Private Cold Metal, Warm Spirits

[Veyla Krinn]

Veyla's smile softened as Korra spoke, her attention dropping briefly to the pike in her hands. She had expected questions about the construction or perhaps a comment about the balance once Korra held it, but not quite this. There was something strangely satisfying about hearing another person put into words what Veyla had never consciously considered. "I think you understand it better than most people who have seen it." She turned the weapon once in her hands before resting it carefully across the workbench between them. "Pretty is nice. I certainly don't object to making something look good, but if I ever have to choose between beautiful and dependable, dependable wins every time."

Her fingers remained against the shaft for a moment, tracing one of the places she had altered over the years. "The first version wasn't bad. That's probably what bothered me most about it. It would have been perfectly serviceable for someone else, but every time I trained with it, there was this little hesitation because the balance wasn't quite where my hands expected it to be." Veyla gave a small shake of her head, amusement touching her expression. "I tried convincing myself I'd get used to it. Eventually I decided that was a ridiculous argument to have with a weapon I'd made myself and went back to the forge."

She looked toward Korra again, warmth remaining in her expression at the compliment. "So, thank you. That actually means a lot." There was no false modesty in the response. Veyla was proud of the weapon and of the years of work represented by it, and Korra had asked specifically not to receive the modest answer. "My father used to say the person using something will always find the mistakes the smith hoped nobody would notice. I suppose I made that particularly inconvenient by being both."

Veyla slid the pike slightly across the workbench toward Korra, leaving the invitation clear without pressing it into her hands. "Go ahead, if you want. Pick it up." A hint of curiosity joined her smile. "You've heard what I think of the balance. I'm curious what someone who didn't spend three attempts obsessing over it thinks."

Korra Kast

 

[Korra Kast]

She stepped closer to the workbench and reached for the pike. Her fingers closed around the shaft, and she lifted it with deliberate care. She didn't immediately swing it or test its reach. Instead, she let the weight settle into her grip, adjusting her hand slightly before shifting her stance.

Korra's eyes narrowed. "Huh."

She rolled the pike once through her hands, slow and controlled, feeling the balance move with her rather than against her. A second adjustment followed, then another small turn of the weapon.

"Your father's right." She glanced toward Veyla, a faint grin returning. "Unfortunately for smiths everywhere."

Korra shifted her grip and gave the pike a short, controlled movement through the open space of the forge. Nothing flashy. Just enough to test how naturally it followed her hands. The weapon moved cleanly, its weight distributing exactly where Veyla had intended.

"It's responsive," Korra said. "Not light. That's different. There's enough weight behind it to make the strike matter, but it doesn't fight you when you change direction."

She looked down at the pike again, then back at Veyla. "And I can see why you kept changing it." There was a brief pause before the corner of her mouth lifted. "Although three attempts?"

Veyla Krinn

 

[Veyla Krinn]

Veyla watched Korra test the pike with considerably more interest than she had expected. There was something satisfying about seeing someone unfamiliar with the weapon take the time to feel its balance instead of immediately swinging it around the forge, and her smile grew when Korra seemed to find exactly what Veyla had spent so much time trying to achieve. "Exactly. I never wanted it light. I wanted enough weight behind it that I could put some authority into a strike without needing to throw my entire body behind it, but still be able to recover and change direction." Considering Korra had only held it for a few moments, Veyla was impressed by how quickly she'd recognized the distinction.

The question about her three attempts earned a laugh. Veyla folded her arms loosely and leaned back against the edge of the workbench, entirely unapologetic about the number. "Third try's the charm?" Her grin widened. "The first one taught me what I didn't want. The second taught me that fixing one problem can create two more. By the third, I'd finally stopped arguing with what my hands had been telling me from the beginning."

She nodded toward the pike still in Korra's hands. "It wasn't as wasteful as that makes it sound, either. Metal can be melted down and worked again. Parts of those first attempts ended up in other pieces, and anything I couldn't reuse immediately went back into my stock." Veyla had never seen much sense in throwing good material aside simply because the idea behind it hadn't worked. "A failed weapon doesn't necessarily mean failed material. Sometimes it just means you haven't figured out what that material is going to become yet."

Her gaze returned to Korra, amusement still lingering in her expression. "Besides, if you're going to make something you're trusting your life to, three attempts isn't that terrible." She tilted her head slightly, looking pointedly at the pike. "And since you've just spent the last minute complimenting the result, I think I've earned the right to claim all three were completely necessary."

Korra Kast

 

[Korra Kast]

Korra gave Veyla a look that was equal parts amusement and reluctant agreement. "Completely necessary?" she repeated. She glanced down at the pike, then back at Veyla. "I'm not sure I'd go that far."

A beat passed. "Maybe two and a half were necessary." The grin that followed made it clear she was deliberately refusing to give Veyla the full victory.

Still, Korra's expression softened as she considered what Veyla had said about the discarded pieces finding their way into other weapons. She reached out and lightly ran her fingers along the shaft again, more appreciative now than curious.

"I like that way of looking at it," she admitted. "Most people see a failed attempt and think they've wasted something. You see material that hasn't found its purpose yet."

Her eyes lifted to Veyla. "Probably explains why you don't seem particularly bothered by mistakes." Korra paused, then gave a small shrug. "Not that you enjoy making them. Just that you don't seem to let them convince you to stop."

There was something almost personal in the observation, though she didn't elaborate on why she'd noticed it. Instead, she stepped away from the workbench setting the pike down onto it with care.

"And for what it's worth, I think that's a good quality in a smith." A faint smile touched her lips. "Probably a good quality in a person, too."

Veyla Krinn

 

[Veyla Krinn]

Veyla's expression softened at the observation, although Korra's refusal to grant her all three attempts earned a quiet laugh. "Two and a half? I'll take it." She reached for the pike once Korra had set it down and returned it to its place on the rack, taking a moment to make certain it was secure before looking back toward her. "I don't enjoy mistakes. I've said some very unkind things to pieces of metal over the years." The admission came with a grin. "But getting angry doesn't make the next attempt any better. You figure out what went wrong and try not to do it again."

She hesitated for a moment before something in Korra's words brought another thought to mind. Veyla motioned for her to follow and headed toward a door farther inside the forge. "Come on. I have one more area in here to show you." Beyond the main workshop was a considerably quieter room that lacked the heat and constant presence of metal dust. It was hardly luxurious, but it had everything Veyla needed when a project kept her working too late to bother going home: a bed tucked against one wall, a desk and lamp, and a locker for spare clothing and personal belongings. It was an abode built around long days rather than comfort, although there were enough personal touches to make it unmistakably hers.

The most unusual thing occupied one entire section of wall. Several daggers had been mounted there in sequence, beginning with something that could generously be described as a blade. Its proportions were wrong, the bevel uneven and the overall shape carrying every indication of someone who understood what a dagger was supposed to look like without yet knowing how to make one. The next was better. So was the one after that. Each successive piece carried fewer flaws than the last until, at the end, rested a dagger whose lines were clean, balance deliberate, and finish precise. Veyla stopped before them and folded her arms loosely. "Those are some of my failures."

Her gaze traveled along the progression, and there was more fondness than embarrassment in the way she regarded them. "I was young when I started those. I could have melted every one down and reused the metal, but my father convinced me to keep them. Every time I thought I was finally getting good, the next one showed me something else I'd been doing wrong." She nodded toward the final dagger, a small smile touching her lips. "Eventually, I made that one." Veyla glanced toward Korra again. "So you're right. Mistakes don't convince me to stop. Mostly, they make me want to find out what the next attempt looks like."

Korra Kast

 

[Korra Kast]

Korra followed without hesitation, though the moment she stepped into the quieter room, her eyes moved around it with quiet curiosity. The bed, desk, locker—none of it was particularly surprising. It made sense for someone who could lose track of time in a forge.

Then she noticed the wall. She stopped. For several seconds, Korra said nothing.

Her gaze moved slowly from the first dagger to the last, following the progression in silence. The earliest one drew the faintest twitch at the corner of her mouth. By the time she reached the final blade, her expression had become considerably more thoughtful.

She stepped closer to the wall, studying the daggers again. She didn't touch them, but she leaned in enough to examine the differences between each one. "You can actually see you learning. Not just getting better at making a dagger, either. The shape changes. The proportions. The way you're thinking about the weight."

Korra turned toward Veyla. "It's easy to look at something you made years ago and only see everything that's wrong with it. The mistakes. The things you'd do differently now." She shrugged slightly. "But if you destroy all of those pieces, you lose the proof that you figured it out."

Veyla Krinn

 

[Veyla Krinn]

Veyla followed Korra's gaze along the line of daggers, seeing each of them through memories that had become considerably kinder with time. "That's why they're still here." She nodded toward the earliest blade, the one she had once regarded with considerably less affection. "When I think I've failed at something now, sometimes I have to look at these and remind myself how far I've come. That first one used to embarrass me. Now I can look at it and see where I started."

She stepped closer to the wall, her attention moving gradually toward the final dagger. "You'd think I'd have grown out of wanting to be perfect on the first try." A quiet laugh escaped her as she shook her head. "I haven't. Even as an adult, there's still a part of me that expects experience to mean I should get everything right immediately. Then something comes along that I've never done before and reminds me that's not how learning works." The words carried a little more meaning now than they might have a year ago. Smithing was hardly the only unfamiliar thing Veyla had found herself learning lately.

Her hand lifted toward one of the middle daggers, though she stopped short of taking it from its mount. "The difference is that I don't need to keep every failed piece anymore. I can melt something down, reuse it, and still remember what it taught me. These were the ones that taught me how to do that in the first place." She smiled faintly as she looked back toward Korra. "I suppose my father knew what he was doing when he wouldn't let me destroy the evidence."

Veyla's expression warmed as she considered Korra's words again. "I like your way of putting it, though. Proof that I figured it out." Her eyes returned to that first imperfect dagger and traveled once more toward the last. "Maybe that's more important than pretending there was never anything to figure out."

Korra Kast

 

[Korra Kast]

Korra was quiet for a moment, watching Veyla look at the daggers. There was something different about the way she spoke now. Less like she was explaining her craft and more like she was letting Korra see something she'd normally keep to herself.

"Maybe that's the problem with experience," Korra said eventually. "People think it means you stop making mistakes. Really, it just means you get better at figuring out what to do with them."

Her eyes shifted toward Veyla. "And I don't think wanting to be perfect is necessarily a bad thing." A faint shrug. "It's what you do when you realize you aren't that matters."

Korra glanced back at the first dagger. "You could've destroyed these. You could've decided they were embarrassing and pretended you'd always known what you were doing." A small smile appeared. "Instead, you kept them on the wall."

She turned fully toward Veyla. "That's not pretending you were never wrong. That's being comfortable enough with where you are now to admit where you started."

There was a quiet sincerity in Korra's expression that made the words feel less like an observation about smithing and more like something she'd been considering for herself. She looked around the little room again—the bed, the desk, the collection of old blades.

"I think that's harder than being good at something." Her gaze returned to Veyla. "Being able to look at an old version of yourself and not hate her for not knowing what you know now."

Korra let out a soft breath, then gave Veyla a crooked smile. "Your father sounds like he was pretty good at knowing when to let you be stubborn and when to stop you from doing something stupid."

Veyla Krinn

 

[Veyla Krinn]

Veyla regarded Korra quietly for a moment, hearing more in the words than simply an observation about a row of old daggers. She didn't ask what version of herself Korra might have been thinking about. If there was a story behind the sincerity in her voice, it belonged to Korra to offer rather than Veyla to pry loose. "I think that's something I'm still learning." Her gaze returned to the blades. "It's easy to look backward with everything you know now and wonder how you could have made choices that seem obvious in hindsight. But she didn't know what I know. She hadn't lived through everything that taught me better yet."

There were certainly things in Veyla's past she would change if given the impossible opportunity, choices made when she had been younger, angrier, or simply convinced she understood more than she actually did. She had spent enough time judging herself for some of them already. "I don't think that means you have to like every version of yourself you've ever been. There are things I've done that I wouldn't do again, and things I believed that I don't anymore. But hating the woman who made those mistakes doesn't change them." She gave Korra a small smile. "I'd rather make sure the woman standing here learned something from her."

The mention of her father drew a warmer laugh from Veyla, easing some of the weight from the conversation. "He had a lot of practice." She leaned one shoulder lightly against the wall beside the collection. "I was very good at being stubborn. Still am, according to people whose opinions I have chosen to disregard." The smile tugging at her lips made it clear she was well aware of the contradiction. "My father usually knew when arguing with me would only make me dig my heels in deeper. Sometimes he'd let me discover for myself that I was wrong. Other times he'd decide whatever lesson I was about to learn involved too much blood, fire, or expensive material and intervene."

Her eyes moved once more toward the progression of daggers before settling on Korra. "Keeping these was one of the times he was right to stop me." Veyla paused, then added with a trace of dry amusement, "Can't tell him I admitted that." Korra had come into the forge expecting to see what Veyla made, and somehow they had ended up somewhere considerably more personal than weapons and metal. Strangely, Veyla found she didn't mind.

Korra Kast

 

[Korra Kast]

Korra's smile grew at the admission, though she didn't immediately answer. She understood the distinction Veyla was making. There was a difference between forgiving yourself and pretending the past didn't matter.

"I won't tell him," she said at last. "Your secret's safe with me." She paused, then added with a completely straight expression, "Assuming I ever meet him. In which case, I'll probably need to be bribed."

A quiet laugh escaped her, but her expression softened again as she looked at the daggers. "I think you're right, though." Korra stepped away from the wall, her hands settling loosely at her sides.

"You don't have to like every version of yourself. Some mistakes deserve to stay mistakes." She glanced toward Veyla. "But if you learned from them, then they're not the only thing those versions of you left behind."

Her eyes briefly returned to the first dagger. "Sometimes the person who made the mistake is the one who did the hard part. They just didn't know yet what the mistake was going to teach them."

She let that thought settle between them. "And maybe that's why I like this wall." Korra gave a small gesture toward the collection. "It doesn't say, 'Look how terrible I used to be.'"

Her gaze met Veyla's. "It says, 'I wasn't always this good.'" There was something quietly vulnerable in the admission, though Korra didn't dwell on it. "And honestly? I'd rather spend time around someone who can say that than someone who thinks they've always had everything figured out."

Veyla Krinn

 

[Veyla Krinn]

Veyla's smile lingered at Korra's demand for a bribe. The joke held an impossibility Korra couldn't have known about, but she saw no reason to pull the conversation anywhere neither of them intended. "I'll keep that in mind." Her father probably would have enjoyed knowing someone else had managed to get that particular admission out of her.

Her attention returned to the daggers as Korra continued. Veyla had always noticed the mistakes first because she knew exactly where they were. The poor bevel, the uneven balance, the evidence of an impatient hand. Korra's perspective made her consider the girl who had made them instead. She hadn't known better yet. Those mistakes were part of how she eventually learned.

"I like that better than what I used to see." Veyla glanced toward Korra with a small smile. "Maybe being good at something means accepting there was a time when you weren't." Her eyes returned briefly to the first dagger. "I'm still reserving the right to be embarrassed by that bevel, though."

A quiet laugh escaped her as she turned toward the forge. They had spent enough time talking about smithing that an idea had begun to form. "Do you want to give it a try?" She nodded toward the tools. "Smithing. Nothing complicated." The smile she gave Korra carried a hint of challenge. "You've listened to me talk about mistakes long enough. Seems fair I give you the chance to make a few of your own."

Korra Kast