[Vignette] What Could Be
He was very nearly shaking as he climbed down the cliff face to the ground again; only an unwillingness to be seen like that and a desire not to break his neck falling forced him to repress that feeling. Morelenth was waiting.
<< E'sere, >> he said, earning a shake of his rider's head as he passed, heading down the trail a short distance, then ducking into the woods.
Don't, came the thought. Please.
Morelenth followed him anyway.
It wasn't easy squeezing on the ground through the forest without snagging a wing on a branch or stubbing talons on a root. Morelenth managed, and found E'sere finally on the ground, seated against a fallen tree trunk. He could just squeeze himself into the tiny clearing if he curled around, shoving the tree trunk away carefully so he could sandwich E'sere against his chest instead.
For once, Morelenth was intimately aware of the feelings flooding his rider; E'sere either couldn't or wasn't trying to quell them, to fence them off from his dragon to keep his own council. Morelenth prefered to believe it was the latter.
<< E'sere, >> he tried again, when E'sere wiggled against him closer, legs pulled up to his chest and shoulders and one cheek pressed to Morelenth's dark hide. It stirred half-forgotten memory within the bronze: E'sere, disconsolate, accused of not feeding his too-skinny dragon properly; Morelenth, guilt-ridden for failing to live up to that image of bronze.
<< E'sere, I'm sorry. >>
E'sere rubbed at his face and closed his eyes, taking deep breaths, breathing in the warm dragon scent. His head throbbed. He felt tired, but he was too tense to sleep.
<< E'sere, go home. Talk to Aivey, >> Morelenth encouraged quietly, sliding his muzzle up to rest against his rider's bare feet, one large yellow eye focusing on the man huddled against him. He could just make out that tiny but fierce shake of E'sere's head, and he sighed.
<< E'sere, she-->> he began, then gave up, falling silent. He didn't know exactly how long they sat there like that, offering no words but sharing feelings. It was a rare moment when Morelenth actually felt like the other half of their pairing, and not a well-trained dog, to heel when called. He was loathe to interrupt it, and waited until the roar of anger and jealousy, self-pity and loathing, had died to a low murmur at the back of his mind, a bearable level on both their ends, to ask:
<< Do you remember, when we met? >>
Confusion flickered between them, but E'sere was too drained to do more than offer up that memory next: through his eyes, that first glimpse of bronze--dark enough he'd taken it for brown at first. And even when he'd heard that name the first time, he'd followed its announcement to the world with, "He's bronze!"--the first time Morelenth had felt reduced to just his color.
But now he said, << Did I ever tell you why I chose you? >> He felt his rider's hesitation more than saw it.
You don't even remember it, he said.
<< I don't have to, >> Morelenth answered simply. << I stay now for the same reasons. >>
The flinch was more mental than physical, though Morelenth brushed his cheek against the man, comforting.
<< I didn't choose you, E'sere, because of who your mother was, or your uncle or your father or anyone, >> he began slowly. << I didn't choose you because you were the best-looking person on the sands--though you were. I didn't choose you because you were rich or popular or well-connected, even though you are all of those things, E'sere. >> He hesitated.
<< I chose you because of what you could be, >> Morelenth finally admitted. He knew, before E'sere ever called the image of that damn knot up, and he added, << And not because of what I could make you. >>
Silence met those words, and Morelenth waited several seconds while E'sere digested them.
<< Now let's go home, E'sere, >> he pleaded finally, disentangling himself from his rider and standing. E'sere was still for several more seconds before he finally pushed himself up to his feet, brushing up against the bronze.
"Let's go home," he finally said aloud.
<< E'sere, >> he said, earning a shake of his rider's head as he passed, heading down the trail a short distance, then ducking into the woods.
Don't, came the thought. Please.
Morelenth followed him anyway.
It wasn't easy squeezing on the ground through the forest without snagging a wing on a branch or stubbing talons on a root. Morelenth managed, and found E'sere finally on the ground, seated against a fallen tree trunk. He could just squeeze himself into the tiny clearing if he curled around, shoving the tree trunk away carefully so he could sandwich E'sere against his chest instead.
For once, Morelenth was intimately aware of the feelings flooding his rider; E'sere either couldn't or wasn't trying to quell them, to fence them off from his dragon to keep his own council. Morelenth prefered to believe it was the latter.
<< E'sere, >> he tried again, when E'sere wiggled against him closer, legs pulled up to his chest and shoulders and one cheek pressed to Morelenth's dark hide. It stirred half-forgotten memory within the bronze: E'sere, disconsolate, accused of not feeding his too-skinny dragon properly; Morelenth, guilt-ridden for failing to live up to that image of bronze.
<< E'sere, I'm sorry. >>
E'sere rubbed at his face and closed his eyes, taking deep breaths, breathing in the warm dragon scent. His head throbbed. He felt tired, but he was too tense to sleep.
<< E'sere, go home. Talk to Aivey, >> Morelenth encouraged quietly, sliding his muzzle up to rest against his rider's bare feet, one large yellow eye focusing on the man huddled against him. He could just make out that tiny but fierce shake of E'sere's head, and he sighed.
<< E'sere, she-->> he began, then gave up, falling silent. He didn't know exactly how long they sat there like that, offering no words but sharing feelings. It was a rare moment when Morelenth actually felt like the other half of their pairing, and not a well-trained dog, to heel when called. He was loathe to interrupt it, and waited until the roar of anger and jealousy, self-pity and loathing, had died to a low murmur at the back of his mind, a bearable level on both their ends, to ask:
<< Do you remember, when we met? >>
Confusion flickered between them, but E'sere was too drained to do more than offer up that memory next: through his eyes, that first glimpse of bronze--dark enough he'd taken it for brown at first. And even when he'd heard that name the first time, he'd followed its announcement to the world with, "He's bronze!"--the first time Morelenth had felt reduced to just his color.
But now he said, << Did I ever tell you why I chose you? >> He felt his rider's hesitation more than saw it.
You don't even remember it, he said.
<< I don't have to, >> Morelenth answered simply. << I stay now for the same reasons. >>
The flinch was more mental than physical, though Morelenth brushed his cheek against the man, comforting.
<< I didn't choose you, E'sere, because of who your mother was, or your uncle or your father or anyone, >> he began slowly. << I didn't choose you because you were the best-looking person on the sands--though you were. I didn't choose you because you were rich or popular or well-connected, even though you are all of those things, E'sere. >> He hesitated.
<< I chose you because of what you could be, >> Morelenth finally admitted. He knew, before E'sere ever called the image of that damn knot up, and he added, << And not because of what I could make you. >>
Silence met those words, and Morelenth waited several seconds while E'sere digested them.
<< Now let's go home, E'sere, >> he pleaded finally, disentangling himself from his rider and standing. E'sere was still for several more seconds before he finally pushed himself up to his feet, brushing up against the bronze.
"Let's go home," he finally said aloud.