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How nerve-wracking this felt.
Furina de Fontaine had been up on stage dozens of times already; though always initially nervous, once she spotted the people's grins and expectant gazes, she could do nothing but act and sing and dazzle. She loved it, she truly did, which is why she would take the stage even when she felt scared stiff. Perhaps those were the best times to take the stage, she reasoned. It would make her daily life—the “Life of an Archon”—easier.
But this... this was no stage.
As Focalors, Furina had sent the Hydro Sovereign a rather short letter some time ago, for reasons that she couldn't very well explain even to herself, and now, that very same Dragon stood in the middle of Palais Mermonia, his hair slicked back from the storm outside. Water dripped from his rather lackluster and basic clothes (for which Furina was thankful, as she hadn't actually known whether or not he'd have observed humans enough before to dress appropriately for the weather and common decency), pooling into a small puddle beneath his shoes. His back was to her, as he faced out one of the many ornate windows to watch the rain thrash against the stone walkways and poor bushes outside.
To be honest, this “Dragon” was not what she had been expecting. On the other hand, she hadn't been sure what to expect exactly. She had pictured a large, elegant, white and blue dragon that sailed through the skies and made friends with the clouds—a most powerful being that would have difficulties fitting inside a building, even one as large as Palais Mermonia. Even if that were not true and was just her fantastical wishful thinking (because, really, who wouldn't want to meet and befriend a dragon?), she had anticipated...
Well, she hadn't anticipated him taking out the guards and scaring the Palais Mermonia attendant so terribly she fled, seeking Lady Furina, her beloved Archon, from the Opera Epiclese as fast as possible. She had alerted more guards, who accompanied Furina to the Palais Mermonia, but Furina had been quite adamant they shouldn't come inside with her, lest they intimidate the dragon off.
“He is a most esteemed guest, invited by none other than myself,” she had insisted, tutting and ignoring pleas from them all as she whisked herself inside. “And besides! If your Archon could not handle a little bit of... shall we say... negotiation, then call her an Archon no more!”
And so, that was how she ended up inside a building alone with a very sopping wet Hydro Dragon Sovereign, with her heart thump-thumping in her ears so loudly she could scarce hear herself speak.
“Err... Um... Ahem! I apologize for the wait, Monsieur, as I had been preoccupied in another part of the region.” Her voice felt high and lofty, filled to the brim with confidence unbidden. As she stalked over to him, though kept the distance between them still reasonable, her posture and demeanor also oozed confidence. Yes, this was the Hydro Archon after all.
The Dragon turned towards her, not at her speaking but at her shoes clacking against the marble flooring. His eyes narrowed ever-so slightly, and Furina came to a halt. He raised his gaze, met her own, and said nothing. Then, when Furina also did not say anything, he turned back to the window, the rain harsher than ever.
Furina gave a pregnant pause. She had rehearsed a hundred dozen scripts for every sort of social obligation, but “explaining why you've invited a very powerful dragon to serve the Court” was, somehow, not one of them. How was she to handle this? In her letter, she had bid him come on the pretenses that she'd like to show him an opera, with the best seat in all of Fontaine. But that was some months ago. And the opera for the day has already begun! This Dragon even interrupted her watching of it, though surely not intentionally.
The longer that the silence stretched between them, the more fidgety she became. She was at a lack of words, and she actually did not know if the Dragon spoke the common tongue. Oh no. Did he understand her at all, the one sentence she had said—but it was the most important, for it was her apology for not being present! Oh, this won't do. Is that why he also bypassed the guards? But then again, he had made his way to Palais Mermonia in the first place, so he must, at the very least, have some passing knowledge of the language...
She swallowed, and her heart beat even louder, deafening, drowning.
Furina closed the gap between them a little bit more, leaving only a few feet to separate them. From this vantage point, she could assess him more properly:
His jawline, and his form in general, seemed to be carved from marble. His piercing eyes were a very light purple—notably very inhuman, and the color of a hidden pond that one thinks is the trickery of the Seelie. His hair clung to his face, matted in some parts, and as her gaze drifted along the length of it, along the sky blue 'antenna,' as it were, she noticed it was downright knotted, especially at the ends, where it came to a stop at his calves. His ears formed a soft point, though much of them was hidden behind the mussed locks of hair. Most notably, what appeared to be teal-green scales of some sort peeked out from beneath his collar, suggesting that more could be discovered once free of the dark, wet shirt.
The Hydro Sovereign was not human, she knew this to be true. But even his eyes carried a gentleness to it, waves of the ocean at sunset, caressing the sandy beaches and whispering a quiet tune of peace. To Furina, who was both divine and not, this Dragon felt no different.
Thunder boomed in the distance, rattling the window pane. She startled, covering her head, and when it passed, she realized how undignified that must have seemed. Hurriedly straightening herself, she smoothed her clothes down, cheeks dusted pink.
He stared at her curiously, in a way that reminded her of an animal gauging whether something was a threat or not. She cleared her throat again, lowering her gaze and rubbing the back of her neck sheepishly.
“Um, Monsieur, I did invite you to witness an opera in... in all its grandiosity,” she began, her tone of voice lacking every drop of the prior false bravado. She chewed on her lip. “However, and I must... um, apologize, but you've come when today's is almost over. There—There will be one a week from now, of course, and you will be treated to... to the best seat in the house, as promised. I know not whence you live specifically, however, and would hate to trouble you to leave and come back.”
Furina took a deep breath, ceasing with her fidgeting, and braced herself to look up once more.
“So, I will offer you a room next to mine—here, in the Palais Mermonia, as well as... a change of clothes. Perhaps multiple... And food and drink and all other sorts of things, should you desire it. For however long you decide to stay with us here in Fontaine.” Furina's smile felt wide, but in actuality, it was rather meek and small; however, as she spoke, she regained that confidence she had briefly lost. “Is this agreeable to you, Monsieur...?”
The end of the sentence turned upwards in a silent question of “What shall I call you?” that he would not answer, for whatever reason.
Neither of them moved for a few moments, into minutes. Just when she opened her mouth again, to—to adjust the terms of the agreement, because perhaps they were not suitable after all, he tore his eyes from the downpour outside to look at her again. Just as hers had earlier, his gaze wandered, observing her in a manner that very much felt like it exposed her down to the bone.
But then their eyes met again, and this was truly exposure. Forget the bone; he saw right past her physical form, peering into her very soul!
Outwardly, the Dragon did not react in any manner, save for a simple nod. “Very well,” he replied quietly, flatly, and turned back to the rain.
* * *
And so everything that followed occurred like this:
The Hydro Sovereign took up shelter in the room next to Furina's, as she had promised. After his agreement to the arrangement, she had the guards waiting with their ears pressed to the door outside fetch only the finest of tailors to work on a request from Focalors herself. Meanwhile, the attendant was to take care of dinner—for two, Furina insisted, as she would dine with her guest.
She gave them explicit instructions to not reveal his identity under any circumstances. They agreed, and would later talk amongst themselves about the ferociousness her eyes held.
The tailors took his measurements, and she ordered several different outfits, including undergarments and ones to wear at night, and they departed. Soon after, dinner was finished being prepared. Furina attempted small talk, but the Dragon did not look up once from his dish, except when he took his first—and only—bite to make a face of distaste. He did not drink nor eat after that, sitting contentedly, looking towards the window.
She also found herself looking out the window, at the rain that seemed to be neverending. Brief thoughts of the prophecy coming true earlier than she had expected to filled her mind, but she thrust them out with a drink or two of wine. And then one more for good measure.
Over the next few days, the tailors finished with most of the garments, and the Dragon cooped himself up in the room she had given him. He remained utterly silent at all hours of the day, and at some point, it began to worry her, especially because she could not find something that he liked to eat or drink. Furina knew she was being a horrid host (it was all in her head, for this Dragon was rather easy to please, in all honesty), but she could not think of a solution outside of outright asking him.
So, she resolved to do something about it—and to also fix his admittedly dreadful hair before the opera.
* * *
The night before the fated day, where he would witness all of Fontaine's glory in a single outing, Furina paced and paced. Yes, she had told herself that she must do it, and she would end up doing it, but she had to talk herself up first. And this involved muttering to herself outside in the hall, a small cosmetics box being tightly gripped by the handle. What she said was nonsense, for it truly did not matter; only the thoughts in her head did.
With a quiet cry of mild frustration, she had had enough. She would do this. She could do this!
She knocked on the door with an over-the-top flourish, just as it opened, so it wasn't really a door she knocked on at all but rather the Dragon's chest. She blinked, her smile having already been prepared (so it really looked out of place), then looked up at him proper. Then she realized that he was shirtless. Even still, it took a few moments for her body to catch up to her mind, so her hand ended up lingering on his chest for a lot longer than what she wanted it to (which was a big, fat zero!). Hurriedly, she withdrew her hand, folding it and her other one behind her back. Furina's cheeks warmed, and she cleared her throat rather loudly without even meaning to.
“Pardon the intrusion!” Thankfully, her voice did not squeak in any way. “I had been—Well, the opera is tomorrow and—Ah, have you—No, let's... um, ah, sorry...” But just like that, she deflated. So much for the talk she gave herself.
The Dragon raised a brow in confusion. Yes, what a pitiful creature she must look like to him. No, that won't do. An Archon wouldn't look pitiful, would she? But there was something about this Sovereign that made her lose any and all sort of reasoning. Nevertheless, she couldn't let him figure out her secret, for she knew that he must be rather intelligent and astute.
Once again, she cleared her throat, then puffed out her chest. Right, the box! She held that out too, as if it was an explanation in and of itself—to be fair, to someone human, it very well may have been. But she figured he did not know the intricacies of a cosmetics box and thus began to explain herself... properly.
“The opera is tomorrow. And—Monsieur, you really do have rather nice hair, so please allow me to dress it up for tomorrow's night out.”
His eyes searched for something in her own. A moment passed, in which she held her breath, then he seemed satisfied, giving a curt nod and stepping to the side to allow her to enter his temporary room.
But there was one small problem. Furina bit her lip. “Apologies, Monsieur, it's just... well, I am an Archon, and though you are a guest, much of Palais Mermonia perceives you as a human one. To see you inviting me to your quarters with no shirt... well, the people will talk! You understand, don't you? So, I must humbly ask of you t-to please dress accordingly!”
Another moment passed between them. The Dragon seemed to always do things in moments, as if weighing the consequences of every action he could possibly take. It wasn't much unlike Furina herself, who could, at times, become stunlocked between two different decisions for spans of hours. But the Dragon was muted in most everything he did, too, so Furina had to wonder what exactly he was considering. Maybe, in the end, they weren't alike at all, and all this moment business was wishful thinking on her end. Projection, even. A yearning for companionship.
But the Dragon relented with another curt, impersonal nod, disappearing into his room in order to put on a button up shirt, much like the one he wore on his first night in Fontaine, only this one was a stark white. From her position, Furina could see the way the muscles of his back and shoulders worked as his hands presumably moved down the length of the shirt, one button at a time. She mentally noted that one could still see the teal scales under a white shirt, traveling over the length of his shoulder blades and all the way down his spine.
Inhuman. Inhuman. Inhuman.
Everything about him was inhuman, yet it was also, again, very much human.
Once finished, he looked over his shoulder, and she crossed the threshold, shutting the door after some quick mental gymnastics about the consequences should a Palais Mermonia staff spy her when she exited. But the privacy it afforded was much more valuable. She could always excuse herself, after all. She was the Archon.
Furina rounded on her heels, coming face to face with the Dragon. He stood in the center of the room, almost as if he were a doll or marionette, and she almost grimaced, catching herself in the nick of time. The room itself looked like it had not been touched in the six days the Dragon had lived here, which seemed oddly fitting, save for some small evidence of the bed being used.
Curtsying, she set the box down on the desk to the vanity, in front of a rather large, decorative mirror. She pulled the chair out, motioning for him to sit, which he did. Curiously, there were no moments contemplated then.
The Dragon watched her carefully as she stood next to him, opening the box and pulling a brush out of it. The box was a music box, she had forgotten that part, and a ballerina had sprung up, frozen in time, as it was not wound. Though he seemed to be interested in it, she moved behind him, gathered up his hair, and began to brush, humming to herself.
“You know,” she said after some time, working on a particularly difficult knot, “I'm afraid I don't know what to call you. ‘Monsieur’ does not fit in the long run. Do you have a name?”
In the mirror, Furina could see his eyes widen just barely a noticeable amount. Many moments were contemplated.
“Léviathan,” he said at last, definitively.
Her brushing paused. “What a fine name.” She resumed brushing, and fell silent as she considered her own moments in time. “Alas, it is rather foreboding. Do you mind if I give you a name to use in Fontaine? It's, um... well, it's probably better to keep your identity a secret for now, and Léviathan is the well-known name of the last Sovereign, is it not? So,” she was losing steam on this idea, “so... so, a name that can become your own, while also functionally obscuring that you're the current Sovereign, may prove beneficial.”
It surprised Furina how easily she had gotten used to the quiet and gentle in-betweens with the Dragon. It never felt stressful or suffocating, even at this time, unlike the silence of her room at night. She could talk for the both of them, after all, and she also reasoned he simply might not be used to speaking with others.
“How about... let's see. You've come to a new town... Neuville, perhaps?” But something struck her as off, and so she continued to carry her thoughts to the end, her fingers combing through his beautiful hair. “Neuvillette? It softens it overall... but... well, how do you fancy it?”
The silence fell between them again. She was just about done with his hair, patiently (or, really, not so patiently, as this particular in-between was eating away at her insides like an acidic poison) waiting for his answer, when he spoke, nearly startling her.
“Neuvillette...? Very well.”
He sounded pleased, in a sense. She was on her knees, having withdrawn a ribbon from the box, so she could not see his face (she wondered if he was smiling); she gathered the ends of his hair, and began to tie it together in an elegant manner.
When all was said and done, she moved to his side again, smiling brightly, proud of her work. With one hand on the back of the chair, she silently urged him to stand up, which he did. He turned slightly, feeling the extra weight at the end of the hair, and twisted to see. The ribbon matched her own, on the backs of most of her outfits, but she hoped he wouldn't read too much into it. There was nothing to read... nothing at all.
“I thought it might fit you,” she explained with a nod of her own, packing up the things into the cosmetics box again. “It will also help keep everything in place, so you won't have to do much adjusting tomorrow. Let me know if it comes undone, 'kay? But it shouldn't so quick!”
The Dragon nodded, straightening himself. She picked the box up, then felt dreadfully awkward.
“Um... w-well,” her face bloomed a lovely shade of red, “I should get going. I'll send for you at—”
“Focalors. It is nice to meet you. Thank you.”
This was about the most he's said to her the entire week! Her face reddened even more, to the point where she felt it might explode. She fumbled over her next words, before finally settling on, “It... it isn't a problem at all! But, but, it's nice to... to meet you all the same... Neuvillette. N-Now I really should get going! Bye-bye!”
Furina could not get out of that room fast enough. She flung the door open and dashed out. She didn't even go to her room, turning the other way, running like a madwoman all the way down the stairs and only stopping when she got to the main room of the Palais Mermonia. Standing by a window to catch her breath, she shielded her eyes from the sun.
Blinking away involuntary tears, she peered out in wonder. While the streets and leaves still glistened with a slick wetness, it seemed the week-long storm had just come to an end.