Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Once upon a time, there was a town called Rosalith. It was a prosperous town, with many scholars and artists and artisans who called it home, and traders coming from far and wide to offer their wares in lively markets. The Lord who ruled over the town was beloved by the people; a man strong and kind, compassionate and just. But his life was taken by great tragedy, as was that of his son who should have followed in his footsteps.

It was his younger brother who took up his mantle instead. Once jolly and adventurous but now stricken by terrible grief he yearned for the family he had lost, even once joy slowly returned to the mourning town and his own soul. And he laughed and made merry as he had before, save for the quiet times when all eyes were averted. He never had children of his own, and he never knew a family again like the one that had been taken from him. But he took the townspeople to his heart as his kin, and he protected them fiercely. Byron Rosfield was his name, and under his leadership the town of Rosalith prospered just as it had in the days of his brother’s rule, a thriving hub of commerce and culture even though it lay closer to the wild northern lands with its rumours of beasts and dragons than any other settlement.

Until one day, the rumours were proven true. And the town’s peace and happiness was shadowed by a threat unlike any the people had faced before.

It began on a calm morning in spring. The banners above the town were flying proudly in the wind and the streets were filled with the voices of children, the calls of birds and the music of the bards that stood at every street corner. The sounds carried all the way to Byron's palace and filled the halls with life; a familiar, uplifting tune to start the day. One that was quickly drowned out by thundering footsteps and the bang of a door being thrown open. The Lord Commander of the guard entered his liege’s chambers with his face pale and sweat beading on his brow, and his breath was heaving from how fast he had run.

‘A dragon, my Lord!’, he exclaimed before he had even come to a halt. ‘A dragon at the gates!’

‘Calm yourself, my good man’, Byron said. ‘A dragon? Is this true?’

‘It landed on the hill near the city gates. A beast as big as three houses!’

Byron paled upon hearing these words. ‘By the Flames! Is it attacking the city? Are the outer farms in peril?’

‘No, my Lord. It is just… sitting there. And -’

‘What is it? Out with it!’

‘It demanded to speak with you.’

An unexpected request, and all the more dangerous for it - Byron knew dragons to be fiercely intelligent creatures, but they seldom deigned to use words when fang and claw spoke much louder. But time was short if the beast sat waiting, and Byron was as protective of his own as any dragon.

‘Well’, he said, and only his tightly clasped hands were belying the way his heart beat in fear. Not fear for himself, but for his people, his kin - though he had to admit that being devoured by a dragon was a prospect to be avoided, if at all possible. ‘It is not every day a man has the opportunity to converse with a dragon. I shall be on my way.’

Before he stepped through the doors of his chambers, he turned around to the Lord Commander once more.

‘Oh, and Sir Wade? See to it that a bard is present at the gates. If I were to fall to a dragon, I would at least have the story of it sung for generations to come.’

********

The dragon was sitting on the hill near the city gates, just as Sir Wade had reported. It was indeed as big as three houses; covered in silver scale from nose to tail, wearing slender horns upon its head like a crown of swords. Its wings stirred up winds with every rustle, even resting against the massive body as they were. In its face, three eyes of molten gold gleamed with an otherworldly light.

Byron bowed before the beast, as seemed proper.

‘Oh Mighty One!’, he called up to the dragon’s head. ‘I am Byron Rosfield, Lord and protector of this town. You honour us with your presence. We never had quarrel with your kind - so please, tell us your desire.’

The dragon lowered its head, a single breath from its nostrils enough to nearly blow Byron off the hill. Its voice was so deep that it resonated in the bones, a growl like a splintering mountain.

‘I demand you gather every young man from your town, and bring them before me. Every one, as long as they are not bound to another soul.’

Byron felt his heart sink. The stories about dragons with a taste for human flesh were plenty, though apparently most seemed to prefer fair maidens as their meal. Many a town of legend had bowed to the beasts’ hunger and sought to appease it with sacrifices. The thought of doing so himself was far from Byron’s mind - the people of Rosalith were his, and he would not suffer a single loss. And so, being a man both crafty and well-spoken, speak he did; hoping that his quick mind would present him with a plan in due time.

‘You see’, he said politely, ‘I am advanced in years. To me, a great many people appear young. Might I ask you to be more specific about your requirements?’

‘Uhm’, the dragon said. Three golden eyes blinked as it sat back on its haunches. The tremor its backside caused when hitting the ground shook the very earth.

It thought about Byron’s question for a good long while, then it said: ‘Bring me any man who has seen more than twenty summers, but not much more than thirty.’

‘A very reasonable choice’, Byron praised. ‘Now onto your second condition… Many tales speak of how virgins are preferable to your kind, but I am afraid that in this day and age, they might be harder to come by. The youth has become quite open-minded about these things, if I may say so.’

The dragon huffed and coughed, motes of white light escaping its mouth and dancing through the air like fireflies.

‘I do not care if they are -’ It coughed again. ‘It is of no importance, as long as they are not currently claimed through marriage or dalliance or any other bond of the heart.’

‘Ah.’ Byron bowed again to hide his puzzlement over the dragon’s curious demands. ‘I see. Of course. Are there any other requirements that you would have fulfilled?’

‘Yes’, the dragon said. ‘They should enjoy the -’ It coughed again, and more motes of light rained down on Byron’s head. ‘The intimate company of other men.’

‘Truly?’, Byron asked with no small measure of bewilderment. ‘Does that… make a difference?’

The dragon pulled back its mighty head to look down on Byron from an even greater height.

‘Of course it does’, it said, seeming a little miffed.

‘Of course’, Byron quickly agreed. He did not see how any of this should make a meal more or less enjoyable, but it seemed unwise to argue with a dragon. ‘But these are very specific requirements, and Rosalith is big. It might take a good long while to find all who fit your description. Weeks, months mayhap. If you would return at a later time… might I suggest summer’s end, or even -’

The dragon growled, a sound that shook the entire hill and made Byron’s teeth rattle.

‘I will give you one month’, it hissed.

‘A most generous offer!’, Byron exclaimed. ‘I thank you for your kindness, oh Mighty One.’

Satisfied, the dragon turned around and spread its silver wings. ‘I shall meet you here, in exactly one month’s time’, it said over its shoulder. And then it leapt into the air and flew away, the storm its wings conjured lifting Byron from his feet and sending him tumbling down the hill. He rose on unsteady legs under the anxious gazes of the guardsmen and their Lord Commander who came hasting to his aid, and the requested bard who seemed to be unsure why he was present at all.

‘Gather all the brightest minds of this town and send them to my palace’, Byron ordered the Lord Commander. ‘And bring the bard. Our task will be worthy of a ballad, nay - a play! A grand saga! On your feet now, quickly. We have much to do.’

********

There was a great gathering in Byron’s palace that day, with all the foremost scholars and artisans and inventors and all the sharp minds the town had to offer, and all warriors and rangers and bounty hunters of renown. The unfortunate bard attended as well, watching the debate unfold from a corner of the room. There was much bickering and disputing and proposals being brought forth about how the dragon might be fought or appeased or negotiated with, and all of them were dismissed right away. Until one of the men, a scout well versed in dealing with creatures big and small, threw his hands in the air in exasperation.

‘To hell with the beast’, he cried. ‘Just take a few barrels of poison and dress them up in fancy clothes. Let the dragon swallow its own doom if it is so very hungry.’

Byron thought about this, for though said mostly in jest the idea was not much worse than any they had produced thus far.

‘Would that work?’, he asked Harpocrates, the wisest of the scholars they had gathered, but the old man shook his head.

‘It would take more than a few barrels of poison to kill a beast like that’, he said. ‘And more than fancy clothes to outwit it.’

‘But the idea is quite ingenious’, Byron said. ‘Let us present the dragon with the sacrifice it desires. We need but find something that is deadly even to a creature like this if swallowed carelessly.’

‘And something to disguise it’, a young engineer added. ‘It would have to look like a man, and move like a man, and speak like a man, too. A tall order, if I ever heard one.’

‘Then this shall be your task’, Byron said to the engineer, for she was a brilliant mind and learned in the ways of magitek, creating things both beautiful and wondrous. ‘Build us a man, and we shall fill it with the dragon’s death.’

‘Now hold on -’, she protested, but Byron had already raised his hands to address all those gathered.

‘In one month’s time, we shall be called dragon slayers. Heroes of this land! But first, all must do their part. To work, to work!’

And so they went to work.

********

On the first day after the dragon had made its demands Byron visited the young engineer, Mid. But she did not notice him setting foot in her workshop, for she was deep in thought over a pile of papers almost half as tall as she was. She wrote and sketched and pondered, then she swiped it all off her table.

‘Impossible!’, she cried. Then she gathered all the papers from the floor and began anew. The state of the papers suggested she had done so a good many times before.

Byron left her to her devices.

On the third day Byron visited the smithy, from which a great clamour was sounding and had done so since the early hours of morning. He found the blacksmith hammering and grinding and polishing away, forming the most delicate contraption Byron had ever seen. There were rods and springs, hinges and gears, a great number of them in a great variety. The blacksmith muttered to himself as he worked, and he seemed greatly irritated but intrigued even more.

Knowing the man to have no fondness for idle conversation or cheerful words, Byron did not disturb him any further.

On the fifth day Byron went to see Harpocrates who had been tasked with finding the dragon’s doom, the heart of their endeavour.

‘I found a hint that might lead me to our answer’, the old man said and showed Byron the book he had been reading. ‘This tells of a dragon’s single weakness. The legends it pertains to are written in curious tongues, but I am certain that I can find the solution in time.’

Filled with hope and giddiness upon hearing this, Byron kissed Harpocrates on the cheek and rushed out of the study with a new spring in his step, leaving the scholar behind both puzzled and amused.

On the seventh day the smithy fell silent, and Byron came rushing from his palace to gaze upon an intricate clockwork contraption. Mid and the blacksmith both had built it from countless parts both big and small, and now it was finished and beautiful and without a doubt the shape of a man.

‘Look!’, Mid cried in excitement. ‘Is it not a thing of beauty?’

It was indeed most marvelous to behold, human ingenuity trapped in a metal cage so elegant and delicate it seemed more like a vessel fit for royalty than a prison at all. Byron felt that it was a shame a creation so grand would end up between a dragon’s teeth.

‘Now help me carry this to my workshop’, Mid said, and Byron could not deny her.

On the eighth day Byron visited Mid once more. To his surprise, his treasurer was present as well, reading through lists of materials so long they coiled on the floor like snakes and looking quite disgruntled while doing so. He interrupted his work as his liege entered, and together they watched as Mid enclosed the clockwork contraption in artificial muscle and sinew. A leg was given shape by her deft hands, and Byron frowned as he saw it.

‘Should it not have a touch more meat on the bones, so to speak?’, he asked. ‘The dragon should not think it will still go hungry after its meal.’

‘The town’s coffers are being emptied by this toy of yours as it is’, the treasurer replied gruffly. ‘The materials are rare and worth their weight in gold. If the dragon wants more of them, it is welcome to pay for them.’

Byron did not know an answer to that, and so he watched in silence as a second leg, long and slender and cost-efficient, came into being.

On the tenth day Byron went to visit the seamstress who had been tasked with making garments befitting their saviour. Though when he saw what she had created, he raised a puzzled eyebrow.

‘That is quite the… hullabaloo’, he commented politely.

‘I figured that if it is to appear human, it would do well to have some personality, my Lord’, the seamstress answered. ‘And once they heard of what you are attempting, many of the townspeople brought a little of their own to add to my work. I did not have the heart to turn anything away, keen as they were on doing their part.’

Byron considered the pile of fabric in red and black, the frayed edges of many a piece of cloth, worn but given with a true heart’s wish woven into its threads. He considered the beads twinkling merrily in the sun, and entirely too many leather straps. He lifted a piece of white fabric from the pile.

‘Is this a dish rag?’

‘I believe it is, my Lord.’

‘Hm. Well. I suppose it has a roguish kind of charm. Let us hope that the dragon is of the same opinion.’

Thus satisfied, he left her to her work.

On the thirteenth day Byron found a man standing in Mid’s workshop. He was pale and motionless and did not have a face, but it was undoubtedly a man.

‘The seamstress finished her work, I believe’, Byron remarked with his back turned towards the marvel of engineering at the centre of the room. ‘It seems prudent to use the new garments, given how much work went into them.’

‘I am still working on the body. Clothes would be a right hassle’, Mid responded, lost in thought as she pored over her papers.

‘Was there truly a need for it to be quite so, well… complete?’, Byron asked, his eyes still politely averted.

‘You asked me to build a man, and so I did’, Mid said. ‘Besides - what if our dragon demands its sacrifice be stripped bare before devouring it? What then? What if it does not appreciate the feeling of fabric between its teeth? And if it is not complete, what then?’

Byron raised his hands to calm her fiery spirit, cautious not to catch another involuntary glance of the sacrifice in question. Though he had to admit Mid’s arguments had merit, it seemed undignified for her creation to stand around unclothed for all to see. And there was truly no reason for it to be quite so well proportioned.

‘I see’, he said. ‘Excellent work, truly. But do give the young man some privacy as soon as you can? For all our sake.’

On the sixteenth day Byron was called to the study. Mid was there as well, and together with Harpocrates, she presented Byron with a heavy tome of creaking leather and yellowed paper.

‘We found our puppet’s face’, she said.

‘And more importantly, its heart’, Harpocrates added.

Byron inspected the page they showed him, and found the portrait of a young man looking back at him. His beauty was befitting a prince, a face as flawless as a marble statue. It was surrounded by soft locks and crowned with eyes sparkling like precious gems, their expression noble and kind and fierce.

‘This man is said to be the only one to ever have vanquished a dragon without army or forbidden spell’, Harpocrates said. ‘Though the tongue it is written in is quite obscure. Vanquished might also mean subjugated or tamed, or even -’

‘It will serve our purpose’, Byron said, being most pleased with this discovery. ‘It would certainly be a face befitting our endeavour. A dragon slayer! Who better to save us from this creature?’

‘He is said to have wielded the dragon’s single weakness, a warrior and great sorcerer blessed with exceptional power’, Harpocrates continued.

‘And what would that power be?’, Byron asked eagerly.

‘The flame of a phoenix. A single feather should be sufficient for our cause - they are said to hold the entirety of a firebird’s power within. A rare artefact, but not impossible to come by.’

‘This is excellent news indeed!’, Byron cried. ‘I shall send out my soldiers at once to find us such a feather. Rosalith will be saved, mark my words!’

And he hurried out of the study and towards the guard’s barracks without dawdling.

On the nineteenth day Mid had sculpted a face noble and fair, and added fiery tresses as soft and feathery as the artefact her creation would carry in its chest. The eyes in that face were deep blue like the mysterious depths of the ocean, and sightless as they stared at her.

Beautiful it was, but that face was without life. Mid had crafted the planes and angles without flaw, but she was no artist; breathing life into a sculpture was not one of her many skills. And so she called upon another, to perfect the puppet’s features.

The establishment the Dame called her own might have been of ill repute, but she herself was not. Well respected she was, and well versed in the arts of beauty and seduction. And so she got to work, and she gave those waxen cheeks the dusting of life, warm and rosy. She made those unseeing eyes sparkle in their elegant frame of dark lashes, and those sealed lips shine until they looked as plush and delicate as a young maiden’s.

When she was done, Mid gazed upon her creation, the labour of her and the entire town’s heart, and she was proud. It was an achievement beyond any dreams, a true magnum opus. She laid a hand on the puppet’s shoulder that was stiff and cold but shaped perfectly true to life.

‘A real shame it is’, she said. ‘I would have very much liked to know you better before giving you up to a dragon.’

‘Careful’, the Dame warned as she saw this. ‘The heart has the habit of attaching itself to things it should not.’

She knew this well, as she had had her fair share of broken hearts, both her own and those of others.

‘It is but a machine’, Mid said, though she sounded sad. ‘As much as I resent the thought of having it destroyed - a machine can be rebuilt if I so wish.’

She looked at the puppet and sighed.

‘Though it is much harder when it has a face to remember it by.’

On the twentieth day Byron found Mid in her workshop, hunched over the puppet that lay before her on the table. With much relief Byron noted that it was now wearing trousers, though its chest was bare. The artificial skin was opened at the seams across and the clockwork frame at its core was exposed, and Mid adjusted the delicate gears with a deep frown on her brow. She was none too gentle about it, though the puppet’s face of course betrayed no discomfort.

‘Goodness, I almost pity it’, Byron said. ‘Whatever seems to be the matter?’

‘It feels no pain’, she said without interrupting her work, dismissing his concern. ‘It is not alive. Which is, in fact, the problem. I can make it move and walk and talk but it is not alive. It is not human, and none will believe it to be.’

She beckoned Byron closer.

‘Stand up’, she commanded.

To Byron’s startled surprise, the exposed gears began to whirr and the puppet sat up on the table. Its face was lifeless and its eyes were blind as it set its feet on the floor and righted itself with sharp motions until it stood before them.

‘Walk there’, Mid commanded.

The puppet started to walk stiffly in the direction she had pointed. But its blind eyes did not seem to perceive or care about the many things strewn about on the floor, and it kept stumbling and swaying as it marched on single-mindedly. It was a pitiful display, and when it passed Byron and faltered again, he steadied it with a gentle hand. It stirred a memory within him, a memory of the times long ago when he had watched over his nephew as the child practiced his steps, only that the puppet did not laugh and run into his arms. It simply walked on, until it had reached the wall and it had nowhere left to go. It turned around and then it stood there, waiting to be commanded once more.

‘I see’, Byron said. And upon seeing the dejected look on Mid’s face, he continued: ‘However, I believe you will find a solution. You have made it this far, which is an achievement I could have expected of no other. I have faith in you.’

He looked at the puppet that stood motionlessly. The way it stared at them might almost be mistaken for curiosity.

‘In both of you’, Byron added.

Mid made no notable progress the next day, or any day thereafter. She tinkered and cursed and adjusted and tried once more, but the puppet remained stubbornly devoid of any semblance of life.

Until on the twenty fifth day, one of the men who had been sent out to retrieve the last missing part of their scheme returned. It was the scout who had sparked the idea of fooling the dragon in the first place, and he brought back with him a single feather no larger than his own hand. It was red and glowed like the fire that was trapped within, a pulsing heart of brilliant blue at its centre. It was softer than the softest down and warm to the touch, almost too warm to hold with bare hands.

Byron watched in awe as Mid placed the feather into the hollow of the puppet’s chest. It lay there, pulsing as if with a heartbeat of its own, and its warmth could be felt even after Mid had closed the puppet’s body up once more.

She stepped back, and with trepidation in her voice she commanded: ‘Stand up.’

The puppet rose with movements both fluid and graceful. Its feet hit the ground softly and once it was standing, it returned its creator’s gaze with eyes clear and bright. The Dame’s hand had given its face all the colours of life, but now there was movement; now its features, once so still and dead, were astir.

‘Yes!’, Mid cried with joy, and she took the puppet by the arms and kissed it on the cheek. ‘Yes! Oh my beauty, I knew you would work! I knew you would be wonderful!’

Once released, the puppet raised a hand to brush the tips of its fingers over the spot Mid’s lips had touched. It leaned its head to the side as if in thought.

‘That is a miracle if I have ever seen one’, Byron said. He leaned forward to study the puppet’s eyes that were now watching him calmly but with intent.

‘Can you speak?’, Byron asked.

‘I can’, the puppet answered, its voice smooth and soft and lovely to hear. Then it leaned its head to the other side, and the light set its copper hair ablaze and made its eyes sparkle. ‘Who am I?’, it asked thoughtfully.

‘Your name is Joshua’, Mid said. And when she caught Byron’s questioning gaze, she explained: ‘It is the name of the dragon slayer from the old tales. It seemed appropriate.'

‘A noble name’, Byron said. ‘It suits you well.’

‘Joshua’, the puppet repeated. ‘That is my name.’

‘How is this possible?’, Byron asked the young engineer full of wonder. ‘How can a single feather accomplish so much?’

‘I wish I knew’, she answered. ‘But this might just be enough to play a dragon for a fool.’

The puppet stood and watched, curiously.

********

Only a few days remained until the dragon’s promised return. And the puppet moved and spoke like a human, but it did not yet know how to behave like one. And so it was decided that it would spend these last remaining days among those it was made to protect, to better learn how to fool even the most wary eye.

When it first stepped out of Mid’s workshop, clad in the garments that had been made for it, frayed scarves draped around its neck and the dish rag slung daringly around its hips, it looked just like any young man to Byron’s eyes. And it followed him with what might have been taken for eagerness as he led it to his palace. It watched as he wrote missives and read reports, it ate with him as he did, because Mid had explained that the fire inside of it needed fuel to keep burning hot. It walked by his side when he took a stroll in the gardens and when he returned, it sat down with him over a chess board that had been gathering dust for many years. It lost the first game and won all that followed, and Byron soon bid it good night - not because he was sore from losing, but because he was all too painfully reminded of a boy who should have been a young man now, sitting where the puppet now sat.

The puppet spent the next day in Harpocrates’ study. There it learned to read in but a few short hours, and then it did not stop reading until the moon was high in the sky and the old man had fallen asleep at his desk. As he sat there, sunken in his chair, the puppet watched him silently. It gathered the books that had been left on his desk and returned them to their proper places. And then it sat down and read some more, until morning came and with it Mid who lead it away.

Lady Hannah had been a friend to Byron for many years; first a friend of his family and then, once they both had suffered terrible loss in the same fateful night, a companion in grief. Like him she had never been blessed with children, but she had spent many a day watching the late Lord’s son as he grew. She took in the puppet for a day, and it watched as she cooked and cleaned and did needlework in the sun behind her house. It stoked the fire in her hearth and let its fingers dance along the flickering bodies of the flames, its skin never charring. With her instructions it swept the floors and mended a window frame that had been rotting away for months. It stood silent and curious when she called it a fine young man. She grew sad then, and quickly sent it away to tend to the herbs in her garden. It did so with gentle hands and as she watched from the mended window, she felt sadder still.

For the last day, the puppet followed Mid as she worked on her inventions. Soon it handed her every tool she needed before she could ask for it, and gave clever suggestions she had not thought of before. She was eager to engage in learned debate, but after hours had passed like this she sat down with a sigh.

‘What is there left to invent if my own invention is as clever as I am? I shall never build anything of your like again, and tomorrow, you will be gone.’ She looked down at the schematics they had pored over together, and the fresh ideas that had been added to them. She had enjoyed herself greatly, as it was not often another could keep up with the swiftness of her thoughts. ‘A right shame’, she said sadly.

She did not entertain the puppet any longer, and instead sent for the Dame once more to do so in her stead.

‘I warned you’, the Dame said as she took the puppet away.

The remainder of the day, the Dame taught the puppet how to laugh and dance and speak like a person of high birth and culture. It was graceful and delicate in its movements, and no hint was left of the mechanical stiffness that had once gripped its limbs. And when it danced in the sunlight with feet fleet and swift, the newly learned smile on its face almost looked like it might have been fueled by a beating heart.

********

Finally the day had come, and Byron brought the puppet to the hill where they would await the dragon’s return. The wind tousled the puppet’s fiery hair and tugged at the many layers of its clothes and for a moment, it looked very alive. Byron turned away quickly and marched on, until he noticed that the puppet was not following. It was watching the birds that were circling each other in the air high above its head, performing a dance so swift and merry that it was easy to forget all the woes of the world if one only watched long enough.

‘What are they doing?’, the puppet asked.

‘I believe they are searching for a mate, so they might build a nest and raise their young’, Byron answered.

‘Why would they do that?’, the puppet asked.

‘Because it is their purpose.’

‘What is my purpose?’, the puppet asked.

Byron faltered, for the puppet looked very alive and its eyes were just as blue as his darling nephew’s had been.

‘Your purpose is to save us’, he said.

‘Is this a good purpose?’, the puppet asked.

‘The very best, my boy’, Byron said, but his voice was barely heard over the soft sounds of the wind, for it was strangled by something he did not care to name.

And so they continued up the hill, until they had arrived at its crest. Once they stood there it was not long until from far away a mighty thunder sounded, and soon the dragon appeared in the cloudless sky. Its wings caused the thunder, and its scales shone in the sun like a thousand silver coins. It dove down and settled on the hilltop, as mighty and fearsome as Byron remembered.

‘Oh Mighty One!’, Byron called as soon as the winds from the dragon’s wings had calmed to a breeze. ‘I fulfilled your demand. I hope you are pleased with my offering.’

The dragon’s eyes narrowed as it inspected Byron and his companion.

‘Just one?’, it growled, and its voice was deafening.

‘Your demands were very specific, but I assure you we were thorough in our search. I am certain this one will please you.’

The dragon huffed and then lowered its head to better gaze upon that which Byron had brought before it. The puppet stood still as the dragon eyed it from all sides, returning the gaze from three golden eyes with a calm one of its own.

The dragon drew back its head, eyes blinking.

‘Most… satisfactory’, it said. ‘Yes, indeed.’

And before Byron could even think to give an answer, it had carefully closed its claws around the puppet’s body and leapt up into the air, sending Byron tumbling down the hill once more. When he had finally righted himself again, the dragon with its prize in its claw was nothing more than a shadow on the horizon.

Chapter Text

The dragon flew far across the land, until the fields and woods and rivers gave way to wild mountains and the air was cold and sharp instead of rich and mild. It landed on a plateau, mindful of its fragile burden, and slipped into the gaping mouth of a cave.

The cave would have been big enough to house a castle, with mighty columns of stone holding a ceiling that disappeared in dark shadow. The dragon spat an orb of light that floated up into the air, illuminating the cave like a sun. The light revealed mountains of gold and precious gems, finely crafted weapons discarded on the floor, wooden chests and precious fabrics and piles of books and scrolls. At the centre of the cave, the treasures had been swept aside and fabrics and pillows had been gathered to form a nest. There it was that the dragon carefully set down its burden.

The puppet tumbled into the soft nest and righted itself, looking about. Then it turned to the dragon that sat very close, curled up as if to appear smaller than it was and watching intently.

‘My name is Joshua’, the puppet said.

The dragon cocked its mighty head.

‘You are not afraid of me.’

‘No.’

‘Why not?’

The puppet seemed to think on this. Then it said: ‘I do not know how.’

‘You are a curious human’, the dragon said. It laid its head on the edge of the nest to eye its new treasure. The young man was a creature of beauty, surpassing any the dragon had seen before. His eyes were enchanting and his limbs graceful and when the dragon had touched him, it had felt a warmth unknown to its cold scales and colder mountain home. And the longer the dragon looked at him now, the more it found itself entranced. It was a long time since it had last seen a face not warped with terror, and never had it seen one so fair.

‘Why are you looking at me like this?’, the puppet asked curiously.

The dragon blinked and quickly turned away.

‘I am not’, it said. Then it straightened up, showing the puppet all of its shimmering glory, and spoke: ‘You are my guest. Ask for any comfort, and it will be provided for you. This nest is yours to sleep in, my home is yours to explore, and my treasures are yours to enjoy. Is there aught else you desire?’

The puppet looked around the cave and its splendor.

‘What will I eat?’, it asked.

‘Uhm’, the dragon said, and turned its head as if a feast might have appeared while it had not been looking. But the only sight that greeted it was that of the blank bones of the mountain beasts it would hunt when hunger struck, and it discreetly swept them aside with its tail.

‘I am certain you are tired’, it said quickly. ‘Rest now. When you wake, a meal will be served.’

The puppet nodded its head and laid down in the soft nest. It closed its eyes and when it had not stirred in a while, the dragon retreated back through the cave’s mouth. Once outside, it spread its wings and took to the sky once more, speeding away like a comet towards Rosalith.

********

When Byron was informed that the dragon was sat on the hill by the gates once more, his heart was gripped with fear that the beast had seen through their scheme and had now come to take revenge. But the dragon sat politely, waiting for him to arrive, and once Byron stood before it wheezing and panting from his haste, it said:

‘Prepare me a feast. Your best cooks and your finest condiments. Quickly.’

Byron was stunned into silence for but a moment then he bowed deeply.

‘Of course, right away’, he said, and wondered if mayhap the dragon had decided that its offering was too meagre after all and it needed something on the side to complete the meal. ‘Whom does this feast ought to feed, if I may ask?’, he added, with a worried look towards the beast’s gigantic belly.

‘It need but feed one man, but it needs to feed him well’, the dragon answered.

So it had decided to fatten up its meal before devouring it. That was troublesome news, for surely it would not take long until the dragon noticed that the puppet’s mechanical body would refuse any change. But Byron bowed and assured the dragon its request would be honoured before hastily retreating towards the gates. When he returned later with two servants pulling a cart with the promised feast behind them, the dragon grabbed the entire cart in its claw and flew away without another word. 

Byron watched it disappear on the horizon, wondering how long it would be until they saw it again, and if their next encounter would be as amiable.

And somewhere in a hidden corner of his heart, he also wondered if the puppet would enjoy the food they had prepared. It was unlikely, given that it was devoid of real life, but… he hoped it would.

********

When the dragon had returned to the cave, it was surprised to find its guest sitting in just the same spot it had left him in. The young man - Joshua - was calm even as he spied the dragon’s form approach, and he inspected the rich food that was then laid out for him with quiet curiosity. He did not object to the dragon curling up close by as he ate, and once he had finished, he sat in silence, waiting. 

‘What do you like to spend your time with?’, the dragon asked once the silence had stretched past comfort. ‘What do you wish to do?’

‘I wish to save the townspeople’, the puppet answered. ‘It is my purpose.’

The dragon sighed, a great gust of wind that ruffled the fabric of the nest and the puppet’s hair.

‘They are safe’, it said. ‘They were never in danger from me.’

The puppet seemed to think on this.

‘Then… what am I supposed to do?’, it asked.

‘Whatever it is you like to do’, the dragon said. ‘What did you do before?’

‘I read. I played chess. I cleaned and mended and tended to the garden. I talked about inventions. I danced and laughed. I think I made people sad.’ It seemed to contemplate this. ‘I think they wished me to do more playing and mending and dancing with them.’

The dragon looked away and did not answer. The silence stretched once more until it shook itself with a deafening rattle of scales.

‘Please’, it said stiffly. 'My hoard is yours - if you enjoy reading, I am sure you can find many books worth your while. And if there is aught else you need for your comfort, do not hesitate to ask for it.’

Then it turned around and left quickly, through the mouth of the cave and out onto the plateau. A light drizzle had begun to paint the rock under its feet with dark spots and it leaned back its head to gaze up at the grey sky. 

It sat there for a long time.

********

The puppet did read. It read for many hours, as there were many interesting things to read in the dragon’s cave. Books that spoke of science and human culture and politics and plants and animals. And stories - hundreds of stories, about people who were not real but who had the strangest adventures. The puppet set out to read them all.

The next day, it was still reading. It read and read until the dragon suggested it might wish to do something else. It did not wish to do anything, for want was far from its mind, but since one task was as good as any other it acquiesced. It organized the books into neat stacks as it had seen in Harpocrates’ study and as seemed to be the right way of things, and then it organized the dragon’s treasures by kind and colour. It tended to the strange plants with prickly leaves that grew close to the cave’s mouth by removing the dead parts and giving them water, as Lady Hannah had instructed. There was nothing to mend, but it did find dry sticks that it bound into a broom and it swept the floor. It swept out the dirt and the blank bones, until there was nothing more to sweep. Then it tried dancing, but it was hard to do without instruction or a partner, and so it stopped. It tried laughing, like the Dame had taught it to do, but the dragon came and asked about its well-being in a voice so concerned that it did not try laughing again.

Many days passed like this. The puppet laboured, and the dragon watched and sometimes gave suggestions on how the puppet might better enjoy itself. It followed every one, but the dragon never seemed quite satisfied. And as time marched on, neither was the puppet.

One day it had drawn a chess board on the cave’s floor and placed many-coloured gems on it as chess pieces, and it sat and moved them without much purpose. The dragon, just having returned from a hunt, sat down to watch as it often did.

‘You seem sullen’, the dragon said after a long while.

The puppet sat and contemplated this - it had not known it was sullen. It had never been sullen before. It had been restless as it had read and swept the floor and tended to the strange plants, no task ever seeming like it was done to satisfaction. Mayhap it was sullen after all.

‘Why am I doing these tasks?’, it asked. ‘There seems to be no purpose to them.’

The dragon looked around at the cave that was clean and neat, and more homelike than it had ever been. The plants near the cave’s mouth were growing green and strong, filling the space with a fresh scent. 

‘You do not have to do anything you do not wish to do’, the dragon said. It had said so many times before, but its strange guest never uttered a preference one way or the other.

‘But what is my purpose, then?’, the puppet asked. It gestured towards the chess board it had drawn. ‘What is the purpose of this, if it does not matter whether I do it or not?’

The dragon hummed in thought, then it laid down and craned its head to better see the board.

‘This is a game for two players’, it said. ‘The purpose is companionship, and to challenge each other’s minds. Mayhap it will be more to your taste if we play together.’

It waited for the answer with bated breath - while its guest had never shown fear, he had never sought the dragon’s company either.

‘Yes’, the puppet said, and it felt a stirring of anticipation at the thought of doing something that had purpose. ‘Let us play.’

The dragon settled itself a little more comfortably on the ground, and if it had been able to smile, it would have.

‘You will have to move the pieces for me’, it said. ‘They are too small for me to pick up.’

The puppet did not mind at all.

********

They played many times, and the puppet always won for the dragon had not played against anyone in a very, very long time. But still it sat back contentedly once they had decided it was time for dinner.

‘This was very enjoyable’, it said. ‘Thank you.’

The puppet looked up in surprise from where it had just returned the gems to their assigned places.

‘Is this the purpose of the game?’, it asked. It felt pleased at the knowledge that the dragon had enjoyed itself. It was a result. It was meaningful.

‘Yes’, the dragon said. ‘That is the purpose.’

The puppet nodded, satisfied. And then it went to have dinner, and the dragon laid curled up close by, and the puppet contemplated that mayhap company was a purpose of dinner as well. It was a good thought.

********

The puppet continued to read and sweep and tend to the plants. But now it had begun to think about what it was doing, and what the purpose of these tasks might be. 

It saw that the plants were growing green and strong, and it wondered if they felt companionship when it tended to them. It saw how the dragon would stop to marvel at them and inhale their fresh, lively scent when it returned from a hunt or from fetching food, and it was a pleasing sight.

It swept the floors and it made the cave feel like a special place, different from the dirty rock outside. The treasures seemed to shine brighter, and the nest it slept in seemed more comfortable. It watched the dragon carefully clean its claws when it entered from outside to avoid ruining the puppet’s work, and that too was a pleasing sight.

One day when it was reading, it thought that reading did not really need a purpose, as all the things it learned from the books were rewarding enough. But it was a shame that all that knowledge was merely sitting in its head, with nowhere to go; and so it walked to where the dragon was sitting, and said:

‘I wondered if reading might be more enjoyable if done together as well.’

The dragon was startled that its guest had sought its company so brazenly, and then it was greatly pleased. 

‘I fear the books are too small for me to read them’, it said. ‘But if you wish to read to me, I would be very grateful. It has been too long since I heard a good story.’

And so the puppet settled next to the dragon and began to read. The dragon closed its eyes as it listened, and the puppet thought that a story was indeed much more precious if it was shared. It read the book and then it read another, and then it discovered that it could speak with the dragon about the stories it had read, and this seemed like an excellent purpose.

It often read to the dragon, then. Stories at first, then books about science and culture and politics and history and plants and animals and all things under the sun. It took the books it had read in silence before and read them to the dragon as well, and it discovered that there was much it had not thought about when its only goal had been to take in the words on the page. It read and it pondered and it learned. It was insatiable.

All the while the days passed like they had before - and yet somehow they passed more quickly than they ever had.

********

Every other day, the dragon would appear on the hill in front of Rosalith’s gates. It would take the crate of food the townspeople had placed there and leave the empty one it had brought to return. Every time the mighty shape appeared on the horizon, Byron waited for the beast to roar and charge and lay waste to the city, seeking vengeance for being deceived. But the dragon was calm, polite even; one day it sat and waited next to the prepared crate until Byron approached it with sweat beading on his brow, only for it to ask him to please add some more cake the next time as its guest seemed to have developed a sweet tooth. Another time it did the same, to inform Byron that carrots should be banned from the food deliveries entirely. It did not seem angry when it said this, quite the opposite - it seemed more content than before, mayhap even giddy. If a dragon could ever be described as giddy.

It was strange. So strange that Byron went to Mid and asked her whether their clever machine might have the unexpected ability to rob a dragon of whatever beastly sanity it might have possessed. She negated it of course, and so Byron next went to Harpocrates.

‘I feel there is something we might have missed’, he said to the old scholar. ‘Might there be any lore about dragons we have not considered? The beast is acting quite unlike the way it should.’

‘There is much lore’, Harpocrates answered, ‘and not all of it is easy to come by. There are many tales that are old and lost to time, but I shall endeavour to uncover them.’

Satisfied, Byron then left to tell the kitchens about the newly imposed restrictions on root vegetables.

********

Once, the dragon had felt a sense of resignation every time it had returned to its cave. Flying was joyful, and so was hunting, in a sense. So was finding new riches and treasures and all that shone brightly enough to draw its attention, even though sometimes it knew that it would later ponder the way it had obtained its new possessions and be ashamed. But it could move and act and be as it was, out in the sky and the wild. Returning had felt like crawling into a cage - a splendid one, with an open door, but a cage nonetheless.

Now, it returned like drawn by an invisible string, a thread of fire wound around its heart though it would not have been able to name it as such. Now, returning brought excitement, for it never knew what it would find.

One day, it returned to find that the cave had been decorated with the wild flowers that grew on the plateau, their stalks woven into long garlands that were draped around stone columns and over treasure chests and around the nest that was currently occupied by a young man weaving even more of them. 

‘There was a picture in a book showing people making these’, the young man said and held up the garland it was working on for the dragon to see. ‘So I learned. You enjoy the plants at the entrance, and I hoped you might enjoy these as well.’ 

And he stood up and the dragon readily lowered its head for the young man to place a crown of flowers upon its horned brow.

He had been right. The dragon enjoyed the flowers immensely.

Another day the dragon returned to an awful stench wafting through the cave, a stench of flame and coal, and it was concerned. But what it found was its guest who had lit a fire to attempt and roast vegetables over it, their once firm skin now black and charred.

‘There is no need for you to cook your own food’, the dragon said. ‘You need but tell me if there is aught you desire.’

‘I desire to learn’, the young man said. ‘I want to know how it is done. It seems like a most fascinating process.’

The town’s Lord was confused when the dragon asked for raw ingredients and cooking utensils and instructions on how to use them, but he did not protest. And from then on the dragon returned to its cave to the smell of freshly cooked food - barely edible at first, but soon the morsels its guest placed in its readily opened mouth were quite scrumptious, though there often were strange combinations of flavours as the young man experimented eagerly with all he had at hand.

One day the dragon returned to the cave to find its guest slowly spinning in circles, hands outstretched as if he were holding an invisible maiden in his arms. He seemed dissatisfied with what he was doing, and the dragon felt soft amusement at the way his face scrunched up in irritated concentration.

‘Mayhap you might find it more enjoyable to dance with music?’, the dragon asked.

‘Why would music be necessary?’, the young man asked, coming to a halt with his arms still outstretched.

The dragon by now was well used to strange questions like this, and so it simply answered: ‘Here, try it.’

Then it began to hum. It was a deep, rumbling sound that made the walls of the cave vibrate like the body of a lute, and it rose and fell in a simple but enchanting melody. It was pleased to see its guest take up his dance again, awkward at first but once he had found the music’s rhythm his steps flowed more easily. He no longer stared ahead in concentration but closed his eyes and twirled around with a serene smile on his face. The dragon watched, so enchanted that it nearly forgot to hum. And then its guest opened his eyes again and grabbed a single claw of the dragon’s foot, for that was all he could comfortably grab, and the dragon let itself be pulled forward. It did not dance for fear of stepping on the fragile human, but it swayed its claw to follow along with the young man’s steps and twirled him around and a wonderful time was had by both of them.

‘Is it appropriate to laugh now?’, the young man asked as he whirled around, hair and scarves flying.

‘It is always appropriate to laugh when you feel like it’, the dragon answered.

And so the young man laughed as he danced, and it was bright and clear and the most beautiful sound the dragon had heard in a very, very long time.

One day the dragon returned from a successful hunt, and the blood of its prey still clung to its claws and muzzle. It landed on the plateau, intending to clean itself before entering the cave, but it found that its guest was awaiting it outside. The dragon hesitated to approach, suddenly feeling quite uncivilized and fearful that its beastly appearance might startle the kindhearted young man. But he simply looked the dragon up and down and said:

‘Stay here. I only just cleaned the floor.’

And he disappeared into the mouth of the cave. He returned soon after with a bucket of water and a cleaning rag, and he began to clean the dragon’s hide with hands both deft and gentle.

‘You truly feel no fear’, the dragon said with wonder.

‘Should I feel fear?’, the young man asked. ‘I know you are kind. I know you look out even for the mice and the birds so you don’t step on them or shake them out of their nests with your wings, and I know you do the same for me. You bring me food and you keep me company and you teach me many things. There is nothing to fear.’

The dragon settled more comfortably on the stone, laying down its head so its guest could clean its muzzle as well. It was a wondrous feeling, to be touched so gently. It was a touch as warm as the sun, as warm as gentle flames licking over scale. It seemed to call out to the beast within and soothe it at once, and the dragon closed all its three eyes in bliss.

‘You never even asked why I do these things for you’, it said. ‘You never asked why I took you from your home.’

‘Would it change anything if I knew the answer to these questions? You provided for me and kept me company and taught me many things nonetheless. And you did not take me from my home - you brought me to it.’

The dragon opened its eyes to look at its guest. But he was not a guest, not for a long time now. It felt its heart stir almost painfully in its chest.

‘I never used your name’, the dragon said. ‘I apologize.’

‘Why?’, the young man asked. ‘It is just a word. There is no need for it.’

‘It is only polite. A name encompasses all that you are. If I say your name, all who hear it will know that it is he with the fiery hair of whom I speak. He with the eyes like gems, he who is clever and caring and thirsting for knowledge. It is more than a word.’

The young man thought on this for a long while.

‘Joshua’, he said. ‘That is my name. Joshua.’

‘So you have told me’, the dragon said.

‘It seems like an awfully short word to encompass so much.’

‘Mayhap that is why I was afraid to use it’, the dragon said. ‘But not any longer.’

‘What is your name, then?’, Joshua asked.

‘I am a dragon. I have no need of a name.’

Joshua frowned as if he wanted to ask more questions, but the dragon rose from the ground and stretched its body like a cat would do.

‘Come, I am clean enough. Let us see what else the day will bring.’

Joshua stood and gathered bucket and rag and followed the dragon into the cave that was both their home. 

********

Spring had turned into summer, and the dragon had become a familiar sight in Rosalith. Its requests had become quite peculiar - cooking utensils, needle and thread, parchment and ink, a broom, a flute, an hourglass, and many more things - but they were always perfectly civilized. It was strange, but Byron could no longer find it in his heart to feel fear when the beast appeared on the hill. Habit was a powerful thing, and barely any of the townspeople raised their heads any longer at the sound of wings, and their whispers were not of terror but of curiosity what new oddities the dragon would ask for this time. Still there was one worry left that kept Byron up at night, and it was the question of what the dragon would do once it learned of the deception it had fallen prey to. The beast’s actions were beyond understanding, and so the answer to that question, too, eluded Byron entirely.

Then, one day, he was called to Harpocrates’ study once again. The old man sat at his desk, with a stack of dusty tomes in front of him, and Mid stood looking over his shoulder.

‘Ah, Lord Rosfield’, Harpocrates said as Byron entered. ‘Come in. I believe I have found something that might be of interest to you.’

He beckoned Byron closer and showed him the book that lay open on the desk. 

‘It took me a long time and many favours to procure these writings. I have yet to translate all of them, but I believe they were penned by the very man you based your machine on, the original Joshua. Much of it is obscure, but from what I could glean, he speaks of dragons rather fondly.’

‘So he was no dragon slayer at all?’, Byron asked. ‘What of the phoenix fire? Did he not wield a dragon’s single weakness?’

‘Ah.’ The old scholar smiled. ‘It seems that, too, was lost in translation. It seems dragons and phoenixes have indeed a symbiotic relationship, not an antagonistic one. Though the details elude me thus far.’

‘So we spent all this time building the most advanced machine the world has ever seen, to no avail at all?’ Mid cried.

‘This text does suggest that a phoenix feather would be a valued gift to a dragon, not its doom. Though we have not destroyed the beast, we might very well have appeased it.’

‘And now my beautiful invention is part of a dragon’s hoard and I will never see it again’, Mid lamented.

‘That, too, seems to be an accurate assessment’, Harpocrates said.

‘But what is it doing with the puppet?’, Byron pondered. ‘Does it know that it is not human? Does it know about the phoenix feather inside? For it seems that it is feeding it well and providing for it, but does it do so because it believes it to be human, or because it wishes to sustain the fire in its heart?’

‘I am afraid that these are questions only the dragon itself can answer’, Harpocrates said. ‘I shall continue to translate these texts. They are sure to reveal many more fascinating things, though I doubt they will give us insight into this particular beast’s mind.’

‘Then I shall simply ask it’, Byron said with determination. ‘I will have to tread carefully, but after all, I charmed it once before!’

And with that he marched out of the study. But as soon as he had left, Mid had already caught up with him.

‘Do you believe he is well?’, she asked. ‘The puppet. Do you believe we will see it again?’

‘I do hope we will’, Byron said wistfully. ‘Strange as it may sound, it was excellent company.’

********

Now that the days had grown hot, the dragon would often lie on the plateau in front of the cave to let the sun shine on its scales. The puppet would just as often join it, sometimes sitting with a book it would read in silence or aloud, and sometimes wandering about, looking for peculiar stones or gnarled pieces of wood or any other thing that might capture its attention with how strange and wonderful it was. It would gather these things in its nest, along with pretty gems it had found in the cave and the books it found itself reading most often. The nest had grown into a hoard within a hoard, and the puppet felt pleased every time it looked at it.

On this day, the puppet was neither reading nor searching for peculiar things. It was simply sitting, feeling the comfortable heat of the sun on its skin that seemed to resonate with the fire burning within, and watching.

There were many things to see. Like the mountains and the sky above, stretching all the way to the horizon. It had never paid attention to things in the distance before as they were of no immediate consequence, but recently it found itself enchanted by the view. It stirred something within, a fluttering in its chest like a bird ready to take flight. It looked away from the mountains and at the dragon that was slumbering in the bright sun, a mountain itself. A mountain of silver that gleamed and sparkled like the treasure it kept in the cave, and there was a different kind of fluttering in the puppet’s chest, one that now felt familiar. The puppet gazed upon the dragon who was fierce and beautiful and kind, and it thought about many things. It thought about the dragon, who had taken to calling it by its name, Joshua. The dragon, who called it ‘he’.

The puppet pondered.

The dragon, who said that names were important. And the puppet was different now than it had been before, as if there were more of it even though it had stayed the same size. It was the dragon who had roused it, its light and its very existence a call that was answered from deep within. And now the puppet was wonderfully, inexplicably more, more than words could describe, and so one word was as good as any other.

So it was Joshua.

He was Joshua.

It felt right.

********

‘What does it feel like to fly?’ Joshua asked the dragon one day.

‘It is hard to describe’, the dragon answered. ‘But I can show you.’

And so Joshua climbed on its back and the dragon leapt into the air, flying slowly and evenly to not lose its precious burden. The wind pulled at Joshua’s hair and his clothes and the horizon was wide and the air was clear and he felt the fluttering in his chest, like wings unfolding behind his ribs until they threatened to make his body burst with something he could not name. So he laughed, brightly and joyfully, and the dragon roared until its voice echoed from every mountain slope. Then it flew slowly and evenly no longer; it dove into a ravine and raced along a river and climbed up high in the sky once more, again and again until up and down had no meaning any longer. Joshua clung tightly to its spines but he had no fear of falling, for he knew that he was with his dragon and with his dragon he was safe. And the wind was sharp on his face and it felt like home almost as much as the cave did, almost as much as the dragon itself did, and Joshua had not known before that joy could be as wild and fierce as this.

‘Surely this is not all you can do’, he cried. He thought that he might be mad, and he had not known before that mad was something he could be, either. It was a delightful feeling. ‘Come, show me the sky. Show me all of it!’

And the dragon opened its wings as far as they would go and with a single powerful beat it shot up into the sky, and both their voices carried their joy far across the land.

They flew for a long time, fast and wild at first and then slowly, taking in the view of the mountains and each other’s company. They flew until they reached the very edges of the mountains, where rock gave way to grass and boulders gave way to trees. Joshua spied beasts below, herds of animals that raced the dragon’s shadow. Then he spied humans, walking and riding along a road, and he leaned forward as much as he could without falling to see them better. But when the humans noticed the dragon above they screamed and scattered and ran for the trees, some of them falling off their mounts or pushing each other to the ground as they sought to be the first ones to cower under the branches. It was an ugly, pitiful sight, and Joshua felt something in his chest grow heavy as he watched.

‘Why are they doing this?’, he asked.

‘Because they fear what they do not understand’, the dragon said bitterly. ‘Because they fear any creature they cannot control with whips and spurs and empty promises. Because they do not see that a soul comes in many forms.’ It turned around in the air and headed back in the direction of the mountains that loomed before them, grey and lonely and familiar. ‘Come. It is time to leave.’

They flew back to their home in silence. Once Joshua had dismounted on the plateau, the dragon walked into the cave with its head hanging low, and it curled up on its mountain of treasure and closed its eyes. It only opened them again when Joshua sat next to it and leaned against its cold silver scales. The dragon folded a wing over his head like an embrace, and then they sat side by side, one pressed against the other, until their hearts did not feel quite as heavy any longer.

********

Once upon a time, in a far away kingdom, there lived a prince. He was beloved by the people, a leader strong and just. After his mother died, his father married a cruel, spiteful woman, who longed to see her own son inherit the throne. She resented the prince and mocked him for holding the people he ruled so dear to his heart. And so she spoke a curse; for him to live on in the shape of a beast so great and terrible that he might never be beloved again. Only if he caused another human’s heart to beat in true love, the curse would be broken.

The prince took the shape of a fearsome dragon and the people turned from him in terror. And so he fled into the wild and he lived as a dragon, and as days and years and decades passed, he began to think like a dragon. But as he realized how beastly he had become, he was afraid; and he made a plan to find the one who might be able to love him truly. And so it came to pass that the dragon began its search at the gates of a town called Rosalith.

The dragon did not tell Joshua any of this.

Chapter Text

The next time the townspeople placed a crate of food on the hill, Byron went with them. He remained standing there as they left, waiting for the dragon to arrive and steeling himself for the conversation that would follow. A conversation that might very well decide the fate of the town and all within it; for it was today, he had determined, that he would learn what drove the beast’s actions. It was today that he would learn whether their ruse had been found out.

He did not have to wait long, for soon after his arrival the deafening sound of wings filled the air and a sharp wind threatened to tear him off his feet as the dragon landed right on the hill’s crest. It seemed surprised to see Byron standing there, and it lowered its head to eye him intently. 

‘Is there aught you need from me, Lord of Rosalith?’, the dragon asked with its booming voice.

It was a curious notion, that the dragon would be willing to aid the humans it made demands of. Byron dared to hope that this might be a good sign.

‘Merely an inquiry, if it is permitted’, he answered with a bow. ‘It has been a long time since we provided our offering, and it only seems prudent to ensure your ongoing satisfaction. Are you… satisfied?’

The dragon blinked. It sat down in the grass and considered Byron for a long while. Finally it seemed to come to a decision, and it spoke.

‘Joshua’, it said. ‘He is… not what I expected. I was enchanted by his appearance, yes, but he has revealed himself to be much more than that.’

‘We had hoped that his inner values would be agreeable to you’, Byron said while carefully watching the dragon’s expression - as much as could be gleaned from a face so utterly inhuman. 

‘They are’, the dragon said. ‘Though I admit, I find it hard to believe that you would willingly part with something so precious.’

‘Ah, but it seems to be in good hands - or claws - with you. As I heard, it is a treasure your kind is most fond of.’

‘I protect what is my own’, the dragon said with no small measure of pride. ‘And I cannot speak for others, but to me, this particular treasure is worth more than you can imagine. A rare flame that has warmed my heart unlike any other.'

‘Then’, Byron dared to say, for by now he was quite confident he knew what the dragon was speaking of, ‘you do not resent us not informing you what exactly it was you were taking with you?’

The dragon looked at him quizzically.

‘I barely gave you the time, if I recall correctly’, it said. ‘But I do not. I have come to know his true nature, and the how hardly matters. So I thank you, for the most generous gift I could have asked of you.’

Byron bowed deeply, feeling great relief. 

‘You honour us, oh Mighty One. We certainly spared no expense to provide you with the very best. You would be hard pressed to find another artefact like it in these lands; and even more so to find a machine as clever. It is our engineer’s pride and joy.’

The dragon went very still. 

‘Tell me about the machine’, it finally said, and its voice seemed even deeper than it had been before. It rattled Byron’s very bones.

‘Its creator could surely tell you more about it than I ever could’, Byron said. ‘But its appearance of life is powered by the phoenix feather it carries in place of its heart. A marvelous contraption, quite marvelous!’

‘I see’, the dragon said.

Then it turned around and leapt into the air, flying away with mighty beats of its wings. The crate of food was left behind on the hill.

As Byron watched the form of the dragon disappear on the horizon, he wondered whether he might have miscalculated.

********

The dragon raced back to its cave on wings both frantic and impossibly heavy. Once it had arrived on the plateau, it stepped inside the cave’s mouth with trepidation and was greeted by a familiar sight. Joshua was sitting in his nest, surrounded by books and trinkets and all the things he held dear, and was reading as he often did. The cave’s floor was swept neatly and there were fresh flowers decorating the stone pillars. 

Joshua looked up when the dragon approached, and he gave a warm smile that, too, was familiar.

‘Welcome back’, he said, before his attention was snatched away again by the book in his lap. 

The dragon curled up next to the nest and laid down its head, mindful not to disturb Joshua’s possessions that were piled up all around. It would have been an easy feat to forget all the human Lord had said and carry on the way they had before. But with a heavy heart, the dragon instead closed its eyes and listened. It listened like it had never listened before, for there had never been reason to. But as it did so now it heard many things. It heard the quiet whirr of gears and the groan of springs when Joshua moved to turn a page. It heard a whisper like from a fire burning and when it tasted the air, it tasted metal and magic and flame. So faint were the sensations that they might be taken for a trick of the mind, but in its heart, the dragon knew then that the human Lord’s words had been the truth.

‘You are not real’, it said, and it spoke more quietly than a beast of its like had ever spoken.

Joshua looked up from the book.

‘Why would you say that?’, he asked.

‘Your heart cannot beat in true love, for you have none. Is it not so?’

‘Does it matter whether I have a heart?’, Joshua asked. ‘Whatever I have in place of it, it is yours.’

The dragon felt great anguish as it heard these words, and without answering it turned around and left the cave and Joshua within it. Once outside it took flight, and it flew up to the highest peaks of the mountains where the snow was deep and the air was cold, but it was not cold enough to deaden its pain.

‘Is this the way it is, then?’, it asked the wind that was howling in its ears. ‘I have given him my heart, and there will never be another. I have lost my heart to a machine, and none shall ever hold my love like he does.’

‘And is this the way it will always be, then?’, it roared at the uncaring mountains that surrounded it, cold and devoid of life save for one tiny cave in which a heart of fire burned. ‘Will I forever be this way, a wild beast, feared by all but him? Will I forever be trapped in these mountains, trapped by my own hide and claw? Have I been granted hope only for it to be shattered?’

‘And is this what shall never be, then?’, it raged at the sky itself that stretched above its head, wide and empty. ‘Shall I never be able to hold him in my own arms, feel his touch on my skin? Shall I never know him as an equal? Shall our bond be doomed because to one cruel, spiteful witch only a human heart has worth enough to break her curse?’

But neither the wind nor the mountains nor the sky itself answered its questions.

********

Joshua sat for a long time after the dragon had departed. Its words had left him feeling strangely empty, a cold where there should be none. As he sat and waited and the dragon did not return, the cold grew ever more vicious and his chest grew ever tighter.

For the first time in his brief existence, he felt fear.

He sat and waited until the light shining from the cave’s mouth had grown dim and then vanished and then returned. He sat and he thought, but his thoughts were frantic like a swarm of birds, never settling in one place for too long.

The dragon had been hurt. It had been so very hurt and Joshua could not soothe it because he was the one who had caused it.

For the first time in his brief existence, he felt guilt, too. 

He pondered. He had pondered many things since he had become more than he had been before, but he had never pondered his own nature. There had never been a need for it, for he was as he was and the dragon was as the dragon was and all was well. But now nothing was well because as he was, he was wrong. He felt the gears whirr away under his skin and felt the phoenix feather burn in the hollow where his heart should be, and it was wrong. He had not known it was wrong, before. 

The light waxed and waned, waxed and waned, and the dragon did not return.

Joshua was afraid.

He thought on what he would do if the dragon never returned, and he found that he did not know the answer. 

For the first time in his brief existence, he felt lost.

It had been three days, and the flame within wavered without fuel to feed it, without movement to fan it, without a spirit to stoke it.

Joshua thought on the stories he had read. There had never been creatures with bones of metal and hearts of flame in them. He had not realized before that there was a difference.

There was life within him when there should not, and it had brought the dragon pain. The dragon, who had said he was not real. The dragon, who had said he could not love.

His dragon, who had left him.

The flame within flickered and dimmed.

For the first time in his brief existence, he felt cold.

The light waxed and waned, and the dragon did not return.

Because he was wrong.

It was wrong.

The flame within faded and died.

The puppet closed its eyes and it did not open them again.

********

The dragon wandered through the mountains for many days. It rode the unforgiving winds until its wings were sore and it roared at the sky until the world knew its pain and it hunted and tore apart its prey with all the viciousness of the wild beast it was doomed to be. When all its rage was spent and there was nothing left in its heart but weariness it felt ashamed, and it returned to the cave with haste. There it found Joshua, sitting where he had sat days before, cold and motionless. The dragon called his name and nudged him with its muzzle and then curled up tightly around him to cradle him under its wing, and when it felt the cold against its scales where warmth should be it wailed in despair and confusion that stones rained from the cave’s ceiling.

It pressed its cheek against Joshua’s lifeless body and it listened, but it did not hear the whirr of gears or the groan of springs or the whisper of fire, and when it tasted the air it did not taste metal or magic or flame. It looked upon Joshua’s still face and thought about never seeing his smile again, and never hearing his laughter. About never seeing him dance, and never flying together again.

‘How can something so good and bright be created only to be squandered?’, it asked in anguish. ‘Curse the humans who built you only to cast you away. And curse me twice over, for have I not forced their hand? And have I not abandoned you just the same? All you have given me, and still I wanted more! How did I not see right then that suffering an eternity in a dragon’s skin is nothing compared to suffering even a single day without you?’

There was no answer, and the dragon howled that the stone pillars around them groaned and cracked. There was helpless fury in its voice, but there was none to hunt down, none to tear apart, none to take its revenge on save itself. Itself and the miserable creatures that had brought a life into the world worth more than all of them combined, and it had meant nothing to them.

But there was none to turn to but them, and in its despair the dragon gently picked up Joshua’s cold body in its claws, and it carried him out onto the plateau and into the air. It was despair that spurred its wings until it flew faster than it had ever flown, towards the town of Rosalith.

********

Byron hurried towards the hill as soon as he heard of the dragon’s approach, and he feared the worst. But the beast did not roar or rage but cowered in the grass, hunched over a shape that lay motionless before it. Its head was bowed low as if its weight had grown too great to carry, and it did not lift it even once Byron stood right before it.

Byron opened his mouth to greet the beast, but the words were stuck in his throat as he saw what the dragon had brought with it. The puppet seemed even more lifeless than it had before the phoenix feather had been placed in its chest, like a statue that had fallen from its pedestal and now lay broken. It had been easy to think of it as a mere machine while being parted from it, but now it was all too clear that something precious had fled from the depths of its being. The sight saddened Byron’s heart, and it brought with it an echo of the pain he had felt many years ago, when a child of flesh and blood had been lost to him.

‘What happened?’, he asked, and for once he was not able to think of polite words and flowery phrases.

‘He is broken’, the dragon said, and great anguish sounded in its voice. ‘You will fix him.’

Byron looked upon the puppet’s face that was impossibly pale and still, and upon the town that had already worked a miracle once, and wondered which would enrage the beast more: a promise that might have to be broken, or an admission that there could be no promises at all.

‘You will fix him’, the dragon growled darkly. ‘And you will atone and beg for forgiveness for your transgressions.’

Byron felt his blood run cold at these words, and he bowed hastily and said: ‘I know we do not deserve your forgiveness, but-’

‘Not mine’, the dragon interrupted him impatiently. ‘His. You will beg his forgiveness for bringing him into the world only to discard him to save your own skin. You will beg his forgiveness, and you will pray that he gives it.’

The angry glow disappeared from its eyes and left only pain, and it lowered its head as it quietly added: ‘And I shall do the same.’

‘What happened to it - to him?’, Byron asked, for there was no damage to be seen, no sign of what had robbed the puppet of its life. 

‘He… grew cold. He is broken. And you will fix him.’

‘Of course’, Byron said, and he said it kindly, for he knew what it was to feel loss so great and terrible as he now saw in the dragon’s eyes. ‘We shall do everything in our power. But I will have to take him with me into the town, to our engineer’s workshop.’

The dragon growled in warning but it allowed Byron to pick up the cold body. It stayed on the hill as he walked back to the gates with his burden, like a statue itself.

‘Oh, my beauty!’, Mid cried when Byron entered her workshop and carefully laid down the puppet on the table it had been created on. ‘What happened to you?’

She did not wait for Byron to explain before getting to work, and so he spoke while she rid the puppet of its scarves and shirt and opened the seams of its skin. When its core lay bare before her, she gasped.

‘What have you found?’, Byron asked, and Mid pulled forth the phoenix feather that was now cold and dark where it had glowed before like a living flame. 

‘I do not understand’, she said. ‘Phoenix fire does not die. It should have burned as long as the sun itself!’

‘Can you fix it?’, Byron asked, thinking of the dragon on the hill and thinking about the familiar pain in its eyes.

‘There is nothing to fix’, she said sadly, and he knew then that she felt the loss as keenly as he did. It was a strange thing, to grieve something they had not known they had cherished. ‘If there were a spark, I might have been able to nurture it. But there is nothing left.’

‘Then we need to find another’, Byron said. ‘Finding the first one was difficult, and finding a second will be even more so, but there have to be others.’

Mid hesitated.

‘It might work, but… this feather is his heart. I did not speak to the dragon, but from what you told me it does not seem like it would be happy if we simply gave him a new heart. All his memories, everything - they are in here.’

‘Then we are doomed’, Byron said darkly. ‘The beast’s vengeance will be terrible if we cannot give back what it has lost.’

‘Mayhap it is not us who need to’, a voice said.

Byron and Mid turned around and saw that Harpocrates had entered the workshop, carrying an old tome in his hands. He looked upon the puppet on the table with sad eyes before straightening up as much as his old bones allowed.

‘I have learned something of interest to us, and just in time, too, as it seems. May I have the feather so I might present my findings?’

Mid handed it to him, and he received it with great reverence.

‘And now if I might also beg your assistance’, he said. ‘My legs are not as spry as they used to be.’

When they looked at him with confusion, he smiled an indulgent smile.

‘Did I not tell you? It is not you I need to present my findings to. It is the dragon.’

********

The way through the town and up the hill was slow, for the old man tired easily. But finally they arrived in the place where the dragon was still waiting and eyeing them warily as they approached. Byron was loath to have any but himself walk into the danger of the beast’s claws, but Harpocrates seemed unbothered by talon and fang alike as he bowed before the dragon, and his eyes were sparkling like those of a young boy.

‘Greetings, oh Mighty One’, he said. ‘I have long wished to make your acquaintance. You truly are as magnificent as the tales tell.’

‘Where is Joshua?’, the dragon growled.

‘He is in town, and he is safe. However, there is something you need to see.’

And he presented the phoenix feather, dull and dark in absence of its flame. The dragon lowered its head until its muzzle almost touched Harpocrates’ hands, and it must have held its breath for the feather did not stir where it rested on the old man’s palms. The dragon stood like this for a long moment, and then it uttered a sound so soft and wounded that it broke Byron’s heart.

‘Then he is lost’, the dragon said. ‘There is no hope.’

‘There is always hope’, Harpocrates said gently. And he opened the book he had carried all this way, and he showed it to the dragon. ‘These are the writings of the man who gave your Joshua both his face and his name. He was a wise man, and he wielded the very power that gave your Joshua his life. He was also wise in the ways of your kind - though it was far too late that I truly understood his words, and I am afraid that I have caused you great pain because of it. But now, let me make it right.’

And so he began to read.

‘A fearsome beast is the dragon, driven by terrible greed. But the phoenix’s flame seems to temper the need, for it shines brighter than any gold or silver, and the gift of life it brings is more precious than any gem.

And a fearsome beast is the phoenix, burning so hot that it must perish in its own flame. But the dragon is the only creature that can not only bear the heat, but revel in it, and so in its presence the fire is dampened and gentle and nurturing.

The phoenix is the great healer of the body, curing near every ailment of the flesh. But the dragon is the healer of the mind, and its light can lift even the darkest spirit.

And so they have ever been, two halves of a whole. Fearsome beasts they are, each capable of great devastation. But together - oh, what wonders they might accomplish!’

‘A beautiful tale’, the dragon said, and it seemed even more dejected than it had before. ‘You believe that I can do what you cannot. That I can bring back his spirit. But I am no dragon. I am merely forced to endure in the form of one.’

‘I see’, Harpocrates said. ‘But can you not summon motes of light? Do you not sense the phoenix’s power, and thus knew when it had departed? Just as the author of this book was not a phoenix but wielded the flame of one, you wield the light of a dragon, be it by the power of your curse or by your own merit.’

He held out the phoenix feather, and the dragon who was not a dragon considered it for a long time. Then, with great trepidation and the fear of one who attempted the impossible but could not bear to fail, it opened its mighty jaws and gently breathed a wisp of pure white light. The light enveloped the feather and seemed to sink into it, leaving behind but a trace of its glow. Even that seemed to fade and be eaten away by the darkness, but then it sparked. A red spark that flickered like a beating heart and grew until it had consumed the entirety of the feather, transforming it into a living flame with a centre of brilliant blue.

The dragon watched in wonder, hunched over the feather close enough to feel its heat. Finally it was able to tear away its eyes to look at Byron and Harpocrates.

‘Bring it to him’, it said. ‘Bring it to him now.’

They obeyed, carrying the precious burden back to the town as swiftly as Harpocrates’ legs would allow them.

As they passed through the city gates, Byron called over the Lord Commander who was awaiting them.

‘Go find the bard’, he whispered with a voice deeply moved. ‘This will be marvelous.’

********

The dragon waited on the hill with its head lying in the grass and its eyes tightly closed so it could not look out for every movement in the town below and feel its heart stir with hope. It had seen the feather light up with its own eyes and had felt its warmth, but still it was afraid to hope. And so it waited in the dark, even as every minute that passed was more unbearable than the one before.

And then, there was heat. Only a whisper of it as it brushed against its scales, only a faint touch. Still it did not open its eyes, but the touch grew firmer and traced the line of its cheek before it came to rest again. It laid motionlessly and in the darkness it heard the whirr of gears and the groan of springs and the whisper of fire, and it tasted the air that tasted of metal and magic and flame.

‘My dragon’, a voice said, and it was as familiar as its own. ‘You came back to me. I should not have doubted it.’

‘I never left because of you’, the dragon said with a voice that was barely a voice, as rough and strangled as it was. ‘I never would.’

And finally it allowed itself to open its eyes, and there was Joshua, with hair of flame and eyes like gems and a smile that glowed like the sun. And now more than ever the dragon wished to have arms to hold him with, but as it was it could do nothing more than nuzzle against his fragile form ever so slightly and close its eyes in bliss when Joshua leaned against its scales and ran hands of fire across them.

‘My Phoenix, risen from the flames’, it rumbled. ‘I shall never leave you again. Whatever pains I bear, I will bear them gladly as long as you are by my side.’

‘My Dragon, who has awoken me’, Joshua whispered. ‘I will not doubt you again. If this heart of flame has any worth, its worth is that it is able to love you.’

The dragon felt the fire’s warmth on its hide and in its heart and it seemed to grow, enveloping it entirely and burning away all it was until only these simple truths remained. And when its very being was ash entirely there still was warmth, a body the same size as its own pressed against it, and when it opened eyes it had not known were closed it had arms that wrapped around Joshua’s body and hands that carded through his hair and clung to his clothes and lips that kissed his cheek and a heart so joyful it sought to leap out of its fragile human chest.

It gazed upon Joshua’s face and saw that he had been enveloped in white light, a light that now faded and left him the same but different. It left him with the sound of a beating heart in place of the whirr of gears, and the scent of flesh and blood in place of metal and magic. He raised his hand to trace the dragon’s face with fingers that trembled from the pulse thrumming under their skin and he laughed, merry and bright.

‘You are beautiful’, he said. ‘My Dragon. Will you tell me your name?’

The dragon’s breath hitched but he was a dragon no longer. And the name that had festered in its heart - in his heart - no longer hurt to speak, and so he spoke it for the first time in many, many years.

‘Dion. My name is Dion.’

And thus they were finally truly the same, and they held each other in their arms until footsteps sounded behind them and someone cleared their throat.

‘Well, I cannot imagine this is very comfortable’, Byron said, his eyes politely averted though he could not hide the way they shone brightly. ‘Please, if you like, we have ample accommodations for both of you. And I feel I had this conversation once before, but -’ he briefly glanced at Dion ‘- would you like to put on some clothes?’

********

The walk back to town was a slow one, for the two young men would hardly separate for long enough to take a decent step forward. But Byron did not begrudge them the time they spent in each other’s arms, even though there were many questions he wished to ask about the man who had been a dragon and the puppet who now was a man and the entire strange tale of many misunderstandings.

The man who had been a dragon was a figure strong and fair, with flaxen hair and eyes as gold as the beast’s had been. He had graciously accepted the cloak Byron had handed him to cover himself with, though it was clear he was unused to the feeling of fabric on his skin. Then his gaze had been drawn by Joshua’s face and it had not strayed since. Neither of them seemed to tire of the other’s sight, not even once they had passed the gates and much of the town and Byron had shown them to a room in his own palace for them to rest in. They were given clothes and food and not once did they break apart while receiving them. And so Byron bid them a good night even though it was still early in the evening, and left them to revel in each other’s presence.

The next morning, Joshua showed Dion around the town, to the few places and the few people he had seen in his short time within the walls. They explored Byron’s palace and its gardens, they visited Harpocrates’ study and soon were deeply absorbed in debate about prose and poetry. They knocked on Lady Hannah’s door and when she saw them she embraced them both with tears in her eyes and then she pulled them inside for tea and cake. They paid their respects to the Dame who looked at the both of them side by side and seemed greatly pleased. 

They saved Mid’s workshop for last. She flung herself at Joshua and then at Dion as well when they entered, and then she inspected Joshua from many angles and asked him many questions which he patiently indulged. She wisely brushed aside the notes and drawings from the days she had spent building a machine that was also a man, for Dion’s eyes grew dark when he saw them. Another day, she resolved, they would be discussed in great detail. But for now she showed the both of them the many other wonders she had been working on, and both followed with rapt attention.

That was where Byron found them, gathered around the table that held many papers and metal parts so delicate they seemed like they might break under the weight of a single glance.

‘May I borrow you for a short while?’, Byron asked Joshua. And when the two young men seemed loathe to part, he added: ‘Your dragon prince asked me to do something, and I am a man of my word. I shall not keep you for long.’

And so Dion returned to their rooms in Byron’s palace and Joshua followed Byron into its gardens, to a place quiet and hidden where they might speak undisturbed.

‘My dear boy’, Byron said, and all words that should have followed were lost to him for a moment as he gazed upon Joshua’s face that was so young and curious and so very alive. 

‘My dear boy’, he said again, ‘there are many things I wish to ask, and just as many I wish to tell you. But above all else, I wish to apologize.’

Joshua leaned his head to the side in thought.

‘Why would you do that?’, he asked.

‘Because we have blindly created you, intent only on saving ourselves. We brought you to life to be destroyed, without once questioning our doing. And I am deeply ashamed.’

‘You have made me’, Joshua said slowly, as if tasting the words on his tongue. ‘Without you, I would not exist. If you had not given me up, I would not have Dion. I would not have become more than I was before. Dion would not have become who he is. Everything I have, I owe to you.’

‘But we did not know any of this, and still we were willing to consign you to a much darker fate.’

Joshua considered him carefully.

‘Then… I forgive you. That is what one does, is it not? There is no blame I feel, only gratefulness. So, I forgive you.’

‘Thank you, my boy’, Byron said, and it came from so deep within his heart that it ached to speak. But he could not imagine a more freeing feeling.

‘Then tell me one more thing’, he said. ‘Are you happy?’

Joshua thought on this.

‘Yes’, he said. ‘I have all I could ever imagine desiring. I have a body that can feel more than I ever felt before, both comfort and pain. I have a heart that can live and grow old. I have Dion. And… I learned what it is to lose him, even just for a moment. It was the darkest moment I have ever seen, but now that I know, the happiness feels all the brighter for it. Is this strange?’

‘Not at all’, Byron said. ‘It is very human.’

Joshua smiled at those words, and Byron smiled with him though his sight was blurred by tears gathering in his eyes. He blinked them away and said:

‘The both of you certainly seem happy. It gladdens me to see.’

‘Yes. Though…’ Joshua frowned. ‘It is a strange sensation. I look at him, and I feel a… stirring.’

Byron laughed and clapped him on the shoulder, and for a moment Joshua seemed confused and then he seemed very pleased.

‘That is what it means to be in love, my boy’, Byron said. ‘Your heart will do the most peculiar things.’

‘Yes.’ Joshua frowned again. ‘No’, he said, and then he looked thoughtful once more. ‘My heart is moved, but it was so even when I knew him only in the form of a dragon. Now, there is a stirring in my loins.’

‘Oh’, Byron said.

‘It is not an unpleasant feeling, but it does feel… urgent.’

‘Oh dear’, Byron said.

‘Is this wrong?’, Joshua asked. ‘Should my loins not stir when I look at him?’

‘Well’, Byron said. And then he took a deep breath.

‘My boy’, he said, ‘I believe there are more things we have to discuss today. You see…’

********

Once they had ended their fascinating conversation, Joshua returned to the chambers that had been given to him and Dion to stay in. As soon as he had opened the door, Dion stood in front of him, and he was so beautiful Joshua never wanted to lose him from sight again.

‘Welcome back’, Dion said with a smile.

Joshua did not answer, and instead he took Dion by the hand and pulled him along towards the bedchamber.

‘Come’, he said. ‘There are many things I wish to learn.’

Dion followed him without a single word of protest, and they did not emerge from their chambers for a very long time.

********

Once upon a time, in a town called Rosalith, there lived a dragon prince and a man with a heart of fire. They built a house on the hill by the city gates, with windows that looked out towards the mountains. A house with a garden and a library and a cozy fireplace in front of which they built a nest from soft pillows and fabrics to curl up together on long evenings. The dragon never truly left Dion’s soul, and sometimes, when the wind howling between snowy peaks called to him, he once again took the form that had been his for so long and he went to chase across the sky for a while. Joshua always accompanied him, but he grew tired of being carried, for something stirred within him; a bird longing to take flight. And so one day he took to the skies on mighty wings of flame, side by side with his beloved, and they danced among the clouds in joy. They kept to the mountains at first, for the people in the towns beyond Rosalith had heard many a gruesome tale about dragons. But new tales spread, and soon those people told their children that good fortune would befall any who spied a dragon’s wing and a phoenix’s flame in the sky together. Dion and Joshua gladly made use of this and for the first time, Dion saw faces looking up at him in wonder instead of terror as he flew past. They never learned what had swayed the people’s hearts, for Byron never told them who had encouraged the bards to sing those particular tales.

The two of them would often visit their cave in the mountains, and together they would tend to the plants and sweep the floor and play chess with gemstones and dance and enjoy each other’s company until they were tired of the solitude. Then they would return to Rosalith and into the arms of those they had grown to hold so dear, and after much laughter and tales and merrymaking they would then return to their house on the hill with windows that looked out towards the mountains, and they would shut the door behind them and enjoy each other’s company some more.

And thus, they lived happily ever after.