Douglas glared at her the entire time he was thinking, tapping a claw impatiently on the table. He glanced occasionally at the others, but ultimately turned his gaze back to her.

She leaned in, fingers folded together while she put on a leering smile. “Hey, Doug. You like the idea of justice.”

“What about all the stuff you’ve already sold? It’s gone, forever!” he wailed.

“We haven’t sold anything that couldn’t be replaced easily, and you said it yourself, there were only a few items you really liked. You didn’t need all that stuff. You just like the idea of having stuff, for that moment when you may need it! You know how I know this?” she leaned in, eyes narrowed.

“Because you’re worse than me?” he answered with a small snort.

“Correct. I used to be a materialistic bitch. A trend I am very much trying to break on my second round of life. I try not to be a spendthrift. I try not to make selfish decisions. And it's hard to break bad habits, Doug.”

“She shares her jacuzzi with the community at her apartment,” Greg pointed out. “Before recent events...I would not have expected that outcome.”

“She took jailbird here and gave him a job and a second chance. A job he's…pretty good at.” Bonnie wore a smug look as she gazed at Kali, who bristled his feathers at this.

“‘Pretty good at it’, she says. I'm cornering the market on security and inventory management, with Greg’s assistance.”

Darla also took a moment to offer something, catching onto what Fiona was planning. “She donated her winnings from the harvest tournament. It wasn't a tiny amount.”

The kobold raised an eye crest at this. “It was still my stuff.”

“Yes, it was. I might have pushed too hard, because you were painted as the bad guy, and back then? I was more than happy to go beat up deserving villains.” Fiona concluded. Douglas sighed, and kept tapping a claw on the table, like he was still doing calculus in his head. “Now, Doug, you and I got off on the wrong claw, and we both have someone in common who supremely screwed us. Someone who likely set the wheels in motion for our current situation and schemes to put Fiefdala into a bit of a bind: Glados. We don’t have proof of her every ill deed, but we’re going to find it. And I bet, the answer is in Vale, where her little patsy is trying to set up a lucrative trade deal.”

“Haha. You, sleuthing? You're a wrecking ball, Swiftheart, not a detective.” He kept tapping his claw, trying to read her expression.

“Oh, actually I can find hidden value everywhere.” Wingding had been giving her the notion that Doug's heart was woefully empty, and she doubted it was just a lack of a treasure hoard. He wasn’t that shallow, if he put more worth in a hand-crafted ring than a dozen other items over ten times that worth in the same case.

It got her thinking, for a moment. What if I've been wrong this whole time, Wingding? What if I'm the jerk who took a wrecking ball to people who didn't deserve it?

Her companion was notably silent, which was unusual. I'm supposed to get the answer to this one on my own, aren't I?

Flap.

“You know what, Doug?" she said after a long pause, where everyone was glancing at her in curiosity. "You can take the ring, and walk on out of here, right now. Consider it a peace offering.”

Doug’s eyes went wide, mouth slightly agape. “Why would you do that?”

She shook her head. "Why? How about the fact that I humiliated you beyond reasonably funny?” She leaned away from the table, gaging his reaction, where he blinked a few times, and shook his head.

“You’d just let me walk out with that? After what I did?”

“Yep.”

“We would?” Kali said edgily. “We still have to fix that case.”

“Small tubers, Kali. I know a glass guy who can fix it,” Fiona assured him.

Doug let out a tsk sound. “I think you’re trying to trick me into this.”

“You’re right, Doug, it’s less effort to let you walk out right now, no strings attached. You get a keepsake from your mom. I think that’s what matters, right?” He kept tapping his claw, eyes peering down at the table where she’d left it. His expression was a little less toothy and adversarial.

She waited a beat, before continuing. “Or, door number two, we can both walk a cleansing path of shedding our souls of rampant consumerism, appreciating the important things in life, and putting a giant boot–or claw, in your case–to the backside of scummy kings and evil witches. Now, before I dive into that…did you ever do a tag sale in your life, Doug?” she asked.

“You’re insane.”

“I’ve been called crazy before, Doug. I’m still coming to terms with my shipwreck of a life that terminated on the side of a thirty-ton oil tanker truck, thrown by a bigger, meaner, and less cute version of you.” He raised an eye crest at that. “You didn’t answer my question, though.”

“No, I never shucked my stuff off. Do you know how many times I’ve had to restart? I managed to hide some stuff from Karlin the second time this happened. What I did have, was hard-earned.” He glanced out to the store, focusing on some distant item. “Walk with me?”

“Sure.” Bonnie dismissed the magical shackles, and Doug got up from the table, stretching his legs before motioning them to a small armor set, made of mage steel, by the cases on the far side.

“What does this one mean to you, Doug?” Fiona asked a few seconds later.

“It’s a purchase I made many years ago. I liked the aesthetic and the history and was capable of taking human form to utilize it--if need be. But with my dragon form currently…inaccessible, I can’t access that, either.” He pointed with a claw to the armor, tracing the crest on the silvered breastplate–once again, the sigil of a griffin. “Do you know the origin of the current banner of Fiefdala?”

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

“No, actually I don’t,” Fiona shrugged. “Greg?”

“I’ll hold my comment for now.” he crossed his arms as if gauging what Doug would do, who cleared his throat, gold eyes focused on it.

“This was an armor set made for the son of Chester Kuras, a lord of the precursor to Fiefdala, about two hundred and fifty years ago. Functionally the armor is durable, but light. His father taught him everything he knew--and imparted his lessons well. It protected his son though many trying times--Vale, once again, trying to expand their market of flesh, to be rebuked again. He then gave the armor to his son, Josin Kuras. He was well-trained, too. During an expedition to deal with banditry in the eastern outreaches, they came across an encampment of bandits with a druid enchanter, using wild animals to attack people and…collect items, after the monsters made short work of unarmed, unarmored commoners. People using their marks for…awful things.”

“Do you have a mark?” Fiona asked. “I’m still learning, and as far as I know…only Folk have them.”

“We do. We dragons in particular carry a mark on our scales…and a lattice of mana crystal within our bodies that fuels it. I’m not sure if there’s two magical sources at work, though many have speculated.” He moved on before she could drill deeper into that comment. “Josin knew the poor monsters were slaves to the will of the druid, their name is forgotten by history.”

He pointed to a single raking strike, ever so faint, that marred the armor. Fiona noted the metal had been repaired. “Josin was enamored with the wilderness. He studied it, and spent a lot of time in it, learning about beasts and their relation to their environment, whenever he could afford it. He saw what the bandits were doing, and stood against a silver griffin when it was sent to disrupt them: a very dangerous beast in these parts. They can tear apart an armored knight with their claws, and their airborne strike is deadly. He also knew slaying the druid would not solve the problem, and the beast would have to be put down if they took that route.

“But Josin had trained beasts before. He sought an elegant solution–engaging the beast in sport. It was a risky calculation, tiring the creature out, before subduing it–non-lethally. An impressive feat, though he was injured during the endeavor.

“The griffin female also had fledglings–they were treated poorly by the druid, and were motivated by fear, rather than a bond of trust. Infuriated by this defeat, the druid made a final terrible choice and tried to use one of the fledglings to attack the young knight. Once again, he demonstrated aptness to subdue, rather than harm. The druid, enraged by these actions, then tried to kill Josin himself–and the griffins, having seen his remarkable empathy, and having witnessed him getting injured on the account of not having to slay them, turned on the druid, and defended the young lord. He went on to survive for another forty years.”

“Is there an allegory to this story?” Greg mused.

“Trust isn't transactional. Sit down with someone dangerous long enough and get to know them, and maybe, they won’t try to beat you senseless,” Doug replied with a scoff. Fiona fought the urge to respond--maybe this was one barb she'd brought on herself. “On the historical front, then yes, the young lord saw the creature show compassion, duty, and strength…and nobility. All trademarks of what is required in a nation, and a leader. Hence, the griffin on the tapestries.”

“Is he spinning yarn?” Darla asked. “I, too, do not know all the history. Getting yoinked from Underlune has that effect.”

“He is correct. This is, indeed, the history of the crown sigil. I am surprised the armor survived. Normally, if you get it this badly damaged,” Greg pointed to the defect, “You just melt it down and start over.”

“He kept it as a reminder,” Doug said with a proud nod. “You know what my mark is? I’m a Historian, of all things. I don’t use it for my day-to-day career–but, I do use it to great effect for my pastimes. I can tell an item’s true worth is–not just in gold, but in what it means to others. History is a weave. It’s complicated. It speaks--if people are willing to listen to it."

She swore if she didn’t know better, that Douglas was speaking to her heart when he said that, and had some inkling of the power of her mark. And Wingding, potentially. She took a second to finish the pitch. “So, what do you think, Doug? You have nowhere to dig, but up. If this all pans out, you both fix your history, and come out on top of this as a scaly hero.”

“Don’t offer platitudes to me, Miss Swiftheart. I just want my stuff, as much as I can get my claws on, then I’m high-tailing it out of here to someplace where Karlin won’t ever find me again. Someplace cold, possibly north of the Arkentine Mountains. He hates the cold.”

“Nuh-uh. That guy has been bullying you all your life, which means he’ll just do it again, as soon as he finds you,” Fiona countered. “You know what my money is on? Glados and Karlin are trying to move all the gold out of Fiefdala. I doubt their partnership has concluded. We already know they had ratfolk shapeshifted under duress stealing gold, and not a trivial amount, run by a druid working for one of the crime families of the Kingdom. They likely have other schemes going and keep their hands clear of it, to avoid a trail of evidence. We also know Barry’s either expecting a windfall from Vale–or, he’s an idiot.”

“Have you ever considered Rikkard is part of this and is sanctioning his son’s efforts on this? That he just…gave up the pretense of being a decent ruler, and is bleeding the kingdom dry? Don’t think I haven’t noticed that gold is a little tight,” Doug pressed, peering up at her with all his relatively short stature. “Besides, you have a shop to run. How are you planning on being in two places at once?”

“Oh, glad you asked,” she asked with a smile. “That also sounded suspiciously like you were almost on board with this.”

“I didn’t commit to anything! I hate you!” he fumed.

“I don't blame you. I gave you a crap deal that, had I known everything at the time, would never have brought down on you," she offered as a concession. "Look, if I can put my differences aside, so can you. We both want to earn a living, and a chance to see some people humiliated and imprisoned! Then I get to go back to living a normal, humdrum life!” she beamed, her hands pressed together as if this dream were possible. Greg coughed to mask what she thought was a laugh, and she gave him a sidelong look and a pouty lip. Bonnie was in stitches and didn’t even pretend to hold back.

“You, Fiona? I don’t think anyone’s gonna let you live a relatively mundane life, with the way things have been around you for the past seven and a half months,” she cackled.

“Way to take my side, Red.”

“Takes one to know one, candy corn,” she retorted playfully. Doug by this point had thrown his hands up in the air, and let out a shout of frustration. It was the most adorable sound she’d ever heard a miniature dragon make.

“Fine, jeez! It can’t be any worse than being destitute and barely capable of flight!” He pointed a clawed finger at Fiona. “When we’re done recovering my dignity, my luxurious, shiny red scales, and my historical finds of actual worth to me? Then we part ways. Amicably. For the rest of our lives. I still don’t know how you plan to achieve any of this.”

“I've got plans underway. Well then, we have a–”

“And, you will melt down your hammer, as an apology.”

Fiona felt her ears twitch, and everyone gave her space out of preservation of health. Even Wingding was telegraphing a huge anxiety from the shiver of her wings. Doug stood firm, even in the face of pending elven death.

“Oh Doug, that is off limits. It’s valuable to me.”

“Really? The comically huge hammer?” He wore a toothy grin that further drove her smashing time therapy response. “Surely you don’t need it anymore if you’re ‘settling down’, as they call it. Let me guess, gonna need a minute to think about it?”

She gave it three seconds of thought. and the decision she reached, surprised her.

It wasn’t irreplaceable. It was just going to hurt profoundly. But this time, it might be the cost of doing business.

“After we put this all behind us? I'll let you melt it down yourself," she said quietly. "I’d hate to prematurely melt down a tool that could come in handy. Especially, since your brother has not been handed his twin-fueled humiliation.” Her lip twisted upwards just a little, and his facial scales flexed in surprise. “Deal?” She offered a hand to him, and he flexed his claws in anticipation.

But in the end, she knew what his answer would be, as did Wingding. She had sent her answer in a single code:

Trust.