Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Crouched in the dust under a dead tree, Galbatorix stared at the scorpion in his hand. If anyone saw him, they would perhaps have started to panic at how close to his face he held the small but dangerous animal. Alas, he was sure that in the ten years of his life, no one had ever panicked for him. And he had no choice but to hold it that close either, otherwise he would only see a blob of color on other blobs of color. And as to why he held it at all; simple curiosity and a strange surge of compassion. He thought that such a dangerous creature didn’t deserve to be trampled, just because it was made for smaller prey. And it still could kill a human, which was rather impressive in Galbatorix’ opinion. So, he had gathered the shiny thing up and carried it to the side of the road that led into the village. Not to protect any of the idiots walking by, but to safe the little strong thing.

He wondered if it was grateful. Galbatorix could count on a single hand how often someone had been grateful to him. Which was still more than people that had panicked for him. And it wasn’t because he never did anything, but because if you asked his parents, him and his siblings were simply expected to do things. If they didn’t, they wouldn’t get food. He had been six when he had figured out by himself how to get other, and sometimes better, things to eat for himself. He had been eight years old when he had learned that that wasn’t normal.

Frowning, he concentrated on the little creature in his palm, closing his eyes to see the small lights he had recently discovered. The scorpions’ light was only a faint spark, but it was there nonetheless. Pressing his lips together, Galbatorix reached out towards it and was a little disappointed at the flatness he felt. He really shouldn’t be surprised though. No animal he had reached out to, had been very complex. The local camels still being the top candidates though.

Opening his eyes again, he shifted his hand to the ground, letting the scorpion scuttle away. He had always thought that animals might be easier to befriend than humans, but with the discovery of the strange lights that he could see when he concentrated, he also discovered that animals simply were a bit dumb. Perhaps life was easier if one was dumb. Some of his siblings certainly tried to prove that theory true, regularly.

Getting up from his crouch, he patted himself off in case he got some dust on his black robes, pulled his mouth covering back up and then headed back on to the road. A few human shapes stood there, likely looking in his direction. Galbatorix ignored them. He was used to the whispers about him. It was just another reason to try and get away from here. ‘Here' being the entire region of Inzilbêth; once a heavily forested region with constant rains and now a plain of endless dry sand, a burning sun and massive lightning storms once a year. Elves had lived here, when it had been still green and the region carried another name. Then things changed, the wasteland was named Inzilbêth and the elves left. That was how the elders told it at least. They also said that the elves ruined everything with magic and that was also what caused the yearly storms. Galbatorix liked the storms and thus had no hard feelings against the elves. Not that he would recognize them if he’d ever stand before one. Thanks to his bad eyesight, he would have to get really up close to see the shape of their ears. He learned early that that was a bad idea in general. And he wasn’t fond of getting too close to people either.

Following the road, he kept his eyes somewhere in front of his feet, letting his ears do the rest to avoid being shoved or walking into someone. The way into the village was unusually crowded today; people coming in from all the outside farms and other, smaller, villages. There were a lot of other kids around his age too. And for a good reason.

Galbatorix hadn’t seen the Order’s dragons arrive, but he had heard them. At first, he had gotten excited because he hoped that it was a thunderstorm outside of the season, but then the single thundering sound had separated into multiple and he had remembered overhearing some muttering about the riders flying in every ten years around here and that they were almost overdue. He had gotten a beating after returning from that trip to the village, because he had snuck away without permission and hadn’t done all of his work, but in his opinion it had been worth it. Once he had recognized the sound for what it was, he had dropped everything and left his parent’s farm towards the village. Because he had a plan. Either, he would leave this dusty and hot place forever, or he would go back home and get another beating for not finishing his tasks and running off. He didn’t want to get beaten for the rest of his life, so this better had to work.

An elbow painfully knocking into his ribs ripped him from his thoughts and he flinched away from the touch, only to pull a face at hearing his older brother’s mocking voice.

“Saw you sneaking off, little mole. You don’t really think that they would want someone like you in the Order, don’t you? You couldn’t tell a dragon apart from a tree.”

He cackled at his own dumb joke and Galbatorix gritted his teeth. The nickname ‘mole' was thanks to a book his oldest sister had once gotten as a gift for doing some work for an old lady. It was some fantastical tale about all kinds of animals that didn’t exist in the sandy wastes of Inzilbêth and his siblings had been absolutely ecstatic at discovering the description of some strange black-furred underground living animal that was practically blind and very sensitive to touches to its nose. Galbatorix didn’t quite get what was oh so hilarious about calling him that. He disliked all kinds of touches, not just to his nose and he never had the urge to dig tunnels. He was also pretty sure that there were other animals with bad eyesight and black fur.

Ignoring his brother’s provocations, he slipped into a small alleyway as soon as they entered the large village. No matter his sight, he knew this place better than his siblings and could thus easily get rid of his brother’s presence. And, he would even be faster at the main square. He was sure that if there was any place where the riders would see if anyone was worthy, it was there.

Hurrying his steps – although not running, because running was dangerous if one couldn’t see clear farther than less than a step – he weaved his way through the small alleys towards where he could already hear all the noise. It certainly was louder than usual and that realization made him stop at the edge of the indeed very crowded square. He felt queasy at the thought of entering that huge blurry mass of not enough room, bad smells and way too loud voices that were way too close.

He slapped himself, then balled his fists.

“Get yourself together. If those idiots can do it, you can absolutely do it too.”

With that short whisper, he weaved his way into the crowd.

Despite his discomfort, he was lucky. By entering from the side, he was far closer to the front, where a line of children had started to form. He couldn’t say it for sure, but he thought that there were people making sure that everything stayed in order and that the parents stayed back. The rest was all a blur.

When the first children came back, disappointed, some openly crying, he really didn’t feel sorry for them. It simply meant a better chance for him. Galbatorix only realized that he at some point must have slipped into the queue, because there suddenly weren’t people next to him anymore. Just other kids in front of him and behind him. He leaned a little to the side, to squint to the front, but the fact that wherever the eggs were was in the dark shade of the large main building of the village, didn’t make discerning any kind of shape any easier. Moving forward, he did figure out though, that the line moved to the side of the square, so they could walk past the eggs from right to left. He also noticed that there was a bit of a distance to what he figured must be tables that the eggs rested on, so the kid who’s turn it was could walk past them without someone breathing down their neck. That was a problem though. Galbatorix wouldn’t be able to see when the one before him had left and it would be his turn. And he didn’t look forward to getting snapped at to move it already, or being considered ‘a little slow'. His hands started to sweat. And then, suddenly, there was no one in front of him. He stared at the emptiness, panic crawling up his throat until he felt a poke in his back. The confused voice of a girl followed the short prod.

“Don’t you want to go already?”

“Ah. Yes. Of course.”

Thank the spirits, no yelling. He walked forward with all the confidence he could muster … and promptly past the first fabric covered egg. Galbatorix swallowed, silently cursing himself; he hadn’t checked how far he could walk forward to where the tables were and thus mistook the vague shape of the second for the first. What if that egg would have hatched for him? Swallowing the lump in his throat, he realized with horror that, lost in his head as he was, he had just walked past the second one too. How stupid could he be? Maybe he really wasn’t meant to be a rider. If he went back to the first now, he surely would look like an idiot. He wasn’t even sure if he would be allowed to.

He slowed his steps and concentrated, managing to calm his head enough to stop his steps at the third at least. Well. That was it. He had ruined two chances for himself and now the dragon in the third egg would surely note what an easily panicked donkey he was and wouldn’t even consider hatching for him. He sure wouldn’t hatch for himself. Blinking hard to force back angry tears, he stepped up to the square table and stretched out a shaking hand. He pushed underneath the heavy, black fabric – likely placed there to avoid color favoritism – and brushed his fingertips against the smooth and surprisingly cool surface of the dragon egg.

Nothing happened.

He felt like screaming and breaking something. Tears burned in his eyes again. Abruptly, he turned, about to walk away, when a voice stopped him.

“Hey! Wait. Give them some time, alright? You’re not done here.”

Confused, he turned again, seeing a human shape next to the table, pointing at the fabric covered egg. As if to prove their point, the thing shook lightly on the flat surface. Galbatorix felt his heart jump into his throat. Could it be…?

“Come on then. Take them and follow me.”

With a rushing noise in his ears and a feeling like he was walking on a sand hill, he stepped forward again, carefully gathering the egg in his arms, still covered with the fabric. It felt a little heavier than he had expected. He hurried after the person who had spoken to him, afraid to accidentally loose them and look like an idiot.

The person – Galbatorix wondered if they maybe were an elf with how tall and slender they were and how they moved – lead him inside the village's main building, which was normally used as offices and sleeping quarters for rich caravan traders. Apparently, the Order had commandeered the building for their own purposes. He followed the person into what looked like a small bedroom, where they gestured for him to sit on the bed.

“We like to give the hatchling and new rider some time alone during their first meeting, but if you need anything; I’ll be right outside. Don’t be worried if anything strange happens.” They moved towards the door and were about to close it behind them, when they turned back for a moment. “Ah, and you should remove the fabric. Don’t want to confuse your new friend by having them hatch into darkness, no?”

Their laugh before they closed the door was kind, yet, Galbatorix blushed angrily and tossed the piece of fabric onto the floor with more force than necessary. Suddenly feeling exhausted, he slumped down to sit on the bed, letting out a long and shaky breath. Only then did he look down at the egg.

His breath caught in his throat and his eyes widened.

Even with its contours not quite sharp to him, it was the most beautiful color he had ever seen. Purple. A color he had only seen in the skies in the mornings and evenings, but never in such a rich and pretty tone. Awed, he ran his fingertips over the smooth shell, then flinched as the egg trembled again. Suddenly, a long crack snapped across the surface and he nervously wondered if maybe he should take it off his lap and put it on the bed. Biting his lip, he turned sideways and pushed the egg from his thighs onto the blanket.

The trembling stopped immediately.

Galbatorix squinted at the - now even more blurry to him – egg. Was he supposed to hold it through the whole hatching? No, that sounded stupid.

The egg was still.

Until he laid his hand against it and another crack formed. He pulled his fingers away again and crossed his arms with a huff.

“You’re maybe a dragon, but I won’t let you blackmail me into doing things. We’re supposed to be friends, right?”

He didn’t like how his voice trembled at his last words. He never had any friends, except for maybe the snake that lived under the rock behind his parent’s farmhouse, and who had been a good listener when calmed with his thoughts, if perhaps not great at holding a conversation. It almost seemed like the egg pondered his words for a moment, then it started to shake more rapidly, cracks now forming faster and almost determinedly. Galbatorix found himself leaning forward, mentally cheering the little dragon inside the egg on. One more cracking noise and it was over; the pretty shell broke apart into a few large pieces.

Galbatorix wasn’t too upset about the now broken shell, because the little hatchling, huffing with the exertion and shaking itself, was even prettier. The same beautiful purple, with white horns, claws and spines. Still barely able to believe his luck, the boy leaned even closer to see the tiny dragon better. The hatchling turned towards him at his movement, shook out their wings a little and then started to determinedly walk towards him on still slightly wobbly legs. When they stumbled over a fold in the blanket, Galbatorix quickly reached out to catch them. His palm touched the hatchlings side, keeping them from falling – and pain raced up his arm, something flooding through him that felt agonizing and at the same time completely right. Through the agony, he wondered if this was how it felt to be hit by lightning.

He wasn’t sure how long it took, it could have been hours or minutes, but eventually he could move his limbs again. He had fallen on his side onto the bed and the hatchling must have crawled towards him, as they now pressed against his chest and bumped their snout against his chin. There was no pain now, only the touch of warm scales. Pushing himself up to sit cross legged, leaning against the wall, the hatchling followed his movements, climbing onto his knee and looking at his face. Leaning closer again, Galbatorix squinted at the dragon’s face in return, noting that their eyes where a lighter, more pinkish tone than their purple scales.

Looking into the intelligent eyes, an idea came to him. Concentrating, he closed his eyes, searching for the lights. He almost flinched back at seeing how bright the hatchling burned, no comparison to the dim light of a scorpion. Curious, he reached out towards it. Something in his mind seemed to open and he suddenly was flooded with hunger, tiredness, curiosity, pride and feeling of strange deep warmth that seemed to be directed at him. Blinking his eyes open, he looked down at the hatchling in wonder, their emotions remaining in the back of his mind, albeit dulled and possible to ignore. Not that he wanted to do that. The warmth made him want to both sing and cry.

He jolted as the door opened and the person from before spoke up.

“Oh, you’re already getting familiar with each other. Wonderful! I wanted to ask if-"

“They are hungry.”

“Huh? I mean, yes, of course. But how do you know that?”

“I can feel it.”

The person was quiet for a bit. So long actually, that Galbatorix worried that he maybe had said something wrong. Perhaps he should have kept it to himself? What if they took his new friend away from him? Could they do that? His worries were quickly waved away though, as the person laughed in disbelief.

“I don’t think I had that happen in all my two hundred years of working as an egg carrier. Seems like you have quite the talent. Follow me; we'll find the little one some food and for you as well if you’re hungry.”

Having learned not to deny a meal when it was freely offered to him, Galbatorix quickly nodded and gathered the hatchling in his arms, who happily got comfortable there. Approaching the person, he saw that they smiled at them.

“A very pretty one that has chosen you. I don’t think I know any other royal purple dragon.”

Galbatorix proudly looked down at the hatchling. He would have accepted any color really. But he would be stupid to deny that royal purple was a beautiful color.

-.*-.*-.*-.*-.*-.*-.*-.*-.*-.*-.*-.*-.*

The new clothes that had been given to him were strange. They were oddly tight, not having the cooling effect of his robes that he was used to. Although he guessed that he didn’t need that here, as the weather felt almost cold to him the further they had flown. And it was even stranger to walk around with his head and face uncovered. Even if he had been told that the sun wasn’t as burning here. At least he had been allowed to keep wearing black. He may have thrown a little bit of a tantrum about that. Perfectly justified of course; wearing other colors made him feel itchy.

After his friend had chosen him, they had left Inzilbêth rather quickly, him being the only child that left that place. When asked if he wanted to say goodbye to his family, he had refused. He feared that his mother might still give him a beating for running off again. And it wasn’t like he would miss any of them anyway.

So, they had flown for a few days on the back of a huge blue dragon who was apparently the friend of the person who had taken care of Galbatorix and the hatchling. They were also accompanied by a green and a pink dragon with their respective riders, until they reached a large city. The flight had been exciting and he could barely wait until his friend would be tall and strong enough to maybe carry him too. He just wished that he could have seen more.

In the city he had then been introduced to a few people and someone with another dragon who would become their teacher. Which didn’t hold longer than a week, because with already being able to contact other minds – which the lights turned out to be - apparently Galbatorix made such fast progress that it was decided that he should be sent to Ilirea. He had no idea where that was, but it sounded quite big and important. Which was where they were travelling now. The elf – because that was what they were indeed – named Nesseya and their blue friend Varg, who both had taken care of them from the beginning and who had never once snapped or yelled at him yet, had taken it upon themselves to bring Galbatorix and his friend there.

At the moment, they had taken a stop at a village, with Nesseya disappearing towards the center to pick up some more food. Galbatorix and his friend had opted to stay with Varg, who took the opportunity to sleep. Which was a little boring of him, but after such a long flight it was probably normal to be tired. Galbatorix had admired the blurry greens and dark browns of the plants around him, plucking of some wet leaves. It was amazing that it could rain here all the year through at any time.

Not wanting to walk away too far away though, he had started to balance on the trunk of a fallen tree – why would it do that? – and singing an old song that he remembered on of the elders back at Inzilbêth singing. Having started to learn what was called ‘the common tongue', it was nice to use his native language again for a bit. It didn’t feel as clunky and flat.

The song itself was long, with a lot of verses, which was probably the reason why only one elder remembered it fully. The text went through all the old spirits of Inzilbêth, which no one believed in anymore, although the people had sure liked to blame them for any kind of trouble they had. Without even knowing their names. Galbatorix knew all of them though.

He was through maybe a quarter of the song, when his purple friend started to hum along with him. They had nosed through the leaves on the ground for a while, but apparently decided that the song was more interesting. Being around two weeks, they were already way past Galbatorix’ knee and while Varg had said that most dragons started to speak in words around that age, they were still communicating in pictures and feelings. It worked for the boy, so he wouldn’t complain. Although he had to admit that the curiosity about what their voice might sound like, grew with every day.

He spun at the end of the tree trunk and balanced back, starting on a new verse. His friend's humming made him smile widely and almost fumble the right tones sometimes. Then he really stumbled, almost falling of the tree, when words suddenly echoed through his mind.

“That one!”

Jumping off the wood before he could truly fall, he looked first in Varg's direction, but the large blue dragon was happily snoozing on. Then, he turned towards his friend.

“Was that-" He frowned, deciding to speak over their bond instead. “Was that you?”

The purple dragon walked towards him, then sat down, looking up at his face expectantly.

“Yes. I want that one.”

For a moment, Galbatorix was confused on what they meant, until the song he had sung came back to his mind.

“You want the spirit’s name?”

“Yes.”

The boy blinked, then started to grin. The name of a pretty and dangerous lightning spirit would indeed suit her very well. Cheeks almost hurting with how wide he smiled, he dropped on his knees and wrapped his arms around the dragon, who hummed happily in answer. He giggled.

“Hello Jarnunvösk.”

Chapter Text

Morzan had never really trusted anyone. Perhaps he had once. Until he had turned five years old and his mother burned the spot where his white strand of hair grew out - as a before often cut back forelock - with a hot iron. Because he was an ‘embarrassment’ and a ‘curse'. He hadn’t known what that meant, only that it was bad and that was why he was in pain. He had asked one of the maids about his mother’s words later when his head had stopped hurting and she had mumbled some odd explanation. About how he was carrying the signs of bad luck and he had cursed his parents with dark fates and to not have any other children because he was a parasite.

He had been confused at that, as he had always wanted siblings and he didn’t do anything of the sorts. At least not that he knew of. He seemed to be the only one of that opinion though. So, as the child he was, he believed the grown-ups. If they wanted bad luck, they could have bad luck. Why should he bother with anything, if he never got even a single ‘well done' for it, anyway?

It had later also dawned on Morzan, that his white hair strand, together with his odd eyes and not great hearing, made his father look bad in front of his business partners. How that worked, Morzan had no idea. It was certainly also why he always had to stay in his room when guests came over, despite being the heir and certainly old enough to at least be introduced. His room had been small, boring and stuffy. His parents often had guests. It all seemed to make sense, to everyone but him.

When he had turned six and his parents had taken him on a trip to Teirm, Morzan thought that maybe they had changed their mind about him. Or perhaps he had been un-cursed? He understood later that he had been an idiot and that his mother’s hard glare and the way his father avoided his eyes should have warned him. At the time he had been excited to go out with his parents though. Morzan was used to them talking in hushed tones, so that he couldn’t understand a thing they said. Thus, he wasn’t worried when they had gotten out of the carriage, talking quietly to each other. His father had looked ever more agitated by the second, while his mother had kept shaking her head, eyes hard and expression even stonier. Unable to hear them properly anyway, Morzan had watched the carriage drive off and then turned his attention to a dog chasing after a rat. The barks he could hear quite well, the rat didn’t make a sound to him. Not even when the dog dug its teeth into it. He could never decide if he liked or hated loud things.

Eventually, his parents seemed to have settled their argument and had firmly told him to wait for them at the central fountain. Stupidly determined to finally make them proud for once, he had wrestled down his urge to go and explore and had sat down on the edge and had waited.

And waited.

The first night had been one of the coldest he would experience for the next years in Teirm. It took only until the second night for him to get beaten up and his boots stolen.

He stopped returning to the fountain after a month.

Morzan, ten years old as of yesterday – if he even had remembered his birthday right – stumbled over a loose brick as another rush of vertigo hit him. Catching himself on a forgotten barrel, he clung on, waiting until he could trust his legs again. How ironic that he would make it all those years alone, only to die of some dumb mistake. It had only been a quick grab for a pouch, like he had done it thousand times before. Only that this pouch had been magically protected. Morzan had reached out for it and in the next second, he had already been laying on the ground, feeling like someone had lit him on fire, twitching uncontrollably and biting his own tongue. The guards were able to pick him up from the cobblestones like a dead rat. Morzan would have tried to bite them, if he hadn’t felt like he’d been hit by a box full of nails, dropped from a ship’s deck (helping out at the harbor, to earn some extra money was nice and good, until such stuff happened because he hadn’t heard the warning shout right).

At least, the guards had been ‘generous' on accord of him still being a child, so, they hadn’t chopped off his whole hand. Only a part of his ring finger. Morzan had been relieved at that and even allowed himself a fat grin, when the asshole that he had tried to rob, had to pay a hefty fine for ‘carrying extremely dangerous magical objects’. Losing a bit of his finger had been really painful, but it had been done fast and he had had worse. Like all the fist fights with those dumb kid groups that didn’t want to have him around and called him a deaf dog, sea devil and other numerous things. At least until he punched their teeth out.

His relief about only losing a part of his finger held for a few days. Until one morning, when he woke up and felt sick. Being sick on the streets was bad enough, as it made stealing harder and pickpocketing almost impossible. But he had always managed in the past. Working alone also had the benefit that he didn’t have to share and stealing food was laughably easy anyway. This wasn’t a regular cough and sneeze though. His head felt heavy and too warm, moving made everything spin around him and his finger hurt. Actually, his whole hand hurt. And it was very red too. And hot, even if he himself felt more like he was freezing. Gathering up his strength, or what remained of it, he had forced himself to ‘acquire' his regular breakfast; courtesy of an exceptionally stupid baker who always left the window at the back of his shop wide open. Then Morzan had to fight himself for bit, to keep it all down in his rebelling stomach. So, after that, he had set out to find out how he would get back to being normal. Because having trouble eating, was especially bad. And frustrating, because he quite liked good food.

That had been two days ago.

Poking around, had resulted in him figuring out that secretly chewing himself through the main-market's herb stand would likely not help him this time. He needed someone who knew about mean wounds that hurt badly and didn’t want to heal. The problem was that he needed coin for that. Which he didn’t have. At least not as much.

The solution to that, pretty much came from above.

A day ago, the Order’s riders had arrived on their pretty, glittery, shiny dragons, to allow kids to touch three covered eggs and see if the dragon inside deemed them worthy their time. Morzan doubted that any of the assholes in this city would be accepted by such amazing creatures, but he had no intention to try it for himself either. The dragons in the eggs certainly would consider him as cursed, like everyone else did. And even if they didn’t; he was sick. Which was fine, because he had a different plan. A better one. One that he had prepared for since early in the morning and that was currently in danger of being ruined by his stupid half-finger making him almost fall over.

Angry at himself, that stupid rich fatso, the shitty guards and this whole fucking city, he pushed himself upright again. His healthy hand clenched into a fist, he made his way out of the alley and directly onto the crowded main market square. The sound of voices rushed over him like water, blurred and undecipherable to him. Biting his lip, he quickly took everything in. Just like yesterday, a row of children had formed to touch the dragon eggs under the fancy looking fabric, the grown-ups being kept at the back of the square as not to interfere. Behind the eggs stood the riders in fancy official garb. Sadly, there weren’t any dragons around, probably too big for the filled square. The wooden boxes from some store on the left of the square, were still stacked up like yesterday, much to his relief. A faint glint on the roof on the other side, told him that the glass shard he had placed was also still there. Hiding his bandaged hand in the sleeves of his ratty coat, he got in line, eyes fixating on the covered egg on the leftmost pedestal, closest to the boxes.

The line moved slowly, but that was in Morzan’s interest; he had to wait until the sun was high enough. When he almost reached the front of the line, he actually allowed a few other kids to go first, claiming that he was waiting for a friend. As if. He didn’t need friends. They’d just be mean and would try to take his things.

The glint of the glass shard growing brighter, told him that it was time. One more other kid before him and then it was his turn. Determined and hoping not to suddenly get dizzy again, he stepped forward, walking straight towards the egg on the left as planned. The dark-haired elf standing behind it smiled at him encouragingly and Morzan had half the mind to show him his middle finger. Acting as if he suddenly got caught by his nerves and slowing down, he eventually shuffled up to the egg. Slowly. Very slowly, he stretched out his hands towards it, pushing down an excited giggle. Almost.

Then, there was a loud clatter. One of the decorative banners, its cord burned through by the glass shard next to it, rushed down to the ground from where it had hung on a tall house’s façade, its wooden ends hitting the ground and making splinters fly. Waiting children sprung aside and people from the back and the front of the square rushed towards them, to check if anyone had gotten injured.

Morzan didn’t care for it all, besides the distraction that it created as intended, the shouts sounding only muffled to him anyway. In one swift move, he grabbed the egg, turned, and ran. If anyone shouted at him, he had no idea. Scrambling up the stack of boxes with the egg under his arm, hand pulsing with pain, he pulled himself onto the roof next to them, jumped over to another, then slid down another one into a flowerbed and from there he started running on towards his hiding place.

Unknowing yet of what had happened on the square, people didn’t pay him any mind. Running street kids where as usual as stray dogs here. He still had to slow down at some point though, his legs starting to tremble heavily and his vision going funny again. Soon that would be over. He was sure that someone in the canal markets would buy that egg off from him for a neat sum. Maybe he could even get a bed at a tavern for a few nights. And a bath. He really wanted a bath. And after that, he could buy, good, warm clothes, so he could maybe finally work on a ship properly and not just at the harbor and on short trips up and down the coast in the boring summer months as extra help. Maybe he could get his own ship one day.

Somehow making the last meters to the harbor without falling, he almost felt like crying now, both from relief and exhaustion. With a last effort, he dragged himself inside through a crack in the wall and then onto the rafters of the warehouse where he lived. It might have been a whole storage area once, but most of the planks had broken away, leaving him a safe and dimly lit square with a few thin blankets, some clothes full of holes and a far smaller stack of neatly folded clothes that he had stitched over long hours. He dropped the egg, still covered with its dark fabric onto the holed clothes pile, then dropped himself onto the blankets. His head and hand were hammering with pain and he was shivering. But he did it. His plan had worked. Those idiots who kept calling him names should see him now; having stolen a dragon egg right from under the noses of the Order’s riders. Breathless, he giggled to himself.

Resting for a bit, to wait until he could trust his body to move again how he wanted it to, he then peeled one slightly burning eye back open, turning his head to look towards the egg. Morzan felt a bit bad for just dropping it onto the not mended clothes pile, like some random object. There still was a little dragon inside it after all and dragons deserved respect. Holding his hurting hand to his chest, he pushed himself upright and shuffled over to it on his knees. Carefully, without moving the fabric, he poked the egg.

“Sorry. Out of everyone, you probably deserve this the least. But if I don’t sell you, I ...”

His lower lip started to wobble and he bit down on it hard. Blinking quickly, he glared down at his shoddily bandaged hand. Maybe, if he cut off his whole hand, he could perhaps keep the egg. Maybe the dragon inside it would grow to like him and hatch for him. With one quick movement, he reached out and ripped the black fabric off of the egg. He had already felt the smoothness of the egg when he had fled with it, but seeing the shiny surface, was something else. Even in the dim light of his hiding place, the dark red seemed to almost glow. It was so pretty that Morzan couldn’t help but laugh a little, despite the pain and tiredness, running his fingers over the red. Then, he slowly sagged where he sat. If it would hatch for him, shouldn’t it already have done it?

Feeling a familiar anger rising in him, he dug his fingers into his short hair, breaths growing shallow.

“You are just like them, aren’t you? Fine. Fine! You can have that!”

Morzan gave the egg a hard smack with the back of his hand, making it roll off the pile and into the shadow of the wall. He didn’t see that though. Mind fogged, he had hit with what had once been his stronger hand, before he lost a part of a finger on it and the sickness got to him. Muffling a cry behind his teeth, he curled up, hand pressed against his chest again, shaking and trying not to throw up from the pain. Somehow through all of it, he realized that he still needed that egg if he wanted this pain to end and that slapping it around really wasn’t a great idea. Once more he dragged himself upright, looking towards where the egg had rolled. His heart dropped into his pants.

The egg was gone.

Staring uncomprehendingly towards the dark, empty spot at the far wall, choked breaths started to escape him despite his will. That was it then. He couldn’t even find his anger to cling to now. He had somehow messed up his own plan and now there were no more options left for him. Shoulders hunching, he buried his face in his hands and tried to keep the tears from escaping him.

Something brushed against his leg. He thought that he had heard a strange sound. Having learned to go with his gut feeling instead of what his ears may or may not have heard, he flinched away from the light pressure to his thigh, almost falling to his side as nausea hit him again. His vision was a little fuzzy. Still, what was now staring at him, was undoubtedly a tiny dragon. No matter how double he saw. The small creature opened their maw again, but whatever sound it made, it was either too quiet or too high pitched for him to hear. Morzan sniffed, unmoving. Did the hatchling want to get revenge for his slap against the egg?

It didn’t even dawn on him what the dragon’s hatching meant, until it slowly walked towards him. He had a second for his eyes to widen and the smallest speck of excitement to grow in his chest. Then the dragon pushed their nose carefully against his healthy hand and suddenly, everything exploded with pain. Already over exhausted and having been in pain for days, his body gave in and cool darkness swallowed him.

Morzan woke slowly to being carried in someone’s arms. Which was very confusing. He could still smell the sea air of Teirm and feel sunlight on his face, so at least he had neither been taken far, nor had he been out for too long. The memory of the pain at touching the little dragon hit him like a knife. Perhaps they hadn’t hatched for him at all and that had been the punishment? For now, he had a different problem though. He didn’t know who was carrying him, but he certainly didn’t want to be carried anywhere. His stomach clenched. What if it were slavers?

Suddenly rather wide awake, he started to struggle as hard as he could. Caught by surprise, the person who carried him let out a shout, loosening their hold. It wasn’t enough for Morzan to escape, so he dug his teeth in at the next best opportunity. There was fabric in between, so he didn’t draw blood. But it clearly was painful enough, since he was rather suddenly dropped to the ground, hitting his chin on the stone and quickly rolling away. Someone tried to grab him by the shirt, but only succeeded in making him stumble. He made it maybe three steps, until he realized that he couldn’t see the hatchling anywhere. And there suddenly was a strong urge to protect the small dragon at any cost. Just as he turned around, a spell of nausea hit him again and once again, he met the stones quite abruptly. This time, he couldn’t get up. His head wanted him to run, grab the dragon and get out of here, but his body refused to. He wondered why slavers would bother with someone like him.

A tall person crouched down next to him. Morzan managed to move his head enough to catch a glimpse of them. It was a silver haired elf, who looked like he was talking rather angrily to two others who wore the official garb of the Order’s riders. Fine. Maybe they weren’t slavers. Suddenly, there was a small red snout in his face, nudging him in the cheek. The elf said something to the hatchling, which it ignored, getting rather agitated. Morzan could understand that. He’d be too, if he had the energy for it. Meanwhile the elf had picked up Morzan’s hurt hand and unwrapped the by now dirty bandages, frowning darkly at all the red skin. The boy thought that he really could at least show a bit more of a reaction with how awful it looked. Or at least gag a little.

Then the elf raised his own hand. He said something and suddenly, it didn’t look that awful at all anymore and the pain was as good as gone. Morzan blinked, then quickly snatched up the hatchling, scrambling backwards. The elf grabbed him by the shoulder, not hard, but rather insistingly and said something again. Pressing the little dragon a bit closer to his chest, Morzan pulled a face. Great. One of those grown-ups who thought it smart to talk to kids all ‘calm and quiet’. He couldn’t understand shit. When the elf tried again, the boy had quite enough and interrupted him.

“Speak up, old man! Keep your whispering for the trees.”

The elf’s eyebrows twitched a little, but apparently, he accepted Morzan’s demand. His next words were louder and finally understandable.

“We’re not here to hurt you. We are riders and while you stealing the egg wasn’t the right thing to do, the dragon chose you. So, you’re a rider now too, which brings certain duties with it.”

He spoke very slow and with an overly friendly tone. Morzan hated when people did that with him; speaking like he wasn’t merely hard of hearing, but also slow in the head. Adjusting his hold on the dragon, who rubbed their head against his chin, he scrunched up his nose. The pain and nausea being gone was nice though, even if his finger still felt a little odd. He huffed, glaring at the elf in annoyance.

“Fine. Lead the way.”

-.*-.*-.*-.*-.*-.*-.*-.*-.*-.*-.*-.*

The elf who had healed Morzan and then flew him and his new companion to Ilirea, was named Oromis. He had also told Morzan to address him by some elvish title, but the boy had simply pretended to not have heard that right and kept pronouncing it intentionally wrong every time. Oromis and his partner Glaedr – a huge golden dragon, who Morzan liked far better than the elf - had also decided that they’d be the ones to teach Morzan and the little one. Although he couldn’t understand why, since as far as he could see, the old elf didn’t like him particularly much. Maybe Glaedr had decided it.

Sitting on the roof of the rider’s Ilirean building, Morzan wriggled his toes in his new, shiny boots. These, just like his new clothes, he took good care of. To keep them whole and clean. As far as he could tell, that had surprised Oromis, who probably thought him a common, dumb street rat. Morzan had taught him better already, when at the first dinner together, the elf honestly looked like he was about to explain how cutlery worked to him and the boy had bluntly pointed out that the spoons were the wrong ones for soup. It wasn’t like his parents had never taught him anything.

He grinned as a small scaled head appeared over the edge of the roof, body quickly scrambling after it at having spotted him. The little red had already grown a bit and Morzan had to catch himself a little when they bumped into his side with a playful growl.

“You found me! That makes us even again.” He scratched the dragon at the side of their jaw, making them purr.

Still not quite used to the odd sensation in his head, he twitched as the touch to his mind grew stronger as if reaching into his, but then he carefully reached back. For a confusing moment he saw himself; black hair slowly growing out longer, the small burn scar in his hair line, eyes as odd as ever, a little less pale maybe. Then, he suddenly got overwhelmed by sounds. There were other riders talking in the courtyard below and people and horses walking down the street a little further and birds. Morzan’s neck twinged as he spun his head in the direction of where he heard those strange high chirping noises. Only to be separated from his partner’s mind, making him drop back into muffled dullness. It was disappointing and relieving at the same time. Scrunching up his nose, he turned back to the hatchling, who looked up at him with curiosity.

“Bad?”

“No. Just a lot at once.”

The little one rarely talked in words yet. Only if it felt necessary to them or they wanted to have things especially clear and precise. Morzan had to quickly get used to simply having feelings tossed at him, or being mentally poked and prodded. Glaedr had said that a lot of dragons took longer for using the bond for communication that efficiently, but apparently the little one had opinions and wanted them to be known. Understandable.

Morzan pulled the hatchling closer, who loosened their wings in the process to catch more of the warm sunlight shining down on them. He ran his fingers down the scaly back, skipping over and around the dark, pointy spines.

“I bet my parents would feel really stupid if they could see me now.”

The dragon rumbled in agreement, the vibration of it traveling through Morzan’s fingers. It was an almost tickling sensation, making him chuckle.

“You need a name, you know. I can’t just keep calling you dragon forever. That sounds dumb.”

Said dragon didn’t seem to be bothered much, as they simply twitched their wings and got comfortable, half draped over Morzan’s legs. The boy looked down with a sigh, then shrugged. If his partner didn’t deem it necessary yet, it surely wasn’t. They had hundreds of years now to come up with a name. And he’d freely admit that a dragon truly didn’t compare to a ship.