Fiction | Fantasy Short Story | Primatria | Mashups

Not Bad For a First Date

Elves and dragons, potions and wine.

“It’s your lucky day, honey,” said the barmaid.

Thorne Frostgale was still rubbing the morning tiredness from his eyes, but he paused and looked at her, trying to recall her name.

Galia, that was it.

Galia smiled from beneath her mop of red curls, then pushed three small parcels towards him across the bar. “Gifts were delivered for you arrived. And because I was on duty, rather than Rex Redscale, it actually made its way to you. Lucky — like I said.”

Thorne took the parcels, then glanced suspiciously around. Even at the early hour, Rebel Bar looked as busy and disreputable as usual, with warriors and rogues slurping pints of ale. Even the lute player wore armor.

He looked back at the parcels, then ripped open the first and smallest one. What he had assumed to be a tiny box turned out to be a piece of parchment that had somehow been folded around six or seven times until it was almost cubic.

“Hey. Queen Arriana here again. Sup? Oh, I got your attention at last! That barmaid’s cute, by the way, you should ask her out. No, not now, dummy!

I need you to come to our Unification Day party. Yes, in the Feyglades of course. It’s today, you need to leave straight away! There’ll be feasting. And yes, I’m still queen, thanks to your magical support. But… bring your dagger. The elves face a danger that they just can’t see.”

Somehow, the parchment had anticipated his questions before he’d fully thought of them.

Thorne glanced up at Galia, who was still staring at him, one eyebrow raised. “Well?”

“Uh, it’s an invite. From the elves in the Feyglades. And they want me to come immediately.” He grinned, some of his usual swagger returning. “I’m popular, it seems.”

“Sounds like you won’t be ordering breakfast. Well, behave yourself, won’t you?”

Thorne, folded his arms. “Uh… fancy tagging along?”

She made a face. “Elves at war with each other? Giant spiders? No thanks. Not my idea of a date.”

“A date…”

Thorne stood up, grabbed the larger parcel, then leaned across the bar. “The forest’s really a lot safer now. I killed a bunch of those spiders, and besides… the elves are my friends.” He pursed his lips, remembering his last visit, when he’d needed to stand as Arriana’s champion against the rebellious Blackbottle. “Well, most of them, anyway.”

Galia gave him a sideways glance, now stepping away along the bar. “Well, not sure what Sly would say if I up and left in the middle of my shift. But, hey… don’t be a stranger.” She winked, before turning her attention to the next customer.

Pushing the other parcel into his cloak pocket, Thorne turned towards the open tavern door and nearly bumped into Plix, a dealer of medicines and potions, who had sold ingredients to on occasion. “You passing up that beauty at the bar? Because I’ll happily have a shot!”

Thorne scowled at Plix. The merchant was badly scarred, very shabby, and smelled strongly of fish in a way that always caused local cats to cluster around him. “Doubt she’s interested in the local scum.”

“Oh, right. Because you’re such a hero.”

Thorne’s frown deepened. “I may only be nineteen, but I’m getting a reputation for myself,” he said, patting his dagger. “I’m off to the Feyglades on a mission right now, as it happens. A kingdom needing saved, no doubt.”

As Plix moved inside muttering something about showing off, an elderly elf lurched around the doorway and grabbed Thorne’s sleeve. “Quickly now, young sir. A carriage awaits.”

Thorne followed the stranger outside. A sleek elvish carriage stood in the centre of the narrow city street. It was vastly more elegant than anything he’d seen the elves use before, and he got the impression that the change in Queen Arriana’s fortune’s was having an impact. Several local kids were trying to peer inside.

A pair of local toughs, gambling on a barrel-table outside, watched Thorne with mocking expressions as he crossed over towards the vehicle. A ginger cat had settled on its roof, and it hissed and spat at him. Thorne was tempted to send a blast of magical heat energy at the creature, but refrained. He sheepishly climbed in, the elderly elf bowing before taking the driver’s seat up front.

Soon they were underway — to the disgruntlement of the ginger cat.

“Nobody can see in,” called back the elf as they rumbled along the street. “You’re good to change into the finery that the queen provided.”

“Finery?”

“The largest parcel, young sir.”

Thorne checked his cloak, only to realised that he’d only picked up one of the remaining parcels. He cursed softly, then ripped open the remaining one, which fortunately was the largest of the three he had received. Inside was a hideously frilly orange shirt, which again had been folded over more times than seemed possible. “Uh, really, must I…”

“She’ll be so pleased, sir. Traditional color of her clan.”

“Mhmm.” Thorne sighed, then slipped out of his cloak and pulled off his tunic and undershirt. He sniffed it his garments once, then grimaced. Admittedly it would be better not to wear his usual adventuring gear to the party.

Just then, there was a wolf whistle, and he looked through the carriage window. They had stopped at a junction, and some locals lads were pointing at him. “I thought you said nobody could see me?” Thorne snapped to the elf, pulling his cloak up to hide his partial nakedness.

“You’re not invisible, young master. But nobody from the forest can see you from here. Nobody that matters, in other words.”

With a growl, Thorne pulled on the shirt. It was comfortable, and as he glanced at his own reflection in his dagger, he realised that it looked a lot better than he expected. Perhaps he’d been a bit petulant about the gift.

The gift…

“Hey!” he called out to the driver. “Is it traditional to bring gifts to our host on Unification Day?”

“The traditions are quite fluid,” replied the elf, “as we’ve not had such a celebration before. But I’m sure you won’t be visiting her Highness empty handed.”

“Ah…” muttered Thorne, then spotted the Bazaar of Kavarius the Merchant close to the city gates. “Better make a quick stop before we leave the city, driver.”

As the morning stretched on towards noon, the carriage entered the outer reaches of the Feyglades forest.

The greens of the sparse trees here were rich and vibrant in the early summer, insects were abuzz, and even under the light canopy, dappled sunshine was everywhere to be seen. Despite the convenience of the sleek and rapid carriage ride, Thorne wished he could be walking the paths once again, breathing in the humid summer air.

Staying alert for dangers — and opportunities.

Pushing his face up to the window, Thorne saw movement up in the canopy above. At first he was concerned that it might be another giant spider or panther… but then he saw a swinging figure. A monkey, he wondered? In truth, he needed to read up on what animals to expect in these parts.

Then, much closer, he saw a herd of deer. Perhaps spooked by the carriage, they bolted, and flashed right past the carriage doors, joining the path directly behind. All of them had broad, velvety antlers.

Settling back into his seat, Thorne passed the time practising his fine control over magical incantations for moving objects. He raised his dagger in the air, spun it around, then gently guided it back into its sheath.

But his exercises only passed the time for so long. He had started to doze off when, finally, the carriage ground to a halt. The old elven driver dismounted and opened the door. “Walk from here, young sir.”

It wasn’t a question.

Thorne climbed down, remembering to grab his bag of purchases from the bazaar. A baked ham, a bottle of fine wine, and a chess set. Surely those gifts would be well received? Though he now noticed to his embarrassment that the ham was rather ripe-smelling.

The elf turned the carriage and rode off without another word, leaving Thorne to continue along the path alone.

It would be safe; he recognised the tiny bricks of blue rock on the path as marking elven lands. There would be scouts patrolling, even overhead. The trees here gave off a gentle light, mingling with the sunlight that filtered through from the bright summer afternoon above.

He was close to the elvish capital, Fey Serene, a vast set of linked clearings, Wooden houses stood apart, others were built within trees or on high platforms, and there were entrances to dwellings beneath the ground, too.

Thorne certainly couldn’t miss the centre of the capital, a place known as the Circle of Gathering. Not only was its entrance marked with a magically glowing open archway set in an ancient and twisted tree, there was a din of drumming and singing that could be heard long before he reached it, and which got louder with every step.

From the sound of things, the elves were already partying with abandon.

As he stepped through the entrance to the circle, Thorne spotted the queen’s nephew and niece, Polkin and Chantilla. “Thorne!” they cried in unison, dashing over, grabbing him and hugging him.

“Welcome to our first ever Unification Day!” said Chantilla, planting a kiss on his cheek. Polkin went one further, kissing Thorne full on the mouth. Thorne noticed that both young elves smelled very strongly of wine.

“Uh, good to see you,” he said, blushing and pulling away, then holding out the gift.

“Our thanks!” said Polkin, taking the bag without a comment on the smell; he was too busy gazing at Thorne. “The shirt looks… great. You look great. I hope you enjoyed the other gift…?”

“Oh, well, everything was… ideal,” said Thorne evasively. “Well chosen.”

“Have some mushrooms!” said Chantilla dreamily, holing out a handful of dried powdery strips.

“Uhh… sure, I guess.” Thorne placed a tiny pinch in his mouth. So, that’s why the elves were acting so weird, he thought to himself.

They then led him onwards to an open area beyond the gateway. It was a vast clearing in the forest, sloping gently upwards towards a great tree with silver bark, directly in the center. More elves were drinking and dancing, some of them making out semi-clothed, and a few had collapsed and lay face down in the grass.

The central tree was surrounded by several ornate wooden chairs, currently unoccupied. Thorne recalled one of the chairs previously being larger and more ornate, but this time, all were identical.

Not far off, Queen Arriana stood deep in thought, smoking a fat roll of dried herbs, and gazing off into the distance.

“Look, your Highness — Thorne Frostgale answered your summons,” said Polkin.

The queen looked around as Thorne stopped in front of her, Chantilla now singing softly with her arm draped around the young man’s shoulders.

Arriana smiled. “Ah, Thorne! Thanks to your efforts defeating the usurper and his champion, we decided to celebrate the coming together of the elvish clans into one great community.” She placed a bitter emphasis on the word ‘great’.

“Right — Unification Day. I heard. Thanks for the invite. So, uh… what happened to your throne, your highness?” He pointed towards the chairs at the silver tree.

Arriana gave a brief scowl; for a moment, Thorne thought she would stamp her foot, but she said nothing, gazing off to the side. But Chantilla replied: “We’re now ruled by a council of elders. All are seen as equals.”

As the queen’s scowl deepened, Polkin stepped forward with the bag from the merchant’s shop. “Look — Thorne brought you some fine wine, and, um… some other stuff.”

“Ah, glorious wine. So necessary in these times.” Arriana held out her cup, and when Polkin filled it, she drank deeply. All of the elves are so slightly built, Thorne found himself wondering how they could handle their drink.

“Come this way, now, my sorcerous champion,” said Arriana, then stalked off, not waiting for a response. “I want you to see what a difference your heroics have made. Look around you!”

“People are certainly having fun,” Thorne replied, following with Polkin and Chantilla just behind. They passed a pair of young elven maidens who were groping each other and giggling, bottles of wine to either side.

“And we’re at peace,” added Arriana, flinging her smoking herbs aside among the grass. “So, there’s that. Things are… almost perfect.”

“Almost?” echoed Thorne. They were now walking past a sunken arena near the edge of the Circle of Gathering. A cage currently covered the place where he had fought and beaten Blackbottle’s champion twelve months earlier. Arriana paused beside a mechanism at its edge, and turned, hands folded behind her. “Well, indeed. Some might say there’s a lack of… direction.”

Thorne knew very well that Arriana would love to regain queenly powers like in the old days. “There is something to be said for including more people, though, right?” he suggested as they began walking again. “Get the population, you know… on board? Like us at the Adventurer’s Guild. We’re all members. Partners.”

Thorne was just about to add that it was a heck of a lot better than having a lord or baron who hanged everyone that disagreed with him. But he kept that thought to himself.

As it was Arriana humphed a little, and drank some more wine as they walked.

Thorne wondered where they were headed. They had reached the edge of the vast clearing; here, the trees grew thickly and would be hard to pass through.

But shortly, the queen spun around, gracing him with a beautiful smile. “You do have a point, of course. And with heroes like you around, we can all feel a little… Ooh!!”

Her eyes widened at the last exclamation, then she unslung her bow and drew an arrow. “Look out! Dragon!”

Thorne drew his dagger and leaped in front of her. Sure enough, a sinewy lizard creature larger than a horse had emerged from the direction of the fighting pit, and was now making its way between a pair of trees — approaching them.

Thorne knew he was out of his depth. A dragon!

But since chomping on Chantilla’s mushrooms, he had started to feel braver than usual, his vision and thinking sharpened.

Really, he reflected as he drew his dagger, this beast was on the small side compared to dragon stories he had heard. And it was partially restrained… the remnant of ropes were looped around all of its legs, with one longer piece trailing far behind.

Waving his silver dagger in the air to grab its attention, Thorne readied himself. And when the beast spied him and charged forward, Thorne nimbly side-stepped, leaving his dagger floating in mid-air, and grabbing the rope.

A belch of smoke from the dragon filled Thorne’s lungs, and he spluttered, Then an arrow whistled just past his cheek before bouncing off the dragon’s scales. Considering how drunk most of the elves here, he called out, “Hold your fire!”

Thorne was now pulling hard at the rope, muttering enchantments to boost his strength. It was enough to cause the dragon to stumble slightly. But it was strong. Thorne cast a basic heat spell on the ground in front of it, and it recoiled for a moment. But he felt sure it would soon escape his hold.

“Polkin, Chantilla,” he gasped. “Join me!”

The pair ran to his side, and together they pulled the struggling beast backwards by its hind leg. Inch by inch, they were moving it towards the centre of the Circle of Gathering.

Meanwhile, a group of armored elven warriors had appeared on the scene, shields at the ready. They formed a semi-circle around the dragon’s front. The beast, perhaps being on the young side, had snorted a lot of smoke, but didn’t seem capable of belching serious flame.

Thorne looked back again. Behind him, the cage over the fighting area was now standing open. He frowned — that was strange. It had been closed when they walked past.

“We can get it in the pit,” he called out.

“Back in the pit,” corrected a voice from the side.

Thorne looked up to see a tall and muscular elf with a long braided black beard. He recognised Blackbottle, the leader of the breakaway faction from the previous year. The powerful elven warrior grabbed the rope beside Thorne, and together they pulled the struggling beast to the edge of the fighting pit.

There, the warriors pushed against it with their shields until it fell in with a yelp. Blackbottle stepped forward to close the cage, then spun around. “How did this creature get out?” he called in a commanding voice.

“Well,” said Arriana, striding forward and rubbing Thorne’s arm, “that doesn’t really matter now, does it. It’s just as well that I was able to call my hero to the gathering. It would have been carnage without your queen.”

Two of the armored warriors exchanged a glance, and another said, “Your Highness, we were on the scene in moments!”

“Indeed,” intoned Blackbottle in his gravelly voice, now slinging his shield over his back. “We would have captured the beast soon enough.”

“Hmph,” replied Arriana, folding her arms.

“You did help, though,” whispered Chantilla, fist-bumping Thorne’s arm. “Well done.”

Thorne looked down at the dragon, now deep inside the fighting pit. It looked even smaller now — even rather pathetic. He then glanced at the cage mechanism, recalling how Arriana had paused there as they had walked past.

“You released this creature, your highness,” he said to her.

Arriana looked crestfallen.

“I think my aunt wanted to emphasise her usefulness to the kingdom,” said Chantilla softly.

“Well, while we appreciate your efforts, human,” said Blackbottle zestily. “It seems you have been lured here under false pretences. Perhaps it’s time for you to leave.”

“Yeah… I should be going,” mused Thorne.

“Although,” said one of the other armored elven warriors, now removing her helmet, “we could use some help moving the beast. We captured it in the forest, and it’s now due to be transported by ship. Sold.”

“Hmm…” mused Thorn, looking down at it.

“We have a cage mounted on a wagon,” mused Blackbottle in a more friendly tone. “We have a driver, but need a couple of guards. There’s fifty silvers in it if you want the work.”

“I think Thorne should stay here,” piped up Polkin, grabbing the man’s arm. “You want to be here, at my side, don’t you, Thorne…?”

“Uh, well…” began Thorne awkwardly.

“Keep it in your pants,” muttered Chantilla, glaring at her brother, then pulling him away.

“A stranger has arrived!”

The last statement was shouted from near the entrance gate. Thorne looked over to see that the speaker was none other than the elderly elf that had brought him in the carriage from The Bastion. And beside him was an adventurer in leather armor, a sword at her side, and a bandana pulling back her curly hair. Thorne did a double take, realizing that the stranger was Galia, the red-haired barmaid from Rebel Bar.

He hurried over, Polkin and Chantilla trailing just behind. Galia smiled as she saw him.

“What are you doing here?” asked Thorne, stopping as he reached her, then feeling foolish. He didn’t really know the barmaid.

His question was answered when she held out her hand. “Someone was trying to poison you, Thorne.” In the palm of her hand was the unwrapped third parcel that he had left in the bar. A vial labelled ‘healing’.

“But it’s no healing potion,” added Galia. “Plix looked at it for me.”

“Who would dare poison our champion?” said Arriana, now reaching the small gathering. Thorne supposed that she didn’t want to stay and discuss her machinations with Blackbottle and the others.

“Ahem,” said Polkin, stepping forward with his head bowed and one hand raised. “My bad. It’s not poison, though. Certainly not. Just a little… aphrodisiac.”

Galia glared at the elf. “You tried to give Thorne a love potion?”

It was Polkin’s turn to look embarrassed.

“No harm done,” said Thorne, then turned to Galia. “It’s good of you to look out for me. And you know, I still haven’t eaten.”

“We can have a picnic as you walk me back through the forest,” she replied. “It’s nice this time of year.”

He glanced her up and down. “I mean, if you’re ready for more of an adventure… the elves will pay us to transport a dragon. A small one.”

She grinned. “Sounds not bad for a first date.”

Thanks for reading! This was a response to the writing challenge, Monday Mashup #39, by Jonathon Sawyer. Here are my points:

Main Theme:
Prompt #2 – Write about a fictional fantasy or sci-fi holiday! (Unification Day in the Feyglades – 2pts).

Constraints:
Brown paper packages tied up with strings (1pt).
Eight reindeer (I didn't specify, but eight deer ran past the carriage, honest! The phrase "All of them had broad, velvety antlers" implies that they were reindeer. So, 1pt).
Someone starts a fight over giving or receiving a gift (the gifts given to Thorne lead to several fights and arguments; 1 pt).
An open door (at the tavern and also the Circle of Gathering; also the cage door is opened; 1pt).

Hardcore Constraint:
A “horde”/hoarder of cats (Plix gathers them in with his smell; 2pts).

Literary Device (Worth 5 points):
Give an example of apologia (Queen Arriana, 5pts).

Kraken Lore Mega Bonus:
Set your story in the warmth of the equator (well it is at least summer and warm in the Feyglades; 10pts I think).

TOTAL: 24 pts

Thanks again for reading!

I challenge Camryn Osbourne, AmyLee, Writer and Julia Kalman – do you fancy doing the next Monday Mashup challenge? There should be a new one today over at The Kraken Lore!