Chapter Text
She sighed before shouting at the small winged creature climbing on her bookshelf.
“Maeve! Get down from there and help me go over this again!”
The creature grumbled but climbed down, settling on the girl’s desk to groom her extremely vibrant plumage in annoyance. Some of the hair dye on the creature’s wings came off and Dearbhla pretended to not notice how Maeve was trying to blend the colour back into her wings.
“Yes, Dearbhla? Did you want to go back over your Irish again?” It was, to her knowledge, the only thing the annoying little creature actually cared about, making Dearbhla be ‘more fluent’ in Irish.
“No, I already did that. Okay fine, I’ll do more later. No, I wanted to go back over the history that we know about the dragons.” She really didn’t want to, but felt it practically necessary at this point.
Maeve stared at her. “But… why ? It’s not something you’ll get tested on in school, we’re thought to be dead by…well, by the English, but it’s still not taught in school here!” Here being her school in Derry, though Maeve kept calling it Doire. If Maeve had her way, they’d probably both being living outside Galway and not in the North at all and it was tempting, but not on the cards at the moment, given that she was still in school. And had lived alone after her mother passed, in the apartment they had. She did stay with mother’s family fairly often, however.
“I am perfectly aware of that part, but I have an extremely bad feeling it’s going to come in useful sooner rather than later. Remember that bit at the end, with the whole ‘and then the Black and Tans killed all the royal bastards with dragons they could find’? Yea I think it might come in to play.” She knew at least one of the poor bastards had managed to escape to Mexico and wondered what the Mexican dragons looked like. Probably more like Maeve than an English dragon, actually.
“Public consensus is that your father was a B-Man, not a royal.” The small creature knew this was a sore spot for Dearbhla but had to make the point regardless.
“And you yourself have noted that the dragons give not a solitary feck what the public consensus on such things is. If a fecking British dragon wants to show up, it’s gonna fecking show up whether or not I or you want it to. There is a reason why they had orders to kill the bastards then and still do.” Still do being the primary concern, but given the rather ‘lack of dragons’ that happened since then, most people probably wouldn’t actually recognize what they were up until the almost invisible creature bit them on the nose.
“Ach well, I don’t plan on letting them get near you.” She’d damned well use her camouflage to the full extent. And the teeth and claws.
“And you are the size of a house cat. Even with the dragons known durability, you can still be easily picked up and yeeted .” If the dragon wanted to remind her of her parentage, she could remind the critter of its relative lack of size compared to humans. Big as she was for a dragon, she was no match for a pissed off human.
“Fine, start on the history then.” The creature grumbled before sitting up in what Dearbhla called the ‘ready to teach’ pose, which looked similar to a cat’s ‘sphinx’ pose.
“Sometime in the mid thirteen hundreds, someone who gets called St. George defeats the last dragons in England. The end.”
“Come on now.” The dragon stared at her, annoyed.
“In reality, he (who was probably not actually called George or a Saint) instead bound the dragons (usually thought to be Welsh dragons) to the throne of England.”
“The majority of the Welsh dragons have gone into hibernation.” As did the Scottish ones, at least to the common knowledge. Maeve was uncertain what they had actually done, but hibernating it was not.
“I am aware. The Scottish dragons are thought to be as well, but no Maeve, I will not bore you with my theories on what they are currently doing other than ‘hiding from the English for dear life’.”
“Right, so they’re bound to the throne, go on.”
“Over time, they realize that the dragons are…sapient? Is that the word, and probably more intelligent than your average person, but regardless, they start working with the dragons. And that’s about the time they realize that no-one can really see the buggers any more, unless they have royal blood. Which is where the bastards come in.”
“Technically, I think the English dragons consider you lot as an ‘emergency back up plan’ for the throne, to be fair.” Or for the continuation of the dragons themselves.
“Yes, right. Historically, there were more than enough dragons to flap about and chose many royal family members. Early nineteen hundreds, and that’s…not a thing any more so much. After the Easter Uprising here, not a thing at all here any longer, but I’ve no idea if it’s still more common in England?”
“Well, your half siblings might have English dragon pet/friends, if that’s what you mean?”
“You’re not a pet.”
“I’m not, the Irish dragons are not , but the English ones are more…bound, and you know that the English barely consider other humans as equals, much less us scaly bastards, regardless of how much they’ve aided them.” Or were required to aid them.
“Right, but here, we have you Irish dragons, who keep being called serpents, and when St. Patrick tried to banish you, tied yourself to land as its defenders. And don’t call yourself bastards, keep that for those of us who can take the name Fitzroy for the fecking royal blood.”
“Right! And we pick and choose who to follow as friends and companions!” She chose to ignore the comment about bastardry, as they’d gone over it far too often. Dearbhla had flat out refused the name, given that they were still pretending she didn’t have royal blood. Then again, she paid no heed to blood, given her damned determination for equality. One of the things they didn’t fight about, but for.
“Much to the disgust of the English, or the ones who know you exist still. ‘A mark of rebellion’ or whatever that was, aye?”
“Humph, yes. The ones here in the North historically chose unionists, but then again, didn’t have much choice.”
“Yes, well, when you get brought to Belfast by a Fitzroy who decides to be Irish…things happen. Aren’t you half of the Northern sort? … is there even any difference between them and the ones from Galway where you were born??”
“Well, when they came over, yes? They looked like and were English dragons. You know, more like…less serpent, more uh…dog? Longer leggies, mostly? And the Irish are very serpent. And colourful. But since what was it, mid fifteen hundreds? They’ve become more like us, the rest of the Irish dragons. But they’re still so much duller in colour even if they’ve become identical in every other regard. It’s the only way to tell really, the colouring.”
“Is that why you use up all the hair dye???” She hadn’t wanted to actually ask the little dragon why she had wanted hair dye when they had first met and was more annoyed at the speed it which it got used now rather than concern herself with her strange Irish dragon.
“Hey! I don’t use it that fast! And I look all…blotchy otherwise.” The dragon curled up in a tight sulky ball on the desk.
“Sorry, sorry.”
“But. The important thing here is that the English dragons, with one common point with you, choose who to follow, even if that’s restricted to ‘royal blood’ nonsense.
“I…you haven’t like, seen one, have you? Is that why you’re concerned? You’ve seen one looking for you and haven’t told me?” Meave looked positively murderous at the thought of an English dragon trying to encroach on her human.
“Maeve. Please remember it would be a very young dragon and it’s not something that I am forced to accept. They do take ‘no’ for an answer, always have. I’m just…you know how old I am, and how old the oldest ummmmm….’legitimate’ offspring is. My half sibling, you donkey. From what I’ve been able to scrounge up, this is about the age the dragons would go about looking at both the main bloodline and the bastards to see who they’d choose, when they’re old enough. And I hate it, so much. How long would it take a baby dragon to fly here, do you think? With the weather we’ve been having?”
“You’re worried for the fecker?”
“Worried that the throne would think it was acceptable to send them out in such weather with no aid or protection to search down to see if I still exist, yes.”
“...Aye, so they would.”