It was Friday evening, the last chance to prepare me for the upcoming fight. Mom was drilling me on the first, and only, new spell she'd taught me on our little training trip.

Dad had taken my weapon, called upon the winds, and then threw it, through the air, to land a mile or so away, in some random part of the forest, where I'd likely never find it if I couldn't use magic.

I exhaled gently through my nose. Wherever my weapon was, it was glowing blue. Then it disappeared with flash of violet light, reappearing with much the same as I called it to my hand.

This was one of the simplest forms of teleportation magic there was: preparing an object ahead of time with a personalized arcane marker, and then teleporting it to your person from wherever it currently was. And because it was, supposedly, so goddamn simple, the spell had been drilled into me relentlessly, until I could call my weapon to my hand from a mile away while dodging hostile projectiles and riding my motorcycle through a difficult trail.

Once my weapon appeared in my hand, I squeezed off a shot at the next rock Dad threw at me "just to make sure I was still sharp," and pulled my bike into a sideways skidding halt, kicking up loam and litter at him as I came up to his hiding spot.

"Asshole," I said, slugging him in the shoulder.

"Hey, you're about to fight the King of Assholes," Dad said. "Or, well, one of the Kings of Assholes. There's other assholes in this world. Point is, I want you to be ready for this. I want you to walk in there, handle this, and think that the training was harder than the real thing, because training should be harder than the real thing. The more you sweat, the less you'll bleed."

I sighed. "Yeah, I know. Just, y'know." I shrugged. "You put a lot of work into being an asshole, there, and I just want you to know: I recognize your efforts, Napoleon. Your efforts in the field of being a colossal prick."

"Hey, if you're breathing easily enough that you can smart-mouth me, maybe we oughtta run that a few more times," Dad said, stroking his chin.

"Absolutely not," Mom said, shaking her head as she walked into the clearing with us. "Even you can see it, Napoleon- the boy's damn near out of magicka. If he casts another spell in the next ten minutes, he's going to get mana burn, and even you'd be hard-pressed to treat that well enough for him to survive tomorrow."

"I could just go in his place," Dad suggested. "He is my son, after all, and I doubt the King of Thieves can tell elves apart that well."

"We look very different to anyone with even a scrap of magical perception," I said, shaking my head. "Considering that, if anyone in the Thieves' Guild is capable of divine magic, it's the King of Thieves, we're probably not gonna be able to sneak that one by him."

"Also, you are a redhead, and your father's hair is green," Mom pointed out dryly.

"In the meantime, though..." I stretched and yawned, and holstered my weapon inside my jacket. "I think I'm in agreement with Mom: I am done for today, and I would really, really like to get some sleep."

"Fair enough," Dad said, nodding. "We'll meet you back at the house, then, so you can sleep in a real bed."

With a flourish of magic, Dad turned into a hawk and flew off, and Mom teleported away in a flash of blue light.

"...Assholes," I muttered, before kicking my motorcycle back down into first gear as I puttered off back towards Redwater.

---

Despite my imprecations upon their character, I did return home to what was very likely my favorite meal: beef stew, with leeks, carrots, and potatoes. Which, well, was also probably just a generally good choice for the night before a big day- it was hearty and filling in addition to being my personal favorite.

Antiope and Tim were here, too, what with Tim having come by after the able-bodied members of House Ironheart went camping for several days and left behind a wheelchair-bound old man whose ability to take care of himself wasn't quite what it used to be. Considering the looks Tim and Frederick shot each other every now and then, I had the sneaking suspicion that the two had taken quite the liking to each other.

Talia and Faith, meanwhile, both patted me on the back as I regaled them with tales of my training, and Uncle Frederick simply beamed with pride the whole time, as though I were his own son- which, considering that he'd helped raise me, and was the impetus behind my birth, I kinda was. He may have been my uncle, but... well, now that I thought about it, he wasn't just my uncle- he was my Hearth-Father, for all that he wasn't also romantically involved with my parents- or at least, I hoped he wasn't.

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

"Alright," I said, once I'd emptied my bowl. "I... am going to fall asleep the second my head hits the pillow, so if anyone's got anything to say, now's the time to say it."

"Good luck, my boy," Frederick said.

"Go forth and conquer," Dad said.

"Bring me back something nice, will you?" Mom added.

"I'll bring you the head of the King of Thieves," I promised.

"Are you going there alone?" Faith asked.

"He absolutely is not," Talia said, before I could say anything. "This isn't just about him. We were there from the beginning, and we're gonna see it through to the end."

"...Sure, why not," I said, nodding. "I don't think they'll let you two through the door, but... well, better safe than sorry."

I may have been relying on my abilities as a wizard so far, but... I was a student of the occult, too. The magic of story and song. Maybe I wasn't a real bard- I couldn't play an instrument, after all- but I did know a thing or two about the structure of stories, and... Well. This didn't feel like a real ensemble piece to me. Talia was just here because she's personally attached to both myself and Faith, whereas Faith was here because of some weird bureaucratic fuckery that has not, to my knowledge, been meaningfully advanced.

I, however, was here to reclaim the funerary effigy of my father's hearth-mother, as well as to prove myself as a competent and capable combatant.

Maybe it was just bias from only seeing the world through my own perspective, but, uh. Well. Couldn't help but feel like this was a story about me, which Faith and Talia simply happen to also be present for.

"Anyhow," I said, slowly standing up on shaky legs. "I am. So fucking tired. And I'm going to bed now. Talia, mind coming with me?"

"Her parents are right there," Faith said.

"Get it, girl," Antiope said flatly.

"...Right. Elves." Faith stood up. "Well, fuck it. Room for one more?"

"Yes!" Talia said.

Some occult insight flashed through my brain, and I held my tongue. On the one hand, I did not like Faith. On the other hand, Talia clearly did, and, well… Some amount of compromise was necessary.

Honestly, aside from the parts where Faith spoke positively about the Paladin's Guild- which had killed my grandparents and most of their children- she wasn't that bad. Sure, the bad stuff was pretty bad, but…

…Iunno. Maybe I can fix her.

I wondered if this was how Elana had felt about Terpsichore at first- darling dearest brought home some random human that they clearly want to fuck, and I have no idea what the hell is going on, but I'm mildly concerned and wished I wasn't in this situation.

So instead, I let Faith and Talia take my arms and help me up the stairs.

—

"So… after this..." Faith began, as I climbed into bed. "...Have you considered joining the Paladin's Guild?"

"I'd rather eat glass," I said.

"Okay, can both of you chill out?" Talia said, planting her hands on her hips. "Faith, I get it, the Paladin's Guild is important to you, but it also killed his grandparents, and I would really like it if you'd stop bringing it up every ten minutes. 'Polite tolerance' is the best you're getting out of him about your Paladin-ness, and frankly, that's all you're getting from me, too."

"Oof," I muttered.

"And you!" Talia said, turning to address me. "Yeah, yeah, we both know the definition of 'generational trauma.' But could you maybe try being diplomatic instead of rattling your saber of moral high-ground? You could've been the one to tell Faith to chill out on the Paladin stuff, if you weren't too busy trying to score points in this stupid fucking culture war!"

"...Point," I admitted. "Okay. Faith, I'm sorry I was so abrasive. Please stop talking to me about the Paladin's Guild, so I can have an easier time of not being a dick to you."

"I... can try, yeah," Faith said. "It's... well, it is important to me, like Talia said, but... well. I guess I can get where you're coming from, here."

"There we go," Talia said. "Now... kiss."

"I'm going to sleep now," I said dryly.

"Aw, c'mon," Faith said.

"Aren't you a lesbian?"

"Yeah, but if I can show you to my parents as a boyfriend, I can get away with sleeping with your girlfriend."

"...I'm going to sleep now," I repeated, this time more forcefully.

---

I looked myself in the mirror with trepidation, the next morning.

Despite my initial thinking... I'd ended up shaving. A man of any age could be clean-shaven, but only a teenager playing at being a man could grow a mustache as scraggly and pathetic as mine was.

From there, though, my grooming was a simple matter. I combed out my long, flame-red hair, before applying a thin film of waxy oil to fix it in place as I slicked it back, and tilted my head this way and that as I examined the way it, and my ears, framed my own pale, sharp-featured face.

Ultimately, an elf is simply never going to look like a human's archetypal "tough guy," with broad features and a neck as thick as a tree stump. But there was an image of the archetypal Elven Mage-Knight, still in the popular consciousness, and to my good fortune, that image was largely based on my fucking dad. Even for people who can't tell elves apart... I was one scary motherfucker, once I slipped into my black leather duster.

Mom had helped enchant it further, during my training. Before, it had simply been unnaturally durable, and waterproof, and likely to survive centuries of being worn, provided I didn't get into any motorcycle crashes while wearing it. But now, it was proper armor, the leather affording me the sort of protection normally associated with plates of steel, to the point it would likely outlive me, even if someone killed me while I was wearing it.

I laced up my boots- nothing special, save for a noticeable heel and a notch under the arch for grabbing stirrups or foot-posts on a motorcycle- and stepped out of my bathroom.

"Alright, ladies," I said. "It's showtime."