Fate Weaver's convergence

V2 C96

"Hello?"

I knocked on the corner of what seemed to be a decrepit shop. The scene that greeted me was less than encouraging. A shop in disarray was what I took in amidst scraps of metal, and strangely, very organized placement of complete cutlery sets and the occasional clock.

Where the hell did you send me, Peter?

"Mr.Findlay?"

I poked my head through the door, a chime made of metal and monster scales and bone filled the air as the door kicked up debris that'd formed from lack of use.

"Cease with the racket! I need a moment!"

A rather gravely voice yelled across the shop, originating from a room just beyond the counter at the room's far end.

The hell? Seemed a bit gruff for some cutlery maker.

I followed the origin of the voice, my ear just barely picking up the faint scratching of metal thanks to 'Thrill of the hunt's' augmentation.

What is he doing? Engraving work?

What greeted me wasn't what I'd expected when Peter described the dwarf. Though his face was obscured, his crooked back and hair was enough to hint at his age. Mr.Findlay's hair was gray, but still had a hint of color from his younger years. Small flakes of metal could be seen landing on the table he worked at, light from a series of candles illuminating each stray shard.

"I said to quiet down, I can hear the damned floorboards shifting. Give me just a moment longer and I'll be with ye!"

The gruff voice strained as he maintained utter stillness. Unsure how to properly follow from that point forward, I simply stood in place as if I hadn't just barged into the man's home. The longer I lingered, the more familiar the smell of his home became. It was some time I stood there in silence, a creak of wood here, the old dwarfs sniffling there. It seemed like half an hour before he stretched with a groan before pivoting in his chair. He didn't seem in his later years, but his voice betrayed him. He carried a presence about him not unlike Lorn, though he looked no older than Stannis.

"So Callum's girl has come to pay a visit. Any reason you've shown up at my doorstep? Or rather, intruded."

His arms were crossed.

"Ah, apologies."

I muttered sheepishly, avoiding eye contact as I did.

How does he know me, though?

"Have we been acquainted, sir?"

Mr.Findlay shook his head.

"Girl, I've known your presence on three or four years now. Everything you hang around the heel-chasers forge or fight that knife-ear in the yard."

Findlay seemed in a much poorer mood already given my intrusion.

"Ah."

I paused a moment, reconnecting my planned introduction.

"You actually came recommended. A boy named Peter sent me, claiming your craftsmanship was remarkable."

Don't forget the anchor!

"He said to mention the Anthim's anchor."

The completion of the sentence made his face twist slightly, distaste and caution mingling to form a scowl.

"Convenient from his daughter. Go away."

Finlay turned around in his chair.

This fuckin-