~Hunting III~
anonymous
March 6 2010, 19:22:36 UTC
~In Which We Break From the Norm and Visit the Very Beast Our Hero Must Face~
Um. Yes. I read over the first two chapters just now, and the sheer amount of mistakes makes me ill. *sigh* Oh well. I'm glad the readers are enjoying it so far. Bring in the dragons!
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Two pairs of large, dilated eyes watched the sun's gradual climb into the yet dark sky. The trees swayed with the owners' calm, deep breaths. The air was warm, but not wet, and there was a gentle breeze that rattled the dragons' scales like the gentle brush of fingers through hair. The sun would make it hotter, but there was plenty of shade in the cave they had carved in the mountainside.
Yes, that would make a perfect place for a nap...
A low rumbling pulled the younger of the dragons from his daze. He swung his great head around to blink at his littermate. There was a soft, metallic sound, like the chinkling of chainmail, as the elder laughed. "I'm hungry," he hummed in explanation.
The younger rolled his violet eyes. "I thought you ate last night."
"I did," said the elder, gathering his paws beneath his large body. "But now I'm hungry again."
"You're spoiled," the younger chided.
"I'll bring something back for you," the elder promised, stretching his shimmering wings.
"Don't bother," the younger sighed, rolling his broad shoulders and padding away toward the mountain. "I don't want to be so fat I can't get off the ground."
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Captcha says "utensils Perhaps." I think it's hinting at the dragons' eating habits.
~In Which Arthur Has a Row with a Knight~ It may be several more chapters before Arthur faces his dragon, but I promise it'll happen soon enough.
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It had been several days since Arthur had laid the protective charms. The villagers had settled considerably since sending a number of search parties into the woods. They hadn't found any little girls; the bodies of any little girls; or any scraps of clothing or drops or splatterings of blood. Perhaps their daughters had merely been following the wind out of the boundaries to the world beyond.
Perhaps the villagers merely couldn't accept that their children had been claimed by a fire-breathing monster.
Of course, so far as Arthur knew, only he and his grandfather were aware of what was really happening, and they weren't about to be further ostracised by the people already unfond of them. Years prior, Atherol had been chased to the edge of the territory by young men convinced he was an agent of the devil, sent to control them with magic. He did not want the same for his only surviving kin.
Presently, Arthur was sitting outside of his grandfather's hut, absently carving a stick into a small lance. He was lost in heavy thought about the dragon. How large was it, really, and how nimble, how clever, must it be to steal six girls in the dead of night and never be noticed?
A rustling some meters away and the resulting slip of his knife across his thumb brought Arthur back to reality. He swore quietly, pressed his mouth around the fresh cut, and leaped to his feet, ready for a fight. Many tense moments later, a group of men on horseback tore past. Each one was armoured and bore a royal crest. He was both surprised and relieved to see them heading toward his village.
~Hunting IV (continued)~
anonymous
March 7 2010, 20:05:57 UTC
~In Which Authornon Hates Character Limits~
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Having said goodbye to Atherol and snuck back into his own house by way of a secret passage he had built in his tenth year, Arthur peered at the knights as the villagers gathered to welcome them. There were seven or eight total, all tall and well-muscled; all handsome and proud; all covered head to toe in silvery armour that nearly blinded him in the unusually bright sunlight. His critical green eyes passed over them with disinterest, although his fellows were, no doubt, gawking.
The woods rarely received visitors, after all, and these from so far away!
Three men stood before the rest. Arthur noted a certain uniqueness about them that he couldn't quite name. They wore the same armour as the rest, bore the same bronze crest on their broad chests and right shoulders, and rode the same brand of massive, dappled horse.
The man on the right had brown hair, an honest, likeable face, and skin darkened by life in a land with much more sun than this. The one on the rest was the opposite. His hair was nearly the colour of snow; his skin ghostly pale; and his eyes eerily red. He wore a slight smirk as his unnatural eyes scanned the crowd. The man at the center of the trio had yellow hair that fell to his shoulders and curled like the boughs of a wind-battered tree. His eyes were blue to match the sky, and there was a light dusting of hair on his chin. His smile was easy and confident as he addressed the villagers, who stood around in awe.
Arthur, who was not listening, caught snatches of what he was saying.
"...fee...honourable...dreadful beast...dragon."
Arthur almost biffed his head he startled so. These men, who so far as he could tell had never been to this land, knew of the plague of the village? Had someone sent for them? No, he decided, upon closer examination of the peoples' surprised faces. The knighthood had come of its own accord, and to appease its own interests, he added with a scowl.
He leaned further out of the window, ears pricked for useful information.
The blond man was still talking, and Arthur took note of his accent. It was slight, but easily noticeable to one who was accustomed only to the dialect of his own people. He supposed he shouldn't be surprised. These knights might easily be from the other side of the world. He listened closely.
"...If it would please you all, then we would be glad to rid you of this scourge." His gaze locked with Arthur's, and his unnassuming smile changed into something slightly...devious. Arthur, much to his chagrin, felt his ears heat. How dare that stranger make such a face at him!
The crowd was becoming excited. "Are you sure it's a dragon?"
"We've ne're had dragons here before!"
"Will you be able to handle it?"
"Of course we will," the blond knight said flippantly. "We have dealt with countless dragons before."
Arthur trembled with doubt and dislike. The knight was still staring at him. He found his voice. "What do you intend to do with the beast?" he called lightly.
The blond knight smiled a mockingly patient smile. "Dispose of it, obviously."
"And how will you do it?" he shot back, wanting to blast the smile off the man's teasing face.
"With cold steel," the knight said coolly.
"Your swords will do little against its scales."
Arthur felt a swell of smug satisfaction as he watched the man's smile waver. "I would not be so sure, mon petit chou," the knight murmured.
"I would not be so confident," Arthur snarled. "Dragons are not stupid. They know the ways of man, and the magic of the earth. You--"
"The boy speaks as though he knows one personally!" the knight cried, turning to his chuckling companions.
The red-eyed man gave a bark of a laugh. "You the authority on dragons 'round here, kid? Your mother one?"
Arthur bristled at the mention of his mother. Truth be told, he knew very little of her. She had died when he was very young, of some strange disease that had wiped out half the village. She could well have been a drunk and a harlot, but she was still his mother, and he would not have these laughing strangers bemsirch her name.
"Shut it," he growled, standing from the crate he had been kneeling on.
~Hunting IV (continued once more)~
anonymous
March 7 2010, 20:08:00 UTC
~In Which Authornon REALLY Hates Character Limits~ ~And In Which Arthur Receives a Nickname~
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"And if I don't, dragon boy?" the red-eyed man asked, shifting his weight in what could only be a challenge. Arthur wasn't sure what he would say. Fortunately, he didn't have to say anything, because the brown-haired knight took that moment to step in.
"Leave him be, Gil," he said, moving between the red-eyed man and Arthur's house. He turned clear, gentle eyes on Arthur. "He doesn't mean it."
Arthur shrugged, scowling more than usual, and sat back down. He did not like these knights, regardless of what their intentions might be. Shutting his window to the bellowing crowd and shining knights, he made up his mind. He would go and see Atherol once night fell.
~Hunting IV Author's Notes~
anonymous
March 7 2010, 20:17:32 UTC
*Badtouchfriends Trio? How did they get there? < <
*"Mon petit chou," French for "My little cabbage," is a term of endearment. I needed something for Francis to call Arthur there, because the sentence felt off otherwise, and 'cher' seemed a tad too forward. Although...might this not be just as forward, if not more? -fails-
*Wasn't originally planning on having Francis in this story. He just sort of wormed his way in, dragging his pals with him. -shrug- I don't know why they're knights or where they're from. Mostly, they're just around to torment Arthur some more.
*Hope you're all enjoying it so far, and that I'm not boring you with the lack of interraction between Arthur and Alfred. -headdesk-
The moon was high, and acted as the only source of light as Arthur, knife-in-hand, crept back to Atherol's hut. He was frowning so much it might have occurred to him that his face hurt, were he not so infuriated at his fellow man. There was no inn in the village, as it was self-sustaining and rarely blessed with visitors. The knights had, at the villagers' request, taken up temporary residence in various houses in the small place, and Arthur's sturdy, two-room home, built by his father before Arthur was born, had been saddled with noneother than the leader of the group, Sir Francis the Irritating and Flirtatious.
The man was an idiot. He made a number of snide remarks while settling into Arthur's bedroom, asked every female he laid eyes on to join him for a romantic evening in his quarters (Arthur's quarters,) and at one point, had the audacity to lay his lecherous fingers astride Arthur's rump.
Arthur growled to himself. He would not be made to service a good-for-nothing, particularly not a good-for-nothing who claimed to be a brave knight and slayer of innumerable foul beasts. Hacking a branch off of a fallen tree, he swore. It registered only faintly in his mind that he had been doing more of that lately. He had never had a very sparkling vocabulary, but for the past moon or so, it had become absolutely filthy. The only people who really seemed to mind were mothers, however.
He would try to tone it down, if only to avoid being beaten senseless with a broom.
He was nearing the candle-lit window of Atherol's hut when he suddenly found himself incapable of taking another step. The air felt warm and wet, like it might in the afterglow of a short summer rain. His heart rate increased unreasonably. These were the woods he had traversed since he could crawl. They had not frightened him once in his nearly eighteen years, yet tonight...
Something very large moved amongst the trees. It couldn't be...
He gave a sharp, wordless shout, which he immediately regretted. Outlined in the pearly moonlight was a strange, crouching shape, larger than anything he had ever seen. It shifted at the sound of his voice, and the glint of what could only be a huge, unblinking eye made his breath hitch in terror. All thought stopped. Arthur was faintly aware of bolting from the sight before he tripped over something that might have been a tail (but was probably a root,) and scrabbling madly at the door of his grandfather's hut. His voice, when he recognised it as his own, was screaming, and in a flash, Atherol had opened the door and tugged him inside.
There was already a cup of tea for him on the little stone table, but he couldn't speak for the rest of the night.
The wind quaked with heavy wingbeats as two dragons descended upon their cave. A mountain goat hung from the elder's jaws; an uprooted tree from the talon of the younger. They landed lightly at the ledge and folded their wings to their powerful backs daintily. The elder let out a deep purr of appreciation as he looked at his catch. He blinked his bright blue eyes at the younger dragon, who was slowly stripping the tree of bark.
"How can you eat that?" he sniffed, tucking into his own meal.
"Like this," the younger said softly, purposely missing the point and demonstating by removing a lush branch.
"I mean the plants," the elder insisted, crunching on a bone.
"I just prefer them," the younger confessed, pausing to wonder at his brother. "How can you eat that?"
"I just prefer it," the elder mimicked, letting his tongue loll roguishly. "Anyway, you'll never guess what I saw earlier."
"A human."
"You're the best guesser I've ever met," the elder sighed, not losing much of his enthusiasm.
"You're not hard to figure out," the younger put in, but he was ignored.
"It was male, and young, and-and I want him."
An uncomfortable silence settled between the duo, interrupted only by the elder's suddenly frantic chewing.
The younger gave the elder a look that expressed his mixed feelings better than any words ever could. "...You need to be careful..."
"I-I've never wanted a male before, but he was so pretty...!"
"You've already taken six from the same village! If you keep this up, we won't be able to stay."
"I know, I know, but..."
"I saw the armoured ones yesterday, Brother," the younger said quietly, and his tone more than what he said made the elder fall silent. "We may not be able to stay, regardless."
The elder finished off his meal in one gulp and moodily lay his head on his forepaws. After a moment, he mumbled, "He wouldn't have liked me, anyway."
Re: ~Hunting VI~
anonymous
March 8 2010, 14:04:50 UTC
Love, love,. love so much love.
I love the world you've created and the way you describe stuff and the slow build to the story. You've really created some excellent tension for when Arthur and the Dragon finally meet. Love the inclusion of the Trio...great idea!
~Hunting VII~
anonymous
March 9 2010, 03:17:19 UTC
~In Which Arthur Becomes More Studious~
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Some days after the brush with the dragon, Arthur found himself bent over a huge, dusty tome he had extracted from Atherol's cluttered shelf. It was a book on dragonslaying; more of a text for knights than mages, but it would do.
His eyes were currently locked on an illustration of an serpentine creature with evil eyes and fangs that dripped venom. The faded scrawl beneath the image said Lindworm. It didn't resemble the beasts he had been told stories of in his boyhood, and it was too small to be the plague of the village he had nearly had to face the previous night, but he was fascinated all the same.
Most of the words were so faded, or written in so ancient a dialect, that he could not read them. However, he wasn't as concerned by that as he thought he should be. The depictions, though hideous and disturbing, only piqued his curiosity. He wanted to know if the dragon residing nearby was anything like them. Of course, it had to be. The author had to have seen them, no doubt, many a time to have created such a detailed book. Certainly, accuracy was of the utmost importance.
Arthur was sure to hide the tome under stacks of parchment and other books whenever one of the knights was nearby. Who knew how they might react to it? He didn't trust them. They were supposed to be protecting the villagers, but mostly, they sat around talking and scuffling amongst themselves. Francis and his shadows, Antonion and Gilbert, were a particular nuisance to him. They were almost always together, chattering just as loudly and almost as annoyingly as the missing maidens once had.
Despite the fact that Arthur made no attempt to hide his dislike of the man, Francis seemed to enjoy his company. Whenever he was not with his friends or off pestering women, he would hover over Arthur like a hungry crow. Sometimes he asked questions; sometimes he answered questions no one had asked; sometimes he simply looked at Arthur so intently the young man wanted to flee from the room. He was not accustomed to such attention.
It was becoming increasingly difficult to practise magic with the knights skulking about. Francis was the worst of them, but Gilbert seemed to take great joy in following Arthur whenever he wasn't wandering aimlessly and hurling insults of a varying kind at him. He had long tuned them out, but the man's prescence was grating on him. Antonio was friendly and pleasant to a fault. He didn't speak to Arthur often, but when he did, it was always over trivial things, such as the dreary weather or Arthur's equally dreary personality. He seemed earnest and well-meaning, but his ever-present smile was most troubling.
Daily, he was tempted to curse them all into oblivion.
He began practising spells closer and closer to the lake, in an effort to avoid interference or discovery. Atherol would sometimes accompany him, although he usually gave instructions before Arthur left his hut, and remained to concoct potions or whatever it was he did when Arthur wasn't around to keep him occupied.
The old wizard stood only slightly taller than Arthur. His spine was crooked, and there was a deep scar on the right side of his face. He had never shared the story of how he obtained it. Curly silver hair that was once auburn hung in a lank sheet down his back, and connected round his chin in a scraggly beard. He was old, Arthur knew, but exactly how old he had never dared ask. The man had more energy than many of the villagers, and his eyes were the same unusual green as Arthur's.
His son, Barbaros, was Arthur's father, and in his time, had been a talented woodcutter. He had had no talent for, or interest in, magic, however, which had nearly broken Atherol's heart. He had loved the boy regardless, and heartily approved of his marriage to Catherine, Arthur's mother. Apparently, they were both very young at the time, and shortly after Arthur's birth, the sickness had taken them both.
Arthur paused, surprised that such thoughts had come to him so suddenly and without prompting. He began murmuring spellwords. A bit of magic would tire him out, and perhaps he would be able to sleep properly for the first time since he saw the dragon.
~Hunting VIII~
anonymous
March 9 2010, 23:10:24 UTC
~In Which the Dragons Grow Restless~
Thanks for being so kind, patient, and supportive, everyone! I enjoy working on this fill, and I'm glad to see that others can enjoy reading it. Also, I've not been able to zone out without my mind wandering to "What happens next?!"
If anyone needs music for magical inspiration/to write to, try The Irish Rovers. They're really quite lovely.
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The elder dragon flapped his huge wings anxiously and pawed up great clumps of earth, his bright eyes trained on a clearing below the mountain where he slept when he wasn't hunting or staring at the boy. The younger sat near him, still as a stone, and followed his brother's fervent gaze. The boy in question was nearly of age, but much slighter than the dragons usually saw. His unruly hair was the colour of straw, and his face seemed always to be screwed up in anger or concentration. He was pretty, yes, but the younger dragon could not see what had made his brother so desperate for him.
"Isn't he something?" the elder breathed, swinging his tail and letting his tongue loll as he was prone to do in times of great joy or comfort. The younger observed, half with distaste and half with amusement, that the elder resembled one of the hounds kept as pet by humans.
"Something," he agreed passively.
"Isn't he gorgeous?" the elder all but groaned.
The younger tilted his head, slightly disturbed by his brother's behaviour. "Easy."
"I--do you remember that spell we were working on?"
He remembered. "Don't," he warned.
"I have to. I-I have to."
"You do not have to."
"Haven't you ever--"
"No, I haven't. Humans don't interest me like they interest you."
The elder let out a snort of frustration. "I'm going to do it."
"Have you no idea what you'll be risking?" the younger growled, getting to his feet. "Already, there are knights! We'll be found. We'll be killed."
"I'll be careful," the elder insisted, giving his brother the calm look of determination he always wore before something awful happened. "We'll be alright."
The younger gave a sigh of resignation. "You don't know that."
"I won't let anything happen to you," the elder said cheerily.
Um. Yes. I read over the first two chapters just now, and the sheer amount of mistakes makes me ill. *sigh* Oh well. I'm glad the readers are enjoying it so far. Bring in the dragons!
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Two pairs of large, dilated eyes watched the sun's gradual climb into the yet dark sky. The trees swayed with the owners' calm, deep breaths. The air was warm, but not wet, and there was a gentle breeze that rattled the dragons' scales like the gentle brush of fingers through hair. The sun would make it hotter, but there was plenty of shade in the cave they had carved in the mountainside.
Yes, that would make a perfect place for a nap...
A low rumbling pulled the younger of the dragons from his daze. He swung his great head around to blink at his littermate. There was a soft, metallic sound, like the chinkling of chainmail, as the elder laughed. "I'm hungry," he hummed in explanation.
The younger rolled his violet eyes. "I thought you ate last night."
"I did," said the elder, gathering his paws beneath his large body. "But now I'm hungry again."
"You're spoiled," the younger chided.
"I'll bring something back for you," the elder promised, stretching his shimmering wings.
"Don't bother," the younger sighed, rolling his broad shoulders and padding away toward the mountain. "I don't want to be so fat I can't get off the ground."
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Captcha says "utensils Perhaps." I think it's hinting at the dragons' eating habits.
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It may be several more chapters before Arthur faces his dragon, but I promise it'll happen soon enough.
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It had been several days since Arthur had laid the protective charms. The villagers had settled considerably since sending a number of search parties into the woods. They hadn't found any little girls; the bodies of any little girls; or any scraps of clothing or drops or splatterings of blood. Perhaps their daughters had merely been following the wind out of the boundaries to the world beyond.
Perhaps the villagers merely couldn't accept that their children had been claimed by a fire-breathing monster.
Of course, so far as Arthur knew, only he and his grandfather were aware of what was really happening, and they weren't about to be further ostracised by the people already unfond of them. Years prior, Atherol had been chased to the edge of the territory by young men convinced he was an agent of the devil, sent to control them with magic. He did not want the same for his only surviving kin.
Presently, Arthur was sitting outside of his grandfather's hut, absently carving a stick into a small lance. He was lost in heavy thought about the dragon. How large was it, really, and how nimble, how clever, must it be to steal six girls in the dead of night and never be noticed?
A rustling some meters away and the resulting slip of his knife across his thumb brought Arthur back to reality. He swore quietly, pressed his mouth around the fresh cut, and leaped to his feet, ready for a fight. Many tense moments later, a group of men on horseback tore past. Each one was armoured and bore a royal crest. He was both surprised and relieved to see them heading toward his village.
Since when did knights come to this wood?
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Having said goodbye to Atherol and snuck back into his own house by way of a secret passage he had built in his tenth year, Arthur peered at the knights as the villagers gathered to welcome them. There were seven or eight total, all tall and well-muscled; all handsome and proud; all covered head to toe in silvery armour that nearly blinded him in the unusually bright sunlight. His critical green eyes passed over them with disinterest, although his fellows were, no doubt, gawking.
The woods rarely received visitors, after all, and these from so far away!
Three men stood before the rest. Arthur noted a certain uniqueness about them that he couldn't quite name. They wore the same armour as the rest, bore the same bronze crest on their broad chests and right shoulders, and rode the same brand of massive, dappled horse.
The man on the right had brown hair, an honest, likeable face, and skin darkened by life in a land with much more sun than this. The one on the rest was the opposite. His hair was nearly the colour of snow; his skin ghostly pale; and his eyes eerily red. He wore a slight smirk as his unnatural eyes scanned the crowd. The man at the center of the trio had yellow hair that fell to his shoulders and curled like the boughs of a wind-battered tree. His eyes were blue to match the sky, and there was a light dusting of hair on his chin. His smile was easy and confident as he addressed the villagers, who stood around in awe.
Arthur, who was not listening, caught snatches of what he was saying.
"...fee...honourable...dreadful beast...dragon."
Arthur almost biffed his head he startled so. These men, who so far as he could tell had never been to this land, knew of the plague of the village? Had someone sent for them? No, he decided, upon closer examination of the peoples' surprised faces. The knighthood had come of its own accord, and to appease its own interests, he added with a scowl.
He leaned further out of the window, ears pricked for useful information.
The blond man was still talking, and Arthur took note of his accent. It was slight, but easily noticeable to one who was accustomed only to the dialect of his own people. He supposed he shouldn't be surprised. These knights might easily be from the other side of the world. He listened closely.
"...If it would please you all, then we would be glad to rid you of this scourge." His gaze locked with Arthur's, and his unnassuming smile changed into something slightly...devious. Arthur, much to his chagrin, felt his ears heat. How dare that stranger make such a face at him!
The crowd was becoming excited. "Are you sure it's a dragon?"
"We've ne're had dragons here before!"
"Will you be able to handle it?"
"Of course we will," the blond knight said flippantly. "We have dealt with countless dragons before."
Arthur trembled with doubt and dislike. The knight was still staring at him. He found his voice. "What do you intend to do with the beast?" he called lightly.
The blond knight smiled a mockingly patient smile. "Dispose of it, obviously."
"And how will you do it?" he shot back, wanting to blast the smile off the man's teasing face.
"With cold steel," the knight said coolly.
"Your swords will do little against its scales."
Arthur felt a swell of smug satisfaction as he watched the man's smile waver. "I would not be so sure, mon petit chou," the knight murmured.
"I would not be so confident," Arthur snarled. "Dragons are not stupid. They know the ways of man, and the magic of the earth. You--"
"The boy speaks as though he knows one personally!" the knight cried, turning to his chuckling companions.
The red-eyed man gave a bark of a laugh. "You the authority on dragons 'round here, kid? Your mother one?"
Arthur bristled at the mention of his mother. Truth be told, he knew very little of her. She had died when he was very young, of some strange disease that had wiped out half the village. She could well have been a drunk and a harlot, but she was still his mother, and he would not have these laughing strangers bemsirch her name.
"Shut it," he growled, standing from the crate he had been kneeling on.
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~And In Which Arthur Receives a Nickname~
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"And if I don't, dragon boy?" the red-eyed man asked, shifting his weight in what could only be a challenge. Arthur wasn't sure what he would say. Fortunately, he didn't have to say anything, because the brown-haired knight took that moment to step in.
"Leave him be, Gil," he said, moving between the red-eyed man and Arthur's house. He turned clear, gentle eyes on Arthur. "He doesn't mean it."
Arthur shrugged, scowling more than usual, and sat back down. He did not like these knights, regardless of what their intentions might be. Shutting his window to the bellowing crowd and shining knights, he made up his mind. He would go and see Atherol once night fell.
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*"Mon petit chou," French for "My little cabbage," is a term of endearment. I needed something for Francis to call Arthur there, because the sentence felt off otherwise, and 'cher' seemed a tad too forward. Although...might this not be just as forward, if not more? -fails-
*Wasn't originally planning on having Francis in this story. He just sort of wormed his way in, dragging his pals with him. -shrug- I don't know why they're knights or where they're from. Mostly, they're just around to torment Arthur some more.
*Hope you're all enjoying it so far, and that I'm not boring you with the lack of interraction between Arthur and Alfred. -headdesk-
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Authornon HTML failed. -angst-
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The moon was high, and acted as the only source of light as Arthur, knife-in-hand, crept back to Atherol's hut. He was frowning so much it might have occurred to him that his face hurt, were he not so infuriated at his fellow man. There was no inn in the village, as it was self-sustaining and rarely blessed with visitors. The knights had, at the villagers' request, taken up temporary residence in various houses in the small place, and Arthur's sturdy, two-room home, built by his father before Arthur was born, had been saddled with noneother than the leader of the group, Sir Francis the Irritating and Flirtatious.
The man was an idiot. He made a number of snide remarks while settling into Arthur's bedroom, asked every female he laid eyes on to join him for a romantic evening in his quarters (Arthur's quarters,) and at one point, had the audacity to lay his lecherous fingers astride Arthur's rump.
Arthur growled to himself. He would not be made to service a good-for-nothing, particularly not a good-for-nothing who claimed to be a brave knight and slayer of innumerable foul beasts. Hacking a branch off of a fallen tree, he swore. It registered only faintly in his mind that he had been doing more of that lately. He had never had a very sparkling vocabulary, but for the past moon or so, it had become absolutely filthy. The only people who really seemed to mind were mothers, however.
He would try to tone it down, if only to avoid being beaten senseless with a broom.
He was nearing the candle-lit window of Atherol's hut when he suddenly found himself incapable of taking another step. The air felt warm and wet, like it might in the afterglow of a short summer rain. His heart rate increased unreasonably. These were the woods he had traversed since he could crawl. They had not frightened him once in his nearly eighteen years, yet tonight...
Something very large moved amongst the trees. It couldn't be...
He gave a sharp, wordless shout, which he immediately regretted. Outlined in the pearly moonlight was a strange, crouching shape, larger than anything he had ever seen. It shifted at the sound of his voice, and the glint of what could only be a huge, unblinking eye made his breath hitch in terror. All thought stopped. Arthur was faintly aware of bolting from the sight before he tripped over something that might have been a tail (but was probably a root,) and scrabbling madly at the door of his grandfather's hut. His voice, when he recognised it as his own, was screaming, and in a flash, Atherol had opened the door and tugged him inside.
There was already a cup of tea for him on the little stone table, but he couldn't speak for the rest of the night.
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The wind quaked with heavy wingbeats as two dragons descended upon their cave. A mountain goat hung from the elder's jaws; an uprooted tree from the talon of the younger. They landed lightly at the ledge and folded their wings to their powerful backs daintily. The elder let out a deep purr of appreciation as he looked at his catch. He blinked his bright blue eyes at the younger dragon, who was slowly stripping the tree of bark.
"How can you eat that?" he sniffed, tucking into his own meal.
"Like this," the younger said softly, purposely missing the point and demonstating by removing a lush branch.
"I mean the plants," the elder insisted, crunching on a bone.
"I just prefer them," the younger confessed, pausing to wonder at his brother. "How can you eat that?"
"I just prefer it," the elder mimicked, letting his tongue loll roguishly. "Anyway, you'll never guess what I saw earlier."
"A human."
"You're the best guesser I've ever met," the elder sighed, not losing much of his enthusiasm.
"You're not hard to figure out," the younger put in, but he was ignored.
"It was male, and young, and-and I want him."
An uncomfortable silence settled between the duo, interrupted only by the elder's suddenly frantic chewing.
The younger gave the elder a look that expressed his mixed feelings better than any words ever could. "...You need to be careful..."
"I-I've never wanted a male before, but he was so pretty...!"
"You've already taken six from the same village! If you keep this up, we won't be able to stay."
"I know, I know, but..."
"I saw the armoured ones yesterday, Brother," the younger said quietly, and his tone more than what he said made the elder fall silent. "We may not be able to stay, regardless."
The elder finished off his meal in one gulp and moodily lay his head on his forepaws. After a moment, he mumbled, "He wouldn't have liked me, anyway."
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I love the world you've created and the way you describe stuff and the slow build to the story. You've really created some excellent tension for when Arthur and the Dragon finally meet. Love the inclusion of the Trio...great idea!
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Some days after the brush with the dragon, Arthur found himself bent over a huge, dusty tome he had extracted from Atherol's cluttered shelf. It was a book on dragonslaying; more of a text for knights than mages, but it would do.
His eyes were currently locked on an illustration of an serpentine creature with evil eyes and fangs that dripped venom. The faded scrawl beneath the image said Lindworm. It didn't resemble the beasts he had been told stories of in his boyhood, and it was too small to be the plague of the village he had nearly had to face the previous night, but he was fascinated all the same.
Most of the words were so faded, or written in so ancient a dialect, that he could not read them. However, he wasn't as concerned by that as he thought he should be. The depictions, though hideous and disturbing, only piqued his curiosity. He wanted to know if the dragon residing nearby was anything like them. Of course, it had to be. The author had to have seen them, no doubt, many a time to have created such a detailed book. Certainly, accuracy was of the utmost importance.
Arthur was sure to hide the tome under stacks of parchment and other books whenever one of the knights was nearby. Who knew how they might react to it? He didn't trust them. They were supposed to be protecting the villagers, but mostly, they sat around talking and scuffling amongst themselves. Francis and his shadows, Antonion and Gilbert, were a particular nuisance to him. They were almost always together, chattering just as loudly and almost as annoyingly as the missing maidens once had.
Despite the fact that Arthur made no attempt to hide his dislike of the man, Francis seemed to enjoy his company. Whenever he was not with his friends or off pestering women, he would hover over Arthur like a hungry crow. Sometimes he asked questions; sometimes he answered questions no one had asked; sometimes he simply looked at Arthur so intently the young man wanted to flee from the room. He was not accustomed to such attention.
It was becoming increasingly difficult to practise magic with the knights skulking about. Francis was the worst of them, but Gilbert seemed to take great joy in following Arthur whenever he wasn't wandering aimlessly and hurling insults of a varying kind at him. He had long tuned them out, but the man's prescence was grating on him. Antonio was friendly and pleasant to a fault. He didn't speak to Arthur often, but when he did, it was always over trivial things, such as the dreary weather or Arthur's equally dreary personality. He seemed earnest and well-meaning, but his ever-present smile was most troubling.
Daily, he was tempted to curse them all into oblivion.
He began practising spells closer and closer to the lake, in an effort to avoid interference or discovery. Atherol would sometimes accompany him, although he usually gave instructions before Arthur left his hut, and remained to concoct potions or whatever it was he did when Arthur wasn't around to keep him occupied.
The old wizard stood only slightly taller than Arthur. His spine was crooked, and there was a deep scar on the right side of his face. He had never shared the story of how he obtained it. Curly silver hair that was once auburn hung in a lank sheet down his back, and connected round his chin in a scraggly beard. He was old, Arthur knew, but exactly how old he had never dared ask. The man had more energy than many of the villagers, and his eyes were the same unusual green as Arthur's.
His son, Barbaros, was Arthur's father, and in his time, had been a talented woodcutter. He had had no talent for, or interest in, magic, however, which had nearly broken Atherol's heart. He had loved the boy regardless, and heartily approved of his marriage to Catherine, Arthur's mother. Apparently, they were both very young at the time, and shortly after Arthur's birth, the sickness had taken them both.
Arthur paused, surprised that such thoughts had come to him so suddenly and without prompting. He began murmuring spellwords. A bit of magic would tire him out, and perhaps he would be able to sleep properly for the first time since he saw the dragon.
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Thanks for being so kind, patient, and supportive, everyone! I enjoy working on this fill, and I'm glad to see that others can enjoy reading it. Also, I've not been able to zone out without my mind wandering to "What happens next?!"
If anyone needs music for magical inspiration/to write to, try The Irish Rovers. They're really quite lovely.
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The elder dragon flapped his huge wings anxiously and pawed up great clumps of earth, his bright eyes trained on a clearing below the mountain where he slept when he wasn't hunting or staring at the boy. The younger sat near him, still as a stone, and followed his brother's fervent gaze. The boy in question was nearly of age, but much slighter than the dragons usually saw. His unruly hair was the colour of straw, and his face seemed always to be screwed up in anger or concentration. He was pretty, yes, but the younger dragon could not see what had made his brother so desperate for him.
"Isn't he something?" the elder breathed, swinging his tail and letting his tongue loll as he was prone to do in times of great joy or comfort. The younger observed, half with distaste and half with amusement, that the elder resembled one of the hounds kept as pet by humans.
"Something," he agreed passively.
"Isn't he gorgeous?" the elder all but groaned.
The younger tilted his head, slightly disturbed by his brother's behaviour. "Easy."
"I--do you remember that spell we were working on?"
He remembered. "Don't," he warned.
"I have to. I-I have to."
"You do not have to."
"Haven't you ever--"
"No, I haven't. Humans don't interest me like they interest you."
The elder let out a snort of frustration. "I'm going to do it."
"Have you no idea what you'll be risking?" the younger growled, getting to his feet. "Already, there are knights! We'll be found. We'll be killed."
"I'll be careful," the elder insisted, giving his brother the calm look of determination he always wore before something awful happened. "We'll be alright."
The younger gave a sigh of resignation. "You don't know that."
"I won't let anything happen to you," the elder said cheerily.
"I'm worried about you."
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Can't wait to see where this is headed next!
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