B3 – Chapter 6: The inter-Realm Market

Tristan woke up to pleasant blackness. He felt Felicity’s weight on the bed next to him, her arm draped over his torso delicately, and the softness of her skin on his. Their night had been passionate, tumultuous, and rewarding. He felt fulfilled, and as he looked at her in the darkness, her eyes moving under the lids as she dreamed, he felt a deep sense of belonging.

This is right, he thought. It feels right. She’s mine. That final thought, that feeling of greedy ownership washed over him. And that single thought felt…wrong. He knew it was his Anorox bloodline, the draconic nature of greed and lust for want that pushed him toward that worldview of selfish desire. A change to his persona wrought by the consumption of essence crucibles.

The last night was far from greedy or selfish. He gave his all to Felicity, and she responded in kind. No, he thought, we belong to each other. If she’s mine, I’m hers. That thought felt right, and quelled the simmering desire to control that roiled within his chest. Bubbling in his essence crucible like simmering water on a hot flame.

Felicity rolled closer into him, and he wrapped an arm around her. She fluttered her eyelids open and smiled softly, “Morning?” she said in an inquisitive voice.

“I don’t know what time it is,” Tristan replied. “Maybe the Omnitome has that information.” He pulled the covers off, gently extricated himself from Felicity’s grip, and fetched the Omnitome from his hip pouch. Flipping it open to the front cover, he saw a small clock face. “Thirty-first of Harvest Season, and it is mid-morning.” He closed the book and looked over at her.

Felicity shifted into her fairy dragon form and shook herself much like a dog would if they were wet. “I wonder when my first course starts? I should probably ask that Eloise lady.”

Tristan glanced aside at her still-nude form, and quickly looked as to not appear like he was leering. A question had been itching at his mind since the night prior. “Humor me – you don’t wear clothes, do you?” he asked. “I never see you put any on.”

“Pff…No,” Felicity replied. “When I shapeshift to my Elfanoid form, I grow extra fur to cover up.” She laughed and cupped his face, “You are so s-i-l-l-y. I can shift the fur away anytime I want to. But you wanted to be appropriate all the time. And, well, walking around…how do Demons put it…au natural, I think, that’s not really proper with guests in the Fey Realm. And when I’m in my fairy dragon form, well, I’m just so adorable.”

Good to know, Tristan thought as he stretched. “I’m going to bathe, then talk to Bertram and take him to the Fey Realm to see grandfather.”

“Sounds like a plan!” Felicity reached her tail over to the night table, grabbed her Omnitome, and then reached a paw-claw over to grab her pin which she fastened to one of her horns. “I’m going to go ask Eloise about my courses!” She vanished with a slight warbling in the air.

Tristan went to the restroom and filled the tub from a spicket on the wall that pushed out water of varying temperatures. Washing off, he lay there for a few blissful moments as the boiling-hot water simmered around him. He felt a mix of emotions, and as he pondered the stark, black ceiling above, he tried to sort through each one in turn.

He felt joy, at finally taking the plunge and choosing to approach Felicity directly instead of just waiting for her to make a move. He also felt nervous, as he had no clue what Bertram, The Matriarch, or the residents of the Fey Realm would think.

But that was pushed aside by the fact that the Fey Realm was his to rule. He was the last Winterbloom, and the equivalent of a king in that domain. I don’t care what they might think, he thought. The Fey Realm folk will not judge me for it, and I doubt the permanent residents will, either. As for Bertram – he’ll probably rib me a bit. And grandfather, well, he was trying to get me with Felicity before.

The next emotion he analyzed was the slight anxiety and fluttering he felt in his torso. A feeling of lightness, as if the world was at his feet and awaiting his decision to take it for himself. A sensation of being buoyed up to the highest of highs, where he was untouchable by those below. And it was Felicity that brought him to that place.

I do love her, he thought. Seasons of traveling together, sharing almost every waking moment in each other’s company. It was practically bound to happen. Sure, she caused me to waste two years of my life…but in the end it made me what I am today. Without her, I wouldn’t be here. I’d be a half-breed dragonslayer, always sent on the shit assignments and discriminated against. Stuck in Bhant because of duty.

The last emotion he felt was relief. Relief that he was now done with all obligations. His grandfather was cured, his half-brother was going to be reconnected with their surviving family, and he had arrived at a place where he had near limitless potential for growth.

Other Realms lay before me. A whole archive of knowledge is close by. I can go to the Fey Realm to visit grandfather whenever I wish. And going to those other Realms to find dragons to slay is going to be easy if Bertram’s experience is anything to go by. I have nothing pressing anymore…save for those sealed parts of the Fey Realm.

He felt content. And as the water cooled to a tepid neutral, he got out, geared up, and headed outside. Knocking on Bertram’s door, he was met by the man after a few seconds. He was disheveled, messy, and the room stank to high-heaven, causing Tristan to step back. “Oh, hey.”

“Hi. I got grandfather healed up. Do you want to go visit?”

Bertram’s face lit up with a grin, “Let me and Rory get cleaned up!”

“Sounds good to me. It’ll take an hour, so no rush.” Tristan replied as he felt genuine delight at reuniting his grandfather and his half-brother.

Bertram and Rory came out of the room. Tristan put the Omnitome back into his hip pouch and took in the two. They made a cute couple – the broad, stocky Human complemented by the very muscular and well-built Drakonid woman. Both were dressed in their full kit of gear – Bertram with a segmented, heavy armor in the dragonslayer style following his grandfather’s design. His sword was similar to Hurvun’s; a massive great sword with both sides sharpened to a razor’s edge. His armor, unlike Tristan’s off-white or Hurvun’s steel grey, was a burnished orange.

Rory had scale armor strapped to her body. A large lock-spear – a collapsible polearm that could be lengthened with a quick movement and rotation of a metallic lock along the shaft – was strapped to her back along with a round shield of metal. She looked Tristan up and down, “I thought every dragonslayer had a sword,” she said in her slightly rumbly voice.

Tristan winced, “I did. A demon cat bit in in half.”

Bertram squinted and frowned, “Really? A demon cat?” He let out a slight bark of laughter and leaned against the wall of the hallway, “I told you, that thin sword isn’t good enough for proper dragonslaying.”

I remember, Tristan thought, When you teased me about my sword being smaller than everyone else’s. He frowned and tapped the maul hanging from the back strap of his armor, “I’ve got something that works for now. And I will get a better blade.”

Rory smirked, “Brotherly rivalry,” she said as she shook her head ever-so-slightly.

Tristan activated his ring and smirked as Bertram and Rory both gasped, taking in the Fey Realm for the first time. “Welcome to my Realm.”

Bertram tore his gaze from the Queen’s Wood behind Tristan and onto him, “You own all this?”

Tristan rapped his chest plate with his fist, “I’m the lord of the Fey Realm…the last one of my bloodline.” His words ended in a whisper as the gravity of that statement once more crashed into him.

Rory’s face was a mix of astonishment and sorrow, “Condolences.” She looked to Bertram and roughly shoved her elbow into his side, pushing him off balance as he took a few staggering steps. “You never told me your half-brother was royalty!”

“I didn’t know!” Bertram said as he raised his hands in surrender, “If I did I wouldn’t have stolen his blankets mid-Dark Season.”

Tristan let out a barking laugh, “That was you? I thought Gisele did it.”

Bertram smiled, “All me. Where’s gramps?”

Tristan led the duo into the Queen’s Wood, down the large, central root, and into the underground portions of the tree. Hurvun’s door was ajar, and Tristan pushed it open the rest of the way.

The older dragonslayer was sitting upright in bed, reading a book, and his eyes snapped up. “Tristan! Back so soon?” His mouth went slack as Tristan entered and Bertram walked in.

“Gramps!” Bertram rushed forward and hugged Hurvun.

The older man let out a laugh of joy, “Ah, my grandson. You got so big.” He pushed Bertram back slightly, “Look at you. You filled out that armor like I said you would.” He glanced past and saw Rory, who was standing next to Tristan at the doorway. “This must be the gorgeous woman that led you out of the kingdom.”

Rory walked over and dipped her head slightly, “It is good to meet the legend himself.” She raised an eyebrow, “But I must say I am a bit disappointed. Bertram built you up as a living legend, but what I see is a fossil.” She had a slight, humorous edge to her voice.

And thankfully, Hurvun seemed amicable to the joke. He chuckled, “Ah, you’re a feisty one. I can see why Bertram was drawn to you. What’s your name?”

“Rory,” she replied. “Rory Anorox.”

Hurvun looked back to Bertram, “You already wed?!”

Bertram had the biggest, dumbest grin on his face, “Yes. We got married after leaving Bhant.”

Tristan kept his position at the door leading out of the room, just enjoying seeing his family reunited. He felt that warmth in his chest, that satisfaction that came with achieving a goal, and the delight of having family all together again. He stood there, patiently, listening as Bertram and Rory filled Hurvun in on everything that happened, taking note of the past seven Seasons.

Rory had arrived in Bhant, at Bhant’s Holdfast, in the Pathfinder Company Lodge. Hired on as extra muscle for Bertram’s dragon hunt on the kingdom’s eastern border, the two quickly fell for each other and became lovers. When they returned, Bertram was bragging and telling everyone – opinions of the nobility be damned. Fawkes, however, did not appreciate his son flaunting his Drakonid lover, and so gave Bertram an ultimatum – leave Rory and the romance, or be disowned.

Fawkes could not truly disown Bertram, but the eldest child left of his own accord, traveling across the land and doing Pathfinder Company jobs. When they arrived at the Sapphire Coast and Jewel’s Point, they learned of the full-time contract to be an escort for students in Yustat. They were not the only Pathfinders on that duty, but the allure of full room and board, along with a salary, and a possibility to come across dragons was too good to pass up.

“Such a magnificent love story,” Hurvun said as he wiped his eyes for the third time. “I’m so proud of you, grandson.” He glanced past Bertram, to Tristan, “Isn’t it?”

Tristan nodded, “Yes, grandfather. Very touching.”

Rory glanced back at Tristan, “Forgot you were here,” she stated bluntly.

“It is my Realm,” Tristan replied. “I go where I please, when I please. You and Bertram may stay here if you desire – as often as you like. But you’ll need me to take you to and from this place.”

Rory’s face softened slightly, and for a moment Tristan saw a vulnerability under the façade of a toughened, grizzled warrior. He saw that glimpse of someone who never had a permanent home, who had constantly traveled. “Thanks,” she said, her voice still carrying that slightly hard edge.

“If you’ll excuse me,” Tristan said as he pushed off the wall. “I need to gather some items from the market.” He left the trio to catch up, and as he passed by a fairy dragon, instructed the creature to guide Bertram and Rory if they needed directions. The creature saluted and then flapped into the room.

Tristan got out to the market area and spotted Beatrice, the Half-Broxtar jewel crafter, along with Meeshka, the Foxkin merchant, who were chatting whilst working amongst a handful of Elfanoid form fairy dragons. He walked over and waved, “How goes the crafting?” he asked.

Beatrice looked up and practically beamed with positivity, “Excellently. I’ve been working with Dorothy to weave goldwood leaves and gemstones into several garments.”

Meeshka walked over to Beatrice and threw an arm around her shoulder, and it hit Tristan that the two woman seemed quite close with each other given the general affection he observed. “I’ve been keeping rigorous notes on all of our supplies. The Matriarch said that we’ll have a week of visitors each Season from the Citadel of Essence. So we’re working on some items that are more in the projected budget of students.” She gestured to crates that were piled up behind her.

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Tristan walked over and spotted the open-top wooden box that led to Admiral Yokain’s sibling box on board his vessel. “And we are keeping our merchants supplied?”

“Yes, m’lord,” Beatrice replied as she put a hand on Meeshka’s arm wrapped around her shoulder. “It’s a lot of work, but this foxy lady here knows how to run a shop.”

Meeshka grinned, showing off her sharp teeth. “It’s like managing a storefront, but just more inventory and variety.”

“Make sure we have a single location for these students to buy from,” Tristan stated. “The fairy dragons can help you out with that.” He crossed his arms, “Now, I need some expensive items I can sell or barter with. The type of jewelry we sold in Jewel’s Point.”

Beatrice held up a finger, “Give me a moment.” She extricated herself from Meeshka, went over to the jeweler’s bench, and came back with a thin, wooden box. “Do you just want cut gemstones?”

“Probably wise,” Tristan replied. “Not as expensive as singular pieces, and I imagine I can barter with them more effectively.”

“That does bring up a question I had,” Meeshka said softly with a tinge of curiosity and pleading to her tone. “Would you be okay with us setting up a stall for that week of visits in the Citadel’s inter-Realm marketplace?”

“If The Matriarch and the Fey Court permits,” Tristan replied. “I do know if you are going to be bartering for and purchasing items from other Realms, you need to keep an eye out for objects you think I could plant here. Metal, gemstones, textiles, anything you think we can try.”

“Sounds good!” Meeshka replied. “I’ll ask Dorothy to bring it up at the next Court meeting.”

Tristan took the small box of gemstones and headed to the pool with lounging Nymphs in front of the Queen’s Wood. “Ladies, would you mind asking Thallia if she is free?”

One of them nodded, vanished into the depths, and a few minutes later Thallia rose from the water on a small geyser. “Yes, Lord Tristan?”

Thankfully, she was clothed – although the dripping wet clothing left nothing to the imagination, and Tristan respectfully averted his gaze skyward. “I wanted to inquire about the efforts of the Fey Court and our progress on a standing defensive force.”

“It is going well. My Nymphs are trained aquatic combatants, and the fairy dragons are practicing in both their Elfanoid and usual forms.”

“Good. We will have visitors soon enough-”

Thallia waved her hand dismissively, “Yes. Students from this Citadel of Essence. I hope you don’t mind if my fellow Nymphs enjoy themselves a bit.”

Tristan pondered that thought for a moment. I don’t want a ton of Citadel students absconding here because of their desire to chase after beautiful female figures. That would sour relations, I’d imagine. He returned his gaze to her, keeping his eyes focused on hers; the flashing red and blue keeping his gaze fixed and not roaming over her form. “I think as long as none of the students are allowed to stay.”

Thallia giggled, “Nymphs are never tied down to someone. But let’s just say the ladies are a bit…repressed, at this time. Are you averse to the idea of a designated area that would function as a house of pleasure? Generate additional income for the Fey Realm, whilst also allowing the Nymph populace to have their fun?”

“I think that should be approved by the Court as a whole,” Tristan replied rapidly. “I don’t want the Fey Realm to have a reputation as the place with a brothel full of Nymphs.”

Thallia sighed, “I’ll bring it up at the next meeting. Anything else?”

“I…I had a question. But it’s a bit more…private. Do you mind speaking alone?”

Thallia stepped off the geyser, “Sure. Into the Queen’s Wood.” She led the way, and once they were in an alcove on the inside space, they sat on one of the bulges of wood that was akin to a bench. “What is it?”

Tristan let out an anxious breath. “I…Felicity and I are in love.”

Thallia cackled and slapped her knees, “I knew it. You Winterbloom and fairy dragons in their Elfanoid form. Can’t help yourself, can you?”

“It’s not like that,” Tristan mumbled. “We’ve traveled together for months. I genuinely care for her. But…I’ll be fully honest…I don’t really know what I’m doing.” He looked up to meet her gaze, “I know you have…experience…in things that I do not, since you claim to have slept with Zeltana-”