Here I was again in Trostis, the capital of Amella, the glittering jewel of the East. For some definitions of the words "glittering" and "jewel", I guess.
More like the somewhat shiny, polished stone of the East.
Regardless, I was back in my home country for the first time in almost two and a half years. But I wasn't here to reminisce, and I had no family worth visiting.
Trostis is sometimes called the city of churches, and true to its name it is chock-full of huge, opulent churches and cathedrals dedicated to the gods of humans, dwarves, halflings, and even elves. But I wasn't here for religious pilgrimage, either.
I was with my son, Davor Junior, who was already sixteen months old and only just now seeing the land where his mother was born. We were mere days away from the edge of the orcish clan-lands, and by extension his father - Davor of the First Fire clan.
Or at least that's who I assumed the father was. The truth is it could have been any of three different orcs.
But it was Davor Senior who had invited me to live with him when we met, so it was Davor we were looking for. I had already bought a horse, a patient mare that had thinned out my coin purse quite a bit. With a route planned, my method of transport ready, and my coin purse a big light, you'd think I would be buying last-minute supplies and getting moving.
Instead, here I was, in some fancy clothier's shop, looking at some very expensive undergarments.
The clothier, Sophie apparently, had been busy with another girl when I came in. I busied myself taking in the massive assortment of lingerie available. They looked like they were made in a few different sizes, a few looking like a good fit for a child, or maybe a halfling, and others looking like they were sized for someone significantly bigger. And the number of shapes and colours... good gods, where was I supposed to start?
There were a few pairs of lacy underthings that looked like they might be a good fit, but they covered so little that it was almost funny. I wanted something sexy, and I had never been afraid of being adventurous... but a patch of black lace that wouldn't cover even the most sensitive parts seemed a bit much, even for me. Or not enough, maybe. And why were the smallest ones the most expensive, anyway? You'd think that less fabric used would mean a lower cost...
The other woman in the shop was on her own now, and I heard the soft clicks of her heels as she meandered over to where I was. She came to a stop beside me, looking over the same floor-to-ceiling display of overpriced lingerie.
I'd given her a once-over when I first came in, but I spared a quick side-eye to get another. Her hair was like black satin, falling in a smooth wave over her exposed shoulders, and I felt a small pang of jealousy at the thick, straight hair that must be so much easier to take care of than my natural waves. Her skin was a dark olive colour, and flawless in a way that spoke of youth and never having had to work in the sun. I suppose I had that going for me as well, a gift of my father's elven blood. The hair and skin colours marked her as being from Sawarra - or at least her family.
She had clearly put so much effort into maintaining her beauty, despite looking young even for a human, that at first I assumed she was nobility. But the way she carried herself was too reserved for Amellan nobility, and I doubted the Sawarran royal family would lower themselves to shopping in a streetside shop.
We stood in silence for a moment, taking in the almost infinite variety. She probably knew more about this kind of thing than I did, even if she was at least a full decade younger than me.
"These sure have gotten pretty popular these days, haven't they," I mused aloud, tucking a curl of red hair behind my pointed ear. My grandmother would have reprimanded me for fidgeting in such an obvious way, but I'm not a full elf and don't feel like I have to imitate their glacial stillness. Especially not here in the lands of my human family.
"They grew in popularity pretty quickly," the lady agreed, and I felt myself relaxing a shade. I couldn't really afford to shop in a place quite this nice, but she either didn't notice or didn't care about the class difference.
"Some fancy-pants noble probably wore lingerie to a party," I joked, "now everyone wants to match the style." She smiled at my light poking, and I decided she was definitely not proper nobility. "My name's Amaranthea. Most people call me Amy."
"Pleased to meet you, Amaranthea," she answered and gave a genuine smile complete with little dimples. This girl had no lack of suitors, of that I was certain. "I'm Arabela."
I turned my attention back to the two-piece sets. Maybe keeping it simple was the way to go?
I could feel Arabela's gaze travel over me as I considered and rejected another pair (too frilly!). I had inherited the height and slenderness of my elven father's side of the family, and some curviness from my mother's - and my breasts had only gotten larger since having Davor. The red hair, green eyes, and long pointed ears all added to the exotic beauty. There was a kind of objectification that I only experienced from other women, where they either wanted to be me or dress me up and show me off like a doll. I wasn't sure which end of that spectrum Arabela fell on as she looked me over from behind a veil of hair.
Men were simpler: they usually just looked at my hair and breasts and then tried to fuck me. Sometimes they went as far as ogling my waist or ass before coming to that conclusion. Who says chivalry is dead?
"There are so many more types and shapes now," she sighed. "How's a girl to settle for just one?"
Probably that longing sigh was about the pretty panties, but she wouldn't have been the first lady to show that kind of interest in me. There had been a couple of human women years ago, not to mention Ilaira the nymph...
I felt a hint of heat in my cheeks as the memory resurfaced, and quickly grabbed an item off the wall to distract myself from that train of thought. Those two nights with Pux and Ilaira had been magical, and I still couldn't think about either of them without blushing.
"Mhm," I mumbled as I turned the thin cloth over in my hands. It looked tight around the chest and looser after that - it would have been a perfect piece while I was pregnant, but the baby weight was months gone and I would rather show off my slim waist a bit more than this would do. "Last time I was in the city, you had to go to a specialist to get proper lingerie."
"How long have you been away from Trostis?"
"About..." I started, then did some quick maths. "It's got to be a bit more than two years, not as much as two and a half."
I was trying to decide how to side-step the inevitable question about what I was doing abroad when I heard Davvy burble to himself. He'd been napping, but apparently my brief interlude of baby-less silence was done now.
I strode across the floor and scooped him up along with his white shawl that he used as a blanket. He started squirming immediately, no doubt wanting to run around and make some trouble. "Hey, hey," I whispered to him and bounced him a bit in my arms. It was still early enough in the afternoon that he might sleep a little bit longer.
Arabela got the glowy ooh-look-a-baby look people sometimes get around toddlers and drifted towards us. But that expression faded away to a look of politely-disguised shock as she took in Davie's green skin and the nubs of tusks just starting to push through his gums.
A half-elf is the kind of exotic that people like to look at, while a half-orc... it had only been twenty-five years since the end of the last war between Amella and the orcs to the South, and a half-orc was probably an unpleasant reminder of the all-too-fresh wounds left behind.
"Wow," she tried, stammering a bit as she collected herself. Points to her for putting the effort into not looking distasteful about his skin colour. "What's this little cutie's name?"
"Davor," I said in a soft voice, still rocking and bouncing him. He made a valiant effort to keep his big yellow eyes open, but sleep seemed to win out again. "After his father."
"He's very handsome," she said, and I was surprised to hear that she actually sounded honest. Further North, people were a bit more tolerant, but Trostis was closer to the Southern border and people were usually not pleased to see orcs roaming. A vocal minority wanted them barred from the country entirely.
There's no way she was old enough to have been around before the hostilities died down, and if her family was from Sawarra like her trace of accent suggested... she had probably inherited little of the local racism. "His father must be proud," she went on. "Is he... half-orcish and half elf?"
"Half orc, more or less, but only quarter elven and quarter human," I whispered. It wasn't uncommon for me to be mistaken for full elven around here, although back in Yamen En'sol I stood out among the "pure" elves. "And his father... his father hasn't met him yet."
I felt a tightness in my gut as I again considered the fact that I had crossed an ocean and most of a continent to find a man I'd met only once. He might not even live in the First Fire clan now, or he could even be dead. Even if he is there, would he be happy to see me again? Would he smile down at his son, or send us away? Why had I gambled everything on a maybe?
I looked down at little Davvy and watched him valiantly fight against falling asleep, and felt that tension ease. We would be okay, no matter what. I laid him back down on the floor and wrapped his cloak around him again.
"We're on our way to meet his father," I said, quietly enough to avoid Davvy. I was still looking down at his serene face so I didn't have to meet this woman's gaze as I admitted that my son had never even met his dad.
Arabella didn't say anything, and I continued to avoid her eyes. Why was I even telling all this to a stranger? Davor, for his part, burbled quietly to himself and wiggled slightly, not quite able to get comfortable.
"That's where we're going next, and why I've visited every damn shop in town looking for just the right..." I trailed off as I realised how silly I must sound. I was taking my son to meet his father, and so I was spending the last of my money on some nice underwear? I gave a vague wave in the direction of the lingerie in lieu of finishing that thought.
"You want to make a good impression for the reunion," she supplied, and I nodded.
