Scenes of a Troll family fallen on hard times not of their own making, centered on its matron.

Visual reference for This family is available at this link.(SFW)

This story is part of the Houses Of Underhaven series, a spinoff from my time at River Twine Holt . Originally published on that site as three short-subject tales.

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Wife, Mother, Teacher
By: Dankedonuts
https://www.furaffinity.net/user/dankedonuts/


-- 1 --

The Twenty-Eigth Night of the Third Summer Moon, in the 1699th Year of Underhaven


'Where did it all go wrong?' The question battered Redpike with each box he moved across his new threshold. The place was more than half the size of the old one, but with nooks and protruding walls that made it feel smaller.

Little more than a year ago, the burly troll had been rising through the ranks. He was one of the lucky few to have stumbled upon a point-ear that had died trying to infiltrate his tunnels. Between himself and his patrol partner, it was he who had kept a steady head on his shoulder and earned General Bludgeon's approval, so it was he who was given access to a larger world. To classified documents, to a secret autopsy, and to a closed-door meeting of the Joint Heads. It was his voice they'd heard detailing the point-ear, his face they saw wedded to the successful defense of the realm.

Where did it all go wrong?

When his name should have been sung out to the Honored Dead, it instead became an epithet. Old scores long settled suddenly came up to bite at his feet. Craftsmen in The House of Provisions turned a bit of boisterous haggling into accusations of shake-downs, which soon enough sullied his name among those of the Tinkerers and Scholars. Base slander which soon had some asking questions about alleged connections to certain unsolved crimes. Misdeeds of which he was completely innocent, a fact which he remanded vigorously to anyone who'd dared question his integrity to his face! Before long, his superiors could not ignore the scandal his presence within the tunnels was causing. Where he should have been promoted, instead he'd been sidelined. To less critical, less public, duties. And now to a matching apartment, one mirroring his abridged status.

The forlorn soldier hefted the package onto a slightly wobbly table and opened the box to take in the look of his leather armor. He had kept it oiled and well cared for, and no commander would deny him his right to go on wearing it. But before long, without access to the proper materials and specialists, it would take on the slapdash appearance of any other set of piecemeal lower-middle-tier gear.

Bladesong, center of his world, entered then carrying a stack of boxes. The sweet scent of her perfume both invigorated and shamed him. They had married young, and for love. He was of the higher-ranking family, but now they had slid back down to the rank of hers. She had not spoken since the billeting orders came down. 'I was supposed to elevate her from this whole area! Now she keeps me afloat.' He couldn't face her. Instead he kept his eyes to the armor.

He felt her hand squeeze his shoulder. "We will endure, dear heart." she said.

He grasped her hand in his own and wept.


-- 2 --


The Fourteenth Night of the First Summer Moon, in the 1813th Year of Underhaven


"Again!" little Ingot cried out, youthful eyes wide with enthusiasm.

"All right! All right!" Bladesong laughed. "But just once more. Momma's next class starts soon, and she has to be ready."

Her six-year-old son held up his wooden practice-sword in his right hand and shifted into a fair approximation of the ready stance. Right leg forward, the other behind it, chest at an angle, left arm curled in back, right arm out with blade aimed at his teacher's chest. It was a pose that would give an opposing swordsman as little to strike at as possible.

Bladesong began as she would with any older student, by calling out blocking positions. "First! Eighth! Eighth! Seventh! Second! First!" Ingot obliged with a series of motions that set the blade to protect strikes against the lower half of his body. His moves were wide but not wild, and a year's growth of mind and muscle would give them focus. She then ran him through the upper half. "Third! Fifth! Fourth! Fifth!" She stopped, and corrected the way he held his hand on the overhead stance. "Remember the point is to guide the other fellow's sword away from you." She pantomimed with a finger, her hand sliding along the top of his blade and far away from his shoulder. "Keep your sword where you had it and the enemy will just push your own blade into your skull. Then we'll have to stop calling you Ingot and call you In-Half!"

The boy giggled and set his sword to the ready position again, but she waved him off. "Away with you, now. Go practice with your siblings." She watched him bound out of the practice room's back door with a lump of pride in her heart. Any child of two members of Tactics and Arms could handle a practice blade. But hers with Redpike, her Ingot, had taken to the sword best and fastest of any child she'd ever tutored. He'd soon earn a real, if blunted, shortsword of his own. And his proud mother had made sure to sneak away enough coin to buy it.

She took a moment to marvel at how well the boy's name suited him. Something raw and new that would in time be molded into something great. Then she opened the room's front doors to welcome the next batch of raw cadets, wondering how many of them couldn't handle a blade half as well as her boy.


-- 3 --

The Fourth Night of the First Autumn Moon, in the 1821st Year of Underhaven


It's a bittersweet thing, Ingot found, realizing how disadvantaged his family had always been, but how much they had done to make him comfortable and happy regardless of it. How he'd never really realized until now, when he'd tested formally into his House and was old enough to be confronted with the evidence for himself. The scope of the world that he'd never had access to was now too vast to deny. Not the various secretive spots the upper echelons of the Houses hoarded to themselves, but all the places that were openly exclusive. The ones he'd never gone to with his friends because they'd been placed into a higher tier than himself. Or because he was dressed in lowly clothes, all because he didn't have access to anything granted to the higher ranks?

Ingot had noticed invitations to spend time with his childhood chums had slowed down lately. And why shouldn't they, when the answer would be obvious? How soon until his friends stopped entirely? Moved completely beyond him? What else would he miss out on as he got older? What would be denied him as an adult? Would he even have enough to survive on his own?

The fourteen-year-old troll sat alone on a bench, off to one side of the public area near his housing complex, trying to work out what to do with this new comprehension.... With the apprehension that came with it.

There has to be a way up and out of this... No, there IS way out. A troll is only limited by himself! Ingot took a moment to appraise what he did have. More to the point, what he had that others didn't. And he knew he had one advantage in abundance: access to a skilled teacher.

He put on a smile and entered the apartment. He soon found his mother in the kitchen end of the dining room, stripping beanpods for the evening meal. "You're late," Bladesong chided with patient smile. Ingot was keenly aware for the first time that she herself might be acting, too.

"Just getting some things together, Mother." He took a stool beside hers, and a reached for the bowl of pods that had been waiting for him. "I... I... was thinking... I was thinking maybe after supper we could have another fencing lesson?"

"Of course, dear, that would be wonderful."


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