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A dragon appears in the Borderlands, and Elliot Schafer makes it his first order of business to get kidnapped by it.
Figures.
Luke looks at the message in his hand, but the sentences refuse to make any more sense than they did the first time he read it. Scribbled lines jump mockingly in front of his eyes, and after a long minute Luke realizes that his hand is shaking.
Dear Luke, it says in Elliot’s hand, and Luke rereads this line a few times to steady himself. The rest of the message is, regretfully, still there.
Dear Luke,
Don’t be mad. I need you to trust me, and I need your help, but not in a way that involves mounting a rescue mission of elite soldiers really good at violence. In fact, your job is to prevent any of that from happening.
I’ve been doing research. I know that everyone here thought the dragons a legend or a long-extinct species at best. There was nothing useful in the libraries at the camp or in your house, but the elven archives had a few old manuscripts that gave me a couple of ideas. I’ve also written to Celaeno, and some of the old harpy lore -- did you know they have a fascinating system of preserving oral traditions in birdsong? -- corroborates my theories.
The tight knot in Luke’s chest is pierced with a sharp feeling that might be pride in Elliot, before worry and exasperation swallow it whole again. He reads on.
Whatever stories I found seemed awfully invested in the amounts of gold supposedly guarded by the dragons, rather than the dragons themselves -- typical! But all of the records agree they are proud creatures who care about things done traditionally, i.e. their way, about as much as they care about gold. And here is what I think: more than that, the dragons o p e r a t e mythologically. Until recently, people thought they were a thing of legends, because even when they were last alive in Borderlands memory, they lived like legends. There is only one way to prove my theory right -- by playing along.
I’m doing just that, because otherwise before you know it, the Border guard will send out a mission that will inevitably end up with the dragon dead, all in the name of preserving peace (and not at all to find any stupid treasure). It is a sentient being, and can be negotiated with, if approached right. Please trust me with that. I trust you to stop the soldiers and the Sunborns long enough to let me figure this out. They should listen to you, you are their favourite Sunborn, too.
Love you, loser.
Luke’s hand clenches into a fist, crumpling the letter. He swallows the lump in his throat, smoothes out the paper, carefully folds it and puts it away in his chest pocket.
He needs to speak to Serene.
When he reaches the part of the forest that is home to the Chaos clan, Serene and Golden meet him with similar expressions of anxiety.
“Elliot has not returned to your family’s house, has he?”
“No, he has arranged to be kidnapped by the dragon instead,” Luke snaps, the breakneck ride across the forest having done nothing to soothe his nerves. “Elliot thinks he can talk his way out of this, and does not think at all that the beast could bite him in half and call it dinner.” Panic rises like bile in his throat at the thought, and he pushes it away as something useless in the moment. “He wrote that he found something in the elven archives that gave him ideas about what to do, and asked not to dispatch any rescue missions.”
“I will speak to our archivists,” Golden says with a nod, and hurries away.
Serene pauses, then puts a hand on Luke’s forearm and squeezes it gently. “I am no good at words of comfort, and you know I would do anything for you and Elliot. Shall we ride after him?”
Luke has been thinking about it every mile of his journey here, and he is unhappy with the answer he gives Serene. “He asked to be trusted with this. And he said -- he said dragons operated by mythological rules.” Luke takes a long, painful breath, then lets it out in a huff. “He took a huge, stupid risk, running with that thought. Can you help me find what that means?”
Serene looks at him with brilliant eyes, gives his arm another sympathetic squeeze, and gestures him to come inside. “I’ll write to Commander Woodsinger,” she says.
It doesn’t take long before Golden returns with a heap of dusty scrolls. Luke’s heart lurches heavily when he spots a few colorful sticky notes and bookmarks peeking through between the pages, a sure sign that Elliot had been ploughing through them not so long ago.
“As an honoured guest of the Chaos clan, he talked his way into being able to access wider elven archives,” Golden says, spreading the manuscripts across the table before the three of them. “He has been corresponding with a few of the elven scholars, and started something like an inter-library exchange between them…” Golden’s speech trails off when he catches sight of Luke’s face, and he wordlessly hands him one of the scrolls. “These are all the things Elliot borrowed around the time of his last visit. If there are any clues, we could start looking for them from here.”
It feels weirdly like one of the learning sprints that Elliot used to organize for him and Serene before exams at the camp, Luke muses as his eyes scan page after page. Except this time around, it is not a passing score that he is doing this for. He aborts the thought, and forces his attention back to the description of feeding habits of dragons as detailed by a long-dead scholar with an antique elvish name. The description does not assuage a single one of Luke’s worries.
“Have there been more reports of people missing or cattle stolen?” Luke asks.
“I’ve put a request to keep us updated to Commander Woodsinger in my note to her,” Serene says. “The latest information is still that the dragon’s nest is allegedly somewhere in the Blue Mountains beyond the Sea of Mermaids, and the damage reports have only mentioned havoc in the fields and missing cows and sheep all across the Borderlands.”
“No people harmed, then,” Luke says, forcing himself not to add ‘yet’. A thought occurs to him that should have probably come sooner, and he asks, “No one but Elliot. How in the world did he manage to make the dragon notice and kidnap him?”
Golden and Serene exchange a long glance that speaks volumes that Luke is pretty sure he will not like. Golden delicately arranges his hands in his lap and clears his throat.
“There is this song that is favoured by the rowdiest of knaves among the elves, which is absolutely inappropriate for the polite company of gentlemen of good breeding,” he starts off. Serene nods, a corner of her mouth curling knowingly in what is presumably nostalgia for the rowdy days in Serene’s own past. “Of course, that’s exactly the reason why all of my friends in finishing school knew it by heart,” Golden continues, and Serene’s smile falls off her face, to be replaced by an expression of mild horror. This is exactly the moment where Elliot would have laughed his real, mean laugh and said something about elven emancipation, and Luke wants to stab something.
“Go on,” he says instead.
“I won’t bore you with the details, but essentially the ballad recites the adventures of Pearly-Laughter-In-The-Quiet-Grove, whose loose morals made him an entertaining hero of many songs, if not a respectable gentleman. One of songs talks about the time when Pearly decorated himself in his richest silks and jewels to catch the eye of a dragon, and then describes the fabulous time he had in the dragon’s cave full of treasures and luxuries. You wouldn’t believe the number of metaphors a serpentine body could inspire in a --”
“Golden!” Serene croaks, scandalized, at the same time that Luke says, “Don’t tell me.”
Luke has a feeling he knows exactly where Golden is going with this. The temptation to hide his face in his hands and wish it all away like a terrible dream intensifies.
“All of this is to say, when he was staying with us, Elliot expressed a desire to learn more about the beauty routines and the latest fashions of our mensfolk. A few other young gentlemen and I were very happy to share some tips with him. At first some of the boys indulged in idle gossip about a mystery lady whose eye Elliot was perhaps trying to catch, but you shouldn’t believe them, Luke,” Golden hurries to add, visibly mortified by his own words, “they just find the rumors about wanton ways of the human males a compelling subject for conversation. I told them clear as day, he is the beloved of my promised one’s sword-sister, and anyone who wanted to run their idle mouth would face my wrath.”
Luke makes a strained sound, but doesn’t otherwise interrupt. Serene pats him on the shoulder and looks proudly at Golden. Under her gaze, Golden’s perfect posture straightens up even more, and he flicks a braid over his shoulder. “Long story short, Elliot asked to borrow a few silks and ornaments and other gentlemanly things, and of course, I lent them to him.” Golden’s posture crumples, and his shoulders sag miserably. “I thought he was doing this to surprise you.”
A hysterical laugh wants to claw its way out of Luke’s chest, and he knows he isn't doing a good job of keeping it there when he says, “He sure surprised me.”
He tries to think of Elliot in fancy elvish silks and jewels, but his mind jumps to the school production of Radiant and Jewel, and Elliot standing on the balcony outside Fleetwood’s office, hands crossed across his chest, painted in red and green and blue, and covered in goosebumps because only a crazy person would venture outside at night without wearing a shirt. Elliot always complains about the cold, Luke thinks, and squeezes his eyes shut.
“Right,” he says. “Let’s see if there is anything else we can learn here.”
They spend a full day buried in manuscripts, and by nightfall an idea takes shape. It is ridiculous, and involves as much risk as Elliot’s stupid kidnapping did, and they don’t know if it will work, but they don’t have anything better that would not be going against Elliot’s pleas.
Luke likes the idea, because it sets him on the road towards Elliot.
Luke leaves the forest alone, in the early hours of the morning. Serene is clearly unhappy she cannot be at his side, but the plan, inasmuch as they have one, calls for it. Golden is there to see him off as well, eyes red-rimmed with lack of sleep and fingers stained with ink.
“Here, I made a summary for you,” he says, offering him a few pages covered in perfect, flowing elven cursive. Luke doesn’t think he can read anymore, but he accepts them with thanks.
Serene gives the horse one last soothing stroke along the neck, and hands the reins to Luke.
“Don’t overthink it, Luke. Thinking like a soldier won’t help anyway.”
Golden nods solemnly. “Imagine you are the hero of a fairy tale. Imagine this is a story you are hearing as a child, and let it pull you along.”
Luke bites back what he really thinks about playacting fairy tales, vaults into the saddle and rides off.
The road to the Blue Mountains is not the easiest. It takes him two days of riding until the last manned outpost, where he leaves the horse, a short trek to the cliffs that lead to the Sea of Mermaids, and a flight along the rocky shore that saves him a longer journey by boat. Luke isn’t feeling tired -- if he could, he would have run the entire distance -- but he saves his energy for finding the dragon’s lair in the mountains.
Once at the foot of the mountain range, Luke can’t see any obvious signs leading to the lair. A part of him was expecting one of the peaks to smoke evilly, indicating itself as an appropriate home for a fire-breathing beast, but no such luck. Luke pulls out a map and considers possible scouting routes, both aerial and on foot. The range is so large, Elliot could be anywhere.
He makes himself take a step back. Think mythologically, he reminds himself, whatever that means.
He sets aside the map for a moment and tries to survey the view around him with different eyes. Where would he go, if he was a hero in a fairy tale? He strains his eyes for a long minute, and tries to think heroic thoughts, but a magical path doesn’t present itself.
It was a stupid idea, Luke thinks, angry and helpless. He is no shining fairy tale knight. If anything, he is half a monster -- but the wrong monster for this story.
The thought stings the way it has not in a while. But it also gives him pause.
He might not be the right kind of monster for this, but still. If he had to make a lair in these mountains…
Luke closes his eyes, takes a long breath, and lets it out in a sharp screech as he shoots up into the sky.
He lets the air currents lift him, tugging at his wings this way and that. He leaves his anger and gnawing anxiety below, on the stones that are quickly growing smaller and smaller with every beat of his wings. He drifts, and lets his eyes wander aimlessly.
A safe haven, he thinks. Hoarding shiny things. Bright treasures. Elliot’s hair.
When one of the cragged, sheer rocks catches his attention, Luke doesn’t question it. He takes note of its location and plunges back to the ground.
No one is more surprised than Luke when his gut feeling turns out to have been absolutely right.
He walks the last stretch to the mountaintop on foot, feeling it would be more appropriate than flying into the cave. The air here is much warmer than it should be, at this altitude. He hears low, gravelly rumbling, and above it, a high, clear voice going off with great energy and authority about something.
Elliot.
Luke practically soars over the last few steps, and when he crosses the entrance to the cave, his heart beats so loudly in his chest that he thinks they will surely hear it, even over the rumbling of the dragon.
He sees them before either Elliot or the dragon notice him, and perhaps Luke should be taking cover, or taking note of the vulnerable spots on the dragon’s body, but he doesn’t. Luke’s tongue is dry in his mouth, and his feet are glued to their spot, suddenly as heavy as if they’d just remembered the distance they crossed to come here.
Seated on the coils of the dragon’s body, with his back propped up against the spiky ridges along the dragon’s spine, Elliot looks wonderfully, gloriously alive. He is draped in about fifty bright scarves, and there is a riot of glittering ornaments around what looks like every part of him: heavy jewelled necklaces and long chains around his neck, a dozen sparkling rings on each hand, and there is even something like a tiara glinting in his wildfire curls.
As usual, Elliot is impossible to miss in a room, Luke thinks, deliriously relieved.
Elliot notices him in the middle of what sounds like a long lecture on irrigation that he has been delivering to the dragon. His voice stumbles on a word, but he finishes his thought before he indicates anything has changed.
Nonchalantly, Elliot jumps off the dragon’s back and walks along the cave’s length with seemingly no purpose, picking up random bits of gold scattered across the room, and putting them down after a disinterested glance. Once he reaches a spot that puts him between the dragon and Luke, Elliot mouths silently, “Play along,” and swoons theatrically.
“O wise Blackwing, would you look at that? The first noble knight has come to seek favours of you!” Elliot exclaims as he collapses artfully on the floor, as if overcome by feelings. Luke fights the instinct to run to his side, and makes himself face the dragon instead.
For a creature that was supposed to have been mythological or at the very least extinct, the dragon looks very real and very, very solid. Luke cannot even make a guess at how much weight there is in all the scale-covered muscle mass slithering heavily across the stone floor. Given its size, it should have been slow and clumsy, but even in this enclosed space the dragon moves with a liquid, hypnotizing grace. Its claws could have been made from pure obsidian, and the spikes along its spine ridge, where Elliot had been leaning just a moment ago, look sharp enough to impale a wild boar. The dragon is probably the most powerful beast he has ever seen, Luke thinks, and then he meets its eyes.
They are sharply observant, and not a little bit mean, and absolutely sentient.
An odd urge to spread out his wings and hiss the dragon in the face overcomes Luke.
“Greetings,” Luke manages to say with a forced bow. He looks at Elliot for further cues, but Elliot is making some signs from his position that Luke can neither see well nor make sense of, so he relies on what he has just heard Elliot say. “Greetings, dragon Blackwing. I am Luke Sunborn, and I come here in good faith, seeking to win a favour from you.”
He hopes Elliot intervenes before Luke unknowingly talks himself into a corner from which the only way out would be decidedly unmythological. He desperately wants to scoop Elliot off the floor and make a dash for it, and has to remind himself that Elliot is here for a reason.
Plus, he doubts he'd be able to get far either by air or on foot, while the dragon can easily pick them out and use them for fireball target practice.
“How interesting,” the dragon hisses, and his breath washes across the room like a heatwave. “A human who still remembers some good manners. If you know that much, surely you know that dragons never offer something for nothing.”
“What is it that you want?” asks Luke, looking Blackwing directly in the face. Out of the corner of his eye, Luke catches Elliot giving him a discreet thumbs-up.
“Three quests.” The dragon moves closer, coiling one loop around Elliot, and it takes all off Luke’s willpower to remain in place. Thankfully, Elliot doesn’t stay on the floor -- he climbs back up on the dragon’s back, raps his knuckles against the scales until the dragon raises him close to his face, and starts whispering into his ear.
Trust him, Luke tells himself, and finds his voice again. “Name your quests,” he says, loud and clear.
The dragon carefully sets Elliot down again, and turns his large, arrogant eyes to Luke.
“Are you offering to complete three quests in exchange for a favour, or die trying?” the dragon says lazily.
Elliot pales so much that Luke spots the bits of cosmetics that he must have applied to his face. “Wait a minute, this is not what we talked about --”
The dragon flicks his tail, causing a shower of small rubble from the cave ceiling. Elliot shuts his mouth with a clang. Elliot is afraid for him, Luke realises.
Luke doesn’t feel afraid for himself in the least.
“In exchange for your quests, are you offering to grant me a boon even without hearing what it is?”
The dragon narrows his eyes, and his tail twitches dangerously again. Luke expects the dragon to lash out, but he doesn’t regret his words.
He finds the dragon -- annoying, he realizes.
But the dragon doesn’t attack. Blackwing dips his huge, angular head, and says, “So I am, Luke Sunborn. This is how it’s done.”
Elliot looks ready to sag against the dragon’s back with relief. Luke misses him so badly.
“My slumber was eons long,” Blackwing continues, still very disinterested in Luke or his wants. “But I am now awake and so are my cravings. My first quest for you is this: compel the people in the lands around me to heed my word, and offer me a fresh maiden each year.”
Elliot straightens in his seat, and clears his throat meaningfully.
The dragon’s muzzle twitches, but he adds, “I require their companionship to alleviate my boredom.”
Elliot coughs again, with even more meaning and energy.
“The maidens are not for consumption,” the dragon adds with reluctance. “That would be highly short-sighted, and dragons are known for their ageless wisdom.”
Elliot makes another coughing noise so strong that Luke starts to worry for his health, but the dragon thoroughly ignores Elliot.
“I guess it was too much to hope for gender equality right off the cuff,” Elliot mumbles, desists coughing, and raises his voice again to say, “Do you accept this as your quest, Luke Sunborn?”
“I could have said that part myself,” the dragon says tartly, but Elliot, still looking very put out with the failure of his last coughing fit, raises his chin and ignores the complaint.
“I do,” says Luke.
Elliot turns his whole body towards Luke and makes a sweet, beseeching face, instantly alarming him.
“Good luck on your quest, fair knight!” Elliot exclaims, clasping his hands to his bosom.
Elliot doesn’t have a bosom, Luke tells himself, feeling stupid. Elliot has theatrics.
“If you are born under a lucky star, we shall meet again,” Elliot continues. “If you ever encounter my family on your journey, please tell my beloved aunt not to cry for me, though I miss her terribly. I rely on my young nieces to take care of her in my stead.”
Luke boggles at Elliot. Elliot stares back at him, beseeching expression looking more like impatience with every passing second.
“Right. Greetings to your family. Fresh maidens. I’ll be on my way, then.”
The road back from the Blue Mountains passes much quicker. Luke spends his journey thinking about all the possible reasons why Elliot could have directed him to Celaeno. Luke would not have named code-breaking among his strengths, but he is pretty sure he got that part right, at least. He hopes his aunt will know what to do with the rest.
When he reaches the Forest of Suicides, Celaeno greets him with a warm embrace of her tawny wings, and listens to his stumbling explanations without interruptions.
The next thing she does, however, is order him to her nest, and refuse to talk to him until he has slept for at least twelve hours.
“You have been awake for five days,” she says in tones not brooking any argument. Luke considers complaining about excess parental figures in his life, but what comes out is a jaw-cracking yawn, and he concedes the ground without a fight.
High up in the branches, Celaeno’s nest is quiet and dark, and sleep overcomes him at once.
When Luke wakes up, it is to the rustle of trees and the sound of wings flapping overhead. It takes him a moment to orient himself, and to clear his head from images of fluttering silks and glittering jewels.
Celaeno has been busy while he was sleeping, he finds.
“You will give this to the dragon Blackwing,” she says, handing over an official-looking scroll sealed with a dangling, ornate silver chain. “You should also take this copy to be registered with the Border guards’ archivists. That will make it a legally binding document across the Borderlands.”
“What is it?” Luke says as he takes both papers. The copy doesn’t look half as fancy. In fact, he’s seen classroom notes that looked more impressive. Though to be honest, those only ever belonged to Elliot, because no one else cares as much about color-coding and flow charts.
“An official arrangement between our clan and the dragon, with the rota of our young women to be sent to him for fostering annually.”
“What -- why would you do that?” Luke asks, horrified. “Elliot can’t have bullied you into doing that, could he? Even for peace negotiations.”
Celaeno gives him an impassive look that suggests Luke vastly overestimates Elliot’s ability to bully a clan of murderous harpies. Luke knows that he doesn’t.
“I would never do anything that purposefully endangers my people,” his aunt says, diplomatic. “But his suggestion had merits I had not considered before. How much do you know about nesting?”
“Among your -- among the harpies?” Luke tries to recall what Elliot’s notes had said about that.
Celaeno doesn’t seem aggravated by his lack of knowledge or interest. “Among harpies and among dragons. The two are not that dissimilar. It is an instinct known to any creature that has evolved to fly.” She points somewhere above their heads, and Luke squints until he can see two harpies hovering over one of their tree-houses. Celaeno continues, “But nature and nurture collaborate on this one: as much as there is a calling in our blood to build a nest when the time comes, there is also a craving to teach the same to your young ones. We teach our hatchlings how to build and protect the nest, like we have learnt it from our own clanmates back in the day.”
Luke follows the thought to its natural conclusion. “So you think… The dragon will parent them?”
Celaeno smiles. “We’re calling it fostering. The girls will benefit from learning from someone with a different experience, and the dragon will have his desired companionship, with the nesting instinct serving a nice little guarantee that things would go well.” Her face smoothes into a serious expression once again. “There aren’t many of us, Luke. And we’re not exactly welcome among other peoples, to learn from them and continue to grow.”
Luke feels mortified, every dismissive, hateful thing he’d said at the peak of self-loathing coming back to him. He hopes Celaeno cannot read his mind to see how many of those he remembers.
Celaeno doesn’t look happy. She looks patient, and willing to wait for Luke to catch up and understand, and unapologetic about her choices.
She looks like a real leader. She feels like kin, Luke realizes.
Celaeno must possess at least some mind-reading skills, after all, because she smiles at him again. “Follow me,” she says, and takes off.
It’s a short flight, and they land by what must be a harpy school, Luke notes with bewilderment. He had not thought harpies had schools of their own, though there isn’t any reason why they shouldn’t. Another wave of shame washes over him, and he resolves to do better by them, again.
Three harpy girls chatter and bicker with gusto over something that appears to be a necklace made of gold buttons and mouse skulls.
“What’s all this noise?” Celaeno asks, but gets ignored while the young harpies continue to argue with one another the way all horrible teenage girls do. Celaeno makes an ear-splitting screeching noise, which only barely silences them. “Luke, meet Aello. She fought for the right to be the first fosterling.”
“And won!” Had she been a human teenager, Luke feels Aello would have been the type to strap about a dozen knives on her person and polish her brass knuckles in her spare time. She doesn’t look like anyone remotely in distress. “So by all rights I should be keeping this necklace. It’s good diplomatic taste to visit the dragon well-dressed, and I look better in it anyway.”
Celaeno lets out another parental bird screech at the young harpies, and tells Luke, “She will be flying to the Blue Mountains after you deliver both copies of the decree. We want everything to be official.”
Luke nods, still unsure about all the layers of politicking that must have gone through her -- and earlier, Elliot’s -- mind to lead to this, but he takes comfort in that it seems to settle things to everyone’s satisfaction. He’ll ask Elliot about it later. Luke has a feeling that Elliot would enjoy talking about it at length.
It takes Luke a full week before he returns to the dragon's cave.
He is tired but not from the journeying. He will never again laugh at Elliot when he defends the hard work of Councillors. After a full day being grilled by Commander Woodsinger, and hours more in a room full of strange people she had convinced to hold back for the sake of Elliot’s plan, but who all wanted to know everything about everyone involved, Luke was more tired than after any military campaign. Elliot should come back soon to spare him this business.
But he is here now. The dragon and Elliot seem to be in a heated debate about a land dispute from five hundred years ago, but once Luke enters the lair, they both eye him with equal appreciation.
It’s a disturbing sight, if Luke is really honest.
“I have brought you the commitment of the Borderlands to honor your request,” Luke says loudly, and presents Celaeno’s scroll with its heavy ornamental seal. One of Woodsinger’s Councillors had jealously added an extra golden ribbon to it, and now the scroll resembles nothing more than an overdecorated birthday present. “Allow me to hand it over to -- your guest,” Luke stumbles, unsure about where Elliot stands with the dragon at the moment.
“So it can be given its proper place among your treasures, Blackwing, ” Elliots nods readily and slips towards Luke. “Let me help.”
Luke worries about the likelihood that the gleam in Elliot’s eyes was sparked by the scroll he has brought rather than Luke himself, but when Elliot comes close enough to take the scroll into his hands, his fingers dig painfully into the skin of Luke’s wrists.
“Hey you,” Elliot whispers.
“Hey, yourself,” Luke says, and his voice cracks a litte. “Take this, too.” Luke slips a plainly wrapped parcel beneath Celaeno’s frilly document.
Elliot’s fingers slide over the shape of the package, and he takes in a sharp breath. “Is that a book? Are you smuggling books for me, Luke?”
There is absolutely no mistaking that all of Elliot’s attention is now on Luke. His eyes are brighter and sharper than any of the dragon’s precious jewels.
Luke wants to hold on to him with all of his limbs. Instead, he says, “Didn’t want you to get bored. Thought that would kill the dragon faster than any swords.”
Elliot opens and closes his mouth, then bites into his lower lip because his mouth wants to open in his biggest, meanest, Elliotest smile.
Luke doesn’t get to ask what it was that Elliot wanted to say. The dragon reminds them of his presence.
“You will read this scroll to me,” he says to Elliot in a snooty voice. “But later. I believe the knight is dying to hear his second quest.” The dragon makes an alarming wheezing sound, which Luke suspects is a self-satisfied cackle.
Elliot surprises Luke by not rising to the bait, for once. “A real firecracker,” Elliot says. Luke thinks they must get along by now, Elliot and the dragon. “Shoot.”
The dragon rearranges his body so that he can hover over Luke more effectively. Luke remembers the summer when Elliot, overnight, shot taller than Luke, and proceeded to casually mention his superior vantage point in any conversation. Luke suppresses a smile. He supposes he has never told Elliot that he actually likes that Elliot is taller.
“Your second quest is this,” the dragon rumbles, jerking Luke back to reality. “A magnificent creature such as I needs exquisite grooming, and my treasures need constant polishing to look their best as well. In the good old days, we bathed in the blood of our enemies. It has excellent rejuvenating qualities, you know -- our scales become supple like baby cobra skin. But I am amenable to the suggestion that I could have people doing this for me instead.” Blackwing acknowledges Elliot as a source of inspiration with a regal side-eye. “So I am willing to accept that as a solution.”
Elliot nods approvingly at the dragon.
“As long as they are all beautiful maidens,” the dragon adds.
Elliot nods again, to Luke’s surprise. “As long as they are beautiful maidens, in body or spirit,” he says. Luke continues to look at him for hints. Obligingly, Elliot puts on a soulful, concerned expression and addresses Luke with great solemnity.
“It is a dangerous quest, but if you are brave of heart, you could travel as far as the Elflands, and press your case with their priestesses of beauty and charm. And if you have courage enough to reach the depths of the earth, perhaps you could court the attentions of the Diamond clan, whose daughters know precious stones like the backs of their hands. Perhaps then you could hope to carry out this impossible task.”
HER NAME IS MYRA, he mouths at Luke silently.
Luke huffs and frowns. Of course he knows what Myra’s name is.
“I’ll do my best,” he says, and turns to leave.
Seriously, is that what Elliot thinks of him? He remembers Myra. He met her that year they did the stage play.
Mysterious and faraway Elflands rise to the challenge with unexpected enthusiasm and minimal wooing on Luke’s side.
“Are you joking?” says Golden, arching his beautiful eyebrows. “For a chance to demonstrate your mastery of refinement and applied beauty on a canvas so splendidly large as a dragon -- our boys would brawl for that kind of opportunity.”
Luke is a little dubious whether Golden’s tall, elegant friends with their tall, elegant names would know how to make a fist in the first place, but he is grateful for Golden’s assurances that they would be on board with an idea of grooming an ill-tempered dragon.
He shares his thoughts with Serene, whose eyes grow misty with pride. “My gentle Golden has the head of a strategist! The hearts of boys can be fickle and flighty, but he knows just what to say to make them look in the same direction. I wouldn’t have the first idea of how to approach gentlemen of good upbringing with a similar proposal.”
Luke doesn’t disagree. He has a healthy respect for people who can make inspirational speeches so that he doesn’t have to.
He leaves Golden to sort out the elvish contestants, and travels onwards to meet with the dwarves.
Myra, whose name he remembers, remembers him as well, which is a relief.
“It’s not like every dwarf is automatically good with jewellery,” she says, when he tells her of his quest. “That would be racial stereotyping.”
“So you can’t do it, then?” Luke tries not to sound disappointed. He realizes he has been enjoying watching Elliot’s plan play out like a script, so he has not thought of any back-up plan himself.
“I didn’t say we can’t do it,” Myra says, sounding aggravated. “I said it would be racial stereotyping to assume we could, just because of who we are.”
Luke waits patiently for her to start making sense, and eventually Myra waves a hand in resignation and says, “Of course we can find volunteers to take care of the dragon’s treasury. We’re a dwarf clan, after all.”
She leads him to a shop that boasts of Axes And Armor Like They Don’t Make Anymore.
“This is Ashbrow,” she introduces him to the shopkeeper. “She inherited the business from her mother and she from her grandparents, but she likes to dabble in jewellery in her free time.” The shopkeeper, a gentle dwarf three Lukes in girth, smiles shyly with red lips under a luxurious moustache. The moustache is braided with a thin golden chain, Luke notices.
Ashbrow tells him she has a Sunday bookclub with a few other hard-working dwarves. “We like to wind down with novels of dashing adventures, and exchange tips for baking dwarf bread or discuss the latest on rare ores. I’ll talk to them. They are all romantic souls like me, they’d enjoy the chance to see the Blue Mountains and check out the dragon’s hoard. We were toying with the idea of a roadtrip anyway.”
“That’s sorted, then,” Myra says. Myra’s nice, Luke thinks, as he thanks her and bids her goodbye.
Luke has to make a detour to the Border camp to debrief Commander Woodsinger and her cohort of advisors before he can return for his third quest. They scribble on and annotate his reports, which he is now being forced to submit in writing, and mutter about the positive effects of integrated education on intra-species relationships. Luke yearns to get moving, and it’s only his respect for Commander Woodsinger that keeps him indoors.
“It wasn’t a half-bad idea of Schafer’s, but don’t tell him that,” she tells him once it is finally over. “I can get better funding for scholarships with that at least. His methods are still unorthodox, though. And by that I mean completely inappropriate and disregarding the entire chain of command. You can tell him that when you see him next.”
Luke assures her he will, even though he doubts there will be anything new in it for Elliot. He usually has great awareness of the rules he is breaking.
Back in the dragon’s cave, the dragon is nowhere to be seen.
“Oh, he is out teaching Aello the finer points of flying with attitude. And I don’t think they mean temper, either, since they had a lot to say about angles and rotation.” Elliot puts a bookmark into the book on his lap and smiles at Luke.
They are alone together since -- Luke tries to count how many days it has been since he last had Elliot to himself, but he doesn’t finish the thought because Elliot wraps his arms around Luke’s neck and leans bodily into Luke.
“Wings,” he says, half petulantly, half affectionately, and Luke happily envelops them both in his wings, cutting the rest of the world from view, and breathes into the crook of Elliot’s neck.
His bliss is interrupted by a delicate cough.
Not alone after all, Luke thinks with resentment as he reluctantly lets Elliot slip from the cocoon of his wings.
“Elliot, really sorry to interrupt, but have you seen the giant ruby?” A willowy elf with long, flowy silver hair and, Luke notices, a writing quill tucked behind his ear and a measuring tape around his neck, approaches them to shove a piece of paper in Elliot’s face. “See, it’s central to Ashbrow’s design, and we can’t finish the necklace without it. And the necklace is the lynchpin of the new look, we can’t afford to make it anything less than splendid.”
“It won’t take more than a moment,” Elliot tells Luke apologetically. “They are planning a surprise makeover party for Blackwing, and it’s really easy to mislay priceless jewels in this place. Among other equally priceless jewels, you know,” he rolls his eyes.
Elliot helps the elf look for the jewel to the refrain of “seriously, you can’t afford to be lax with statement accessories even if you are a dragon”, and Luke finally takes note of the additions to the cave since he last visited. He should probably feel bad that it took him so long to notice the little tent camp at the back of the cave, and the few dwarves and elves bent over a large canvas with various blueprints and shiny trinkets arranged on it.
In Luke’s defense, Elliot could be a massive distraction.
They locate the ruby eventually -- apparently, someone had purposefully dropped it into a giant golden goblet, “so that I could easily find it again; the goblet is so conspicuously tacky it just sticks out like a sore thumb” -- and affix it where it’s meant to be. The finished piece looks like a giant fishing net with sparkling gemstones, and the elven-dwarfish beauty squad tells him it is meant to go around the dragon’s chest.
“Like a bib?” asks Luke.
“Like a plastron,” they tell him in an indignant chorus, as if fishnet plastrons were a good idea.
They barely manage to hide their surprise jewellery away when the dragon and the harpy come swooping back in.
“You are back, Luke Sunborn,” the dragon says, giving him a critical once-over.
Luke evenly meets the dragon’s stare, at least until he spots the elaborate swirls of gold paint on Blackwing’s face. Luke nods mutely before an elbow jab from Elliot reminds him to be more courteous. “You are looking well, dragon Blackwing,” Luke says.
The dragon preens and cocks his head at what is presumably a very flattering angle. “Opulence and magnificence are a natural look on a dragon,” Blackwings says demurely, catching his own reflection in a large silver platter displayed on one of the cave walls -- likely for this very purpose, Luke thinks.
“You did well,” the dragon says, turning back to Luke. “It is time for your third and final quest.”
The dragon glances at Elliot. Elliot makes supportive hand motions at the dragon like a proud Trigon coach. Luke wonders if Elliot makes the dragon rehearse his lines, and tries not to smile.
“I am pleased with what I have received from you, but that is because I have received good counsel,” Blackwing continues. Elliot looks startled and a little flushed -- this must not have been in the script they may or may not have rehearsed. “Step forward a little, fair Elliot. And dragons recognize good deeds even when they are not performed by knights. For your third quest, Luke Sunborn, you must honor this beautiful maiden as you have honored me. Woo Elliot, and you’d better hope that your attentions please her.”
With a great air of self-satisfaction, the dragon gives Elliot a gentle push that brings him several stumbling steps closer to Luke.
Elliot makes a strangled sound that could have come from a harpy’s vocabulary.
“What is the matter?” asks Blackwing. “Are you overcome with emotion?”
Elliot continues to gape like a fish, and no words come out of his mouth.
“Is this knight not to your liking?” The dragon frowns. “I thought I gleaned a spark of fire between you, but my eyes are not what they used to be back in the day. If you don’t like him, just say the word. I can eat this one and we can start from scratch with the next applicant.”
Elliots makes another incoherent noise and shakes his head vehemently. “No, that’s -- this one will do,” he croaks out.
“Thank you for giving me a chance,” Luke says, with a little courtly bow. He is so amused by Elliot’s indignation that he doesn’t even pause to have some of his own.
Satisfied enough, the dragon says, “I’ll give you some time on your own, then,” neatly picks both of them up with his tail and flies them all out of the cave.
They don’t fly far -- Elliot barely has time to overcome his blotchy indignation and move on to uncontrolled shrieking. The dragon sets them down with great care on one of the shallower slopes of the mountain, deemed flat enough for a romantic human date, and flies back into his lair.
Elliot gives another screech of frustration, and violently kicks a pile of small rocks into the abyss several feet to their side. “I cannot! Believe this!!”
Luke’s mouth twitches. “It can’t be so bad, having to date your boyfriend.”
“You don’t understand!” Elliot yells. “I had it all under control! We were making strides towards integrating the dragon into the Borderlands society, but there are still unresolved issues! This quest was supposed to sort out the feeding patterns. Do you know how long I spent trying to think of a good solution for that? Days, Luke, days! Making the stupid dragon talk to me about his dietary preferences, and analyzing trade routes and resourcing and --”
Luke lets Elliot talk on for a while about his plans for the third quest. Words like rota and quota are mentioned frequently. Luke nods and takes one of Elliot’s hands in his own and squeezes it. “I may not understand everything that goes into making peace, Elliot, but I know you do.” Elliot’s silence is glum and unconvinced, and Luke continues. “You showed there was a way to negotiate with dragons, and even those stuffy councillors at the camp saw that you could do it. That’s the most important bit, isn’t it?”
“The camp officials heard of it, you say?” Elliot says, reluctant to show any great interest in the subject.
“Leave some work for the rest of the Borderlands, Elliot,” Luke smiles, and tugs him closer to his chest. Elliot loops his arms around Luke’s waist, slotting himself seamlessly against Luke, but continues to low-key grumble until Luke cups Elliot’s face and kisses him into a moderate state of mellowness.
“Think you can find it in yourself to say a kind word for me to the dragon?” Luke asks him, feeling happy and a little cheeky. “You see, I need to rescue someone dear to me, and I can’t complete my quest without a little help from you.”
“Fine, fine,” Elliot huffs with exaggeration, and gives him another kiss. “You’ll do.”
Luke grins and does what he has been wanting to do since he first found Elliot in these mountains: he spreads his wings, takes Elliot into his arms and leaps into the sky. Unlike his dreams, however, he flies them both not away from the cave, but towards it.
When they land at the mouth of the cave, they see several people shuffling about with an air of extreme nonchalance and minding their own business. The elf with the measuring tape starts loudly discussing the merits of silver tiaras with Ashbrow. Aello looks deeply taken in by the silver plate on the wall. The dragon is the only one who doesn’t even try to feign disinterest in their affairs.
“Of course they were all spying on us,” Elliot sighs. “As you could all see, Luke is fine,” he announces loudly. “We’re fine. Quest complete. Happy now?”
“If you are,” the dragon says, generously. “Turns out he can fly, too. Pleasant surprise. Not the worst catch, if you ask me.”
Aello wolf-whistles enthusiastically.
“I believe it is time for me to make my request, then,” says Luke, stepping forward and ignoring the heat in his ears. The dragon nods and Elliot gestures him to go on, consoled he has imparted the essentials of the food supply chain on Luke. Luke takes his hand again. “Now that Elliot and I are… fine,” he says, smiling, “I would like us to return home together. But that is not my request.”
“Nor it is what you think,” he adds privately to Elliot, who gives him a thoroughly betrayed look.
Luke pulls him closer and continues to address the dragon. “I request, dragon Blackwing, that you allow Elliot to return home, and entitle Elliot to represent and champion your interests in the Borderlands, as long as both of you wish for that arrangement to continue.”
“I suppose that can be arranged,” the dragon says, as if he expected nothing less.
Elliot pulls at his hair and groans wordlessly. There is a round of cheers from the beautician squad, and a few sniffles into silk handkerchiefs.
Luke grins and whispers. “Being mythological, as you said. Working on a happily ever after.”
“Fin,” says Elliot, and slumps against Luke.