Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

o.o.o.o

When Raoul is seven, he is sent away from home.

One evening, an evening so very much like the ones before it, his parents tell him that he is going away. They tell him of a curse that is not a curse and of powerful men and women who would seek to control him.

He does not understand many things of what they say: why he must leave and why they cannot fight against these powerful individuals. Most of all he does not understand because of all the stories he has heard, princesses were locked in towers and princes went on noble journeys to not only save them but marry them. His sisters tell him other stories of princesses saving princesses, of knights being saved by farmers, of commoners falling in love with royalty and of all the variations in between. Yet, all they are to him are stories.

None in his family have been directly touched by the magick that is so very pervasive throughout the land. They have wizards and seers at their disposal, witches and sorcerers in their retinue, but the Chagnys themselves have not been blessed with such abilities.

His father met his mother at a ball where they fell in love as was foretold when he was but a babe. His brother goes from quest to quest sent by their kingdom’s wizard with nothing but his sword, his shield, and his faithful knights. His sisters help their people by directing necessary spells and magicks to those in need. Their lives, though touched by magick, remain apart from it.

His life alone has been immersed in magick. Clairvoyants relay dire messages of monsters clinging to his shadow, of death at the end of a cursed sword. Even his father’s trusted wizard has cautioned him against those with magicks, for even though Raoul has none of his own, he draws those that do to him, acting as both conduit and amplifier.

His siblings have all had normal christenings, even with the blessings of the fairies upon them. Raoul’s christening, he has been told, had been both eventful and disastrous. The castle and surrounding town had been overrun by every magical being and magick user not only in the Chagny kingdom but the neighboring ones as well. Tensions were high; arguments and their subsequent property damage occurred until the king had been forced to send everyone away.

Before he leaves, his parents tell him of a quest he will take when he comes of age to find a magick user to bind himself to in order to repel those who would seek to abuse his latent abilities. Until he is eighteen though, he is told, he must be kept safe.

Safe, he learns after the last tendrils of the teleportation spell fade, means alone.

There is an empty, abandoned edifice in the mountains. It is not a tower, but rather a large, stone hall sitting upon a peak in a mountain range. There are no stairs leading to his new home, only sheer cliffs on all sides of the hall smoothed by time, magick, and the elements. Tucked in one corner of the large hall is a bed, a desk, a basin and chamber pot, and piles upon piles of dusty books. The rest is dark, cavernous space. There is but one window low enough that he can peer through, the others are high near the ceiling, large bays that do nothing to keep the wind from entering.

Despite the snow that surrounds them, Raoul finds he does not freeze. The hall has been imbued with minimal magicks to keep him warm, fed, clothed, clean, and most importantly isolated. Like clockwork, he is provided water and a meal three times a day, a clean chamber pot every morning, and new clothes once a month.

He learns later that the hall and the windows near the ceiling are large for a reason. The dragon his parents have assured him would protect him and be unable to do him harm comes and goes as it pleases.

Raoul has never seen a dragon before. They are rare and dangerous. Only the strongest of magicks can bind such a fierce creature to any person or location. He cannot help but wonder the story behind the dragon that shares his home.

He spends the first month surreptitiously glancing at the massive creature before realizing that blatantly staring has no repercussions beyond gold eyes staring intently into his own. He learns to quickly hold that gaze, not so much in defiance as in recognition. At times, Raoul feels as though he does not exist until those eyes alight upon him.

Red and black charred scales create a natural armor and leathery wings fold neatly against its back. Each paw and wing have wicked claws. Gnarled scars litter its body, face, and tail, and he can only wonder what would be large enough or strong enough to pierce such scales and skin.

Even resting, the dragon is coiled muscle and mass and a twitching tail that speaks its displeasure when it must seek shelter from inclement weather. To Raoul, it is always snowing, always blizzarding outside his new home. He misses the sun and the forests that surrounded their kingdom and can understand the dragon’s discontent.

He likes when the creature swoops in from above, likes the gust of wind that surrounds him like a hug. He has even grown accustomed to the scent of sulfur that is nearly suffocating when it is present. Though he has yet to see it breathe fire, he does not doubt that it can.

He eventually takes to speaking to it and though he obtains no response beyond semi-baleful glances when he complains, he does not mind. All Raoul knows is that the dragon is listening and not ignoring him.

It is the best he could hope for.

o.o.o.o

End chapter 01

A/N : Don’t forget to R/R (Read and Review)!
Fic Review: Yeah, short chapters, vignettes, no coherent one shot like I had originally wanted. *sigh I usually give a day between writing and editing, but I’m on a timeline here. So, sorry? I did the best that I could? This was supposed to be my birthday one shot (I don’t intentionally start multi-chaptered fics when I have unfinished ones already, but it just happened.)

Chapter Text

o.o.o.o

Raoul quickly realizes that he cannot spend every moment of the day studying his dragon, especially when said dragon spends most of the daylight hours outside of the hall and at night, Raoul can hardly see him. So, he reluctantly recreates a facsimile of the schedule he’d had before being forced to leave his home.

Once in the morning and once in the evening, he walks the perimeter of the hall since he no longer has the pony he used to ride. There is no countryside in which to bask, no forest to roam, no rivers to swim within. The hall is indeed empty of everything save for the meager items in his corner. Most evenings, he runs as hard as he can, the pounding of his footsteps echoing in the empty space, simply to tire himself out, to reach a point where he can do nothing more than fall into a dreamless sleep.

After breaking fast, he draws whatever shapes he sees within the clouds and snowcapped mountaintop after mountaintop while staring forlornly out of the window at the ever unchanging scenery. His tower is completely surrounded by mountains in which only rock and snow are visible. If he is lucky, such monotony will be broken by the striking image of his dragon cutting through the skies. That happens very rarely. Sometimes, he tries to draw his family but hates how even poorly drawn images, scribbled lines upon paper can turn sadness into piercing heartache.

He misses the sound of his sisters’ voices regaling him with tales of bravery and deceit. He misses his brother recounting his own journeys and his father complaining to his mother. He misses the laughter and every now and then, he will try to remember what it felt like to laugh. He simply cannot remember any longer. To fill the silence, he sings every song he can remember as loudly as he can until his throat hurts.

After midday meal, he devotes time to his studies, remembering his tutor’s stern words of the importance of knowledge. He skims book after book from history and nature compendiums to fiction and poetry, attempting to understand any of it. None hold his attention for very long and he begins to worry about the state of his education until he finds a series of large tomes on dragon lore and language.

All semblance of routine vanishes the moment he opens the first book. He spends his days curled around such vital information, picking at his food and foregoing sleep in order to learn more about his only companion. When his muscles ache, he paces beside the bed since he is unable to hold the tome and walk at the same time.

Reading takes all of his concentration and effort. The words are ponderous and old, most passages requiring him to read and reread each word carefully. The only time he focuses on topics other than dragon lore is when he is forced to research references of an era he is much too young to have lived through. He struggles through the alluded extracts in the history books.

He finds himself bemoaning the reading lessons he used to avoid and at his poor grasp of the written word. He alternates between reading aloud (when his dragon is not present) and mouthing the words to himself (when his dragon is present). There are hours when he can only stare blankly at the ceiling, waiting for the frustration and headache to fade as his mind turns over the Dragon Wars and hatcheries, of knights and the magick of a dragon’s heart, of the depth of runes and the power of a name. He need only think of his dragon before he finds the will to continue once more.

It is perhaps the second week of such frustration and self-neglect when he wakes curled up in the middle of his bed. He keeps his eyes closed and shifts only to remove his arm from beneath the tome and to alleviate the ache in his body. He does not particularly remember falling asleep; it has hardly been restful, but it is not the first time he has dozed mid-sentence. There is a gnawing pain in his stomach, one that he decides to ignore in favor of more sleep when a warm gust of air on his face prompts him to open his eyes.

The large, golden eye and vertical pupil of his dragon fill his vision and the book flies off his lap. He, on the other hand, ends up on the floor, legs trapped within the tangle of sheets. His heart pounds almost painfully in his chest as he huddles against the wooden bedframe, trying to still the shaking of his limbs. It is the closest he has been to the dragon since he arrived and though he does not believe the creature can hurt him, he does not take for granted that the dragon may still want to.

Long moments pass before he can convince himself to move. He fists the sheets to unsteadily pull himself up and peer over the edge of the bed. His dragon has not moved, and despite his fear he almost feels as though the massive creature appears amused.

“Yes?” he asks.

The dragon does not speak. Through the book, Raoul has learned that only magick can turn what he hears as nothing but grunts, barks, and roars into actual words. There is about fifty pages at the end of the last book of the series that is nothing but a list of archaic runes. So far, it is nothing but gibberish to him since he knows not their correlation to modern script, but there are chapters that reference a ritual to learn dragon language and the mastery of those runes is integral in doing so.

The dragon does not need to say a word, however, since it manages to convey displeasure with a rather pointed glance to the food on his desk. There is chastisement there and Raoul frowns at the creature. He reaches across the bed to quickly grab the book and hold it to his chest.

“I am not hungry,” he lies blatantly. His stomach disagrees, of course, and chooses that moment to growl quite loudly.

The dragon echoes its own growl in response and Raoul feels that too vibrate through his body. He clutches the book tighter to himself and looks away. Eventually, his stubbornness wins and the dragon snorts and stalks only far enough away that Raoul need not strain his neck to look him in the eyes.

It is midday and Raoul glances at the plate of bread and cheese only long enough to wrinkle his nose at it. He crawls onto the large bed, pulling blankets and pillows around himself to create a makeshift nest, before settling with the book firmly on his lap. He does not bother opening it. Instead, he holds the dragon’s gaze.

He knows he is hungry, understands why his stomach aches as it does but cannot explain why any interest in the fare available to him is absent. The few bites he manages to take taste like dust in his mouth no matter what it is: bread, fruit, or game. It makes ignoring the hunger pangs easier, makes sleep tug more insistently until he loses the battle to keep his eyes open.

He does dream then, an amorphous gallimaufry of colors, sounds, and memories punctuated with a gaping darkness. He loses his hold on time as frozen moments flicker in sequence: claws scraping upon stone, red scales shifting, a weight removed from his body, his dragon crouched some distance from his bed stealing glances at him, a brief impression of the woods that surround his family’s kingdom. Every time he attempts to hold onto consciousness, it slips through his fingers and he falls into that darkness once more.

When he does finally pull himself from slumber, he feels better than he has felt in weeks. His mind is clear and the hunger pangs, though still present, have dulled considerably. Looking up though, he is certain he is still dreaming.

There is a grove by his bed. Thin trees stand in line; rows and rows of pink blossoms and green leaves color his vision.

Turning over to his stomach in order to climb over the nest he had created, he has a moment of panic when he realizes his book is no longer on his lap. The panic is short-lived when he spots it at the foot of the bed, and he only allows that mystery to go unconsidered in light of the rather abrupt change of interior landscaping.

He stands upon the bed for a moment to see that the grove is but four lines of trees extending to the opposite wall of his window. The four rows do not intrude upon his dragon’s space and yet there are still so very many trees.

Slowly approaching the grove, he breathes in the familiar scent of nature, of recently turned dirt and leaves and a hint of fragrance he cannot seem to place. Cold stone becomes soft loam as he nears, and his cheeks begin to hurt from a wide grin by the time he is close enough to reach up and brush his fingers against a pink flower with whorls of white upon its petals.

Confused for a moment, he tiptoes in order to reach past the flower in order to grab onto a fleshy fruit and is surprised when he feels a light fuzz upon its skin. Plucking it, he hesitantly takes a bite only to find the flesh give way easily and his mouth fill with juice. He laughs at the discovery of its sweetness.

Quickly consuming the rest of the fruit, he is only disappointed upon finding the inedible pit within its center. He eats three more of the strange fruit before he cannot seem to contain a sudden burst of energy. Running down the row of the trees, he dodges and ducks between the branches as petals lazily drift down from the disturbance he causes. His laughter echoes loudly through the hall. He feels as though he can fly and it is that thought that slows then stills him.

This could all be a dream. He turns to leave the grove, footsteps heavy as he imagines what he will see when he wakes: the vast hall, a window to a bleak landscape, and the austere functionality of mere necessities.

He does not make it past the last row of trees, does not make it to the cold stone because waiting for him is his dragon, resting on its stomach and breathing a little harder than usual.

Hand still upon the last tree trunk, he glances from its eyes to the slump of its shoulders, from its uncommonly still tail to finally rest upon its claws, claws that undeniably have dirt upon them, and Raoul’s eyes fill with tears even though he is still smiling.

Scrubbing at his cheeks with the sleeve of his shirt, he curls into himself, crouching and hides his face. He lets the tears fall, feels the sobs rip from his chest and realizes belatedly that this is the first time he has cried since leaving home.

He looks up only long enough to say, “Thank you” before the next wave of tears overwhelms him.

o.o.o.o

End chapter 02

A/N: Don’t forget to R/R (Read and Review)!
Chapter Review: See… dragons care. Much less fluff than I expected. :D Also, all errors are my own. I’ll get back to my normal write and edit the next day schedule after today actually. (It means slower updates of course, but less stupid mistakes. Even exchange.)  

Chapter Text

o.o.o.o

With the grove returns Raoul’s schedule. It becomes easier to exercise twice a day when he is now able to dodge and duck beneath the leaves of the trees in which he has so quickly fallen in love. He returns to both his drawings and his studies, though the latter is still skewed greatly towards dragon lore. More importantly, he returns to eating regularly. His meals are supplemented heavily with the fruit from his grove, and he quickly learns that no matter how many he eats, they always replenish themselves come morning. Even the petals that fall like rain upon him do not make the branches bare nor do they clutter the ground.

The only true difference in his schedule now is that Raoul has taken to sleeping beneath the trees, blankets drawn around him as the soil acts as his bed. He looks through the branches and pretends there is a multitude of stars hidden behind the leaves and flowers. Sheltered within the grove, he can forget the four walls that encase him. Each night, he drifts from tree to tree and despite the illusion being easily shattered, he finds himself drifting towards the edge of the grove more often than not for the sole purpose of keeping his dragon in sight. The gratitude he feels every time he sees even a hint of his presence attempts to overwhelm him, his throat constricting with emotion. The scent of sulfur that curls around him soothes his soul.

And now, more than ever before, his dragon remains nearby. Even when not within the hall, Raoul has noticed that the great beast keeps well within view of his mountaintop so that he can spot him contrasting starkly against the horizon. There is a comfort he does not question being able to see him both when the night falls and the sun rises.

Yet, he startles awake confused and agitated one morning. He is far enough in the grove that he is unable to see his dragon, but the shuffle and crunch of dirt beneath his dragon’s paws as it paces nearby assures him of his presence. Still, his dragon had not been the reason he has woken. He sits still for long moments seeing nothing out of the ordinary nor hearing anything beyond his dragon’s footsteps and he cannot understand why his unease persists.

Then, he hears it, a high-pitched, two-tone whistle that makes him straighten and gasp.

His dragon snorts and the resulting quick shuffle means it has sprinted forward towards the noise but has stopped short of crashing through the trees. Raoul, on the other hand, tosses his blanket off of himself and scrambles away from the source of the sound, stumbling over his own feet towards where he knows his dragon to be.

He barely clears the last row of trees when he meets gold eyes that lock with his own. His next steps fail to reach the ground when a tail wraps around his waist securely, lifting him up to pull him flush against the dragon’s body. Raoul’s small hands clutch at the leathery appendage but there is no doubt in his mind that the dragon will not harm him by squeezing too tightly. The scales on his tail are pliable though rough and the errant thought that the beast is warmer than he had expected crosses his mind.

The chirp, and it is a chirp now that Raoul takes the time to recognize it, sounds again and in the safety of his dragon’s grasp, he feels foolish.

It is a bird. A bird.

His heart has yet to calm from the panic that has gripped him and it is odd to think that in the many weeks he has lived here, he has not heard the sound of any other creature besides the dragon and himself. However, he does not think he has grown accustomed to silence because he has made certain with humming and singing, muttering to himself and tapping out a rhythm with his fingertips that every second of the day is filled with activity, with life and sound. He only vaguely now realizes how insufficient that will always be in comparison to having actual life forms around him. He tries not to despise the bird for revealing such a truth.

His dragon freezes. Muscles tensing against Raoul’s back draws him from his revelation. It takes a moment for him to spot the creature that has succeeded in worrying them both. It is a small thing, dark feathers with a white chest, more round than tall with a large head and a square tail that twitches up and down. It sings once more, not knowing the danger it is in now that it has finally ceased flying about. Raoul thinks he could hold it in the palm of his hand if he so wished; it is so small. Instead, he grips the dragon’s tail tighter and the smell of sulfur burns the inside of his nose.

A wave of smoke pours from his dragon’s snout and Raoul almost feels badly when the bird is not smart enough to fly away. One second the tiny bird is singing as the smoke creeps closer; the next, it has simply vanished. He almost feels badly, but instead he feels utterly relieved.

Even with the impromptu visitor gone, his dragon does not release him for at least another hour. When he does, it is reluctantly and only because Raoul’s stomach growls pitifully for the breakfast he has once again grown accustomed to. Raoul is not thoughtless though. To ease the obvious worry on his companion’s large, scarred face, he grabs his meal and study materials, dropping them so that he can lean against the dragon’s proffered tail.

He only distractedly eats, more intent on digging through the piles of books on all things animals and magick. When he can find no sufficient text on birds that are able to go through magical barriers, he flips through all the covers searching for an ornithological journal with sufficient images to be able to identify the bird. It takes until evening but he turns one page out of a multitude and finally finds it. He glances up at the dragon who has been reading over his shoulder all day and shrugs. The scrawl of notes reveals nothing special about a ‘black phoebe,’ nothing nefarious nor charmed. None of the other books reveal any other in-depth information and with nothing else to do about a bird that is now gone and no more information to garner, Raoul makes sure to mark the page and journal before standing up to stretch his aching limbs.

His dragon watches him closely, but Raoul can see the agitated twitch of his leg muscles and the way his claws click on the floor. A large creature such as a dragon is not made to languish all day, laying on its stomach and allowing a small boy to use him as a backrest.

Something is holding him back however, and Raoul does his best to sound confident, “I shall be safe.” He is not quite sure he believes his own words, but he knows he needs to be strong enough to stand on his own. He should not be afraid of birds when he knows there are worse creatures and people out in the world that seek to harm him. He forces a smile. “I shall remain here and continue studying.” He gestures vaguely to the pile of books at his feet. “You may leave to do…” he pauses, not knowing what his dragon does outside the hall, “whatever it is dragons do.”

He appreciates that his companion appears hesitant, but eventually, whatever is driving his dragon out of the hall must be more important because his wings spread open deliberately slowly so as not to disturb the books laying open still. With a powerful leap and flap, his dragon is up and out of the large bays high above him, gone with a quick backward glance as farewell.

Raoul is left alone.

He hums a two-tone melody and thinks he can hear an echo. Feeling somehow colder without his dragon at his back, he wraps his arms around his stomach and tries to whistle instead. He frowns when the sound is pitched too low and tries again. He only attempts it a third time before stopping himself and deciding to hum his mother’s favorite song instead.

Dropping to the ground to grab the first book within his reach, he tries to lose himself in the book of dragon lore but for the first time, it proves futile. Instead, he ends up trying to convince himself that he is strong enough to last the evening alone, strong enough to not be afraid of the silence, of the solitude, nor of any small bird. He is strong enough not to need his dragon by his side every second of the day.

To prove this point, he huddles far into the grove away from the wide expanse of his dragon’s space, curling into a tight ball as he sings a lullaby until the words slur and he falls asleep.

o.o.o.o

End chapter 03

A/N: Don’t forget to R/R (Read and Review)!
Chapter Review: I do not think you understand just how much I want to be able to draw kid!Raoul and his dragon. (I can’t draw!) Also, I want to laugh at them for freaking out over a small bird (that’s a small bird) but it’s just kind of sad, you know. Raoul makes me sad trying to be strong even when he’s alone and afraid and you know the dragon’s freaking out and he’s gonna do something to find out what the hell happened with that bird. All I know is that Raoul’s going to develop some weird quirks – he’s always going to be humming and muttering and tapping his toe or drumming his fingers. He’s going to fill the silence. I imagine everyone around him sort of getting annoyed by it and his dragon being a bit protective and annoyed at everyone else because screw them, Raoul can make however much noise he wants. (Sidenote: Raoul actually doesn’t have those ticks when he’s around the dragon. The sound of the dragon breathing is enough for him.)

Chapter Text

o.o.o.o

Raoul’s sleep is fitful.

Birds the size of dragons chase him through the hallways of what had once been his home. The cruel creatures crush the fruit trees that do not exist in the castle in real life but are somehow lining the hallways, towering over him as the ceiling rises and rises high above his head. His own dragon tries to fight the multitude, doing his best to draw their attention away, but it is plain to see he will quickly be overpowered, greatly outnumbered as he is. His family remains trapped behind barred windows in a far tower. He sees them always at a distance and yet so clear. His mother clings to his father while Philippe holds his sisters close. He runs and runs, knowing he must save them but never getting closer. His dream self somehow knows he must run the other way in order to keep them safe and yet he cannot bring himself to turn his back on them.

A familiar voice draws him from his slumber and yet his immediate reaction is to wonder if he is still dreaming; it is so foreign a sound. The leaves and flowers above him as well as the delicate fruit scent convince him he is awake. His heart races, thudding violently against his chest and he is not sure if it is because of his dream or the mystery voice. He restrains himself, unlike with the bird, refusing to overreact as he did then. He holds still until he hears the voice once more. It draws him to his feet and he sneaks through the grove.

Hiding behind a tree, he peers around it to see if there is someone really there. Dark blue robes drape over a man’s back, but more importantly to him at this moment is the sight of burnt red scales and a large body coiled and currently tense. The sight of his dragon coaxes him out from behind the tree and the flicker of gold eyes to his direction has the man turning enough to confirm that it is indeed his father’s wizard.

Raoul sprints the last few steps, and the hope he feels must somehow show on his face because the older man gives him a sad smile before shaking his head.

“It is dangerous for even myself to be here,” the wizard says apologetically. “I could not risk transporting your family and revealing your location.” He shifts and pulls a bundle from his robe, “However, they did send this.”

Glancing at his dragon before returning to the bundle in the wizard’s hands, Raoul steps forward to reverently take the stack of letters. He clenches his jaw and tries desperately not to let the tears that brim fall. However, upon seeing his name on the first parchment in his brother’s messy scrawl, he immediately turns his back to them both, ducking his head and desperately willing himself not to sniffle too loudly. He only faintly hears the wizard as he continues his conversation with the dragon, but he is glad for the attention being drawn away from him.

Hastily wiping the tears away with his sleeve, he tries to swallow through the tightness in his throat. It takes long moment and it is only once he convinces himself that he need not read the letters immediately that he feels as though he can calm down. Turning to face both dragon and wizard once more, he notices the ornithological journal open in the wizard’s hands.

Once again, it is his dragon that notices him first and Raoul tries to give him a reassuring smile. He is not sure he succeeds but is distracted enough when the wizard draws those gold eyes away from him.

“Check the perimeter.” It is an order and Raoul feels himself bristle on his dragon’s behalf at his tone. “Ensure my magick has held.”

His dragon somehow tenses further and Raoul wonders if he is going to attack the wizard, if he will succeed. Instead, the beast narrows his eyes and the low rumble of his dragon growling fills the large hall.

The wizard takes a minute step back but he grits his teeth and orders once more in as dismissive a tone he can muster, “Go.” He purposefully turns his back to the dragon, as though he is completely at ease despite the large teeth bared at him, but both Raoul and the dragon can see it is a pretense.

Raoul takes a small step forward and the movement is enough to garner his dragon’s attention long enough for Raoul to give him a small smile and nod. He does not wish to see what happens when a dragon that is bound attempts to kill its master.

The great beast snarls before his wings snap open with enough force that the wizard stumbles away and Raoul is forced to brace himself against the wind. His dragon is up and out of the hall before the man can grumble about it.

To distract him, Raoul immediately asks without preamble, “Do you understand what he is saying?”

Huffing, the man straightens his robe while he mutters, “I understand what the creature wants me to understand.”

He nods, hoping his displeasure and jealousy is not showing, but the wizard does not take note of his pout. In fact, he barely looks at Raoul, choosing to point to the journal instead.

“You are certain it is this bird.”

Raoul glances just to be polite, but he trusts his dragon to have told the wizard everything they know. “Yes. It was certainly that bird.”

The man scowls and ducks closer to the book before shaking his head, muttering to himself, “It could not have flown here. It is much too small, wrong climate. It should have died.” He looks around and his perusal stops at the grove, his head tilting in consideration. “Was it you who planted these trees? Where did you get the seeds?”

Raoul does not know why he does not tell him the truth, that his dragon had given it to him as a gift, but he finds himself saying, “I begged the dragon for a reminder of home.” He slouches, curling around the letters still clutched to his chest. “I refused to eat until he complied.” It is close enough to the truth, but it feels wrong to share just how important this grove is to him, what it means that his dragon had done it solely for his wellbeing.

As though summoned, his dragon chooses that moment to return and upon seeing Raoul cowering before the wizard, he lands with a growl and stalks the short distance with enough menace and speed that the wizard is startled into taking several steps away from them both. It takes everything in Raoul not to reach a hand out when his dragon is close enough to touch but the decision is taken from him when the dragon’s tail curls around him to rest gently against his leg.

“That is dangerous,” the wizard chastises, though his voice wavers, and for a moment Raoul thinks he is referring to his proximity to the dragon. “Magick maintains these trees and bringing more magick into this hall is the very opposite of what we need. You cannot draw attention to yourself,” he directs his tirade more toward the dragon than Raoul. “You are just lucky that the magick that maintains the grove is weak enough to remain unnoticed within these walls. They may have been the cause of the bird’s presence regardless.” He stares pointedly at the dragon. “No more,” he motions vaguely, “It disrupts the intricate latticework of magick that keeps the prince safe.”

Raoul presses his leg harder against his dragon’s tail where they touch. He is glaring at the man openly and does not care. There is no doubt in his mind that his dragon had known the trees would not reveal his presence to the world. He would not put Raoul’s life at risk for any reason.

“I have reinforced the shields,” the wizard blithely assures him. “Inform me if some other creature is able to breach these walls once more.” The man turns, and before he transports himself away, he states, “It should not happen again.”

o.o.o.o

End chapter 04

A/N: Not gonna lie. I love alliteration and am usually better about editing them out (or at least making them less noticeable) in final edits.
Chapter Review: I love the solid front Raoul and the dragon have. :D Not liking the wizard very much right now though, like he couldn’t have paid Raoul a little more attention (not that Raoul would have appreciated it from him of course), but still. It’s the thought that counts.

Chapter Text

o.o.o.o

It happens again four weeks and a day later.

In that time, Raoul has read and reread the letters his family has sent him until the creases are dangerously worn and the letters are nearly falling apart. He clings to these vestiges of a life that once was, his mind traveling that long route the wizard must have taken back to his home, always back home.

His dragon disapproves of such wasted hours, Raoul thinks, even though they cannot communicate as plainly as the wizard had managed - and he can easily admit such jealousy to that - but gold eyes watch him with something that looks like disappointment or perhaps pity when Raoul traces his fingers over the familiar wax seal or when he unfolds the parchment and his eyes greedily take in every ink stroke. He bemoans the state of the letters and the fact that the paper is already crumpled from where he cannot help but clutch at it, despite all his efforts of being more gentle.

It is easier to focus on the letters sent to him instead of the letters he himself has written. He tries to forget the painstaking amount of time he had spent writing them, the careful drawings and recounts of how he has allotted his time, all driven by a fierce hope that the wizard would return and carry not only his letters but all his love back to his family.

Most days he is glad to have written the letters but others, less so. The small stack neatly kept on the desk serves as a painful reminder of how far away he is from home and how sending simple letters is an insurmountable task. The distance has never felt so vast.

In the meantime, the quiet has once again become normal and even though Raoul's hope of the wizard's return has diminished, it takes only the chirp of a cricket to wake him from his sleep. Mere moments pass before he is roused completely and has pushed himself up onto his elbow, eyes trying to track through the darkness of his grove. The blanket falls down to his waist as his gaze eventually turns towards his dragon, who also tracks the sound but with greater success. An unhappy snort sounds his displeasure.

On his feet, Raoul moves out of the grove. It is not fear that has him move away from the cricket; rather, he feels a surge of hope and expectation because this is certainly a sign that the wizard must visit again. However, he is well aware that his dragon is not pleased and worries for him. Before he is able to even take two steps, his feet leave the loam and the warmth of his dragon's tail secures itself around his waist to lift him easily.

He is drawn close by the dragon's neck so that he too may have a clear view of the creature that has encroached upon their little world as his dragon ducks his head between two trees, snout gently nudging them apart. The sound moves and they retreat from the grove, and Raoul is distracted from their search when he takes a breath of air that somehow feels lighter, like a cloak he has been unaware of all this time has been dragged from his shoulders.

They move further away and Raoul's next breath is of air thin enough that he gasps, his hands scrabbling weakly at the tail around him in surprise. That motion alone is cause enough for the dragon to freeze, drawing him away so that gold eyes can inspect him. Raoul does not have time to feel the weight of his gaze because although his breathing steadies, his skin tingles and his body is wracked with shivers though he feels no chill. His teeth clatter at the sudden reaction.

"Do you feel that?" he asks because confusion is plain to see in his dragon's eyes and though his voice is shaky, he knows the silence punctuated by the insect's chirps is making his companion's worry increase.

His dragon's eyes narrow. Sparing a single glance and throaty snarl towards the grove and their intruder, he pulls Raoul even further away from his beloved trees.

Raoul starts at the movement, struggling for a moment, having already associated movement away from the grove as the reason for these sensations, but it is useless to struggle against a dragon. By the time they stop moving and he settles, they are pressed close to the only window Raoul can peer through and the sensations have stopped.

He is lowered to the floor rather reluctantly even though he would not have been able to run anywhere since the dragon has used his body to cage him into a small area by the window. It takes no other further prompting for him to look outside. The landscape looks ever the same, as is the curse of this mountaintop. The snow-capped peaks shine brightly from the full moon and the stars hang low enough that it seems as though they are an arm's reach away. Raoul is almost certain a dragon could reach them.

He looks up at his dragon in confusion, not understanding what he is trying to convey. A single claw is moved to rest on the sill, pointing outward and Raoul is momentarily entranced by the size of its talon. As his gaze trails along the wickedly sharp crescent and out towards the sky to the full moon, he mutters, "The moon?"

His dragon gives a single nod, the only warning Raoul gets before he is lifted up once more from the waist. He allows himself the luxury of giving the leathered scales a single stroke to calm himself, before bracing himself as they make their way back to the grove. Instead of being held by his companions neck, the tail raises higher so that he is able to grab onto one of the ridged horns atop its head.

Before the sensations can return and before they return to where the cricket is still chirping, his dragon snorts heavily once before a low rumble works its way from deep within its chest. White smoke more dense and opaque than before is released from its snout and Raoul knows his companion is working magick once more. His nose tickles from the scent of sulfur that lays thick in the air.

They stop moving at the edge of the grove where the smoke crawls its way steadily between the trees, and Raoul is so caught in watching its progress that it is only an afterthought that the sensations do not return. The rhythmic chirping stops, but instead of allowing the smoke to dissipate as before, his dragon opens his mouth, releasing a black viscous liquid, darker than the depths of the ocean where the leviathans rule. It moves with a purpose, sentient in a way that is unsettling and Raoul worries momentarily for the safety of his trees as they are seemingly consumed.

He clings ever more tightly to the dragon's horn as the smooth waves swallow the grove whole, submerging it into unnatural dark waters that end abruptly at the edges of the grove and are much too still. The liquid holds for a long moment, suspended there and his dragon finally shuts its mouth with a bit off growl and a twist of its head. It huffs once, its third eyelid flickering across its eyes before he shuts them completely and from the corner of Raoul's eye, he sees a ripple start, slightly off the center of the grove, as though a drop of water had fallen upon the black liquid. The ripple grows, spreading across the surface into bigger and bigger waves until Raoul can finally see the tops of the trees once more. In the center of the waves, fully revealed is a single tree that faintly glows green, its pink blossoms unrecognizable from its leaves.

The glow intensifies and Raoul has to look away, only noticing then that his dragon's eyes are once again open, focused on that single tree. The ripples shudder and the rolling motion ceases as the liquid is pulled towards the base of the tree. The black substance, somehow still too heavy to be confused for water, rushes towards the tree's roots in a motion that seems intent to destroy this singular tree. Instead, the tree absorbs it, bloating with magick as its green glow intensifies.

Raoul pays the magick little attention because he is more focused on his dragon. The creature has tensed, muscles going rigid. Its body temperature has risen several degrees, enough so that Raoul has begun to sweat from where the tail is wrapped around his waist.

He releases the horn only to once more stroke its tail. He does not know exactly what his dragon is doing, but the magick is taking a toll on him. Its shoulders droop and Raoul can feel the tremors that run through its body. It is not long before his dragon slumps to the ground completely, but not before Raoul sees that the black liquid has all vanished and the tree's glow has dimmed as well, until it is naught but another tree in a grove.

It is a tree that Raoul has marked in his mind, and even though he wishes to investigate what has happened, his concern outweighs his curiosity. When he is finally released from his dragon's hold, he stays with his hand pressed against the great beast's neck to assure him of his presence. The dragon lays unmoving, breath heavy once more, and Raoul knows his companion has exhausted himself when the act of him leaving its side only garners a displeased huff and a half-hearted attempt to raise its head.

Raoul returns with his blanket and a pillow, settling with his back firmly pressed against his dragon's jaw. He thinks the rush of air that is released soon after is a content sigh.

o.o.o

Morning comes and Raoul wakes up in the orchard, alone.

He sits up, back against a tree trunk and just stares at the tree in front of him. He had not fallen asleep in the grove, he is certain. He can vividly recall the feel of taking a breath that lacked in air, of not having control of his body, of the heady scent of sulfur, and of the warmth of his dragon's touch. Yet, as the minutes pass and it becomes obvious that his dragon is not present, he wonders if he has not dreamt it all.

The first thing he does is orient himself within the grove. He leaves his bedding where it lays and heads to the edge of the grove. Once he knows where he is, his eyes immediately fall upon a singular tree, one that should not stand out from the rest, but still does.

He approaches the tree slowly, gives it a wide berth, taking steady breaths with each tentative step forward. He tries to extend his senses outward but all that does is make him all too aware of his heavy footsteps, the blood that pounds through his veins, and the heartbeat that drowns out any other possible sound. The dirt beneath his feet feel no different from any other spot within his grove and the tree sits so innocuously. When he gets close enough to touch the bark of the tree and still no untoward feeling has come upon him, he takes a steadying breath before finally placing his hand upon its wood. He flinches.

Nothing happens.

He circles it, hands patting up and down the trunk. He goes so far as to get on his hands and knees and dig below the surface in search for... something, Raoul is uncertain what. He expects his hands to come out sticky with that black substance, but this tree, for all he can determine, is like every other tree in his grove, enchanted but not in any other way different.

He slumps at its base in defeat. There is dirt beneath his fingernails and his clothes are similarly dirtied. He tries to pat his hair down from the mess of tangles it has become as he tries so very hard not to cry once more. He hunches over his knees and covers his face, squeezing his eyes shut.

He had truly hoped. In the back of his mind, a cricket chirp taunts him. The wizard should have been visiting soon. He would have hopefully come with more letters and Raoul could have sent his own home.

Such correspondence is so small a thing compared to having had to leave his home with no determinable time for him to return, but it is enough to wound something within him. He focuses on remembering what it felt like to be drawn close to his dragon, the comfort he received from it, the wordless communication that though imperfect seemed to come so naturally. Hugging his stomach, he thinks of warmth that felt like a hug and calms down.

He can question his dragon when he returns. There is still a routine to go through: breakfast to eat, exercise to be done, books on dragon lore to be read, and perhaps, research about books about celestial bodies and their part in magick to accomplish.

With effort, he returns to his schedule, glad that the familiarity of the motions requires little thought.

His dragon does not return until evening, swooping in from the high bay windows. If Raoul had not spent all day in expectation of its arrival, the heavy landing and the resultant shudder of the entire hall would have easily alerted him of his presence.

Raoul is immediately on his feet, tossing aside one of the books he had found about the influence of celestial bodies on magick. Much like the ebb and flow of the ocean, the stars and suns and moons, particularly their double moon, pull and push the veil of magick like the sands upon the shore. At certain points of its cycles, as the two moons complete their journey across the sky, they are able to thin the veil of magick in heavily concentrated areas, enough so that the laws of reality that serve as the colonnade to their world and which are normally manipulated with magick, are nearly unmade at these times.

The question is on Raoul's lips but he stops himself at the first sight of his companion because he already knows the answer.

The night before was not a dream.

There is no other explanation for the sluggish way his dragon moves, his movements an obvious attempt at being deliberate but falling short of it. The dragon takes but two steps before lowering itself, quite a distance from the grove and Raoul. He has not chosen to remain so far in the past few months that they have cohabited, but he does so now, laying its head down in what must be relief. Raoul has never seen it look so exhausted, not since last night.

With the remembered feel of the dragon's scales, he makes his way farther into the vast emptiness of the hall. It somehow seems colder away from the grove. The dragon's eyes remain closed. Regardless, Raoul hesitates before climbing the dragon's paw so that he can settle himself against the beast's cheek.

He does not know what to say. After all, he does not know what the dragon has done. Certainly, he has kept him safe, but he can recognize the magick that sends intruders away and last night was something much more serious. Placing their cheeks together, Raoul strokes the scales by his head and says, "Good evening, dear dragon" and lets the silence settle around them.

They have four weeks to discover whether the dragon's efforts have been effective.

In that time, Raoul learns to stop waiting for the wizard to visit and instead, spends long hours by the tree, consulting his books and hoping to find some clue as to what occurred that night. His dragon uses the last of its energy to crawl its way to the edge of the grove in an attempt to keep an eye on him before promptly falling asleep for the next week. Raoul scours every book on dragon lore to ensure such behaviour is not life threatening before allowing him uninterrupted sleep, even though he spends every night by his side, making sure that even deep within whatever dragon dreams, his companion knows that he is not alone.

After that abbreviated hibernation, his dragon disappears for a day and returns to him in good health. They watch each other more after that, in semi-silent consideration - because Raoul still talks to him and his dragon still cannot answer, but they come to an understanding that Raoul will spends his days obsessed with the tree and spend his nights curled up against his dragon's side.

Weeks later, his mind is abuzz with everything he has learned about magick and the full moon. He paces by the tree and his dragon paces just outside the grove. Raoul catches sight of him between the branches and leaves every now and then. Their eyes meet and he wonders if his dragon is worried now that they know the reason their home has been invaded twice now. The addition of his grove and the magick that keeps it alive have built up a concentration of magick powerful enough to be effected by the lunar cycles.

The dragon does not appear worried, though expectation hangs heavily between them, whether it is Raoul's or the dragon's is indeterminable. Raoul tries to be assured by his dragon's relative calm and does not succeed. His heart beats unsteadily and his stomach feels unsettled. He has been unable to eat much of anything all day. He does not quite know what he expects will happen but knows something will. He has somehow misplaced his letters and had spent all morning searching for them to no avail. He expects he will find them tomorrow somewhere amongst his pile of books when his hands stop shaking and when he is able to focus for longer than a few seconds.

His dragon is the first to notice the change, inclining his head a second before the tree begins to glow green. Raoul takes several steps away from it but once again, there is no backlash of magick to affect him. Nothing more seems to happen beyond the eerie tint, but Raoul forgets himself and holds his breath until the glow fades. He is crushingly disappointed until he sees a basket at the base of the tree.

He glances at his companion before slowly approaching the wicker container. Pulling aside the cloth draped beneath the handle, Raoul struggles against the tears that well up and fall quickly down his cheeks. Inside are pastries, books, and toys, things he can get from the magicks that maintain this hall, but it is the large pile of letters tied in a bundle atop it all that make him unable to stop the tears from falling. He picks up the small folded note attached to the handle that has his name written in his mother's script.

Dearest Heart,

We have been informed of this gift given to us. The Wizard explained how he created this secure portal so that we would be able to send a small package during the full moons. All of us have been struggling with your absence, worrying about your health and happiness. We love the letters you have written. Tell us everything and we shall do the same.

We are always with you.

With all our love,

Mother

Raoul stares at the note for a long moment, barely able to read the words through the tears in his eyes. He folds it and gently places it back in the basket. Taking a deep breath, he grabs the handle and beings to drag it towards the dragon but abandons it midway in order to break into a run. The dragon watches with obvious concern and stills, uncertain as to how to react when he flings himself to hug his snout.

His hands hardly finding purchase, Raoul clings to him and says against its scales, "Thank you. Thank you." His cheek pressed so tightly against its solid presence, he knows he is getting tears on the dragon. "You've done this all. That wizard is a liar."

And he knows his dragon agrees as it keeps still beneath his touch, not dislodging him even though it would be so easy to do so.

He eventually pulls away, taking several steps back so that he can look at the dragon properly. "I owe you so much. I know not how I could ever repay you."

If dragons could roll their eyes, Raoul is certain his would have done so. Instead, it huffs out a breath that musses Raoul's hair and nudges him back towards the basket with his snout.

Raoul grins and impulsively, he closes the distance between them in order to kiss the beast's muzzle. It pulls back in obvious surprise and Raoul laughs nervously, quickly turning towards the basket immediately, embarrassed by his rather blatant disregard for propriety. He often kissed his pony on its muzzle, but he feels that this is intricately different.

Still, when he sneaks glances back at his dragon who remains a stalwart sentry, he feels that all will be well.

o.o.o.o

End chapter 05

A/N: I truly do hate falling out of stories when they're unfinished. D: My bad. I was going to write you a valentine's day fic, but no plotbunnies appeared. Instead, this persistent plotbunny stared me down until I caved and edited this half-written chapter.
Chapter Review: That dragon loves Raoul so damn much, I don't even know what to do with them. (Well, I do. I've had this story outlined for a while now and just haven't had the time to write it.) Stay tuned for further plot developments dealing with Raoul, the prince loved by all, but loved most by a dragon. P.S. I hate that wizard.

You ever have a plot point that matters but don't have the time to talk about it? I mean, this world has two moons. It's important? (Not really. Sort of.) They actually have different cycles since one is farther than the other, but most of the time only one of them is visible and only on special occasions do both appear so that the inhabitants of this planet in this universe rarely consider the second moon there (save for magick users because it really only effects them).