Ingrid Ironheart had shaped blades for forty years, and this morning it took her a full hour to light the fire. She knelt by the hearth of her weathered smithy, feeding in splits of wood one at a time. Her husband used to do this. He knew the timing without a word, for thirty years, and never got it wrong. Now the task fell to her hands. She wanted only what any tired woman wants at the end of a long life: quiet days, steady work, and the fire lit before noon. The coals finally caught. She turned to tell him, then stopped, as she did a dozen times a day. A knock came at the heavy door. Ingrid wiped soot on her apron and lifted the latch, expecting a farmer with a dull plow. The queen stood on her threshold. Glaciana Frostborne Alpineglow wore her icy gown and silver braid, her crown bright in the dim light. No guards crowded behind her. She held a cloth bundle in both hands, and steam curled up from it into the cold air. Ingrid began to bow but the queen reached out and took her elbow. "Don't," Glaciana said. "You've knelt enough at that forge." Ingrid straightened, unsure, but then smiled and nodded. "The whole kingdom knows what you lost," Glaciana said. She stepped inside and set the bundle on the wooden table. She unwrapped it. A loaf of sweet bread lay steaming, dark with honey, still warm from a palace oven. "I baked this myself. My father taught me heat. So did yours, I think." Ingrid touched the loaf. The warmth went into her stiff fingers. "People bring me food," she said. "Every day since he died. Pies on my step. Logs stacked by the wall." Her voice caught. "I don't know why." "Because your husband fed your fire," Glaciana said. "And your fire armed this kingdom. We know the cost of both." She did not soften it. She stated it like a fact in a ledger. Ingrid broke the bread and offered half back to the queen but the queen smiled and shook her head. They sat by the fire, talking for a good while. The forge crackled behind them, lit at last. Glaciana studied the quiet shop. "You could rest now," she said. "No one would blame you. Or you could take on an apprentice. The kingdom will send you one, if you ask." Ingrid looked down at her hands warmed by the fire and couple sliced of sweet bread that she had eaten. “I…I need to think on it.” Glaciana smiled warmly and gently rested her hand on Ingrid’s shoulder, “Of course.”