"Marron?" The shy dwarf’s shadow darkened the bakery’s doorway as he arrived, looking like a child caught sneaking sweets. She had been in the middle of washing her mixing bowls and other utensils.
She closed the water tap and called, "Hi! Co on in. Nothing to be afraid of."
He shuffled forward, tugging nervously at his beard. His copper hair was tied back in a short, frayed braid, and his broad hands looked more used to chisels than spoons. "Na’s Dori," he mumbled. "Borin said you might... need soone t’help, once yer off to Whetvale."
Marron tilted her head. "Dori. That’s a nice na."
He flushed red to the ears. "Not much of a cook, mind. But I worked in a tavern before. Was just pourin’ ale, most days. Did so chopping, sotis stirring. Never the real stuff."
"That’s okay." Marron set a small cutting board in front of him. "You don’t need to be perfect, but you do need to enjoy cooking. I can teach you the recipes, and then you’ll make them your own. Thanks for volunteering, by the way! I didn’t know how I was going to manage traveling and taking care of the people here."
Dori blinked, as if she’d spoken a foreign language. "Teach... ?"
"Of course," she said, smiling more warmly. "It’d be an honor."
He stood straighter, a spark of pride warming his shy deanor. "Then—aye. I’ll do best."
They started with rice. Marron showed him how to rinse it until the water ran clear, explaining each step. Dori listened with the solemnity of a stonecutter, repeating her motions almost reverently. When he fumbled scooping it into the pot, she laughed and steadied his hand.
"You don’t have to be afraid of it."
"I’m not afraid," he muttered, ears burning. "Just... don’t want t’ruin it."
"You won’t. Rice forgives mistakes. You won’t crush it into dust just by holding it!"
When the grains began to steam and fill the bakery with warmth, Dori’s eyes softened. "Slls... like ho. Even if it’s not dwarven food."
"That’s the point," Marron said quietly. "Food is ho. Doesn’t matter where it’s from."
Later that afternoon, Borin entered with his sleeves rolled up, dust clinging to his beard. He carried himself with the weight of a decision made. "Marron. I’ll be startin’ on the walls tomorrow."
Her breath caught. "Already?"
"Aye. No sense waitin’. Raiders don’t give warning. And with the wolfkin an’ snakekin builders lendin’ their arms, we’ll raise sothin’ fast enough."
Outside, Marron glimpsed the two tall carpenters—one furry-eared, the other scaled and lean—nodding their agreent. They already had tools slung across their shoulders like weapons.
"And the tailors?" Marron asked.
"They’ll stay on the Commons," Borin answered. "Awnings, shadecloth, repairs. They’ll make the place worth lookin’ at, while we make it safe."
Her chest ached at the sheer montum of it all. adowbrook was truly rebuilding.
Borin’s voice gentled as he set a wrapped bundle on the counter. "But before I go hamrin’ stone, I’ll be needin’ sothin’ to keep my strength."
Marron opened the cloth and nearly teared up—inside was a portion of her Aegis Chicken Rice. He had packed it with the sa care she’d taught him when portioning als, every grain and strip of at neatly tucked.
"You... rembered?" she asked softly.
Borin gave a rare smile, lines creasing the corners of his eyes. "Hard to forget sothin’ that warms your bones. Stone rembers, Marron. And so do I."
That night, Marron sat with Lucy by the fire, watching Dori fumble adorably with folding rice balls into their wrappers. His determination filled her with a strange mix of pride and humility.
She was leaving adowbrook soon, if only for a short trip, but she wouldn’t be leaving it helpless.
And tomorrow, walls would rise.
Hot oil hissed in the skillet, popping as Marron carefully dropped another batch of chicken karaage into the pan. The rich scent of garlic, soy, and ginger filled the bakery, curling up into the rafters and making Lucy’s ribbons twitch with anticipation.
"Don’t crowd the pan," Balen reminded her from his spot across the table. He was busy shaping rice into neat triangles with the mold Charity had given her, every motion precise and practiced. "You want the heat to stay even."
"I know, I know," Marron muttered, turning the pieces gently. Each golden-brown thigh looked like treasure dredged from the oil, and the comforting crackle reminded her of long nights at ho—her mother’s insomniac fried chicken, her own quiet way of feeling cared for.
She smiled faintly and reached for the cooling rack—when a sudden ping filled her vision.
Her hands jerked, almost dropping the tongs into the oil. "Ah!"
Ding!
[Marron’s Current Currency: 1,200 XP & 50 gold]
[Current Quests: Accumulate 100 gold in 3 days - Not yet started
Sell 100 servings of Fried Chicken Onigiri and Ube Beignets - Not yet started]
[Note: Funds must be earned directly from culinary and trade efforts.]
[Reward: Culinary Guild Recognition and 500 XP]
[Failure: Whetvale will dismiss your food as novice-tier.]
Marron’s jaw slackened. "One hundred servings?!"
Lucy poked her cheek with a tendril, concerned. "That’s a lot of rice..."
Before panic could set in, Charity appeared with her usual impeccable timing. She plopped down a bundle of folded boxes on the counter, each lined with crisp parchnt stamped with neat gold stars.
"There’s your answer," Charity said cheerfully. "One hundred pretty boxes. Enough to hold both your chicken and your sweets."
Marron gawked at the stack. "One hundred? That’s insane! What if no one buys them? I’ll look ridiculous—what if I waste all of it—"
Charity pressed a finger to Marron’s lips. "Even if you don’t have any faith in yourself," she said softly, eyes kind but firm, "I do."
Balen chuckled from the table, sliding another onigiri into its wrapper. "She’s right, lass. You’ve co this far. Whetvale will eat it up."
Marron stared at her frying chicken, the scent wrapping around her like a warm blanket. Her hands still trembled, but slowly, determination began to seep through the fear.
She could do this. She had to.
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