HEAR YE, HEAR YE [Assorted Medieval Fantasy Stories]

[01] Chapter 2: Temporary Contracts

So consumed in the bread's sweet taste was Bartholomeu that he barely registered the elf merchant's question. "So, what do you do for a living?" asked the elf merchant. Bartholomeu finished off his bread before replying, "I's a monster hunter. Hunts monsters." The elf merchant nodded slowly, smiling as she noted, "I would think you hunt for a lady's favor with equal fervency, no?"

The big words eluded Bartholomeu, but he grasped the idea in its barest form. "No, I's not ready for a lady, no." Bartholomeu regrettably shook his head with a sigh as the elf merchant then asked, "Well, where do you plan to go after this?"

Bartholomeu shrugged, happy to have avoided that awkward topic. "I's going to the forest. You's going where?" The elf merchant seemed to burn a smile into her face as she exclaimed, "Oh, I was planning that very same thing! I'm to head to Al' duwende; you know of it, yes?" The man grumbled, not liking the memory of Al' duwende's monstrous woods. "Yes, I's know it. Elf kingdom up North of Harlia, aye"

"Then we shall go together?" suggested the elf merchant. Bartholomeu felt suspicious of it all, but he seemed to trust the kind and friendly face of this elf in particular. She had that optimistic, perhaps naive aura about her, just from her smile alone. "I's suppose so. Just don't die, yeah? I's gonna miss your bread if you's die."

The elf merchant giggled chipperly, waving her hand dismissively as she jested, "Oh, you'll still get your bread, don't worry!" She then extended her hand to him and proudly stated, "By the way, I'm Yona! And you are?" Bartholomeu took the hand; it was soft and gentle, so he made sure not to grip too hard with his calloused, glove-strapped hand. "I's Bartholomeu. Friends call me Bart, or Tholo, or Meu. Never Bartholomeu, it's too long."

"Oh, that will simply not do..." Yona tapped at her chin, much to Bartholomeu's offense. "Pardon? You's got a problem with Bartholomeu?" The elf's eyes drained in shock as she shook her head and palms frantically. "No, no, not at all! I... I's simply think you's need a nickname! Something special..."

She seemed to analyze Bartholomeu from head to toe, but her eyes lingered mostly on the implement strapped to his waist—a leather quiver, emptied by the guards, but otherwise present. "I shall call you Quiver!" she exclaimed, happily clapping her hands together.

"I's... I's guess that work..." Bartholomeu shrugged, knowing the nickname was simple yet better than "Bow." He scratched at a scab on his cheek, hoping it would hide the embarrassed blush in his face. He could tell some haughty noble overheard their silly conversation; the whispers said as much.

"Well," inquired Yona, "tell me when you're ready to leave, and we can go!" Yet Bartholomeu tilted his head and inquired, "You's nothing else to do here?" To that, Yona's eyes widened again, and she let out an embarrassed chuckle as she rubbed at her neck.

"I... I forgot about that, yes... Thank you for reminding me! A moment, please!" And so she bolted off with her luggage box in hand, soon making an audience with the Harlian king as she spoke in her fancy merchant speak.

She spent a long while speaking with the wizen, crimson-cloaked king of snowy hair. She nodded and bowed several times, drawing long into the day. Bartholomeu didn't mind—at least now, he had a basket of delicious food, and a possible provider of both company and sustenance.