afford to provide for Hearthstone without payment. He doesn't seem to notice, or at least, for the moment, he doesn't care.
Hearth cares. Every second is a constant receipt of what he owes.
1 sunbed: x amount of gold pieces.
1 meal: y amount of gold pieces.
1 life: ?
His head is a calculator of chores and privileges and prices, but it's using the wrong program, because Blitzen isn't asking for the sum. Hearthstone is programmed to his parents' menu of life. Plus two gold pieces for laundry or sweeping, minus three for a meal or an hour of free time. He tries to keep up, doing chores as he finds them and resisting gifts as much as possible. He keeps busy organizing Blitzen's bookshelves, his cabinets. The dwarf draws the line when Hearth starts alphabetizing his fashion magazines. Hearthstone wonders if he has finally upset Blitzen enough that he'll kick him out and demand payment. He's caught completely off-guard when Blitzen pulls a random book off a shelf Hearth already organized and hands it to the elf. He signs (when had he gotten so good at that?) Relax a little. You don't work here. Vocally, but making sure Hearth can read his lips, he finishes. "You don't have to be my maid."
Hearth is baffled. If he can't clean, what can he do to pay his debt? He stares, perplexed, at the book in his hands. The title is unfamiliar, not surprisingly. Hearthstone rarely bought himself free time. Although he is suspicious, he settles in an armchair and reads. Blitzen grins wide and returns to his sewing.
He reads slowly but is engrossed. By the time he finishes the book it is late evening and he realized he has spent several hours reading for leisure. He's never had hours of free time before. The feeling makes him both excited and jumpy, as if Blitzen might revoke this power at any moment. He glances at the dwarf, still sitting at his desk, now sketching. Looking up after a while, Blitz locks eyes with Hearth and smiles.
Did you finish it? Hearthstone nods. What did you think? Hearth blinks. No one has ever cared what he thought before. No one has sought his opinion like it truly matters. He thinks for a moment that the dwarf is mocking him, but his brown eyes are still expectant and hopeful. After a moment of deliberation, Hearth responds, Incredible. Blitzen's smile grows wider, and Hearthstone grows bolder. I can't believe B-R-I-D-G-I-T was really the killer. Blitzen doesn't know that sign. Hearth shows him again and describes it until he understands. (Hearthstone knows that sign too well. It is one of the only signs his parents knew, along with rules, debt, fault, gold, and brother.)
He brushes that thought away because now Blitzen is responding. He answers verbally this time, too excited and speaking too fast to sign. Hearthstone does his best to keep up, and for the first time he does not feel lost while Blitzen speaks.
They talk about the book for two hours straight. In the morning, Blitzen hands him a new one, signs Read, and turns back to the silk shirt he is working on. Hearthstone reads, Blitzen sews, and things are... Comfortable. Hearth doesn't think about his debt.
This book is a different genre, a beautiful tragedy. Hearth reads all day to find out what happens.
He finishes the book hours later, faster than the first. His eyes begin to tear up in the final chapter when the protagonist's love interest finally reveals their backstory. They describe a broken past and cruel parents, an innate fear of trust. By the end of the novel, Hearthstone is crying. The first tears escape his eyes and land on the page while he holds back a sob.
Blitzen must be alerted by the sound of his ragged breathing, because he turns to look at Hearthstone in concern. His brown eyes are wide and his eyebrows high in surprise at the sight of the weeping elf. He stands abruptly and hurries over to sit beside Hearth.
What's wrong? He signs, worry etched across his handsome features. Holding his hand over his mouth to stifle any sobbing, Hearthstone simply shakes his head and continues to cry.
Blitz looks terrified, uncertain of what to do in the presence of a crying elf you hardly know that you picked off the street. Hearth doesn't seem likely to stop his panic and explain any time soon, so Blitz makes a decision. Taking a deep breath and hoping he won't make things worse, he reaches out and takes the hand not over Hearth's mouth in his own and squeezes it oh-so lightly. Hearth stiffens immediately, eyes wide in surprise and shock. He looks at the dwarf who is now holding his hand and can only cry harder.
Blitzen panics for a second, sure he's ruined every scrap of almost-friendship they've cultivated in the last week or so but then, still gasping and sobbing, Hearthstone squeezes his hand back. Lightly at first, then tighter until his grip is almost painful, but Blitzen doesn't mind. He wants to do more- hug the elf or something, but he knows it would be too soon. Sighing and gritting his teeth against the crushing grasp on his hand, Blitz watches Hearth until the tears finally dry.
When Hearth has cried himself out, he remembers that his hand is in Blitzen's and Blitzen's is in his. Yanking his hand away in embarrassment, the elf is astounded when Blitzen seems disappointed instead of relieved to have lost the physical connection. Hearth doesn't know what that means and doesn't know why anyone would comfort a deaf elf and hold his hand while he cries, but there are many things about this world- Blitzen's world- that Hearthstone is not familiar with, not the least being this constant kindness that seems to have no mockery or cruelty behind it.
His hand feels cold after having the warmth of Blitz's fingers. The dwarf is like a space heater and Hearth wonders with a confused flash what it would be like to hug him, to wrap himself around Blitzen and try desperately to get warm. The air is thick for a few moments while Hearth and Blitz both wonder what just happened and what it could mean before Hearthstone brings his hand almost up to his mouth and outwards. Thank you. Blitzen nods, his throat feeling as if there was something stuck in it.
Hearthstone's face is puffy and his eyes are green from crying, but when he gives the slightest smile in response Blitzen suddenly wonders if he's ever seen anything more beautiful. He banishes the thought quickly, but he has a feeling it will return.
Hearth has never felt this way before- oh, he's cried enough, certainly, but he's never felt... Comforted. Content. Safe. He tries to remind himself that everything has a price and that someday soon Blitzen will ask for payment, but as he looks into Blitz' eyes it's hard to believe.
Blitzen smiles at him, crookedly, and Hearth nearly smiles back before snapping out of his trance and drawing into himself. He looks away from the dwarf with the gentle brown eyes and thinks about debts to be paid. Hearthstone still has too many. He can't afford whatever this growing camaraderie is; there's still too much to do.
The moment dissipates and Blitzen suddenly understands that Hearth isn't going to explain. He wishes he knew what upset the elf, but he decides not to press it. If Hearthstone wants Blitz to know what he's thinking, he'll tell him. For now, they will go on in their strange cohabitation and Blitzen will find Hearth another book. They go to bed deep in thought. Maybe they'll move forward tomorrow.
This time, it's not just a book. It's a book- actually selected by Blitzen, not just pulled off the shelf- and a jacket. It's a sport coat, dark blue in color, so dark it's nearly black. It's impeccably tailored, every stitch perfect. It's also undeniably Blitzen's. It is certainly too short for Hearth, and too wide. Blitz looks sheepish and strangely nervous when he presents it.
I know it won't fit well, he signs, but you always seem cold. It should do until I can make you something better.
Hearth is shocked. He doesn't think he's ever been given a gift before, and half of him is certain it's some sort of trick. The coat is so formal, so expensive looking. If he took it, how much would that raise his debt? Part of him wonders if Blitzen could possibly be sincere, but the suspicion is too strong.
Why give this to me? He asks, incapable of believing that gifts could be given without the promise of something in return.
Blitzen, for his part, seems completely confused. Because you're cold. I already told you that.
But what do you want for it? Hearth asks, almost begging Blitz to admit his true motives before Hearth really started to believe him.
Blitzen, to Hearth's surprise, seems almost offended by the continuous implication that he's looking for something in return. "Nothing!" He insists, exasperated.
Hearth doesn't believe him, but he is afraid if he continues to argue Blitzen will be angry. As much as Hearth still doesn't trust him and his gifts, he feels a strange tightness in his chest at the idea of Blitz being angry with him. (He tries to tell himself it is only his instinctual fear of punishment that follows yelling. He does not quite succeed.)
So Hearth takes the jacket, but he doesn't wear it. He does read the book, though. It's nonfiction, unlike the previous two, and describes the development of civilization in Nidavellir, Midgard, and Alfheim. He isn't immediately sure why Blitz would have picked this particular book for him to read, but it is interesting.
The first section is about Midgard. He learns about humans, the diverse cultures they've built, and he is in awe. Hearth had rarely gone outside in Alfheim, but even when he had been outside his home and his windowless, dark room, he had never seen anyone or anything different. Some elves were obviously not as important as his family, but they all looked the same- tall, blonde, slim. All the houses he'd ever seen were similarly decorated. Even the hulder servants were always dressed the same. Hearthstone didn't know anyone unusual growing up- except himself.
But humans? Even though they all came from the same two original humans made from the ash and elm trees, they came in all sorts of colors and shapes and spoke countless tongues (including adapted versions of the original language of the gods, like the elves and dwarves also speak.) From one place to another in Midgard, nothing was alike.
The second section of the book is about Alfheim. Hearthstone shivers as he begins to read it, and he is unsure if he is simply cold or affected by the memories of his home. He considers putting on the jacket Blitzen gave him, but he chastises himself and returns to the book.
Much of the origin story he is aware of. The elves were the creation of Frey, lord of Alfheim. They are beautiful and bright and need sunlight. The book details the grand early time of elves that Hearthstone used to dream about as a child. But when the backstory ends and modern alf civilization begins, Hearth is surprised. The author explains the superiority complex among elves, their tendency to look down upon something that doesn't match their definition of perfect. That's not new information. What's surprising is that the author seems to dislike the elves. Each word exudes a strong disapproval for their oppression of hulder spirits and disdain for those who stray from the status quo.
Hearthstone has always known he was worthless. It was an undisputed fact everywhere he went, proven in the pursed lips and raised eyebrows of strangers who would visit his home while he cleaned when they learned that the esteemed Aldermans had a son who couldn't hear. It was a fact uncontested by his parents, by his ears, by his failure to protect Andiron. Never has he considered that others may not agree- everyone he has ever met, prior to Blitzen and excluding Inge, has reinforced this belief. But the book implies that the constant need for perfection among elves is a negative concept. That those oppressed by it are victims of injustice, not worthless mistakes who deserve what they get.
Everything around Hearthstone shifts ninety degrees, and nothing is quite the same. He still has no self esteem, and he doesn't particularly believe one book written by one person over a lifetime of first-hand encounters, but there is something seminal about the idea of someone sympathizing with him. He cannot yet fathom that deserves that sympathy, but the very knowledge that it exists is world-shaking.
The final section of the book is about Nidavellir, obviously. Svartalfheim, home of the dark-elves, was peopled by the maggots that devoured Ymir, evolved into earth-dwelling dwarves. Hearthstone has a hard time reconciling handsome, fashionable Blitzen and a maggot in his mind, but he tries to ignore it. The dwarves are metalworkers and craftsmen who built vast underground cities. Their society requires all things built by dwarves be named and introduced upon use. (Hearth wonders about the name of the armchair he's been curled up in for the past three days. He makes a mental note to ask.)
Most dwarves, Hearth learns, are descended directly from the maggots, but some have a varying family tree. Due to the level of their craft, says the book, they are often commissioned by Lady Freya to create the most beautiful jewelry possible. But there's a catch- although she apparently rains gold, Freya still can't, or perhaps won't, pay the dwarven jewelry makers. Hearthstone is shocked to learn about the queen of the Vanir buying necklaces with a "night of marriage."
The book describes how Freya's dwarven children are generally taller and better looking than other dwarves. (Hearthstone thinks, unwittingly, that Blitzen must be one of them. He is only about a foot shorter than Hearth, he enjoys clothing design, and he is certainly rather attractive. Pieces of the puzzle begin to fall into place.)
At last, Hearthstone reaches the end of the book. He shuts it gently and gazes at the cover, an emblazoned image of Yggdrasil, the World Tree. His fingers trace the branches absent-mindedly as he thinks. He knows, now, why Blitzen chose this book out of so many others. He thinks of Midgard, where they have all manner of people. He thinks of Alfheim, where no one is different and everything is perfect. He thinks of Nidavellir, his strange, temporary home for the past while, and of the kind dwarf who took him in.
It wasn't clear at first, but now Hearth sees the reason for the book as if it was printed on the title page. It said everything Blitzen meant to say. It introduced him, a svartalf son of Freya, and it said I understand. The chapter on Alfheim was Blitz' way of saying I know they expect perfection. I can guess they probably weren't pleased with a deaf elf. I can't know for sure what happened to you, but I know that place hurt you and I know you need to be told you're not at fault. I know. I understand.
And the chapter on Midgard? That was trickier, but Hearthstone thought it whispered Even people fundamentally different can coexist. We are so different, but you are welcome here. I will not judge you.
Hearthstone is snapped from his thoughts by another shiver. He glances at the sport coat sitting next to him on the end table. He thinks of the book, and pulls it on. It is ill-fitting but warm and Hearth feels safe. Still curled in the armchair, his eyes droop and he finds himself falling asleep.
When Hearthstone wakes, he is warm. No, not just warm- downright cozy. As he opens his eyes, he takes in the sight of the blanket Blitzen must have put over him while he slept, and he smiles, just barely. He looks around for Blitz and finds him, as usual, hunched at his work desk sketching designs. Hearth unfolds himself from the chair and wanders over, tapping the dwarf's shoulder to get his attention.
Blitz looks up in pleasant surprise and says, "Good morning." Hearth cannot tell if he means that literally or not without the sun, but he doesn't mind.
What are you working on? He asks, and Blitz' brown eyes light up. He tells Hearth, attempting to sign as he does so, about a new line of winter wear he's been thinking of, and he doesn't protest when Hearth asks him to slow down.
They chat for a while before a lull in conversation leaves them in companionable silence (not that Hearth would be able to distinguish it from any other type of silence.) As they sit, Blitz smiles over at the elf. Why are you smiling? Hearth asks, and Blitzen smiles wider.
You're wearing my coat, he responds happily. Hearth had nearly forgotten he was wearing it. He tugs sheepishly at the fabric, feeling his face heat up. Thank you, he signs. "You're welcome," Blitzen answers, and somehow, Hearth believes him.