KHBB Fic: Burn (pt.1)

[kirwanraemus]

Title: Burn

Author: daltoneering (kirwanraemus LJ)

Beta: undefinedkosmos

Artist: soundsaboutrighttumblr

Word count: 25,790

Rating: NC-17

Summary: Kurt Hummel is widely regarded as one of the best dragon riders of his order. He's efficient, clever and responsible--so it's natural for him to be named tutor to the newest rider to join the order, Blaine Anderson. However, with trouble starting to brew in the North and a worrying amount of very distracting feelings about his young student, Kurt finds he has a lot more on his plate than he anticipated.

Warnings: Mild action/violence, kidnapping, mentions of past Kurt/Sebastian

A/N: I want to say a HUGE thank you to my wonderful beta, undefinedkosmos, without whom this fic would be and awful mess and probably wouldn’t have been submitted on time. Also, check out that amazing art! Go shower Nina in love for it. And a shout-out to Beth for cheerleading and keeping up my morale!

Part 1 of 3 because of dumb LJ limits.

Read on AO3 | FF.Net | S&C | Tumblr



The first thing Kurt was told when he arrived at the capital was that he should never let his feet get the better of him.

Upon hearing that particular piece of advice, he felt didn’t really need to pay much heed to it. A shy, thirteen-year-old boy who plans to spend more time training in the academy than doing anything else doesn’t really need to worry about straying too far. And stray he didn’t.

But now, he thinks as he pushes through a gaggle of people surrounding a busy cockfight ring, he really should have listened more carefully. He’s been in this city for fourteen years and he has absolutely no idea where he is. He left the academy under an hour ago, so he couldn’t be too far away, right? The city may be big, but it’s not that big, not big enough for one of the most highly -regarded riders in the order to go and lose himself in it.

A drop of water lands on his cheek, and he pulls the hood of his mantle up with a frustrated huff. At least the rain will help clear the streets of the hordes of people slowing him down. The alleyway he’s in suddenly flashes brightly with lightning, illuminating the splashes of mud on hems and dark faces hooded against the rain.

Turning out of the alley, he promptly steps in a deep puddle.” He lets out a groan; these are his favourite boots. He shakes his foot off, grimacing at the wet slosh and squelch when he puts it down again. Another streak of lightning flashes high above, revealing familiar surroundings. With a sigh of relief, he tightens his mantle around his shoulders and heads back towards the academy.

The imposing building stands tall above its surroundings, turrets rising high and topped with white and blue flags that whip in the wind. It rises up on top of the taller of the two hills around which the city is clusters; the other houses the castle, a river running between the two and out the south wall towards the sea.

Darkness has almost properly fallen when he finally gets to the gate set into the grey stone walls that surround the academy, but the warm golden light spilling from the large ground floor windows are enough to illuminate the lawn up to the front doors. Kurt nods at the guards as they let him in and hurries up the hill, clutching his hood tightly to stop it slipping from his head.

Thunder crackles just as he gets under the porch and bangs on the weathered oak of the door. There’s a creak and the sound of wood sliding against wood. Then a pair of eyes squints at him through a hatch in the door.

“Sir Hummel!” Kurt calls, loud enough to be heard over the slashing rain. The eyes squint at him again and then disappear when the hatch closes. A few seconds later the smaller ease-of-access inlaid door opens and warm golden light washes out over the porch.

Kurt steps through hurriedly, pushing back his hood and nodding at the doorman. It’s blessedly warm and dry inside, the entrance hall brightly lit by the huge wooden chandelier hanging from the high ceiling. Opposite him, a grand stone stairway lined with well-worn red felt leads up to the balcony. Rows of arches along each wall of the hall lead to the training rooms, stables, and well-loved kitchens. It’s nowhere near as grand as the castle on the opposite hill, but it’s a welcome haven after a frustrating, cold and wet trip into the city.

There’s a young woman standing at the bottom of the stairs, dressed in the brown and red that identifies her as a philosophy student. She had been scuffing her toes into the worn paving flags in boredom, but looks up when she hears him enter.

“Sir Hummel!” she calls. Kurt pauses on his way to the stairs, raises an eyebrow. “Lord-Lord Drin would like to see you in his office, sir.” She wrings her fingers while she waits for him to follow her.

Kurt stifles a sigh. He could nearly feel the soft tendrils of steam from a hot bath lapping around his shoulders. But Lord Drin is chief of the order; duty comes before any form of relaxation. He nods.

The girl hurries off through one of the nearby archways-Lord Drin’s study is situated near the training rooms, for ease of access. He glances up the stairs in the direction of his room, thinking sadly of his postponed bath, and follows her.

The door to the office is open a crack, and yellow light spills out into the dark corridor. He can hear muffled voices inside. The young girl sent to fetch him hesitantly reaches up to knock, a brief tap tap of her knuckles against the wood. The voices stop.

“Come in,” calls Lord Drin, and the girl opens the doorway properly, nodding her head and gesturing him forward. “Sir Hummel, m’Lord.”

“Thank you, Nessa. You may go now.” Nessa nods again and ducks out of the room, leaving Kurt standing alone by the doorway.

Lord Drin is seated at his desk, chin propped on his weathered fingers and his dark eyes piercing Kurt’s across the room. There’s someone sitting in front of the desk, but the back of the chair is too high for Kurt to make out who it is.

“Approach.” Drin’s voice has a warm quality in its age, at odds with his sharp eyebrows and pointed chin.

Kurt advances towards the desk hesitantly. Does he want him to sit-is he meant to acknowledge Drin’s other guest?

“Kurt.” Lord Drin is one of the only people who calls him by his first name. “I’d like you to meet Blaine Anderson, your new student.”

Student? Student? Kurt’s mind reels. Only the riders considered the very best in the order are given students to take on and train. The fact that Lord Drin has chosen him to do so is the highest compliment-

“Hello, Sir Hummel.”

Kurt’s mind had blanked so quickly at Drin’s words that he hadn’t even turned to the person sitting next to him. He does so now, and-

Oh God.

Bright, hazel eyes glinting up at him in the flickering light from the candles, casting shadows over golden skin and soft dark curls, the hint of toned muscles in his bare forearms, a neat, compact body twisted towards him and Kurt has to remember to stop his mouth from dropping open.

“It’s a-a pleasure to meet you,” he manages to get out, tipping his head in respect. He lowers himself into the other chair by the desk. Drin’s watching him closely, and he avoids his eyes, glancing quickly back at the boy leaning forward in his chair. “I’m sorry,” he says, “this is all just-“

“A shock?” Drin’s eyes are kind.

“A bit. Yes.”

Lord Drin smiles. “It’s a privilege for you, Kurt. I considered many of the other senior riders in appointing Anderson’s tutor, but came to the conclusion that you would be the best fit.”

Kurt swallows. Anderson is still watching him, and he doesn’t want to stare too long because there’s no guarantee that this lighting will cover up his blush. Fuck, how is he going to cope with having to give him lessons?

He nods. “Thank you. I’ll do my best.”

Lord Drin sits up straight and shuffles some sheets of parchment on his desk. “I’m sure you must be wondering why this is happening so suddenly, but I’ll let young Anderson do the talking. He knows his story better than I do. In fact,” he glances at the heavy rain outside through the window, “I’ll leave you two to discuss in peace. If I hurry I may be able to eat some left over dinner.”

He pats Kurt’s shoulder on his way around the desk. The door shuts behind him with a heavy thud, leaving the two of them in silence.

Kurt crosses his legs then uncrosses them, watching the boy cautiously. Anderson doesn’t seem very eager to start the conversation, so he ventures, “When did you get here?”

The boy’s eyes snap up from where they had been surveying the stone slabs of the floor. “Wha-oh, this afternoon. It hadn’t started raining yet.” His gaze lifts to Kurt’s wet hair, and he raises a hand self-consciously, still annoyed that he hasn’t had his bath. Not that Anderson is any better off; the hem of his brown cloak is splattered with greying mud and his clothes look distinctly travel-rumpled.

“How far did you come?”

“West Moorland.” Kurt nods; a couple of day’s ride away. They’ve had riders coming from further off, even some from other kingdoms. “It was a-a bit of a hurry. Tarron was halfway dead when we got here, but they got us branded in time.”

Kurt nods. “Is that what you named her? Tarron?”

“Him. Yes.”

“What colour is he?”

Anderson smiles. “I think he’s going to be bronze.”

There’s a pause in their conversation in which Kurt looks at the brand still healing on Anderson’s bare forearm.  Each rider’s is different; this one has a compass-style eight pointed star set over a ring  of concentric circles, surrounded by a circle made up of tiny writing. The brands aren’t under the control of the brander or bearer, only taking form under the correct iron and spell. Each individual brand means something different. They can change shape over the course of the rider’s lifetime to take on different meanings based on the rider’s situation.

[Blaine's brand]

Kurt runs his fingertips over his left wrist, where his own brand shimmers black and silver. He knows every detail of it like the shape of his face; the small lone circle crossed by six spokes that are surrounded by a ring of fire. He’s still unsure of the meaning, though, and knows that the same goes for most riders until they have reached a certain level of maturity and age.

[Kurt's brand]

Kurt clears his throat. “So, um, Anderson-“

“Can you call me Blaine?”

Kurt pauses. “Oh. Yes. That’s fine. Blaine. Um, you were going to tell me about-“

“About what happened, yes.” Blaine settles back into his chair and picks at a loose thread on the rolled up cuff of his sleeve. “I’m older than most other novice riders, aren’t I?”

Kurt is painfully aware of that fact-most new riders are found around puberty, but Blaine looks sixteen, maybe seventeen. “You’re a bit older than most, yes. But that’s not unheard of.”

Blaine nods, and shifts his position again before beginning to speak. “My family, um. My family isn’t very well off; we have a small farmstead and cattle but nothing-nothing more than we need to be self-sufficient. So when I found Tarron, we were all a bit… shocked, I think.”

“How did it happen?”

“My brother and I were in the village selling cheese and we-well, I, I was getting some more packages from the cart, and I heard a weird, um, screech? And I had no idea where it was coming from, it just sounded like maybe kids playing or something, but then I heard it again, and again, and. And I looked into the cart and he was just sitting there.”

Kurt smiles, remembering his first meeting with Aera. “How long had he been there, do you think?”

“I don’t know, I mean, he might have been hiding in the back all the way to the village, or he might have hopped in whilst we were selling-anyway, he must have hatched a least a couple of days before because he was already starting to fade, and everyone knows that a dragon has to be branded within a week of birth. I was, well, pretty stunned, but he just waddled forward and butted my arm with his head and-well.” He holds up the unbranded arm, showing Kurt the glowing bruise near his elbow. “I kind of shrieked, and Cooper, my brother, looked over, and then he shrieked too and-it was all a bit chaotic, especially because there were quite a few people at the stall.”

Kurt watches Blaine talk, the light dancing in his eyes as he continues his tale of how he left almost immediately to get Tarron to the academy in time. The soft lines of his smile, the shy dip of his head, the golden glow of candles against his skin-God, even the rich tones of his voice are beautiful. He becomes increasingly animated as he speaks, hands gesturing and eyes widening and Kurt can’t help a broad grin stretch across his lips.

“Anyway, I got here just in time and the mages were a bit thrown but they sent us to the branding room and we got them done, then I took Tarron up to the Rafters and came back down and then-met you.”

Kurt smiles at him, nods. There’s a slightly awkward silence in which neither man meets the other’s eyes, then Kurt stands up.

“Well,” he says. “You made it on time, and you’re here now. And probably exhausted.” Blaine ducks his head, shrugs slightly. “Did Lord Drin tell you where your rooms were?”

“No, he only said they were adjacent to my mentor’s.”

Kurt inhales quickly, but it’s quiet enough that Blaine doesn’t hear. “Do you want to… go up now?”

“Sure.”

Blaine gathers up the knapsack on the floor next to his chair and his muddy cloak. Kurt silently gestures him to follow and leads him out of the room.

They make light conversation on the way up, and Kurt stops a passing squire to ask him to have some food brought up for them both. They stop outside the door to Blaine’s rooms, only a little down the corridor from Kurt’s own.

“So,” he says, unsure what to do with his hands. “These are your rooms. There’s a little sitting room and a bedroom and a bathroom. There is also bell pull next to the fireplace if you need anything. And I’m right next door, just down here.”

Blaine nods in understanding, his hand resting on the door handle. “When do, um, when do my lessons begin?”

“Come and find me in the Rafters after breakfast tomorrow, and we’ll start from there. Don’t worry, I’ll go gentle on you.” He thinks the little teasing smirk might be a bit much, but Blaine simply ducks his head and opens the door.

“Goodnight then, Sir Hummel.”

“Goodnight, Blaine.”

As soon as the door is closed behind him, Kurt’s head thunks against the wall, eyes closed. How he is going to cope with this, he has absolutely no idea.

He makes his way blindly throughout the castle, letting his feet carry him, until he finds himself standing at the archway that leads to the Rafters.

The smell is - well, exactly how you would expect an oversized owlery to smell, the floor of the huge room littered with old hay and dirt. The high, circular walls are littered with cave-like entrances to smaller rooms, nearly forty in total, all the way up from ground level to the rim of ceiling surrounding an open sky. It’s not very full at the moment, so mostly quiet, but soft grunts and gentle shrieks linger on the air.

Kurt wanders towards the middle of the room, hands tucked around his sides. He stops by the mounting block set up there, and looks up towards the Eastern wall.

“Aera!” he calls, voice carrying off the high walls and reverberating around the chamber.

There’s a snuffle, a scratching noise, then a loud wing beat as Aera’s face appears in the entrance to one of the higher sub-rooms.

“Come,” he commands.

Watching a fully-grown dragon fly is an overwhelming experience, even for a seasoned Rider. He’s brought Aera up from when she was the tiniest hatchling until she became the great, majestic beast she is now, and he’s still not quite used to it. Her wide wings don’t quite extend fully on the way down-they’re barely needed, really, she mostly just leaps to the floor-but they sparkle slightly in the light from the beacons hanging on the wall. It glances off her silvery scales, making her seem to glow, and Kurt grins.

“Hey, girl,” he says when she lands neatly in front of him. He holds out his hand and she nudges the tip of her snout into his palm, warm and solid. Kurt strokes over it, then moves closer so he can wrap his arms around her neck.

She may be fully-grown, but she’s not the biggest dragon he’s seen. Her main body, neck and head are about three people tall, but well-filled out. She carries herself the way he would imagine dragon royalty to move, with poise and dignity and pride. She’s absolutely beautiful.

He can’t get his arms all the way around her neck, but he rests his forehead and enjoys the warmth he feels there, herald of the fire in her belly. She nuzzles at his back, hot breath sending puffs of warmth down his spine.

He pulls back and sits on the top step of the mounting block. Aera settles down in front of him, talons scratching the floor, staring at him.

“How’ve you been?” he asks, and she dips her head, a silent good. Kurt smiles. Dragons can’t talk but their expressions are as clear as any eloquently worded sentence.

“There’s a new rider,” he says softly, and Aera straightens up, looking at him interest. “Well, he’s not a rider yet, but he will be.” He pauses. “Lord Drin, um, he asked me to train him.”

Aera’s head lifts up, and she bares her teeth, an approximation of a grin. (When they had first met, it had taken Kurt several weeks to realise she wasn’t growling at him.) She nudges his shoulder with her snout. Well done.

Kurt huffs a breath of laughter. “Well, yeah, but… I’ve never trained anyone before, Aera. And he’s-he’s older. Not like any of the other students.”

Aera’s head tips sideways in confusion.

“He’s-I don’t know. I’m excited but at the same time I’m so, so nervous.”

She moves closer to him, blowing a soft breath over his face that ruffles his hair. Kurt pushes her away, laughing, and remembers his errand in the town earlier in the day. “Oh!” he says. “By the way. I got you something.”

Her tail flicks, almost like a dog’s wag, and she waits eagerly as he fumbles in his bag. He finally finds the carefully wrapped package, and pulls it out onto his lap. Aera sniffs at it when he begins to pick at the strings, but he pushes her away.

He slides the paper off to reveal a beautifully woven length of decorative rope, intertwined with gold and silver and different colours of ribbon. He slides it between his hands, admiring the way it picks up the light and complements her skin.

“It’s your coming of age ceremony in a month, and I know that you’re getting a new saddle harness from the academy already, but I-wanted to get you something myself. I was thinking I could embroider it to the harness for you, just along the edges. To make you look even more beautiful.”

Aera lifts her head up and crows, sending out a streak of bright blue and orange flame towards the night sky above. Her eyes are dancing when she looks back down at him.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” chuckles Kurt, folding the rope up again and putting it back in his bag. He glances towards the door and sighs. “I should go,” he says. “First day of training tomorrow.”

Aera nuzzles close to him, and he hugs her tightly. “Love you,” he mumbles into the warm hardness of her scales. She hums back, and he closes his eyes happily.

*

The next morning, Kurt awakens with a twisting feeling in his stomach, nerves and anticipation and maybe some excitement. He only eats a light breakfast, too worried about upsetting his digestion, and makes sure he is well-presentable in his dark blue rider’s tunic and soft leather leggings. He forgoes his cloak. They’ll mostly be inside today and he wouldn’t want to embarrass himself in front of his new pupil by getting caught up in it.

The Rafters are cool and mostly empty by the time he gets up there; the majority of the dragons out on their morning flight. Aera must smell him come in, because she leaps down from her bedroom and sends the hay littering the floor up in a cloud of dust.

How are you feeling? the tilt of her head asks, and Kurt shrugs.

“Nervous. But not in a bad way.”

Aera’s unblinking eye peers down at him with a hint of mischief and he swats her away. She croons quietly and puffs a cloud of smoke at him. Kurt coughs and laughs and blows her a kiss.

They don’t have to wait for long before there’s a nervous tapping from the archway and Kurt looks up to see Blaine poised on the threshold, hand raised against the wood. He’s dressed in the traditional rider-in-training robes, soft green and blue. Kurt schools his face into a neutral expression and stands, gesturing him over.

“Blaine, good morning,” he says, maybe a little too brightly, but it appears Blaine is too busy staring at Aera in awe to notice.

“A full-sized dragon,” he breathes. He’s stopped a few feet away from them, probably nervous to approach any nearer. Kurt holds out his hand and he moves forward.

“This is Aera,” says Kurt. “She’s very friendly; don’t worry.”

Aera watches his student with an amused gaze that Kurt knows Blaine won’t be able to pick up on. The boy holds out his hand tentatively, and she brushes it with the tip of her snout. Blaine gasps.

“I, um, hello, Aera. I’m Blaine.”

The dragon snorts and nudges his shoulder, a gesture Kurt recognises as a friendly greeting. Blaine jumps back but Kurt is quick to reassure him that everything is well.

“I think it’s time we met Tarron,” he tells Blaine, gesturing at him to follow him up the steps of the mounting block. “Go ahead and call him down.”

“What, just call his name, and he’ll come?”

Kurt nods, smiles at Blaine to reassure him. Blaine clears his throat and straightens his tunic.

“Tarron!” he calls out, voice loud and echoing around the near-empty chamber.

There’s a snuffling sound and then a small, shiny head peeks out from one of the lower sub-rooms, eyes blinking wide and blearily in the light. Blaine grins.

The little dragon hops down from his nest. He’s only about four feet high at the withers, little nubs along his back that are the beginnings of sharp spines. He clacks his teeth at Blaine and flaps his wings a bit then scuttles over the floor towards them.

“He can’t fly yet.” Kurt can hear the fondness in Blaine’s voice as he jumps down from the mounting block and strokes Tarron’s head, scratching across his scales and around his eyes.

Aera watches the proceedings from the far side of the mounting block, head held high. Kurt can tell that if she had human features one of her eyebrows would be gracefully raised.

She snuffs, and Tarron freezes, glancing with wide doe-eyes at Kurt’s dragon. Blaine stands and moves out of his way as Tarron stumbles across the ground-he’s so small he can barely walk in a straight line yet, tipped from side to side by the weight of his wings-and stops before the mounting block. He peers over the top of a step, gazing up at Aera.

She rumbles in her chest and he cowers behind the block. But then Aera’s leaning over, neck long and extended, and blowing a small puff of air over his head.

Tarron squeaks, actually squeaks, and makes an attempt at covering himself with his wings. Kurt can see Aera’s smile though, even if the little dragon can’t, and he hops down too, momentarily making Tarron jump.

“I think they’re going to get along excellently,” he says to Blaine, eyes on the two dragons as Tarron becomes more inquisitive. “Aera’s friendly. I think she likes him.” He glances over at Blaine as he speaks, catches the blush on his cheeks and immediately looks away again. “We should probably start your training now, though.”

Blaine nods, and they set to work.

They spend the first part of the day becoming accustomed to being around the other’s dragon-not really a problem for Kurt, Tarron is tiny by his standards, but Blaine’s never really been this close to a fully-grown dragon before. They leave the dragons for their own lunch of raw beef and head to the mess hall for their own, sitting apart from the other knights and students so that they can talk about the plans for Blaine’s training.

After lunch, Kurt introduces Blaine to Santana: the academy’s weapon master and protégée of the King. She’s vicious, like the blades she’s so protective of, but Kurt’s lucky to call her a friend and knows that there’s a softer layer underneath. He takes Blaine on a brief tour of the stables and training rooms, then hands him a blunted sword off a rack and faces him in the middle of the floor.

“Um,” says Blaine, “what-“

“Go on,” prompts Kurt. “I need to assess your close combat skills before I can start teaching you anything about it. Lunge at me.”

Blaine still looks slightly confused, but weakly swings his sword forward in Kurt’s direction, missing him by about a foot. Kurt sighs and lowers his own weapon.

“A little more than that, Blaine, come on. I know you’ve got it in you.”

“But I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t.”

Blaine moves properly this time, shifting his weight, arm extended, and Kurt blocks his blade neatly. “Good,” he says. “Again.”

Blaine’s not awful, from what he can tell, but he’s certainly not a born fighter. He hasn’t got the strength behind his movement or the technical skill of the knights Kurt is used to sparring with. But he knows it can be learnt, so when they finish, he smiles at him and pats him momentarily on the shoulder.

“You did well,” he says encouragingly. “I mean, there’s still a lot to learn, but I’m sure we’ll get there. And besides, combat is only a very small part of what it is to be a knight.”

He takes a breath and pauses, then holds his hand out for Blaine’s sword. “I think you’re going to be really good at this, Blaine, I honestly do.” He moves slightly closer, highly aware of the few inches that separate them, and speaks in a low voice. “Don’t repeat this to anyone, but there are a few in this order who… probably don’t really deserve to be here. The dragons don’t pick who they’ll hatch for on attitude towards others, after all.”

He makes himself move back and straightens his tunic, offering Blaine a twisted smile and sheathing his sword. “I, er, need to speak to Lord Drin. Update him on your progress. I’ll maybe see you at dinner?”

Blaine nods, and it’s slightly awkward for a few moments, then Kurt turns to leave the room.

“Sir Hummel, wait!”

He turns. Blaine is wringing his fingers in the hems of his sleeves, not meeting his eye. “I just, um. I don’t know how to get back to my rooms.”

Kurt manages to retain his smile and nods towards the door. “Come on, I’ll show you the way.”

*

He’s on his way to dinner, changed into a deep green tunic and short cloak, when he hears footsteps behind him. It surprises him; he’s late, and most people would be in the dinner hall by now.

He turns and the footsteps stop. The corridor is empty, but he’d just gone around a corner, so maybe…

He hurries over to the corner, and sure enough, someone is leaning against the wall there, hands in his pockets and ankles crossed, as if he were waiting for somebody.

“Sebastian,” Kurt exhales through clenched teeth. Sebastian simply raises an eyebrow at him, a small but nonetheless smarmy expression dancing across his face. “Care to explain why you were following me?”

“I’m surprised you ask, Kurt,” he says, pushing himself off the wall and right into Kurt’s personal space. “I was just on my way to dinner, after all.”

His voice is soft and low and dangerous, and Kurt hates that it still affects him, even though he’d banished every memory of that from his mind months ago.

“Leave me alone, Sebastian,” he hisses.

Sebastian’s grin just grows wider and he lightly runs a finger down Kurt’s bicep, bending down so that his lips are level with Kurt’s ear. “Maybe we could skip dinner all together,” he breathes.

Kurt jerks away angrily, shoving Sebastian in the chest so that he stumbles backwards.

“I told you to leave me alone. I am done with you, Sebastian, how long is it going to take you to understand that this is over?!”

Sebastian just laughs under his breath and reaches up to smooth over his hair. “I’ll believe it when you can prove it, Kurt.” The way his voice catches on the t sends shivers of disgust down his spine. “I’ll catch you around, don’t worry.”

He turns casually and stalks off down the corridor, and Kurt is left standing there, fists clenched and head fuming.

He falls back against the wall, draws his hand over his face. Ugh. His thing with Sebastian had never been serious, it was just-a way to get off quickly and without the complication of going to one of the seedy dens in the city where people like him could hide away in the night and enjoy themselves. Unfortunately, Sebastian had never really felt the same way, especially after it had become a more regular occurrence, and now Kurt hates himself for ever starting it.

He smoothes his tunic down and continues towards the dinner hall.

It’s loud and cheery inside, the prime moment of the day when all the knights and pupils and teachers are in the same room together. Kurt returns a few waves on his way over to his table.

He plonks himself down next to Santana, who’s busy tearing her way through a turkey leg, and grabs a hunk of bread and a dollop of stew. The food here is good, and he’s hungry and really not in the mood to make polite conversation after what just happened in the hall.

He finishes his stew about the same time Santana is done with her bone, and she turns to him with both eyebrows raised.

“So are you going to tell me anything about your new boy, Hummel?”

Kurt blushes and takes a large sip of wine from his beaker. “He’s my student,” he says under his breath. “I’m training him to be a rider.”

Santana laughs and plucks a dumpling from the bowl in front of them. “Sure, I got that when you brought him in and he fiddled with all my prize arrowheads. But are you going to tell me about him?”

Kurt glances around to make sure Blaine is not nearby and that no one’s listening in. “He’s seventeen, but only just bonded,” he says. “Dragon’s name is Tarron, he’s sweet.”

“And is Blaine sweet, too?”

“Santana, God. Will you lay it off for one moment?”

She smirks at him and eats the dumpling whole. “Okay, calm down. How’s Aera?”

“Fine. Excited about the ceremony.” He pauses, lump of bread halfway to his mouth. “Why do you care?”

Santana shrugs. “Just looking out for my boy.”

“You’re two years younger than me.”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t look after you.”

Kurt rolls his eyes at her fondly. “And how are things in the armoury?”

She shrugs again. “Fascinating as ever. Although…” She glances around slightly and leans closer to him. “I did hear a couple of things when Drin and Vouton came in to look at the new shipment of blades we got in recently.”

“Oh?”

“Mm.” She pauses, checking up and down the table again. “Turns out the Northern Kingdom aren’t as happy about the accords as they’re letting on.”

Kurt sits back, frowning. The accords had been made months ago, a finalized version of the peace treaty between their two kingdoms. They were supposed to settle the dispute over the bountiful lands that made up the border. “Why aren’t they happy? And how does Vouton know? He’s only a guard.”

“Chief guard, Hummel, have you not been keeping up with the gossip recently? Parker got kicked out because he was caught canoodling on the job.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, Vouton was a shoe-in for the post. Doesn’t make me like him any more though, snobbish little bitch.”

“Santana! You can’t say that about the chief guard.”

She shrugs. “He isn’t here to hear it, is he? Anyway, they were saying that there are people talking, in the North. It’s all petty stuff-someone got their chickens stolen or something, but apparently it means things are getting serious again. And get this.” She reaches under the front of her leather brigandine, producing a slightly crumpled letter. It bore the king’s seal, broken.

“How did you get that?” whispered Kurt.

Santana smirked at him. “Vouton isn’t the brightest. He forgot his coat when they left so I took the leisure of going through his pockets. It’s only a letter from the King’s secretary, but hey, I thought it could be important.”

Kurt frowns, flipping open the letter. It’s short and hastily written.

Sir Vouton-

The king has received your letter and wishes to meet with you to discuss matters further as soon as possible. Your presence at the next council meeting will be much appreciated. Please ensure that you remain as secretive as possible about these matters.

“Huh,” says Kurt. “A meeting with the council? Something must really being going on.”

Santana nods and grabs the letter back, tucking it neatly down her front. She pushes herself up from the bench, finished with her food. “Look, I know I told you, but don’t go shouting this to the entire order of riders, got it, Hummel? If they found out how you know I do not want to be the one getting my ass kicked.”

“Of course, I’ll keep it to myself.” He pauses, wiping his mouth. “Just so long as you do too.”

Santana raises a well-kept eyebrow at him. “Do I sense distrust, Kurtie? Thinking Auntie San is gonna give the game away?”

“No, I just. You know what I mean.”

She laughs at him fondly. “I do. See you later, dragon boy.”

“Bye.” Kurt looks down at the remains of his stew, and sighs, because things just got a whole lot more complicated.

*

Kurt finds himself surprised by how easy it is to work with Blaine. He’s eager and willing, a good listener, ready to learn-everything Kurt himself had tried to be when he arrived here years ago. It’s nice to have a pupil who he gets on well with, too; he can’t deny that Blaine is just as interesting as he is funny.

The training starts off simple. They do a lot of theory, the first couple of days, which Kurt knows Blaine must find boring as hell but he has to teach anyway if they want to get anywhere. Blaine doesn’t really seem to mind, though, just smiles and nods and makes another note in his book. Kurt even enjoys some of it-he can’t deny that the history of dragons and the riders is a little dull, but when they’re going over how dragons have different personalities depending on their colour, he feels right in his element.

After three days of theory, Kurt decides that they need to move onto more practical things. He arranges for them to meet the evening after they finally finish the history of the riders, and heads up to the Rafters early, excited about what he has planned to do with Blaine.

Aera greets him brightly-after all, he’s been busy, has barely visited her over the past few days-and waits patiently as he gets everything they’ll need ready. He’s just hauling a couple of leather straps across the room when he sees an inquisitive little head peep out of one of the sub-rooms near the floor. He dumps the straps next to Aera and crouches down.

“Tarron!” he calls softly. “Come on, come here!”

Tarron moves forward shyly, talons clacking carefully onto the wooden floor. Kurt beckons at him, attempting to be as encouraging as possible, and he slowly creeps his way over to them.

“Hello,” says Kurt, reaching out so that the little dragon can sniff his hand. “How’s it going?”

Tarron snuffs at his hand and squeaks at him, flapping his wings a bit. Kurt feels rather than sees Aera’s head hover about him, blowing warm air at Tarron, a common greeting among dragons. Tarron tries to reciprocate, but ends up sneezing instead. Kurt presses his lips together trying to suppress a laugh.

There’s the sound of footsteps from the doorway and he stands up, sees Blaine hurrying over to them.

“Sorry I’m a bit late,” he pants. “I’m still working on finding my way around this place.”

Kurt smiles at him. “Hey, it’s fine, we’re in no hurry. I thought we would do something fun for your first official practical session. Sound interesting?”

Blaine’s eyes are bright. “Yes, very,” he exclaims, stroking Tarron’s head where the dragon is nuzzling at his belly.

Kurt watches them for a moment, smiling, then turns to his dragon. “Want to help me saddle Aera up, then?”

Blaine’s eyes go wide, grin stretching across his face in excitement. “Really? Riding on Aera?”

Kurt nods. “Tarron is still a bit small, I’m afraid.”

Blaine laughs and flits over, Tarron following him eagerly with a series of clacks on the hard wooden floor. “What do I need to do?” he asks.

Kurt shows him how to assemble the leather saddle over the joint between the base of Aera’s neck and the top of her back, securing it in place with several straps under her chest and round her neck. Blaine flinches back a little when she swings her head round to sniff at him, but Kurt just laughs good-naturedly and pats Aera’s side. “Be nice, girl,” he reprimands.

Soon the saddle is fitted and held securely in place, and Aera unfurls her wings, stretching her nose up towards the open ceiling in anticipation of the flight. The sky above is streaked with golden clouds in the last rays of sunshine.

“You ready?” asks Kurt.

Blaine nods, a little sheepishly, and steps closer to the saddle. “Um, how do I-“

“Here.” Kurt gestures Aera over to the mounting block and Blaine climbs the stairs with a slight nervous stumble.

“You really want me to get on first?”

Kurt nods. “You’ll be fine. I’m going to sit in front of you, okay?”

Blaine nods hesitantly and moves to the edge of the block. There’s a gap between them and Aera, and he shuffles a little, obviously unsure of how to go about climbing onto her back.

Kurt moves closer, stepping across the gap with one foot to brace it against Aera’s side. He’s been in more perilous positions before. He holds out his hand to Blaine with an encouraging smile, and Blaine slides his palm in slowly, skin warm against Kurt’s. He fails to supress the shiver that trickles down his spine.

Kurt helps Blaine step across and straddle the dragon’s back, making sure he’s got his feet firmly in the set of stirrups at the back of the saddle. Blaine flails a little, then grabs onto the sides of the saddle behind his thighs. Kurt swings smoothly on in front of him, sliding his feet into the front pair of stirrups, and strokes Aera’s scales gently.

“You ready to go, big girl?” he says. Aera croons and sidesteps away from the block, shaking out her wings and sending ripples of muscles down her spine.

Blaine gasps behind him, and Kurt sees his hands flailing again out of the corner of his eye.

“Move forward,” he says simply.

“Wha-whoa-what?”

“Move forward and wrap your arms around my waist. I don’t want you falling off.”

“Oh. Okay.” Blaine shuffles forward until Kurt can feel him pressed up against his back from hips to chest, warm and present and more than a little distracting. He swallows. Blaine slides his hands around his waist, gripping on gently to his sides, and Kurt breathes out slowly, glad that Blaine can’t see the blush painting his face. He waits until Blaine is settled (his breath is hot against the back of his neck, and Kurt forces himself not to think about it, not to think about leaning his head back onto Blaine’s shoulder and-) before nudging Aera’s shoulder with his toes.

She leaps into the air immediately, and Blaine draws in a sharp breath against his skin, arms tightening around his waist and pulling them even closer together. Kurt’s fingers tightened on Aera’s scales, and he pulls his mind away from the delicious warmth against his back and towards the task at hand.

They breach the opening in the ceiling, and even though Kurt has done this countless times before, he still feels himself slightly in awe of the city spread out around them. Lights twinkle in the soft darkness of dusk. The sky to the west is streaked with pink and purple and gold, and that’s the direction Aera takes, each beat of her wings propelling them forwards through the air.

Blaine’s tight grip on his waist loosens a little as he gets more comfortable, and Kurt feels him cry out in excitement, voice lost on the wind.

It’s a beautifully clear sky above them, stars beginning to peek through the deepening blue. Wind rushes through Kurt’s hair as they climb higher, chilling him, and he’s glad of the warmth of Blaine’s body plastered to his back. Aera doesn’t feel the cold so much with her thick layer of scales, so it’s up to him to decide when they’ve flown too high.

He lets go of her scales with one hand and presses it over where Blaine’s are clasped around his stomach. It’s a twist, but he manages to lean round enough to get his mouth closer to Blaine’s ear. “Try letting go!” he shouts about the wind and the whoosh of Aera’s wings. A look of panic flashes over Blaine’s features, but he nods, and Kurt feels his fingers loosening around his waist. He turns back around and suddenly Blaine’s warmth is gone as his student stretches his arms out to the wind behind him.

“This is amazing!” Blaine yells, giving another whoop then grabbing onto Kurt’s waist against as Aera sinks down into a dive.

They hurdle through the air, down towards the river that runs through the city, and fly close enough to the surface that Aera can run a talon through the water. The river narrows and they rise up again, just clearing a bridge. Kurt sense what his dragon is going to do next and grabs on tight to the scales in front of him, hoping that Blaine’s grip around his middle is tight enough.

Aera shoots upwards towards the stars, clearly enjoying herself, and lets out a tongue of fire in her wake. It brushes just past them with a burst of heat and is gone on the night sky. She twists forward, diving again, and Kurt feels his stomach swoop as she goes completely upside down, righting herself after a few seconds.

Blaine’s knuckles are white he’s holding on so tightly, and Kurt remembers when he used to be absolutely terrified of flying. He hopes that starting Blaine so early on, even if not on his own dragon, will accustom him to the experience so that he can avoid the months of torment Kurt went through.

They slow down as they reach the twin hills in the middle of the city, and Aera loops around the castle once before heading back to the Academy, great beats of her wings to steady her as they approach the open entrance to the Rafters.

It’s only a couple of seconds before she drops to the floor with a loud thud, sending up clouds of hay and dust around her feet. Another dragon-green, long-necked, Sir Byran’s dragon-peers out of a sub-room to watch them landing. It’s quiet except for the sounds of their panting and the click of Tarron’s claws as he scuttles towards them from where he had been waiting by the wall.

Blaine doesn’t release his grip on Kurt’s waist for several moments; he has to gently tap the hands clutching his waist to remind him. Kurt definitely completely ignores the twang of regret as Blaine leans back, catching his breath, and swings a leg over Aera’s neck to slide off and land in a crouch.

“Come on,” he says to Blaine, holding up a hand to help him down. “Just slide off.”

Blaine looks a little wary, but swings his leg over as Kurt had done and lands with a thud and a groan on his ass. Kurt tries not to laugh.

Tarron leaps onto Blaine, rubbing against his neck and tummy, and Blaine laughs, stroking over the dragon’s neck. “Whoa there, little guy. I was only gone a short while.”

Tarron huffs and licks the side of his face broadly, leaving behind a wet trail of saliva. Blaine looks absolutely disgusted, and Kurt does allow himself to laugh this time.

“He’d better grow out of this,” he mutters.

“Nah,” says Kurt, stroking his palm over the scales of Aera’s neck and feeling her blow a puff of air through his hair. “They never really grow up.”

Aera huffs fondly, and Kurt smiles at her. He’s glad she still has the same sense of humour and playfulness she had had at Tarron’s age. “Come on, get up,” he says to Blaine, grabbing his arm and pulling him to his feet. Tarron looks affronted at being shoved out of his lap. “You need to learn how to take a saddle off, as well.”

*

Santana, it seems, was right about what she had said about the troubles in the North. Kurt is called into Lord Drin’s office halfway through a lesson about the different types of arrow heads and their usages, and hastily apologises to Blaine, sending him off to bond with Tarron.

He’s not the only one invited, apparently. Lord Vouton is perched on the edge of Drin’s desk, cleaning underneath his fingernails with a short knife, and the king himself is standing by the fireplace with two of his advisors, their faces drawn. Lora Bolt, another rider, is sitting with her legs crossed and back straight in the chair next to Drin’s desk. The man himself is nowhere to be seen.

Kurt closes the door behind and goes to stand next to Lora. “What’s going on?” he asks quietly, but she merely shakes her head and motions for him to wait.

The door at the back of the office opens and Kurt is both surprised and annoyed to see Sebastian enter followed by Lord Drin. Sebastian smirks at Kurt and lounges against the wall behind Drin’s desk as the man takes a seat.

He coughs a couple of times before holding up his palm and gesturing for them to approach. Lora darts up, allowing the king to sit in the chair she had been occupying, and Vouton slides off the table and into the chair opposite.

Drin sighs and rubs over his eyebrows. “I’m sorry I had to call you here,” he says, voice gruff. “I wouldn’t have but-the situation in the North is a lot worse than we feared.”

The king nods, obviously already aware of what is happening, but Kurt notices Lora send him a confused look and shrugs. “Hummel, Bolt, I know that you aren’t entirely aware of the situation. I will fill you in later, but for now-“ He sighs again and produces a roll of paper from his coat.

“This is a message received at the castle early this morning. The messenger bore the colours of Artis in the northern province. It’s-it’s not good news.”

The room is silent as Drin unfolds the letter and clears his throat.

“’Urgent message for authorities. Northern border of county Artis is under attack. Two villages razed to the ground, one hundred and thirty men dead. Inhabitants are taking refuge in fort. Please send resources and reinforcements as soon as possible.’”

“Shit,” Kurt hears Vouton breathe. He’s thinking the exact same thing, but would never dare even whisper the word in front of the king.

“The accords are not holding,” says one of the king’s advisors, pushing her spectacles up her nose. “Your highness, something must be done.”

The king nods, wearily, and looks at Vouton. “It was discussed,” he says slowly, “at a council meeting. We came to the agreement to act only in case of violence.”

“Then we must act!” says the other advisor.

“It’s not as simple as that,” butts in Vouton. “The army is small, and Artis is a long way away. This would be an expensive and taxing expedition, to save only a few villagers.”

Kurt feels anger bubbling in his chest at the guard’s words. “A few villagers?!” he exclaims. “One hundred and thirty men are dead, Sir, and I’m sure more will be that way if we don’t do anything.”

Vouton sends him a dirty look and opens his mouth to retaliate, but the king interrupts him.

“Who is this?” he asks Drin, eyeing Kurt over. It’s uncomfortable.

“Sir Hummel, your highness, the best rider I’ve got,” Drin says quietly. Kurt feels a little sparkle of pride in his chest, but tamps it down. This isn’t the time.

“I see.” He pauses, then turns back to the table. “I find myself agreeing with him, Drin. Something must be done.”

Kurt hears Vouton huff angrily. The king’s advisors nod, and Kurt chances a glance at Sebastian. He looks wholly bored.

The king pushes his chair back and stands up. “I want five hundred men sent within the week,” he orders. “And one rider and dragon. I’ll have my chief advisor organise the supplies. Thank you, Lord Drin.”

Drin bows his head respectfully and the king leaves the room, advisors on his tail.

Immediately, Vouton slams his hands onto the desk. “How can you let him do that, Drin? We will lose men, a loss that we can’t afford!”

“You have no guarantee that men will be lost, Vouton. And if they are-well, that’s a sacrifice that is necessary if we wish to protect our nation. Now I’m sure the king would appreciate it if you were to prepare your men for their departure. I will appoint you a commander and a rider to accompany them in due course.”

Vouton scoffs angrily and storms out of the room. Drin sighs heavily and leans back in his chair, covering his face with a hand for a few moments. Kurt and Lora cautiously take the two seats in front of his desk, and Sebastian continues to lean against the wall.

“This is all getting a lot more complicated than I had anticipated,” Drin mutters, then drops his hand and gestures at Sebastian to join them. He does so, grudgingly, standing a little too close to Kurt for comfort.

“You are three of my best riders,” he says, looking at each of them in turn. “The question is who will go.” He pauses, and Kurt is about to volunteer himself, but Drin silences him with a look.

“Sir Smythe?”

“Yes, sir?”

“How is Perra?”

Perra is Sebastian’s dragon. She had been injured in an excursion into the mountains a couple of months ago. Sebastian sighs. “I-I don’t know if she’d be up to it, sir. Her wing is still healing.”

Drin nods, but Kurt knows full well that Perra is absolutely fine and dandy. He glances at Sebastian, angry, but is simply received with a raised eyebrow and challenging look.

“Sir Bolt, how do you feel about travelling north to help with the counter-attack?”

Lora shifts uncomfortably in her seat, but nods, straight hair falling across her face. “I would be willing to do it, sir, to save the lives that are at stake. Yes. I will go, if I am needed.”

“Good.” Drin pauses, glances at Kurt, then back at her. “Then you shall go. Inform your dragon and prepare your departure. I will have Lopez check over your armour.”

Lora nods again, a little resigned, but determined. “Thank you, sir. I shall do my best to ensure victory.”

Drin smiles tiredly. “Good. You and Sir Smythe may leave now.”

They do, leaving Kurt alone with his former tutor.

“Kurt,” says Drin. He pauses for a long time, looking past him at something on the other side of the room.

“Is there a reason you don’t want to send me?” Kurt asks quietly, looking down at his hands. He’s not offended or annoyed-to be honest, he feels a little relieved that he won’t have to go-but still.

Drin looks at him, face blank. “You have responsibilities here, Kurt. You know that.”

Kurt nods. “Blaine. I know. I just-I want to help.”

“I know you do. But it is not as simple as that. And you are helping, albeit in a different way. I’m sure that under your guidance Blaine will be an excellent rider, easily able to undertake any future missions like this.”

Kurt inclines his head. “I hope so. He’s-he’s showing promise.”

Drin pats his arm gently, and Kurt looks up at him, smiles. “Don’t let this get you down, Kurt. You will have plenty of opportunities to demonstrate your skills in the future.”

Kurt laughs. “You know that’s not what I mean, sir. But thank you. For what you said earlier. About me being your best rider-I, just, it’s a big compliment.”

Drin nods. “You learnt from the best, after all.”

Kurt laughs again and stands up. “I certainly did.” Drin looks at him fondly, then stands too, and walks him over to the door, hand on his shoulder.

“And now you must go and pass on all that accumulated greatness. Go on, I’m sure your student is waiting for you.”

Kurt smiles at him, already feeling lighter about the situation, and sets off to go and find Blaine.

Part 2

Part 3