B3 – Chapter 11: The Fey Court

Tristan followed Thallia and the Gnome he assumed was this Dorni fellow up into the Queen’s Wood, and then over to the conference room. The doors were already open, and two fairy dragons were lazing atop the open doors. They straightened up a bit when they saw Tristan, and whilst one of them flew inside, the other flew in front of him.

“Hi! Going to attend the meeting today?”

“I am,” Tristan replied, pausing in his steps. “Am I the last one to arrive?”

The fairy dragon shook their head, “Nope. The sheep-lady is normally the last to arrive.”

Dorothy, Tristan recalled. I do hope she is representing the non-native resident’s interests well. He made sure he was standing upright and proper – just like if he was at the king’s court – pulled his emblem out to lay over the top of his armor, and shifted his cloak so that it was over his right shoulder, leaving the side with his knife unrestricted by the cloth. “How do I look?” he asked with a glance.

“Fantastic! Really fancy,” the fairy dragon replied. “Want me to flap my wings really hard and have a burst of wind when you enter?”

Tristan chuckled and shook his head, “That’s not necessary, but thank you for offering.” He stepped through the doors and all eyes shifted – with Thallia and this Dorni fellow turning in their chairs to face him.

Dorni was slightly taller than the other Gnomes, with a broader chest, sparkling red eyes that glimmered like gemstones, and had an ash-grey head of hair with a beard to complement. He got out of his chair and bowed at the waist, “Ah, the young Winterbloom. Lord Tristan, it is good to meet you.”

Tristan walked forward and dipped his head in a respectful nod, “And you are Dorni, I presume? The Underboss?”

“That’s right,” the Gnome replied as he took his seat once more, still look toward Tristan. His voice became slightly somber, “I apologize for our inability to keep The Undermount free of Incursion. But only The Matriarch can close rifts.”

Tristan walked to the head of the table where a chair just like the others sat; save for the small, white and icy-blue flower carved into the top. Taking his seat, a fairy dragon flew in from outside and began placing cups of clearcool in front of everyone. “Thank you,” Tristan said as he took a sip of the refreshing, minty liquid. Looking to Dorni, he sighed, “I accept your apology, but you do not need to apologize. You did what you could. And I apologize on behalf of my ancestor who caused this all to happen.”

Thallia frowned ever-so-slightly and looked at Dorni, “You should have caved in the cavern.”

Dorni squinted at her, and his voice came out as gruff and aggravated, “Mind your tongue, Nymph. You don’t know a thing about rock and stone.”

The Matriarch looked at Tristan with a slight pleading look, as if she had been dealing with the two bickering for a while. And Tristan glanced over at the door as Dorothy, the Sheepkin whom he had rescued, entered. “Ah, welcome in,” he said.

The woman looked slightly taken aback at his presence, but bowed quickly and took a seat next to Thallia, “Lord Tristan, thank you for allowing my appointment to this…astute Court.”

The Matriarch cleared her throat ever-so-slightly, drawing all attention to her regal, Elfanoid form. “Now that we are all gathered, items of business to attend to-”

“Actually,” Tristan interrupted. “I need answers, first. Was the decision to have our Gnome crafters developing arms and armor a unanimous one?”

Dorothy nodded, “Yes, Lord Tristan.”

Thallia spoke up, her melodic voice easily cutting over Dorothy’s more subdued tone. “I proposed the measure. Elves were combatants in eras past – more so than Nymphs, fairy dragons, Gnomes, and the other species resident here.” She crossed her arms, “But since Elves are gone, we have to pick up the slack.” Her eyes shifted to The Matriarch, “And after learning of the Elemental Realm of Fire incursion not too long ago, I felt that precautions had to be taken.”

“I had instructed The Matriarch to begin training up fairy dragons as a defensive force,” Tristan replied as he leaned forward, tenting his hands together as he rested his forearms on the table – keeping his gaze measured and lingering on each person as he spoke. “And you, Thallia, your Nymphs were to prepare as well. But I was not expecting our transplanted residents to desire taking up arms.”

Dorothy raised her hand, and Tristan gestured to her to speak. “My Lord, I brought the matter up before all of them – they all want to keep this Realm safe, and are…on board with defending the Realm if it came to it.”

Tristan nodded, “Thank you for ensuring it was the will of those who are here.” He looked over to Thallia, “I will not overrule you in this measure, as I do agree with it…but I won’t lie; these types of changes happening without my knowledge is…concerning.”

The Matriarch spoke, “Lord Tristan…I do not mean to tell you how to rule, but I think I should advise you given your age and lack of experience in this. Zeltana was very hands-on as the highest ranking Winterbloom. This led to some…tensions.” She gestured to the table as a whole, “If you have your Fey Court making decisions via committee and vote, then you will have less tension.”

Tristan tapped his fingers on the table in a slight rhythm as he pondered her words. Being hands-off is going to be necessary if I wish to develop myself. But at the same time, this Realm is my responsibility. He stood up as he spoke, “I want to be apprised of changes and decisions made by the Court when I am absent. As soon as I return, I want to be informed. We operate with transparency, and will keep no secrets. My Realm…our Realm, can be a paradise. I have seen the vile insides of courts that peddle in intrigue and I will not have it here.”

There were general nods around the table, and Dorni spoke, “Well said. Keeping things clear as a polished diamond.”

“Gnomes, gems always on their mind,” Thallia said with a slight elbow nudge to Dorni.

The Gnome grumbled slightly but made no other motion. The Matriarch looked over to Tristan as he sat back down, “Since you are here, I did have one concern regarding visiting students. We will have Citadel of Essence personnel here in a few days’ time, and Elves will doubtless be amongst their number. Now, they all have essence crucibles already if they are studying essence-weaving, so there is no need to worry about them taking the Realm’s power for themselves. But, each Elf present taps the Realm’s reserves.”

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

Tristan nodded, “Felicity told me as much. Our Realm’s essence is akin to a barrel of water – each person present occupies some of that capacity. Elves are about a thimble apiece, whereas I’m a cup’s worth.”

Thallia leaned her elbows onto the table, and she smiled gently, “Water-based analogies. Fun.”

The Matriarch shook her head, “Mostly true, Lord Tristan. Native species and non-Elf species do not take away from the Realm’s ambient essence. Myself and the fairy dragons, the Nymphs, the Gnomes – all of the species still sealed in their sections; they do not draw upon it. Only Elves in quantities akin to what you describe, and foreign objects you have imbued into the Realm. Like those plants you have bound.”

Tristan nodded slowly, “Makes enough sense. How many Elves could our Realm host? And what happens when the Elf leaves?”

“The temporary thimble or cup full of water analogy works well enough. When the Elf leaves, the ambient essence returns. The capacity at maximum? A thousand Winterbloom, ten-thousand Summerbalm, twenty-thousand Springthaw, fifty-thousand Fallthorn.”

Tristan leaned back in his chair and put his hands on the armrests, tapping out some quick numbers in his head. “Since I am the last Winterbloom, we could host a large number of Elves if we chose to.”