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You found yourself wishing, as you often did lately, that your dragon could be at least slightly more…sociable. If only so you could properly fly with a wing, instead of being stuck doing what you had trained to do for years, yet hated doing.
You knew what everyone said about you, once they knew who you were. You were, after all, your father’s son. And you hated it. Hated that you were stuck at the beck and call of him and the King, hated that instead of protecting your people and your borders you spent your time in dungeons and prison cells so deep underground that the screams you caused (that you never stopped hearing) wouldn’t affect the nobles and soldiers that lingered above.
Melgrens were known for being ruthless; at least that was how you were raised. Your father had taught you everything you know, however since he now had more pressing matters to attend to, you were stuck doing the dirty work.
It certainly didn’t help that your signet was perfectly designed for this…career path. Gods how your father had practically salivated upon learning of it. The ability to cause others pain without even touching them - creating wounds simply by looking, burning flesh from bone with a simple gesture, bruising with a flick of the wrist; you’d honed the skill to perfection - not by choice, but by order.
“General.” You didn’t address your father as such normally, and you certainly would not in this setting “The information you wanted is here. I have a scheduled leave, so I will be back tomorrow morning.” Simple, and direct. Seeing your father made a well of confusing emotions rise within you; it was easier to just give him what he wanted, and leave. To see Violet, see how she’d been doing - to see Garrick . The months had passed in a blur, you had blinked and you had been…whatever you were, for six months, going on seven. You knew you’d have to tell him at some point. You’d seen the rebellion relic on his neck, and you knew that no matter how much you cared for him, however much you agreed with the rebellion, any feelings he had for you would disappear the moment he found out who you were - and what you did. It was selfish, and unfair, but you wanted to keep him for a little longer; even if it meant that when he inevitably found out and cut you out of his life it would hurt that much more.
“Your leave has been canceled, Lieutenant. There is a new prisoner, and I am far too busy to bother. Get what you can out of him, and dispose of him. Now.”
You wanted to argue, wanted to scream because the one thing that made you feel happy, loved, made you feel good was being, albeit unknowingly, withheld from you. But you couldn’t, not without your father finding out what you’d been doing, finding out about him , and you would rather die than let your father even come close to Garrick Tavis.
So you nodded, gave him the file, and left.
Garrick
“Where is he?” Violet asked, whether to herself or to Garrick, he wasn’t sure. He tried to tamp down any budding worry; clearly you could handle yourself, you were probably just late. You had to be.
“I’m sorry Garrick, I don’t think he’s coming. I’m going inside; I’ll try to find out what happened, I just…I can’t wait here hoping.” Violet spoke quietly from his side. He tried not to get annoyed. That rational part of his brain understood her logic; she’d already been waiting an hour for you before he showed up (he’d gotten caught up with smuggling weapons to Xaden, though he certainly couldn’t tell her that).
“Sounds good, Sorrengail.” He curtly responds. He still wasn’t sure how he felt about her, and after Xaden’s little freak out he knew how he felt, which made it even more complicated. He didn’t move, nor watch her as she walked off the flight field that was growing lighter and lighter by what felt like the minute.
“He isn’t coming, Strong One.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Sit against me. I will not have you catching a cold because you insist on spending your night out here without proper gear.”
He sat against Chradh’s warm side, letting his warmth soak into his back.
“What if he’s hurt?” He asks aloud, unable to help himself.
“Spriolag is one of the strongest dragons alive today; he rivals Tairn and Codagh, though he doesn’t act like it. Your mate will be fine, if he has been hurt. Spriolag’s pride will not allow him to lose such a rider.”
“How do you know that?”
“Dragons know everything. Stop asking insulting questions.”
He leaned further into his dragon, feeling exhausted. He’d been out here for at least a few hours, longer than he normally was absent from his bed. He would wait, though, until he could see the sun coming up over the flight field. He had to.
“Tell me how you’re getting those daggers.” You forced your voice into a tone filled with malice and boredom, praying to the gods that this man would break. You’d hoped to break him fast enough to go see Garrick, albeit a little late, but this flyer was stubborn, and the window in which you could have made it in time had long since passed.
“G-go…to…he-” The flyer cut himself off with a scream of pain as you opened yet another wound on his chest. You held back the groan of frustration. You hated this, hated yourself for hurting someone you agreed with; you knew what they were up against, after all. You just couldn’t do anything to help them. You also hated that. You wished, more than anything, that you had been someone else’s son. Not just because your father was as cruel off the battlefield as he was on it, but because if you had been a nobody, someone nameless and faceless to the King, you could have left and switched sides already. Unfortunately, you were under as strict a watch as any prisoner here, so there was no way to escape this. You had tried, to be sure; you had the scars to prove it, but there was no hiding from your father. You readied yourself again to strike, and sent a little bit of heat towards the tips of the man’s fingers; just enough to (hopefully) scare him into talking. You could tell he was almost there; he just needed one last push.
It worked.
“Okay, okay!” He cried, his hands trying to get away from a flame that wasn’t there. “The cadets! The…cadets are smuggling them out to us.” He heaved a sigh of relief as you let the heat drop.
“Which cadets?” You asked, dreading the answer you had a nagging sense of dread was coming.
“The kids of the leaders of the rebellion…the ones with the rebellion relics” He wheezed out. You froze. That meant… Garrick . Fuck. Fuck. You decided right there that you were, for the first time in your life, going to defy orders. You wouldn’t rat Garrick out; you couldn’t. You looked at the man; he was a Lieutenant; it was plausible that he wouldn’t know. It had to be plausible. You made a motion with your hand, stopping his heart in a second. You knew he would be another face you would never forget. You gathered the file you’d created, checked it over and smoothed out your face. You knew your father’s signet wouldn’t give you away; he couldn’t see anything when more than three marked ones were involved. You just had to hope you wouldn’t give yourself away either.
Garrick
He was tired. And cold. And the sun was starting to come up. He got up from where he sat against his dragon, and silently walked across the flight field. You hadn’t come. Violet hadn’t come back; he’d have to go find her at some point to see if you found out what happened. He had prayed to every god and goddess they worshiped that you were safe, and unharmed - that you were alive . He stumbled to his room, knowing that he’d have to be awake in less than three hours. He couldn’t afford to miss a day because he had slept on the flight field. As he approached his door, he was met with Violet’s face, looking far too awake for his liking. It was like she didn’t care .
“What?” He barked gruffly. He was too worried and tired to bother being nice.
“He’s okay.” She said softly. “I can’t tell you how I know, but I do. He’s fine.”
“Why can’t you tell me how you know? How do I know you’re not lying, Sorrengail?” He knows his voice betrays some of the pain and panic he’s feeling, but he doesn’t care.
“You’re going to have to trust me, Tavis. You were always going to have to trust me at some point.” He largely ignores her, opening his door.
“I’ll cover for you, if you want. So you can get some sleep.” She offers, and damn if Garrick feels himself liking her just a little bit more.
“...Thanks, Sorrengail.” They both know that he’s thanking her for more than just offering to tell Xaden that he’s sick or something. He falls into bed, trying to make up for the sleep he lost. He’d try to go to his afternoon classes, but for now all he wanted was the comfort and safety of his bed. And to try to believe what Violet said. You had to be okay; even if it scared him how much he cared.
Your father had believed you. You’d told him the same thing you’d told him every time you interrogate someone; they didn’t know how the flyers were getting those daggers. Only this time, you hadn’t been telling quite the truth. You walked to your room, intent on showering, then sleeping like the dead. As you rounded a corner, you were met with the face of General Sorrengail herself. You stopped just short of hitting her, standing at attention as much as your aching muscles would allow.
“General.” You said, nodding.
“You look exhausted, Lieutenant. They really are running you ragged here, aren’t they?” She asks, a small smile playing on her lips. She’d watched you grow up, she was as much a mother-like figure to you as your own (not that your own was anything like a mother, when she bothered to be around).
“Yes, General.” You responded, too tired to play the games that you were awful at anyway.
“You gave Violet quite the scare last night, Lieutenant. Perhaps I’ll have a word with your father, explain why you’ve been scheduling leave this often? I’d hate to keep two such good friends apart.” You snapped awake, suddenly understanding what she had thought. You also realized that this could work to your advantage.
“Yes, General. That would be…most helpful.” You tried to seem bashful, hoping the lessons Halden had given you on court behavior (half-assed though they were) to pull it off. She seemed to buy it, thankfully.
“I take it I’ll see you at the Reunification day celebration at Basgiath, then?” She inquired.
“Yes, General.” The King had ordered it, after all. Halden, lucky bastard that he was, got to skip it (his father was still terrified of losing another son to Basgiath’s walls), but you were stuck going, playing a game you’ve always excelled at fumbling so badly that your father threatens to disown you.
The General smiles, nods, and continues on her way to your father’s office. You breathed a sigh of relief, before heading to your room, now hoping to wash off the blood and that encounter.
You could only hope that you got to see Garrick before then; you knew that if you didn’t tell him before, he’d find out at the celebration that he was also being forced to attend in a couple of weeks. If not…you really hoped that he’d hear you out. You couldn’t think about what might happen otherwise. Not right now.