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“Frieren-sama.”
“Yes?”
“It’s your birthday,” Fern said quietly, taking another bite of her cornbread.
The two sat outside at a cozy little restaurant, eating before they returned to the inn. The sun was setting, casting the patio in a glow of orange.
Frieren raised an eyebrow.
“Yes, though I don’t see why it matters. Who told you that?”
“Mr. Heiter,” Fern said with a cheeky smile.
Frieren just chewed on her straw.
“Elves don’t celebrate birthdays. After you’ve had a few hundred it gets old.”
Fern smiled. She had expected as much.
“I know. Still, I got you something anyway. For being a good master to me, even though I have to act as your mother sometimes, I don’t really mind.”
Fern slid a couple items across the table.
“Happy birthday Frieren-sama.”
Frieren’s eyes lit up at the first item.
“This is a grimoire, where did you find it?” she asked, holding it up and brushing some dust off.
“It was in the lair of the last monster we fought,” Fern replied. “Since you weren’t specifically looking for it, I figured I could keep it for a special occasion.”
Frieren flipped a couple pages, smiling slightly. It was for a spell that would translate old dwarvish if—and only if—it was inscribed using a specific method on antique stone tablets. Fern didn’t see why anyone would ever need it, but she knew well that Frieren loved all that stuff. Sometimes she feared it was the more useless the better to her childish mentor.
Frieren put down the grimoire.
“And this…?”
The mage slowly lifted the second item, pinched in two fingers, and looked at it with boredom.
“Fern, what am I supposed to do with this?”
“It’s a plushie,” Fern said, smile straining.
That’s not the face you’re supposed to pull when someone gives you a gift, Frieren-sama…
Frieren turned the little plush dragon over in her hands. It was a soft, pale yellow color with mustard colored wings, and it was sown together simply, little stitches laid carefully by the woman who had made it by hand.
“I am aware. What do you want me to do with it?”
“You collect the most useless things and you’re asking me? It’s a plush, it’s for cuddling,” Fern responded flatly, “Well, whatever, we should head back before it gets dark.”
“Yes. Thank you for the grimoire,” Frieren said, gathering her gifts into her arms and getting up.
“And the toy?”
Frieren said nothing, setting money for the bill on the table.
Fern let it drop, taking her mentor by the hand and leading her back to the inn.
—
“Frieren-sama.”
Nothing.
“Frieren-sama, it’s time to wake up.”
Still nothing.
Fern just sighed. This was nothing new. She just tucked her legs beneath her and pushed herself up onto her knees, lifting the comforter in an effort to unearth Frieren from the blanket. The big fluffy mass had seemingly consumed the tiny mage. Frieren was still tucked deep into middle of the bed. Fern didn’t even know how she could burrow that far down, but that was Frieren when she was sleepy.
“You’re such a toddler,” she mumbled, grabbing ahold of her mentor’s skinny arms and trying to tug her out.
Frieren mumbled something incomprehensible and curled into herself, nesting into her messy hair.
It was then that Fern noticed it.
Clutched in the mage’s arms was the tiny stuffed dragon, the same one that she’d insisted she didn’t want or need. Now she was holding onto it like a child.
Frieren was about to drool onto the little toy’s soft back, but at least she actually seemed to like it. Fern couldn’t help but smile, even if she was annoyed.
It was a bit exhausting to travel with Frieren, but she wouldn’t change it.
“Get up, Frieren-sama,” she insisted, hooking her arms under Frieren’s armpits and pulling her out of the bed.
Frieren then sat half-asleep on a chair as Fern attempted to comb her unruly hair, and all the while, the tiny toy remained in her arms.