fic: The Courtship of Dragons
Dec. 25th, 2019 04:10 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bonnefoisTitle: The Courtship of Dragons (1/)
Fandom: FE10, but very AU
Day/Theme: November sixteenth | misunderstandings stemming from contrasting courting styles (late/08)
Character/Pairing: Ike/Soren,
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 2,976
Summary: AU. Years ago, Soren was able to meet his mother again, but he never forgot the one boy who showed him kindness. Now, Prince Soren of Goldoa meets Commander Ike on the cusp of war. His attempts to woo Ike in the way of the dragon laguz are not entirely understood.
A/N:
So, fun fact, this originated around 08 and 09 and has been in various stages of completion for a very long time. Originally it had about 8 chapters, but I added on a little more. So, probably ten once this is all over?
For HT.
Prologue: Leaving
Dragons are notoriously attached to their brood. There is little in nature to explain the viciousness of a mother dragon protecting her young, except perhaps a mother bear. They are similar in the same kind of relentless destruction that getting between their children and them will cause. As the dragons in their humanoid form look similar to the beorc kind, there have been cases of young dragons being taken into slavery and their mothers heaping destruction upon every surrounding living being, innocent or guilty to the crime.
There have been many recorded instances of female dragons driven to complete violence upon being separated from their children, the most notable instance being Ithshild the Red who went on a rampage of destruction upon losing her mate and child and destroyed ten country towns and one large city in the territory now called Begnion. Herons attempted to help her regain her mind, but she had fallen too far and perished from mourning.
-from The Dragonkind of Goldoa by Lehryna the Wanderer as told to Sephiran Duke of Persis, chancellor of Begnion and adviser to the Apostle.
It was times like this that made Juleg regret that he took nigh every job that came. The woman had wore the Daein seal, and had a regal air about her. Juleg had worked with nobles enough to know one on sight. Finding cattle might earn him enough coins to make it through the entire winter, so much that he might even take a night or two to sup alone and rest in the heat of the firelight.
But, that was before this terrible wind had come in and made the whole damned country even more of a winter wasteland. It was freezing, even for Daein standards. Juleg blew on his hole-ridden gloves to try and find some semblance of warmth. He'd been out all day on this job, ever since he'd heard a tip form a cutpurse in a back alley that a red-eyed boy was in the alleys. He'd been chased away from the street fires lit in refuse piles, with stones and screams of branded scum! called after him. And for once, the boy was lucky because had it been any warmer, it wouldn't have merely been harsh words and stones.
He'd scoured half of this damn city, and lived to tell about it, without even a bit of coin lost. All the little streetrats and cutpurses knew to not take a chance with Juleg. He'd been blessed with a big frame, big enough to get him into the colosseum. The scars he'd gotten along the way with his many jobs and trip to the pit helped finish the job, until few thieves would dare even face him, let alone try for his gold.
If he didn't hurry, the boy would be found frozen in a corner, if anything was left should any of those rocks fly true, only to leave his carcass for the stray dogs to clean down to the bone.
She hadn't even seen the boy since his birth, when he'd been stolen away. He had scraps to go on and damn little else, but Juleg didn't give up easy. Not when it came to coin.
(And though he wouldn't admit it aloud: not when it came to a helpless child slowly freezing to death in the Daein cold.)
At first, it looked like just another pile of refuse. But then, he saw something move there. Juleg came a bit closer. In a corner, huddled in a tattered blanket, he caught a flash of black. It was when the boy looked up and he saw those piercing, unnerving red eyes that he knew this was his mark.
She might've not had much to tell him, but she'd said he has my eyes and that was all Juleg needed to know. Her gaze had been unnerving, like the tales of women who sucked out your soul and ate your very marrow.
She was not a woman to be crossed.
Tiny as he was, Juleg could see the resemblance to his client as he got closer. The eyes, especially. Except hers were filled with far more simmering under the surface.
The boy drew back, too cold to run. He shivered uncontrollably. Had Juleg come much later, he'd have brought back a frozen corpse to his client.
"There you are. Now, you're mother's awaiting. And there'll be warmth aplenty where we're going."
The boy's teeth were chattering so much that he couldn't even respond. Juleg pulled a blanket out from the bag at his back. It was large enough that the boy was lost in it a moment until he folded, partly.
He looked much too small to be ten.
He hoisted the boy up into his arms, with a mutter of "Up you go."
The shock of the moment passed and warmed by the blanket, the boy sputtered and hissed like a caught stray cat. He clawed at Juleg, with flashing teeth and red eyes. But the thick woolen blanket kept the boy somewhat contained.
"A fighter, ain't you? Good thing I put on my gauntlets," Juleg said.
He clutched the boy to his chest and carried him off into night. The words on the boy's lips weren't a cry for help, but a whisper of I must find him...
*
The journey was longer than Juleg would’ve liked. The little brat had bitten him twice now, and he’d bitten hard enough to draw blood. He’d been forced to grip tight to him, left he try and escape again. With any other common criminal, Juleg would've simply tied and gagged the bastards, but such rough tactics would only turn the lady against him. Besides, it left a bad taste in his mouth, the thought of harming a little one. Even if this one seemed more beast than baby, with his sharp teeth and piercing red eyes.
The streetrats and cutpurses were convinced he was a genuine branded, but Juleg wasn't so sure. He had a hard time thinking Their own Mad King would take a subhuman for a lover.
As it was, bites and bruises would heal to join all his other scars, as long as this wary boy wasn't full of curses. The boy stared out with a hateful glance, like something a child would think lurks in the dark under their bed.
"Would you rather be left to die of cold? The lady's gone and paid good coin for you. Says she's your mother."
"I have no mother," the boy said. He was finally warm enough to speak again, and he gave Juleg sass. Wasn't that just like his life?
"Well, you do now," Juleg said. "So lift up your head and be a good little one. Stay warm and quiet for a bit. We'll be there before you know it."
He had little to give a child. No toys, or comfort or tricks to make the boy smile. There was a flask at his back which would help with warmth, but even he wouldn't give a child drink.
Besides, he wanted to save that for himself when this was all over.
Instead, the boy ducked his head. With a sigh, Juleg pulled the scarf from his own face and wrapped it about his face. He managed all this feat with one hand, the other kept the boy close to keep him from running off. "There. Can't have you catching cold. Your mother wouldn't like that. Probably would dock coin for that."
Besides, Juleg was no father, but even he wasn't cruel enough to leave a child in the cold. Being a mercenary meant he had to set aside whatever morals he had for coin. But he wouldn't harm a child.
Or at least, that's what he told himself. He'd helped break that poor boy's heart, with the curly hair and the big eyes. Until his dying day he'd hear those tears, and Juleg was a man who'd gone to the colosseum and cut down fellow soldiers for the sport of the people. He'd heard men beg for their lives and given them no mercy before.
And still, nothing had haunted him more than that little curly haired boy sent back to the orphanage. Snot down his chin, shuddering with sobs and such a hopeless look in his eye.
Hopefully his client would like this son better than her last.
*
The woman awaited him at his home. She stood tall and imposing in before the hearth, her dress cast monstrous shadows across the walls. She had the look of an aristocrat, though she came from no royal family he’d ever seen. She had a manner of looking down through half-drawn lids that reduced him to slightly above the level of street refuse.
But that raven dark hair, those eyes. He could see shades of her in this boy. It was striking how much he resembled her. He must not take after his father at all.
Juleg finally dared to set the little one down. His windows were far too high up for the boy to pry open, and froze shut with frost at that. Juleg took guard at the door as his client approached who she claimed was her son.
As long as he didn't got touching his rack of weapons, it'd be fine. But then, the boy seemed old enough to know better.
Her face softened. "My boy, I've finally found you... My son..." She bent down before the boy, arms outstretched.
The boy drew back at her touch, with a wary, and scared glance.
"All these years, and he does not even recognize me?" She bowed her head in sorrow. "I have lost even that which I love most..."
"Hard to think he'd forget you, you're pretty memorable, lady." If she’d not been out of favor with the king, maybe his head would be on a plate for that. As it was, she gave him a lingering glance that spoke without words how she could tear apart his flesh without even a thought.
She said no more to him and turned her attention back to her child.
He’d already brought one child before her; a small, shy curly haired boy who had looked so hopeful at first, and so heartbroken to be turned away. That’d only soured his opinion of her further, watching her cast aside a perfectly good child and having to listen to his tears all the way back to the orphanage.
But then, she was Ashnard’s bride–or concubine to the very least. He couldn't see somebody merciful taking up with the Mad King. And he said that as one who respected their king, more or less.
It was The Mad King who'd gone and given them their rights back, and lifted up the poor. Now it wasn't just the nobles that had a piece of the pie. Of course, King Ashnard wasn't too different. Plenty had been executed on his stake, but at least he might get a chance at glory before he died in the alley like a streetrat.
Now, the little curly haired boy he'd found for her would've clung to her leg and tried to cheer her up, but this one just stared with those haunting red eyes. And somehow, this was the one she wanted. It'd left a bad taste in his mouth how that little curly haired boy had cried all the way back to the orphanage.
"No matter...we have the rest of our lives now. We will leave this world of humans, and find a place where they cannot hurt us anymore.
She held out her hand, and finally, the boy drew a little closer.
She barely paid Juleg any mind.
"Thank you. That will do," she said. She dismissed him with coin to his palm and a faint air as if he were nothing more than the dust on her shoes.
He hated nobles like that. Hated the whole lot of them. Except for their coin. He'd manage what little politeness was left and bow to relieve some of their gold. But with Ashnard on the throne, one day he'd be up there with the coin and the power. All he had to do was survive trips to the coliseum long enough until he got himself a big army job. A general, one day, if he lived long enough.
Until then, it'd be jobs like this in the cold to get enough coin to furnish his rise.
He gave one last look at the boy. She held tight to his hand and led him away into the dark.
"Good riddance," he said to the dark and cold, though in his heart there was something like warmth that the boy had found his family.
*
"He was kind to you?" the woman said. Mother was a foreign word, now his own.
"Kinder than most," he said softly.
"Good. Had he not been, I would have taken the payment out of his flesh."
The air was cold again, but she clutched his hand tight with intense strength.
"There is no place for us, but we will find a space. Somewhere, far from this cursed place which has taken so much from me."
She pulled the boy beneath her cloak. He stopped fighting eventually, too numbed by the exposure and exhaustion.
"Like a little wild cat," she murmured.
He stared up at her. Still wary, still wild.
"I come from a place where dragons lived. I cannot go back there, but there will be a land for us."
Eventually, the city lights faded to nothing. They stayed at inns and crossed the world in ships as giant crows flew above.
And so it was that they settled in a worn cottage, far from any town. A place where he never had to fear about hunger, or if he would survive the cold of another night. Every night he had warm blankets and a lullaby, and most of all, a mother's
Every day when he went to play, Soren searched the hills and forests for a boy who had first given him kindness.
Now, there was another who was kind, even in her own intense way. Had any so much as given him a harsh glance, she would have ripped their skin off and left the bones for crows to pick.
He was not renamed, the past did not die. However, he was no longer cold and hungry. And he lived on, never forgetting the memory of the one who had shown him kindness first.
*
One day, travelers came to their door. One was tall, hard looking with brown skin and deep, piercing eyes. Beside him was a boy who looked not much older than him, with the same green and black hair, with the sheen of feathers, and the very same red eyes.
Except, his were filled with kindness.
Both had thick cloaks that hung from their shoulders, but the younger had let his hood down, and let it free enough to see the lacing upon his shirt.
"Kurth, you have come all this way? I cannot believe father would allow such a thing," Almedha said.
"I heard rumors, but I could scarcely believe them true. Oh, Almedha! You live even after all this time."
"Indeed, I have not been felled though some would like it," she said.
"And Rajaion?" Kurth said hopefully.
"He..." Almedha closed her mouth and said no more.
"Do not call forth ghosts," the man at the door spoke for the very first time.
Kurth bowed his head.
"I am afraid it is so. He lives, but barely. I could not save him. But I found my son at last."
Kurth smiled with much warmth at Soren.
"How old are you? I'm over five-hundred years old," the boy at the door said.
"Ten," Soren said.
Kurth smiled. "Then, we must be close to the same age,"
"Come back to Goldoa. Though he'd never admit it, father misses you so. You could introduce him to the rest of the court. Perhaps they know of a way to save Rajaion," Kurth said hopefully.
"There is nothing left for me there but ashes. My son and I have a life here."
"But...could you at least visit?" Kurth said hopefully.
Almedha looked down to Soren. "Do you wish to see the land of dragons?"
Could the one he was looking for be there? Soren could take no chances. So, finally he said, in a small voice yes.
And so his life changed again. What little they had was packed in rush of activity. The worn down cottage was set aside. Almedha sang to him dragon lullabies in the bed of a ship. When the waves left him sick, she nursed him and threatened to destroy the very oceans themselves.
And one day, the ship stilled and they found land again.
Giant walls surrounded the massive city. Soren stared out from the shore, the salt spray filled with the new scents of flowers he had never known.
"We're here. Finally... home," Almedha said.
*
Fandom: FE10, but very AU
Day/Theme: November sixteenth | misunderstandings stemming from contrasting courting styles (late/08)
Character/Pairing: Ike/Soren,
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 2,976
Summary: AU. Years ago, Soren was able to meet his mother again, but he never forgot the one boy who showed him kindness. Now, Prince Soren of Goldoa meets Commander Ike on the cusp of war. His attempts to woo Ike in the way of the dragon laguz are not entirely understood.
A/N:
So, fun fact, this originated around 08 and 09 and has been in various stages of completion for a very long time. Originally it had about 8 chapters, but I added on a little more. So, probably ten once this is all over?
For HT.
Dragons are notoriously attached to their brood. There is little in nature to explain the viciousness of a mother dragon protecting her young, except perhaps a mother bear. They are similar in the same kind of relentless destruction that getting between their children and them will cause. As the dragons in their humanoid form look similar to the beorc kind, there have been cases of young dragons being taken into slavery and their mothers heaping destruction upon every surrounding living being, innocent or guilty to the crime.
There have been many recorded instances of female dragons driven to complete violence upon being separated from their children, the most notable instance being Ithshild the Red who went on a rampage of destruction upon losing her mate and child and destroyed ten country towns and one large city in the territory now called Begnion. Herons attempted to help her regain her mind, but she had fallen too far and perished from mourning.
-from The Dragonkind of Goldoa by Lehryna the Wanderer as told to Sephiran Duke of Persis, chancellor of Begnion and adviser to the Apostle.
It was times like this that made Juleg regret that he took nigh every job that came. The woman had wore the Daein seal, and had a regal air about her. Juleg had worked with nobles enough to know one on sight. Finding cattle might earn him enough coins to make it through the entire winter, so much that he might even take a night or two to sup alone and rest in the heat of the firelight.
But, that was before this terrible wind had come in and made the whole damned country even more of a winter wasteland. It was freezing, even for Daein standards. Juleg blew on his hole-ridden gloves to try and find some semblance of warmth. He'd been out all day on this job, ever since he'd heard a tip form a cutpurse in a back alley that a red-eyed boy was in the alleys. He'd been chased away from the street fires lit in refuse piles, with stones and screams of branded scum! called after him. And for once, the boy was lucky because had it been any warmer, it wouldn't have merely been harsh words and stones.
He'd scoured half of this damn city, and lived to tell about it, without even a bit of coin lost. All the little streetrats and cutpurses knew to not take a chance with Juleg. He'd been blessed with a big frame, big enough to get him into the colosseum. The scars he'd gotten along the way with his many jobs and trip to the pit helped finish the job, until few thieves would dare even face him, let alone try for his gold.
If he didn't hurry, the boy would be found frozen in a corner, if anything was left should any of those rocks fly true, only to leave his carcass for the stray dogs to clean down to the bone.
She hadn't even seen the boy since his birth, when he'd been stolen away. He had scraps to go on and damn little else, but Juleg didn't give up easy. Not when it came to coin.
(And though he wouldn't admit it aloud: not when it came to a helpless child slowly freezing to death in the Daein cold.)
At first, it looked like just another pile of refuse. But then, he saw something move there. Juleg came a bit closer. In a corner, huddled in a tattered blanket, he caught a flash of black. It was when the boy looked up and he saw those piercing, unnerving red eyes that he knew this was his mark.
She might've not had much to tell him, but she'd said he has my eyes and that was all Juleg needed to know. Her gaze had been unnerving, like the tales of women who sucked out your soul and ate your very marrow.
She was not a woman to be crossed.
Tiny as he was, Juleg could see the resemblance to his client as he got closer. The eyes, especially. Except hers were filled with far more simmering under the surface.
The boy drew back, too cold to run. He shivered uncontrollably. Had Juleg come much later, he'd have brought back a frozen corpse to his client.
"There you are. Now, you're mother's awaiting. And there'll be warmth aplenty where we're going."
The boy's teeth were chattering so much that he couldn't even respond. Juleg pulled a blanket out from the bag at his back. It was large enough that the boy was lost in it a moment until he folded, partly.
He looked much too small to be ten.
He hoisted the boy up into his arms, with a mutter of "Up you go."
The shock of the moment passed and warmed by the blanket, the boy sputtered and hissed like a caught stray cat. He clawed at Juleg, with flashing teeth and red eyes. But the thick woolen blanket kept the boy somewhat contained.
"A fighter, ain't you? Good thing I put on my gauntlets," Juleg said.
He clutched the boy to his chest and carried him off into night. The words on the boy's lips weren't a cry for help, but a whisper of I must find him...
*
The journey was longer than Juleg would’ve liked. The little brat had bitten him twice now, and he’d bitten hard enough to draw blood. He’d been forced to grip tight to him, left he try and escape again. With any other common criminal, Juleg would've simply tied and gagged the bastards, but such rough tactics would only turn the lady against him. Besides, it left a bad taste in his mouth, the thought of harming a little one. Even if this one seemed more beast than baby, with his sharp teeth and piercing red eyes.
The streetrats and cutpurses were convinced he was a genuine branded, but Juleg wasn't so sure. He had a hard time thinking Their own Mad King would take a subhuman for a lover.
As it was, bites and bruises would heal to join all his other scars, as long as this wary boy wasn't full of curses. The boy stared out with a hateful glance, like something a child would think lurks in the dark under their bed.
"Would you rather be left to die of cold? The lady's gone and paid good coin for you. Says she's your mother."
"I have no mother," the boy said. He was finally warm enough to speak again, and he gave Juleg sass. Wasn't that just like his life?
"Well, you do now," Juleg said. "So lift up your head and be a good little one. Stay warm and quiet for a bit. We'll be there before you know it."
He had little to give a child. No toys, or comfort or tricks to make the boy smile. There was a flask at his back which would help with warmth, but even he wouldn't give a child drink.
Besides, he wanted to save that for himself when this was all over.
Instead, the boy ducked his head. With a sigh, Juleg pulled the scarf from his own face and wrapped it about his face. He managed all this feat with one hand, the other kept the boy close to keep him from running off. "There. Can't have you catching cold. Your mother wouldn't like that. Probably would dock coin for that."
Besides, Juleg was no father, but even he wasn't cruel enough to leave a child in the cold. Being a mercenary meant he had to set aside whatever morals he had for coin. But he wouldn't harm a child.
Or at least, that's what he told himself. He'd helped break that poor boy's heart, with the curly hair and the big eyes. Until his dying day he'd hear those tears, and Juleg was a man who'd gone to the colosseum and cut down fellow soldiers for the sport of the people. He'd heard men beg for their lives and given them no mercy before.
And still, nothing had haunted him more than that little curly haired boy sent back to the orphanage. Snot down his chin, shuddering with sobs and such a hopeless look in his eye.
Hopefully his client would like this son better than her last.
*
The woman awaited him at his home. She stood tall and imposing in before the hearth, her dress cast monstrous shadows across the walls. She had the look of an aristocrat, though she came from no royal family he’d ever seen. She had a manner of looking down through half-drawn lids that reduced him to slightly above the level of street refuse.
But that raven dark hair, those eyes. He could see shades of her in this boy. It was striking how much he resembled her. He must not take after his father at all.
Juleg finally dared to set the little one down. His windows were far too high up for the boy to pry open, and froze shut with frost at that. Juleg took guard at the door as his client approached who she claimed was her son.
As long as he didn't got touching his rack of weapons, it'd be fine. But then, the boy seemed old enough to know better.
Her face softened. "My boy, I've finally found you... My son..." She bent down before the boy, arms outstretched.
The boy drew back at her touch, with a wary, and scared glance.
"All these years, and he does not even recognize me?" She bowed her head in sorrow. "I have lost even that which I love most..."
"Hard to think he'd forget you, you're pretty memorable, lady." If she’d not been out of favor with the king, maybe his head would be on a plate for that. As it was, she gave him a lingering glance that spoke without words how she could tear apart his flesh without even a thought.
She said no more to him and turned her attention back to her child.
He’d already brought one child before her; a small, shy curly haired boy who had looked so hopeful at first, and so heartbroken to be turned away. That’d only soured his opinion of her further, watching her cast aside a perfectly good child and having to listen to his tears all the way back to the orphanage.
But then, she was Ashnard’s bride–or concubine to the very least. He couldn't see somebody merciful taking up with the Mad King. And he said that as one who respected their king, more or less.
It was The Mad King who'd gone and given them their rights back, and lifted up the poor. Now it wasn't just the nobles that had a piece of the pie. Of course, King Ashnard wasn't too different. Plenty had been executed on his stake, but at least he might get a chance at glory before he died in the alley like a streetrat.
Now, the little curly haired boy he'd found for her would've clung to her leg and tried to cheer her up, but this one just stared with those haunting red eyes. And somehow, this was the one she wanted. It'd left a bad taste in his mouth how that little curly haired boy had cried all the way back to the orphanage.
"No matter...we have the rest of our lives now. We will leave this world of humans, and find a place where they cannot hurt us anymore.
She held out her hand, and finally, the boy drew a little closer.
She barely paid Juleg any mind.
"Thank you. That will do," she said. She dismissed him with coin to his palm and a faint air as if he were nothing more than the dust on her shoes.
He hated nobles like that. Hated the whole lot of them. Except for their coin. He'd manage what little politeness was left and bow to relieve some of their gold. But with Ashnard on the throne, one day he'd be up there with the coin and the power. All he had to do was survive trips to the coliseum long enough until he got himself a big army job. A general, one day, if he lived long enough.
Until then, it'd be jobs like this in the cold to get enough coin to furnish his rise.
He gave one last look at the boy. She held tight to his hand and led him away into the dark.
"Good riddance," he said to the dark and cold, though in his heart there was something like warmth that the boy had found his family.
*
"He was kind to you?" the woman said. Mother was a foreign word, now his own.
"Kinder than most," he said softly.
"Good. Had he not been, I would have taken the payment out of his flesh."
The air was cold again, but she clutched his hand tight with intense strength.
"There is no place for us, but we will find a space. Somewhere, far from this cursed place which has taken so much from me."
She pulled the boy beneath her cloak. He stopped fighting eventually, too numbed by the exposure and exhaustion.
"Like a little wild cat," she murmured.
He stared up at her. Still wary, still wild.
"I come from a place where dragons lived. I cannot go back there, but there will be a land for us."
Eventually, the city lights faded to nothing. They stayed at inns and crossed the world in ships as giant crows flew above.
And so it was that they settled in a worn cottage, far from any town. A place where he never had to fear about hunger, or if he would survive the cold of another night. Every night he had warm blankets and a lullaby, and most of all, a mother's
Every day when he went to play, Soren searched the hills and forests for a boy who had first given him kindness.
Now, there was another who was kind, even in her own intense way. Had any so much as given him a harsh glance, she would have ripped their skin off and left the bones for crows to pick.
He was not renamed, the past did not die. However, he was no longer cold and hungry. And he lived on, never forgetting the memory of the one who had shown him kindness first.
*
One day, travelers came to their door. One was tall, hard looking with brown skin and deep, piercing eyes. Beside him was a boy who looked not much older than him, with the same green and black hair, with the sheen of feathers, and the very same red eyes.
Except, his were filled with kindness.
Both had thick cloaks that hung from their shoulders, but the younger had let his hood down, and let it free enough to see the lacing upon his shirt.
"Kurth, you have come all this way? I cannot believe father would allow such a thing," Almedha said.
"I heard rumors, but I could scarcely believe them true. Oh, Almedha! You live even after all this time."
"Indeed, I have not been felled though some would like it," she said.
"And Rajaion?" Kurth said hopefully.
"He..." Almedha closed her mouth and said no more.
"Do not call forth ghosts," the man at the door spoke for the very first time.
Kurth bowed his head.
"I am afraid it is so. He lives, but barely. I could not save him. But I found my son at last."
Kurth smiled with much warmth at Soren.
"How old are you? I'm over five-hundred years old," the boy at the door said.
"Ten," Soren said.
Kurth smiled. "Then, we must be close to the same age,"
"Come back to Goldoa. Though he'd never admit it, father misses you so. You could introduce him to the rest of the court. Perhaps they know of a way to save Rajaion," Kurth said hopefully.
"There is nothing left for me there but ashes. My son and I have a life here."
"But...could you at least visit?" Kurth said hopefully.
Almedha looked down to Soren. "Do you wish to see the land of dragons?"
Could the one he was looking for be there? Soren could take no chances. So, finally he said, in a small voice yes.
And so his life changed again. What little they had was packed in rush of activity. The worn down cottage was set aside. Almedha sang to him dragon lullabies in the bed of a ship. When the waves left him sick, she nursed him and threatened to destroy the very oceans themselves.
And one day, the ship stilled and they found land again.
Giant walls surrounded the massive city. Soren stared out from the shore, the salt spray filled with the new scents of flowers he had never known.
"We're here. Finally... home," Almedha said.
*
