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Humans were, at best, an absurdity. Rafal was no stranger to this, to those who would try again and again to combat him, to be embraced only by inevitable death and doomed to be forgotten in memory. Their bones would become dust; their goals rendered pointless well before any change in millenia. Even attempts to grieve, to remember—monuments left on the borders of his territory, flowers and stone and shrines (once, though he’d rid them of that)—would eventually fade with time. A human lifespan was short. A human memory even shorter.
But perhaps it was such memory that oft made them inclined to try to impede upon his territory and his rest again and again. Certainly he did not invite them; his cave lay far from the towns and villages, and he was far too old to humor the inclinations of razing and destroying them. It lost its shine when the curse of time made humanity forget their suffering and simply build again.
What was the point of action if it could not be remembered? If it would not be heeded?
Granted, he oft had to ask himself the same thing. What purpose had he now, far above the rest of humanity, the rest of existence. What reason did he persist, except for his sister’s occasional visits. Neither she nor her traveling companion seemed to see the world as he did—the change was ever fascinating to them, the resulting connections delightful beyond measure. They enjoyed the way humans developed, the habits they might cling to when memory slipped their bloodlines, the new ways they might express the same ideas.
Every time they spoke with him, they seemed to think the new tale might inspire something delightful. Every time, they were disappointed.
He could not find intrigue in their wanderings. He could not find something to cling to to grant his purpose. Old motives had dissolved with time and harsh lessons. New ones were still so far from his grasp.
“Alright, dragon, it’s you and me again!”
Now, bereft of purpose, Rafal seemed visited only by irritation.
He lifted his head, peering down at the small figure that spun a lance in his direction—a rather wasteful display of energy, all considered. But the fool seemed rather ignorant to that, as ignorant as he’d ever been when it came to the fact that he was certainly outpowered and outmatched.
How many attempts had it been, now? How long had he deigned to entertain this inantity, if only because he’d promised his sister he wouldn’t take any more lives unless absolutely necessary? Had it not been for Alear’s persistence, he was certain that Nel would have given up on the effort long ago.
But of course he had no such luck. And of course he could not break a promise made to them, once it was sworn as an oath.
“Have you not tired of this game, little human?” Rafal hissed, his voice reverberating more from his chest than from his mouth. Intent drove a dragon’s language; it was not as senseless and ridiculous as a human’s. Though inefficiency hardly seemed to keep this human from persisting. No, he constantly felt as if he needed to fill the air with his nonsense.
“I told you, my name is Alfred! And I’m going to be the one to take your heart!”
“Are you now…” laughable. Utterly ridiculous. Nonsense without limitation, certainly.
“I am!”
“And how many times would this be?” Rafal pushed himself up to his feet, large wings tucking behind him. This cave had offered enough space that he might spread them in full, but he’d not seen any need to bother for another time.
He’d already tried to blow Alfred off the mountain once, to dissuade him. The fool had simply climbed up the mountain once more. As simple as it would be to try again, Rafal was not much interested in pointless endeavors.
“How many times must I remind you of the same lesson? A human is no match for a dragon.” He tilted his head, peering down at the irritating confidence on the human's face. “Truly, perhaps I should end your life. To spare myself the frustration. To spare your loved ones the continued torment of wondering when you might return home with shameful defeat. Every endeavor makes it all the more tempting.”
“WEll, I mean,” Alfred paused, the tip of his lance drooping slightly. “I kinda expected you to try the first time.”
He had. Well, inadvertently, but he had. In lieu of a response, Rafal’s growl was the only thing audible.
“At this point, I’m pretty sure you’re messing with me.” That cadence was annoying. Confidence and carelessness all at once. The disrespect for a life already too short by nature. “But I don’t care! I’m gonna take you down! I just need you to slip!”
“Have you nothing better to do?”
“Nope!”
At this point, it was nearly routine. Rafal could count on his claws the number of days between each of Alfred’s incessant visits. Each of them ended the same: regardless of whatever new technique Alfred tried—new armor, new weapons, new strategies—he was always the one laid out in defeat. And yet, it did not matter how battered or how bruised, he would always return. Always with the same confidence. Always with the same recklessness.
While it was no less irritating, Rafal could not deny some curiosity. What drove the fool to persist? What made him so inclined to press forward again and again, knowing well that he had no chance of victory. It could not be stupidity; while Rafal had assumed that at first, Alfred’s moves did carry some level of logic and tactic. Some essence of variability. Some evidence that he had learned something from their last encounter—no matter how small—and aimed to address it.
Were he against a lesser dragon, perhaps he would have been victorious.
“Humor me,” he said one day, a day no different than the others. He let his body curl around Alfred’s collapsed form, watching the way the mortal took uneven, heaving breaths. His lance had long-since been tossed aside, fallen somewhere far outside the cave, and his efforts had diminished to nothing but futility. There was no threat (not that there had been to begin with, of course).
Alfred’s eyes opened, eyes meeting Rafal’s in full. Boldness—absent entirely of the cowardice of his kind that certainly would focus more on fang than anything else.
“Why do you persist?” Rafal continued. “There is nothing to gain from this foolishness.”
Alfred’s eyes closed, considering. When he opened them again, his determination burned ever brighter. “You’re wrong.”
“Am I?” Rafal tilted his head, a claw flicking at armor battered by dents and ash. “Your position is no different than any other day. Your attempt at victory is nothing more than a hollow fantasy.”
Alfred huffed a small, breathless laugh. “I’ve gained a lot, already. I almost had you this time.”
Rafal scoffed. “Perhaps I was wrong only in part. All you have gained is a new level of delusion.”
“I did!” Alfred persisted, pushing himself up to a sit. He grimaced—no doubt his armor pressing in unpleasant places. “If I’d just been a little faster—“ he grinned. “Next time for sure.”
Such an irritating man.
But, perhaps, there was more to be gained in humoring him. IF only momentarily.
“Very well. Say an impossibility occurs. What then?” A growl lingered low in his voice. “Will your people praise a man who has saved them from the vicious beast lingering in the hills, certain to rain doom upon them when the whim serves it? Will you be given accolades, wealth, love—all certain to rot when you do?”
Alfred startled. “Well…”
“I suppose it would not matter to a mortal, for something to persist only to the extent of their lives.” Shallow. Mortals always so shallow. “Assuming your admirers do not insist you spare them from ever more dangers. Perhaps they will send you for every dragon that dares breathe in a land of mortals. Perhaps they will bid you fight something with less mercy than I.”
“There’s others?” The surprise in Alfred’s face was nearly unbearable.
And Rafal could do nothing but curse his own foolishness. Perhaps it was contagious. “It is only hypothetical,” he muttered. “I have not left this cave for ages. It is not unlikely my kind has died out entirely.”
“Okay, but were there?” Alfred pressed. “Before you came here.”
“It hardly matters.” It did. If Alfred ever accepted that his efforts here were fruitless, there was no guarantee he would not take them elsewhere. And, even though both Nel and Alear had come to blend in well with humans—even taking their ridiculous forms when the whims suited them—he was persistent enough that he might find them. In a truly intentional battle, he could win. Or, quite possibly, they would have the sense to kill him.
That both thoughts ached in nearly equal amounts was…undesirably unpleasant. And certainly not worthy of thought; when Alfred was no longer in his periphery, then the sentiment would certainly perish.
“So you guys just didn’t get along, huh?”
Rafal blinked, unsure if he should be surprised or annoyed at the certainly incorrect assumption.
“I mean, if I knew there were others out like me, and I missed them, I’d go see them. Not stay stuck in this cave, waiting for a prince to come and spar with you.”
“You presume too much,” Rafal snapped. He glared at Alfred, but the man was annoyingly unfazed. “I do not miss anyone. Nor do I relish in your persistent interruptions.”
Alfred blinked. “Really? You seem rather excited whenever I show up.”
This man was insufferable. “You are insufferable.”
“You’ve mentioned once or twice.”
A low, irritated rumble resonated in Rafal’s throat. “Leave. Before I make the choice for you in a far less pleasant way.”
“Aw, alright then.” Alfred pushed himself up, dusting off his clothes. It was almost respectable, except for the impressive amount of dust on his back. “I’ll see you tomorrow!”
Ugh. Insufferable.
Something was off. Rafal could see it in the way Alfred moved—a touch too slow, aim just a little too far off to one side. Even if his blows were accurate at all, they would lack the strength to pierce his scales, let alone harm him.
True, his determination persisted still, but it seemed as if the burst of life behind it was absent.
Were he fighting any other, his blood would be spilt across the stone, and his life would be no more. Even fighting Rafal, there was no guarantee that would not be the case regardless. But the issue lay in why.
Was this meant to catch him off guard, distract him?
Was it to see if another avenue would offer Alfred an advantage?
Was it merely a sign that the prince had given up entirely, that his intentions to persist in this continued battle had evaporated?
No…there seemed to be a many great things Alfred didn’t humor simply because he had no interest in them. Sense not to disrupt a dragon, to focus on his own kingdom’s matters, for one. Had he tired of this fight, he simply would not appear. Had he wished to end the eternal fight of life, he would have found something far more reliable to kill him. This was something else. Though the nature of what still eluded Rafal.
In theory, it would be easy to take advantage of the moment and kill the man, to be free of this pestering forevermore, but—
He stilled on instinct, as much an instinct as any creature that might find a blade at their throat. Alfred may have been soaked in sweat, face dirtied and eyes wide, breaths shaky and uneven—but that did not change that his lance was pointed directly at the curve of scale where, beneath, Rafal’s heart sat, still beating.
For now.
“You,” Alfred’s voice came out in a partial rasp, “you left yourself open.”
Rafal managed only a growl. To admit he had been distracted would be an insult, for it was an unmerited carelessness that would see his demise. To deny, and say he’d been properly beaten, was even worse of an insult. There was no opportunity to save his pride, save, perhaps—
“You don’t need to go easy on me, you know.”
“What.”
“I know I’m not doing…great.” Alfred’s smile was lopsided, uneasy. Slowly, the distance between the lance’s blade and Rafal’s heart increased. He set it to rest, the metal end at the other end digging into the dust of the cave’s floor. “You don’t have to go easy on me because you don’t want to hurt me.”
“And what makes you think I would wish anything but to be free of your unending presumption?” Rafal’s claws curled against the stone. Frustrated—though at leaving an opportunity to insult himself or something else, he was not sure.
“Well, I know you can do better than that. Have for, what, a year now?”
“Fine, if you insist on pressing.” Rafal’s tail curled around them, his head held high in pride. “If you had no intention of treating our spar with the weight it required, then I saw no reason in offering you any proper effort. You are not so foolish that you would see that as anything but a hollow victory. And, had you taken it, you would have had no reason for respect.”
He’d expected a defense. Or, perhaps, a returning comment. Instead, Alfred only looked away, his lips pressed in a tight line.
The man sighed. “Yeah…I’ll admit I was a little distracted.”
“What could possibly merit your attentions more than this?”
Alfred’s expression looked…strained. As if there were words in his chest that he struggled greatly to contain.
“Well?”
“I’ll…be gone for a little while.” His fingers curled around his lance, uneasy. “I have business to tend to back home.”
“As I imagine you always have, yet have chosen to ignore. Why now?”
Alfred’s expression twisted. Almost a smile. Not quite. “Aw, I’ll miss you, too. Hopefully it won’t be…too long.”
Too long. Time between humans and dragons was so vastly different. A blink for Rafal could be a decade for Alfred. “I will not notice your absence. This I guarantee.”
Alfred’s smile warmed, but only slightly. Like the echo of warmth in metal burned back long past.
It was difficult to move. Rafal wished for nothing more than to fly from his cave, to dive beneath the waters to clean the crimson from his scales, but he was drained. Exhausted beyond understanding. Even though took some considerable effort, more and more by each passing moment.
It was possible, then, that some of the crimson would simply not wash away, not if it continued to flow.
With a groan, he shifted, though he felt stifled by the metal-covered forms at his sides, by the blades and weapons that had pierced through scale. So cautious to avoid a singular place, though it would avail them little with no one left alive to serve as messenger. Soon enough, this cave would become unlivable, too overwhelmed with the remnants of battle and decay.
Though there was little point in trying. He would not be able to reach the cave’s entrance, not even if he put his best efforts into it. Besides, when decades passed, it would look as if he was endeavoring to flee from his fate. Which was absurd. He wanted others to know. To see this and understand the futility of such a ridiculous endeavor.
All they had wished for would clearly go to waste. Which was unfortunate. There was at least one thing that could yet be of use—
“Rafal!”
Astounding, really, that his voice could pierce through so much. That, even when wading in a river of exhaustion and darkness, he could still hold it so clearly.
A shame that, when he opened his eyes, he could only make out Alfred’s shape, and little else.
“This isn’t—I—”
“You are too loud,” Rafal grumbled. “Clearly you cannot see that I’m attempting to sleep.”
“I’m sorry.” A hand came to brush along the ridges of his scales, along horns. An indulgence of a touch Rafal had not permitted, but surely lacked the energy to even protest. That was surely the only reason he allowed it to continue. “I truly, truly am.”
“Your incessant noise is the only thing to apologize for.”
“No—that’s—I mean, I. This would never have happened if not for me.”
That much was true. Rafal knew the colors of the banners before he’d turned them to ash. He knew what traces of similar training lingered in each thrust and each careless mistake. He knew the whispers on dying knights’ lips, and knew that name well.
“You have your victory, whether you intended it or not. Hollow as it may feel, it is yours.”
Alfred’s fingertips twitched against him. “There must be something I can do. Please. I won’t screw it up again.”
It was as he’d thought. A bitter, cruel part of him had thought that the hopefulness of Alfred’s intention was solely naive. That same part had expected to see a familiar face in the armor—for if one could not conquer a trial alone, they would resort to cowardice in a crowd.
But that had never been Alfred. His distance was intentional. His hopes obvious in the little he had said before his departure. If not from that, then the early morning arrival marked a secret leave from Alfred’s homeland, a mission that was not condoned.
If what came next was ever unclear, there was no space for such now. In truth, perhaps the choice had been made months prior, facing Rafal with a joyful smile, instead of the tears that fell heavily now.
“You finish what you came for, when our paths first crossed,” he said, body shifting to expose unmarred scale.
Alfred stiffened. “I don’t want that—”
“You do, else this all falls to waste,” Rafal rumbled. “Take my heart. With it, a dragon’s longevity and strength will be ever yours to command. It was what you came for at first, wasn’t it?”
Alfred’s breath caught in his throat. “Sure, but that was before I knew you. I can’t—I can’t kill you, Rafal.”
“This body already has no use to me. Make use of it, or it will be wasted.” He tilted his head to stare at Alfred, warning in his gaze as much as he could allow. “You have wasted many things—my time and my patience more often than not—but you are not fool enough to waste this.”
Alfred swallowed, his head turning toward a small glint sitting in the dirt. “It will hurt.”
“Such things usually do.”
Alfred’s hands shook. Amid gloves and sleeves soaked in crimson, a perfect jewel sat in his hands. A brilliant red, glistening as if it held its own glow. And warm, so warm he could still feel it through the leather of his gloves.
How long would it be until the warmth faded—till it became cold like the large body before him? How long till he had to come to terms that the lightening feeling in his chest—like a thousand pounds was no longer endeavoring to break his ribs, like his lungs could finally find the joy in the air—came at the cost of the warmth of his dearest friend? Would time see this pain fade…or would he be able to cling onto the preciousness of what remained, hold it as dear as Rafal had deserved?
No, he deserved far better than this. A lonely wyrm in a far off land, refusing to harm or deal with those he might harm. One who took Alfred’s intrusions openly, despite his protestations, despite his pride. Who humored him again and again—whose narrowed eyes of annoyance shifted into something warm and affectionate, evidenced in his voice just as much.
Rafal had at least deserved a prince who could deter his own men.
The dagger clattered as it fell upon the floor. Something that mattered little at all, not as he clutched the gem to his chest. He could keep this safe, at least. If not…if he failed again..then he could break it. Whatever the consequence, he could at least respect Rafal’s wishes—he could at least do right by his generosity.
With a shaking breath, Alfred turned, stepping from the display of such unnecessary death, of sacrifice for a cause that did not merit it.
Inhale. Exhale.
Hands settled onto his shoulders, sliding forward over his chest as the definite sensation of a chin made home against one of his shoulders. “Departing already?” a voice rumbled, familiar and not, breaths moving the hair over his ear.
Alfred snapped away, stumbling forward as he held the gem desperately close to his chest. Eyes wide as he made out a figure as he spun around—a man he was certain had never been there before. No, such pale hair would be distinct, as would the white armor glistening around the death and certain decay. A sly smile played on the stranger’s lips, even as hands settled on his hips.
“Rather inconsiderate,” the man mused. Where had Alfred heard that voice before? “After all I’ve done for you.”
“Who—” Had this man been the one to instill Alfred’s knights with such a ridiculous plan? Had he been the one to encourage the dragon’s demise? But why?
His eyes flitted about for a weapon. Whatever the reason, there was no way it was a good thing. There was no justification for killing Rafal. He would have to be stopped.
“Oh, enough.” The man sighed, as if he was the one burdened by this catastrophe. “You never cease to make noise, do you?”
“Enough! I’ve heard enough! If you’re the one that did this, I’ll—”
The man’s smile widened, and Alfred’s teeth clacked shut—not with fear, but determination. Revenge helped nothing, but if he could take it—if he could stop this from ever happening again—
“You don’t get it, do you?” A sigh, long nails tapping against the white armor. “I suppose I should not be surprised.”
Alfred’s teeth grit. There was a lance not far. If he could dart across, then he might have the chance…
“A dragon’s heart.” The man tilted his head. “Have the legends truly been so diluted over the last few centuries? You can’t even retain that much?”
“What?”
“Ugh, of all the fools…” The man pinched the bridge of his nose. “A gift. An undying vow to stay by your side, to both metaphorically and quite literally share a dragon’s lifespan with its bearer, so long as you wish the jewel there as well. Though standing at your side is hardly convenient in such a massive form, at least if I have little intention of eliminating all your armies. Though if you’d require a demonstration, I’m still rather annoyed by these fools.”
Alfred couldn’t even grasp enough to properly form a question. His mouth simply sat open, unsure what part would come to first be voiced.
The man looked especially unimpressed. “This game is hardly any fun if you don’t play along. I. Am. Rafal. Does that help rattle thoughts from that skull of yours, or are you truly without hope?”
Well that was ridiculous. “That’s Rafal!” he said instead, gesturing at the pale dragon’s corpse. “Not you! I won’t be played for a fool.”
“A shame you’re already well on your way there,” the man sighed, closing the distance between them. Alfred found he couldn’t get his body to cooperate, not even when the man took his chin in hand, forcing their eyes to meet. In his hands, the crystal thrummed, a staccato of a pulse against his palm. The man’s voice lowered, gaze intense and so familiar this close. “Would you make such claims now?”
“I…”
“Well?”
It was impossible to believe. Alfred wanted it so much that he had to force himself to doubt it. As much as he wanted to take the familiar eyes and voice, as much as he wanted to believe the pulse in his hands so nearly matched his own in a way that meant something, as much as he wanted to not have killed a dear friend…to accept it and be wrong…
Rafal had trusted him. He had to keep that trust no matter what.
And there was one way to test and be sure.
“Spar with me, then,” he said, the determination in his voice just as sure in his expression.
The man blinked. Slowly, a smile played on his lips. “I should have expected as much.”
“Spar with me, and I’ll know if you’re telling the truth.”
“Very well,” the man said, pulling his hand away. “You should prepare for yet another loss, then.”
The pulse from the stone was even faster, stronger. Alfred offered it a small squeeze—a comfort for them both. “Don’t count on it.”