B4 – Chapter 52: A joyous day

Weeks passed in a flurry. Tristan did deal with some of the problems plaguing him: mostly diplomacy with the new ruler of the Demon Realm, Lady Dalphatroux. She was able to garner the votes and was much more receptive to Tristan’s diplomatic advances than the pre-eminent essence-weaver’s House. He also received final confirmation from the fairy dragons that were sent out to find the assassins with dryads and unicorns – all were slain. And, their corpses remained upon death. Whatever artificed item in Saumur was allowing them to retreat upon death was either destroyed, or the source of its essence was devastated.

Relations with the Citadel of Essence were smoothed over, and the Fey Realm was added as a permanent, daily portal location in the inter-realm market, just like the other realms. Trade flourished, and Tristan felt more and more of the ambient essence slightly slipping away as Elves began to return. Even Shandra was allowed back in, and Tristan brought her to the top boughs.

“Seasons ago you punished me for coming up here,” she said as she gazed out over the splendor of the Fey Realm.

Tristan was in his full suit of armor, as it was quite comfortable, but only carried around his sword and dagger. “Yes I did. And you learned a lesson.”

She held up her hand, and the finger was back. “I got it regenerated. Still a painful lesson, though.” She turned to face him fully and bowed. “I want to put in my formal application to be a permanent resident.”

“You’ll have to go through the process that everyone does,” Tristan replied with a slight smile. “But, I am not opposed to it. You’ve matured since you challenged my rule.”

“As have you, despite the short time.”

Felicity came flying from above. “That stupid, smug, Fallthorn face and tits!” She landed on Tristan’s head and made aggressive paw-claw biscuits. “What is she doing here?!”

Tristan chuckled. “Calm down, Felicity. She is an Elf, and will be permitted to apply as a permanent resident.”

Shandra looked genuinely remorseful. “I’m sorry, Felicity Glimmerwing.”

“Hmph!” Felicity just growled a little bit. “No more top boughs for you!”

“You heard Lady Dragonbloom,” Tristan said as he rolled his eyes, which thankfully only Shandra could see. “Off the top boughs you go.”

“Lady Dragonbloom?” Shandra asked.

Felicity peacocked in delight, her wings splaying out behind her and thwacking Tristan’s ears. “Yup! Tristan’s officially designated me as his Lady.”

“The Fey Realm doesn’t have marriage,” Tristan explained as he led Shandra to the exit from the top boughs. “It has partnerships, and you can take the last name of the person you are seeing if you like. Felicity has elected to let everyone know exactly who has captured my affections.”

“Damn right,” Felicity said with a grin.

Shandra replied. “That’s interesting.”

Tristan stood before the assembled Witchkin in The Witchwood. All of them were on their knee; men, women, children. The Matriarch was walking them through the vow they would be taking. Once spoken, in the presence of Tristan fused to the realm, he could bind them just as the Elves were bound. As if he had made the Heritage himself. A permanent adoption.

As the Witchkin followed The Matriarch’s words, Tristan both-direction spun his crucible. The last lines finished, and Tristan spoke in Elvish, which they could now speak thanks to the grafting of their realm. “I, Lord Tristan Dragonbloom, accept the fealty and vows of the Witchkin. You will always be children of the Fey Realm, and welcome in its lands.” He stopped the both-direction spin and grinned. “We’ll keep this section on its own – I like the whole dark, moody forest aesthetic. It’s a nice change of pace. But, you are more than welcome to leave the enclave if you desire. Come by the Queen’s Wood marketplace, and acquire some wonderful items.” Tristan turned and departed, manifesting his wings and flapping hard as he flew back to the Queen’s Wood.

The Matriarch joined him in his flight. “And thus another item is completed from your list.” The word “list” was said with disgust.

Tristan replied. “The to-do list shrinks. You are still working on bringing back the Elves, but that is a gradual, long-term goal. We won’t see that accomplished for many years, I imagine. As for my personal list? The sub-seals are next.”

“Well, do not make any plans for tomorrow. We have a surprise for you.”

Tristan looked sideways at her. “Oh?”

She smiled, but said nothing.

As they landed at the Queen’s Wood, a fairy dragon came flapping over. “Lord Tristan! That Drakonid lady asked for you to come immediately!”

Tristan’s heart skipped a beat. “Go get my grandfather, and Felicity.”

“They’re already there!”

Tristan flew over to the house near the Springthaw Meadow, with The Matriarch right behind him. He landed, and spotted a slightly odd sight. Rory was sitting on top of a wooden crate, that was stuffed with grass. Bertram was sitting on a seat next to her, with Hurvun and Felicity asking dozens of questions. Felicity was in her Elfanoid form.

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“How do you feed it?” Felicity asked.

“Why does my first great grandchild have to be in an egg?” Hurvun asked.

Rory answered both quickly and with efficiency. “There is enough within the egg for our child to subsist for up to five years. The longer they stay in the egg, the more mature they will be upon emerging. It is up to the child when they wish to emerge.” She looked at Hurvun. “It is just how we work.”

Bertram seemed relieved as Tristan arrived. “Thank the gods, someone who won’t ask weird questions!”

Tristan walked forward with a grin. “Congratulations are in order. Your first child.”

“Thank you,” Rory said as her voice filled with pride. “My first child as well.”

Bertram chuckled. “I promise, sweetness, I never slept around like father in the brothels.”

Felicity looked at Tristan. “So what’s the child going to be? Half-breed Human and Drakonid?”

“I honestly have no clue,” Tristan replied.

The Matriarch spoke. “Neither do I. A child of two Heritages, neither of them Elf, but born in the Fey Realm. Technically, your child will be a resident of this place . . . I think.” She pursed her lips. “I do not know if the act of being born in the egg, or conceived while here, or emerging from the egg would be the qualifying event.”