Archive of Our Own ^beta

His first bite is halfway to his mouth when you burst into the temple.

Caldarus blinks, ears perking high in surprise. He stares at you as you stare at him—eyes wide and lips parted. Though, you are panting hard, as if you ran all the way into the Deep Woods without a moment of rest. Your brow is set tight, tension palpable in the arch of your shoulders. Something is troubling you.

If your sudden appearance was not enough to tell him that, the way you growl as you stalk inside is. The doors slam shut behind you, and Caldarus sets down his spoon, softly clearing his throat. He settles the bowl a little closer to the fire lest it get cold too quickly, granting you a smile as you settle across the hearth.

He is still somewhat unsure of himself—the way his heart seems to squeeze in his chest at the sight of you is most unfamiliar to him. This body is… not new to him, he knows implicitly, even without further memories to guide him, but it has been long since he has taken it. He knows no approximates, but what he does know now is the way you settle ever so slightly at his ease.

You sink further into the cushion, legs crossing tight. He is still somewhat fascinated by the way you manage to move with such grace that it makes a dragon like himself enviable at times. He knows you would laugh off such a though, and as such, he has long kept it to himself; though, there is no grace in the way your elbow rests upon your knee and your face finds your palm quickly afterwards.

He feels his lips twitch wider. There is warmth at the tips of his ears—he does not realize so swiftly that he is staring so blatantly, but perhaps his body does. It is odd to consider, but he often does have more questions than answers these days.

For example, the matter of your mood and its cause.

Human emotions are volatile, he has come to realize—to remember. You are a perfect example, and in many ways, his guide. You live your life so freely, feeling all that comes your way, whether for weal or woe. He has seen you many a time with a smile cresting your face like sunrise; many a time with tears falling as rain so coldly does. It is unsurprising to him to see you with a frown, but the potency of it does give him pause.

He is unsure of what to say to you. You stare firmly at the floor of his temple as he has seen you do when something commands your focus. If you are thinking, he will not interrupt.

Patiently, he waits. He has done so many times now. For one with eternity in their grasp, time is merely the name given to unending tides of life. He has much of it to spare, and you are worth all he has to give.

The fire shrinks a noticeable amount before you finally start to speak.

"Do you…" you grimace. It is a strange enough expression on your face that he quirks a brow. He swiftly smooths it out, but he knows that it was noticed when you sigh. "Do you remember what I told you yesterday? About how I got invited to the inn for dinner with Balor?"

He does, for you had been most excited about the prospect. It had been, in your words, a chance to celebrate our success. He knows little besides what you have told him in passing of economics—of the logistical side of your farm. He knows enough, however, that last night was to be a grand occasion.

Caldarus nods. "I do. Did something happen?"

His tail flicks behind the cover of his back. Oddly, his chest yet again grows tight, though this time, it is not followed by warmth; cold meets his heart as an icy wave, dragging it below dark waters. Your face loses light in kind, and he feels what he believes is anxiety. You have told him of it—a creeping along the skin like unwelcome insects, a bottomless pit that forms within the stomach without escape.

It unsettles him deeper than he would like to admit.

"He—" you take in a breath, willing the air to give you strength you lack, "There was… an interruption. And…" you avert your gaze. With emotions in your voice he cannot rightly name, you say, "Balor might be leaving Mistria."

He, too, quietly inhales. Perhaps as it did for you, it will grant him some measure of resolve.

"Some guy—Wheedle," you recall, spitting the name like it has poisoned you, "barged in out of nowhere. He knew Balor, spoke like a snake the whole time and—and he gave him this contract. He told him that if he took it…"

You trail into silence. What was once peaceful even with your irritation has quickly turned tense. It is a strange atmosphere, one that makes him want to wring his hands as he has seen you do.

Your words process slowly for him. He wants to make sure he understands—he does not know what a snake would have to say that is so terrible for you to compare this man to their words, but he will heed your judgment. As circumstances stand, you are more wise to the world than he is.

He also does not know about this… contract, you had said? He needs more information, but he is unsure of how to pose his questions. Instead, he asks, "You worry of Balor's departure from Mistria? Is that due to this… contract you speak of?"

You nod, a jerky motion. "I-I don't remember what was in it now, but—" you sigh, lifting your head from your palm. Your fingers make a fist, laying between your lap. "Balor's been mentioning it for a while, too. I think he's really considering it. This deal's just the nail in the coffin for him."

You often use terms he does not understand, but this one is clear enough. His throat feels like it has been laid with sand, and as he lifts his hand to his chin, his worry burgeons as flame used to within his chest.

"Unfortunate tidings, indeed…" he muses. He knows Balor is a good friend of yours—another who shares in the beauty of your heart. He hears often of the time you spend together, and he is glad that you have adjusted so well to your new life. He has heard all of your doubts over the seasons; he listened and remembered well within the statue, saw your shivers on even the hottest of Summer nights.

You have worked so hard and he is proud beyond measure of your tenacity. He has never had the words to tell you, but now, he truly wishes he did—the leaving of your truest friend in such unfortunate circumstances might shake your foundations in a way you will not recover from.

And, if he is honest… unimportant though it is, he worries for himself.

The young merchant is his sole contact with the outside world that is not you. Beyond that, he is willing to accept Caldarus' orders, penned with archaic words and paid for with coins of a bygone age. He had only found out these things when you had told him, squinting down at his note and payment when you had taken it in his stead one day.

It had only made his gratitude all the greater—as he is, he must be discreet, and thus far, that discretion has been met in kind. It has made life has easier to bear, his situation less of a fall and more of a stumble.

"I just…" you mumble through your lips, looking up at him with a crease to your eyes that he knows is sadness, "I don't know what to do."

His own doubts pale in an instant—to him, your clear distress takes root in his heart as if it has never lain elsewhere. His pulse echoes loud in his ears, and he is only aware that he is staring when you blink, the action curious, anticipatory.

You are hoping he will have something useful to say—advice of some kind. There is something about your presence that tends to muddle his mind; Caldarus takes another breath, softer than before. He believes that you consider him wise. He does not share the sentiment, he has only experience to look back upon, most of it more recent than antiquated. He is not sure such knowledge would still be useful, but he reaches deep to find something proper to say.

Strange as it is to admit, he often finds that his brow creases with yours—you imprint upon him more than you realize, a lovely yet confusing thing to consider. Your happiness is important to him, more so than even the meals he eats to sustain himself or the rest he takes to recover.

It is you that is important to him, he thinks—it is that look on your face that has him speaking with only a half-grasped thought in hand.

"I think that you have done all that you can," Caldarus tells you, slowly as to find his words. "Should you believe that you can change his mind, however, I would advise that you try and do so."

You perk up. That is the reaction he was hoping for, but there is a stranger note to your tone as you ask, "Caldarus… are you worried about Balor?"

He supposes he is. There is no reason to deny what is rapidly becoming clear to him. "I am. Beyond sustaining me, you have told me that he has been invaluable in Mistria's recent recovery. He is a boon to this land. His loss would be a great setback."

You nod slowly. There is a new flicker in your eyes—it is something firm, and he cannot help the creep of his smile as he recognizes that familiar flame of conviction. A grand Dragonsworn you are in all ways, indeed.

Your hands hit your thighs as you stand. "Then that settles that," you leverage your newfound height to gaze down upon him from your nose—faintly, it reminds him of the birds that would do much the same to him when perched upon his statue's head. "I guess I'll just need to try to talk him out of being an idiot."

He has no doubt that you will succeed in your efforts—your words have moved him in ways he cannot describe many times.

You stay a little longer before leaving in as much of a flurry at you entered. Though, this time, he is glad to see that there is no tremble to your steps. You would be back later, you had promised, but there is a dull ache in his chest all the same as he bids you farewell.

As the doors shut, Caldarus stares at them a while longer than he needs to. Quietly, he sighs. Despite his best efforts, he realizes as he reaches for his food, it has mostly gone cold. It was a touch salty… and burnt.

Perhaps you will be so kind as to bring him something later. He should not rely on mere thoughts, he knows—he is striving to be self sufficient. However, knowing you…

He sets his bowl aside once more. There is no point to ruining his appetite before a grander, tastier meal.

A week passes before he receives news on the merchant's quandary.

This time, you arrive as the sun is setting. Absorbed as he is in his reading, he is only faintly aware of the way his own ears twitch at the disruption of essence. It is only when something firm sets itself on his desk that he startles, looking up.

There, he finds you, lips lifting in a smile. Your name leaves his own in a breathless sort of apology, a claw settling above his heart. "Forgive me, I did not hear your arrival."

"You looked like you were pretty into your scroll," you wave your hand as you dig into your bag. Caldarus hears the crinkle of paper before you even remove the object of interest, and he cannot help but stare in curiosity as you slap it down on his desk. "Look what I got today."

He cranes forward to read. The tips of your fingers linger on the edges of the letter, and he finds his gaze flitting towards them instead. Your hands are rough—a mark of your livelihood. By virtue of working with the earth, your body has long been tempered by it. In his eyes, it is something to be proud of. You have always been a fascinating example of your kind, being the first he has truly seen in this era, but he confesses that he finds a great feeling in his chest at having watched you grow into your own power.

"So," you pull the letter away as Caldarus blinks. He… had not read more than the first few words. "You know what this means, right?"

He does not. He does not even know who the letter is from, but Caldarus has learned well from you—when in doubt, one must act like they know what they are doing. He nods, resting his hands in his lap.

"Finally!" you grin, shoving the letter back into your pack. He hopes you will not need it later with the way you are handling it. "I think I got through to him. If he's meeting me so quick, I think he's made a decision. Or he's willing to talk it out, at least."

Context is something he has learned to use wisely in recent times. He knows at once of what you speak—the situation with young Balor and his contract. Now with certainty, he nods again. "You have been trying to make him reconsider?"

"Oh, yeah. I've been ambushing him whenever I could and letting him know that he'll be making a mistake if he signs that paper," you purse your lips at him contemplatively. On your face, he thinks as his heart pounds, it is an endearing sort of expression. "I… cracked him a bit the other day. He talked about things—he really wants to stay, Caldarus."

To this revelation, he hums. He is not surprised—you have described the merchant many a time to him, he is perhaps the one closest to your heart and it is only natural that you know him well. He, in kind, has come to know much of Balor; his past, his pain, his present.

All lives lived long enough are marred with scars. He knows that he himself must bear some, even if he cannot remember them. He has seen yours—confessions huddled beneath his wings of stone, bandages wrapped around your newest mistakes.

He has never seen the merchant in the flesh, but he has gazed upon him from above. Once, the merchant had even joined you at the base of his statue, pointing out the way you had decorated it with fresh spring blooms. He had seen the smile Balor gave, bright as sunlight, charming as birdsong. Caldarus had thought him only an enthusiastic young man until you told him the truth.

"If that is so…" he leans back in his chair, tail sweeping across the floor where it lays. He looks to catch your eyes, finding them bright in a way that warms his own chest. "I have faith that he will make a choice to be proud of."

In some ways, he does. In others, however, he finds his fingers lacing atop his lap and squeezing. It is a nervous gesture, he has come to know. The knowledge does not prevent him from doing it.

You smile at him. "I hope so," you say. "I'll be leaving in a bit to get to the inn. I just… wanted to tell you what was happening."

You have been very diligent in the task of keeping his mind up to date. You told him much even when he rested within stone, but now, Caldarus believes that he could recite facts of each and every in the town if asked. You ensure that he is not left out of even the smallest of conversations, no matter how mundane or trivial they may be. He knows about the interesting game played on Friday's, about the birdhouse you are building with the carpenter, and about your lack of fruitful hunts for katydids in the woods for the sake of showing the children.

Your generosity, it seems, knows no bounds.

"You will be returning home?" he asks as he gets to his feet, muscles aching. He has spent too long in the chair again, he thinks as he stretches his tail. You do not answer him, and that is odd enough for him to glance your way.

Your eyes snap and meet his. For some reason, there is a strange scent in the air—at times, he has noticed it by your side, but never without your presence. He has yet to give it a name. For a reason he does not understand, the thought of asking you about it has been most daunting.

"Actually—" your voice is stilted for your first breath. When you take another, however, it returns to normal. "I was planning on walking from here. I teleported so I could tell you where I was going, but…" Your shoulders rise and fall. "Honestly, it'll be the same distance either way. Might as well get in a nature walk beforehand."

His brow pinches. You… went out of your way to inform him of your plans? With you, he is usually only told of the aftermath of your events with others.

That odd scent returns. It tingles in his nose as he breathes it in, something he cannot name or describe. His stare must be intense, for you start to fidget beneath it. He does his best to relax, but he finds his frown reluctant to leave him.

"This… involves both of us," you tell him, "I didn't think it'd be fair if I just went and sealed our fates without talking to you first."

"I see," he says, pushing aside his confusion. "You will be leaving soon?"

You turn on your heel and walk to the doors. Implicitly, Caldarus knows you want him to follow. He does, and as you push the doors open, dusk is heavy on the horizon. You nod, looking satisfied.

"I think I should head out now," you say. For some reason, there is another pit in his stomach as you turn to him. "Would you mind keeping my stuff for the night? I'll pick it up tomorrow."

There is something bitter within his throat as he swallows. "Of course. It will be safe here."

You beam. The bitterness dissolves into something tart—he keeps the strange feeling at bay, though it only grows in intensity when your stare turns contemplative.

There is that scent yet again. This time, however, he watches your body change in kind. Your fingers twitch at your side, and his dragon's eyes watch blood flow to even the tips of your ears. Are you… embarrassed? Would that be the correct term? If it is, why would you be?

"Caldarus…" you stop short, eyes widening. You look as though you have seen something most frightful, but you continue with not a trace of such fear within your voice. "Will you—will you walk me out?"

He blinks against the sunlight. Without his knowing, his lips start to part. His ears twitch. His, as well, now grow warm. "I…would be glad to."

You beam once more. This time, however, the comparison is stark—a lantern to a star. His heart beats strangely in his chest, and when you reach for his arm, he thinks it might stop entirely.

His face burns hot for the duration of the walk to the edge of the woods. Your grip upon him is gentle—firm as not to lose him, yet soft enough that he fears it is he who will lose you if he focuses on anything but your touch. As the dark settles harshly upon the forest, he finds himself in front of you, guiding you by the hand.

His claws rest firmly atop your wrist. There, your pulse beats fast against his fingers, sending shocks through his arm with each and every one. It is strange, he thinks as he escorts you past the lake—his own heartbeat has made him feel many things since he took this form, but never with the fervor yours causes him.

Indeed, he has felt many things since he sacrificed scale for skin, but when you drop your grip from his, ready to go where he cannot follow, he is not sure he has felt anything so intense as the shadow that overtakes his heart.

The stairs downward lie just before him. There, he sees the boundary of sacred ground. Should he walk beyond it, it will not take long for weakness to settle upon his bones. You may venture without thought, but he cannot say the same.

Caldarus can only watch as you turn to face him. He cannot understand why you, too, look like you have become beset with an unnameable malady. "Thank you," you quietly say, in perfect time with the last of the day's birdsong, "I know it's a bit late. I didn't want to ask in case you were feeling tired, but…"

You smile at him again. This time, it is no star—it is a thing that he has no name for. He knows well the way it makes him feel however, and it sends yet another wave of warmth to his cheeks. In the darkness as you are, he wonders if you can see his… blush, as you have called it.

"I am usually quite capable in the Deep Woods," he tells you, meeting your pitch without thinking. "Please, do not hesitate to ask should you ever require my escort."

Somehow, he gets the impression that you very much like his suggestion.

You laugh—there is a feeling in his stomach, like the bubbling of a soup. He stiffens, tail curling behind him. He did not know that laughter could sound so melodic; you have taught him many things, however. This is but one lesson of many. You are a person he thinks he will never tire learning of.

"Well, with an offer like that…" your lashes flutter up at him, "I guess I'll need to take you on night walks more often!"

He would… like that.

"Don't wait up for me," you tell him. "I'll be a while, and I'll probably head back to the farm afterwards anyways."

Something tight coils in his chest. He had assumed that you would return after the fact, eager in your expression to tell him all that transpired. This is the more logical option, of course—you would be awake at sun's break to take care of your land.

"As you say. I will return to the temple. I will anticipate your return on the morrow."

There is no need to say such a thing, truly. You have never missed a day of visits, a fact he is most grateful for. Even on that fateful evening in the depths of the earth, you had met him as fast as you could, dazed and out of sorts but alive.

You nod, taking a step back. "Thanks again, Caldarus," you lift your hand in a wave. You are leaving. You are leaving, and he is merely watching. "Be safe walking home!"

There is no thought in the way he reaches forward—in the way his hand grasps yours. There should be no reason to squeeze his fingers around your own, but he does so. Caldarus takes a step forward, counteracting yours. There is a ringing in his soul, calling out; he does not understand, but he wants to be brave for you.

"Be safe," he murmurs, "on your way back to your farm."

Your stare is wide-eyed. It is only after you open your mouth that he realizes he has been improper with you. He drops your hand like it has burned him, impossible though that is. His chest heaves—the air feels thin. He is used to this feeling while flying, but now he walks the earth on his own two legs and he does not know what to do.

Thankfully, you are ever a capable tutor, for you do. "I will be," you tell him. "and I'll see you first thing tomorrow to let you know I was."

His heart thumps hard beneath his ribs. He can only nod and replace the distance that you had once put between the two of you. "That would be a comfort. Please, do not be late on my account. I will see you then."

You grin at him a final time—now, it is the sun, long faded beneath the moon's grace, yet risen again in your smile. Caldarus watches you run down the stairs with abandon that makes his neck prickle and stomach churn. You do not look behind you even once, and guiltily, he takes advantage of your single-mindedness.

He creeps to the edge of the boundary, watching as you finally vanish out of view. His fangs find his bottom lip in a bite. His lungs still feel as though they are being held in hands too tight—nervousness runs through his veins as blood, and Caldarus peers a little further out.

His tail whips behind him as he considers. He does not recall you saying that there were any townsfolk who shared your penchant for the small hours. The only residents this way were Ryis and Landen, both likely turned in for the night. Or, at the least, not so swift to emerge.

He does not know why he is considering this. You will be fine. You handle yourself perfectly—you are most capable with a blade, you may heal yourself should the need arise. There is no need for him to hover.

This is a problem of a different sort, he thinks. You will not be fighting monsters—you are fighting men. They are, at times, more loathsome than even the foulest beasts with their words and tricks. You can protect yourself well enough in caverns brimming with lava, but Caldarus does not know if you will be alright among the wolves playing sheep.

It does not matter either way. There is nothing he can do should you need to be saved.

A feeling so vile it burns his throat courses through him. He is incapable, perhaps, but for you, he would like to be more. For you, his soul decries, he must be brave. He may not be able to interfere in your affairs, or shield you in any way that will truly matter…

Caldarus takes his first step out of the Deep Woods.

It is exhilarating—his protection leaves him, tiring him in an instant, but he takes another step. Another, and another, and another. With each one, he feels the burden upon his body grow, pressure atop his shoulders that longs to pull him to his knees.

He will not surrender. Not to this, nor to himself. If he cannot be there by your side, he will watch over you in his own way. There is no shame in adaptation. This much, you have taught him well.

He lingers at the middle of the stairs. His arms cross—the winds feel far cooler to him, and his shiver is a sad thing. His hair brushes against his tail as he stands utterly still, looking out at distant lights. They are hard to see through the trees, but they are there. The darkness of night only accentuates them more, a reminder of what he is doing.

He stares until his eyes burn. You are there, amidst those lights. He cannot feel you, but you are there. When he blinks, there are flashes of white. He should not stay here long. He knows where you are—some of the boundless pit in his stomach has been filled. This should be enough for him. He does not like to be greedy.

Caldarus exhales a cold breath and descends further.

The grass is soft beneath his feet. It is different than the woods—shorter, not as dark. The scent, too, is strange to him. It is comforting in a way, as well. That the lands are still so fertile brings him great ease. It does not soothe the lingering pain in his chest, but some small weight does leave him.

Small stones sound beneath him as he walks over them—he spies the fruit tree you have mentioned multiple times, bearing sweet cherries, and his ears perk at the thought. Before he can stop himself, he is approaching it, tail in the grass. You have offered him this bounty once before, and your words about the taste were most apt. You had promised to bring him more when the time was right, but thus far, your oath had gone unfulfilled.

Even through darkness, he spies where fresh bunches sprout. They are remarkably young—he supposes you have not had the chance to pick them yet. He has heard you mention them being made into various things; tarts, pies, drinks and jams, the thoughts of which bring to him a hunger he had long thought sated. The lack of protection weighs heavy, however, and his body must work harder to sustain itself.

The bright red before him tempts him in a way he does not think he has ever known. With a careful claw, he reaches out and picks one bunch from the stem. He hopes you will not be too upset with him for ruining your dessert plans.

Upon his first bite, he feels himself stand taller. For a moment, he does not feel so weak, and he chases the feeling, fleeting though it is.

Before he truly knows it, his hands are stained red. He is sure his mouth is no better a sight, even as he wipes at it with the edges of his palms. Juice drips from under his claws—it is not much of an improvement, but he feels slightly stronger. It is not much, but it is enough.

There are small slabs of stone near the drop of the plateau. They will be a good stopping point. The walk is short for him—from this angle, he looks out and sees a boundless landscape, unfamiliar though it is. For a brief, beautiful moment, he is awed. Even at night, it steals his breath and does not return it. He can see distant ruins, a structure he should likely know but does not. The bridge you had mentioned, once broken but now repaired thanks to your aid.

He sits quietly. The impromptu bench is cold beneath him and his shivers intensify, even as he tucks his hands within his sleeves. His tail curls close, around the front of his legs. From here, the lights are closer. Harder to see due to the angle of where he was, but there still.

You are there, still. The bond between you and him is rarely used—there has been no need with the peace of the Deep Woods and your constant care. He reaches out for it carefully—a single claw to strum the string of connection. The glow of you is faint from distance, but still bright enough to blind him. You are you, after all. He has never seen a soul quite like yours.

You are safe. He cannot sense more than that, but you are safe. When it leaves his sight, he will return to the temple and rest. For now, however…

You are still clear when he looks for you. As he once did, he will keep his vigil over you. And, should the situation change in any way—

That will not happen, he tells himself. Not within Mistria. This is a peaceful place. Even among the lowest of mortal men, there would be peace. You are still there, bright as starlight. You are a beacon of warmth—nothing will go awry.

Caldarus leans forward, knees knocking together. He will wait. Even should he be reduced to a shivering, sickly mockery of himself. Until you are home, he will wait. A cold wind brushes past him, and his hair is sent askew. With trembling claws, he adjusts it to where it should be. He will wait, no matter the time it will take.

For him, mere hours will pass like heartbeats—this wait, he knows, will be brief; he has already done as much for so very long, and to do so for your sake is, in many ways, an honor.

Upon the Western Road, a dragon sits in wait and expects no interruption.

Within the Sleeping Dragon inn, an altercation is ending—a man is leaving the town's bounds, tail between his legs in shame and failure. In his anger, he pays no mind to the path ahead of him or whether he's being followed… or watched.

That idiot…!

Every pebble with the misfortune of being in his way on this backwater road gets kicked aside without mercy—he can barely even call it a road, more filth than stone, scuffing his shoes so badly that he can practically see the bill for the shining grow before his eyes.

He'd been so confident—dressed in the cleanest suit he had, used an extra hit or two of spray for his hair, he'd even asked his escort back to the Capital to wait for him off the path so he could have more time to discuss the fine print on the walk back with—

Balor.

Wheedle clenches his jaw so tight that it creaks. His teeth might just shatter if he gets any madder—he doesn't think he can, frankly, but he forces a deep breath. His back straightens from his slouch, and his bruised ego aches a little less.

He made a fool of himself in there, but how was he supposed to account for the fact that these damned bumpkins won Balor over like he belonged here!? He was a great merchant—Wheedle can't stand the thought of anyone being better at swindling folks than him, but even he can admit that Balor could outmatch him any day…

So why in the hell was he giving it all up!? For—for this! Whatever this middle-of-nowhere had to offer him that he couldn't, apparently. They could have had everything; he could've had everything, but Balor tore that future to shreds with you by his side.

Oh, yes. He knows all about the new farmer in town, a business associate of sorts. One he didn't take seriously, of course, but a useful pawn all the same. If he could just mold you a little bit, make that naive, little mind realize that there was a better future for this nothing town in his pocket, you could have done something wonderful.

Instead, you had interrupted his personal meetings with his real associate—twice, now—with audacity that even he had to respect, had succinctly told him to shut the hell up, and promptly chased him out of the inn like a rabid dog. He hadn't even had the time to get a decent drink!

You were a pesky thing, a foil he hadn't planned for, and that had been his… undoing.

There's a cold wind. This early in Spring, he shouldn't be surprised, but it's so strong that he stumbles. His foot lands off the small smattering of stones and back into the dirt. He inhales so sharply he almost chokes on his own cologne.

He's going to need a smoke after this.

It's so dark he can barely see. He never should've come out this late, but… hubris. Lesson learned, Wheedle thinks bitterly, almost unable to see the ground in front of him through the red overtaking him.

The wind is picking up, and it's enough for him to shudder. He doesn't want to admit it, this place is just backwater trash, but there's something about this damn road that's bothering him. The walk here, he'd been just fine—now, he can't help looking over his shoulder or staring into the darkest corners before he takes another step.

There's nothing here. He's just… paranoid. With how you'd been acting at the inn, maybe you were some kind of… night-faring beast, and that's a thought that absolutely doesn't make him look around.

If he ever has to come here again, he's not coming when it's late.

There's another heavy patch of dirt in front of him. It's so dark that it's almost all he can see, there's clouds over the moon tonight and begrudgingly, he steps onto it.

Immediately, there's a burning… instinct in the back of his head. He's being watched.

Ridiculous, Wheedle, the esteemed business man, thinks. He's seen his way through dens of vipers with only his words, ventured through shady alleys more times than he could count, gotten involved with just as shady individuals and—

It's never felt like this.

He's being watched. Not just stared at, he was used to that—this was the way that he's seen in men who find something at his stalls that they can't live without. This was the way he's seen desperate folk stare at him after he gives them the pen to sign their lives away, emboldened by the thought of something better.

This is hunger, and it makes Wheedle freeze.

The moon is coming out, and finally, he can see. You're an idiot, he thinks as he glances to the side, out towards the country he has no interest in exploring. Just like Balor and his damned pet.

The landscape is so much brighter and that helps, but it's not enough for that feeling to subside. There's no reason to stay here, he needs to get back to his escort…

Just for peace of mind, Wheedle looks around. Behind him, there's nothing. Obviously. And in front of him is the bridge. Of course. And up towards those creepy woods he'd glanced at earlier—

There's someone there.

No, not someone. Something. And it's staring right at him.

The hill is still shadowed, but he can see enough. Its eyes are fire like all versions of hell live within them, and they pierce through him, rooting him to the spot. Something moves behind it, a whip-like motion, revealing spikes. A tail. There are curves from its head. Horns.

Before he can even think of thinking of thinking, it stands. Faster than he can blink, and even though there's an entire walk between him and it and a hill to compare again, he isn't stupid—it's tall. Taller than him, than anyone he's ever met. At its side are hands. Claws. They're long, sharp and…

Bloody.

The red is a harsh contrast from its skin. He looks up. Its face is still shaded, but there's more red drops all along whatever its wearing. It's an ugly amalgam of colors and—

It moves. It's only the smallest step, but it's enough. It has feet with spikes and there's blood there, too.

After all this time, Wheedle thinks, he's finally met a demon. His time is up. He's lived a good life.

His body doesn't seem to agree with him though, because from his throat comes a scream that would make even the little girls in the Capital point and laugh. Not for the first time in his life, he runs for his life, away from someone—something who wants to kill him.

Damn this backwater town to hell, and everyone who lives here! They can keep their—their filth and Balor can stay here forever if he wants, because any place with demons isn't a place he wants on his payroll!

He runs and runs and runs. By the time you get on the scene, the snake named Wheedle is long, long gone.

Quietly, Caldarus hums to himself.

It is a familiar tune to him. He first heard it from you in the early days after his awakening. In his brief breaths of lucidity, the song would break through the silence of slumber and linger in his soul. He has always possessed a musical mind—adding a creation of yours to his recovering memories is something he is most glad for.

He stares down at the ground, eyes half-lidded. He is tired as he knew he would be, and he is doing all he can to conserve his strength for the walk back to the temple. However, he finds that he cannot resist the sound that builds in his throat and leaves in the shape of you.

You are still amidst the lights, brighter than them. You have not yet returned home, so neither will he. The moon has risen well, hidden behind the cover of clouds. When it shows itself, he is granted sight, and under its quiet radiance, Mistria takes his breath away anew.

Such beautiful lands. He is proud to say they are his to live upon—he is prouder yet to see those that have joined him here.

He lingers as he is in near-silence. His own voice is a meager comfort compared to yours, but he will endure. He will hear you again on the morrow. More than he thought he would, he is looking forward to your visit. He wonders what you will bring with you. There is usually something edible—you have a fondness for offering him sweets, he notices, and that is not something he will complain about.

If it is from you, he will cherish it happily.

...Perhaps such a thought is forward of him. He will ponder it later. For now, he finishes his song, sighing quietly. A chilled wind sweeps over the area, making him burrow deeper into his scarf. His claws curl into the robes atop his lap, though he is careful not to tear them.

Caldarus looks up, glancing once more into the town. This time, he sees, you have moved. Not much, but the change is enough for him to notice. Yet, he thinks, the light of your soul is not pointing towards your farm. It is…

The wind grows in strength. He shuts his eyes as his hair tumbles from his back and shoulders, waiting out the flurry. When he opens them, a stained hand brushing a lock behind an ear, he freezes.

There is someone coming his way, and it is not a soul he recognizes.

He has come to memorize the glow of Mistria's denizens. He cannot protect them as he is, so he endeavors to learn of them as best he can otherwise. He knows their many hues and shades, their shapes and rarely, scents.

This person, he knows, is not someone he has met before. An outsider in his territory. Ordinarily, he does not mind such a thing, but this presence is odd to him. He peers through the dark—his ability to see in the night has diminished, but it is not fully gone. He squints, spying the one who is walking the road.

Indeed, Caldarus does not recognize the man. He walks slow along the path, looking around with strange movements. He is jerky—it reminds him of how you moved after… the mines. When you were weak. When you were yet scared.

For humans, he supposes the night is something worthy of fear. Predators lurk in the blackest corners and danger may lie just out of sight. He has never needed to worry thusly, for the Deep Woods are peaceful and quiet, but seeing this man so frightful makes an odd feeling creep within his chest.

With the way the man observes his surroundings, he may be seen. That would not be ideal. He has gone great lengths to conceal himself, and he does not know how loose the tongue of this stranger is.

The man pauses, stiffens. He looks around like he has heard something threatening. Caldarus watches, uncertainty leading his thoughts. Should he move? Would he be noticed if he did? He… has never been in this situation before. You have prepared him for much, but he has always been so careful—thinking in advance for something like this has never occurred to him.

This was a flight of whimsy. There was no thought to this, no logic. He only wished to watch over you and make sure you were safe. He did not think it likely that any other soul save himself would be here so late. His thoughts turn loud, and his ears twitch, a nervous motion. This time, his hands do wring.

Caldarus is unsure of what to do, but even his thoughts fade like dew when the strange man turns and faces him.

His eyes widen. Before he can consider controlling himself, his tail leaves the cover of his back, whipping through the air. He has been seen, he realizes, getting to his feet. This… is bad, as you would say. He drops his hands, letting them hang before he rubs his skin raw.

He needs to leave. The Deep Woods are ample cover, nor are they far. He swallows through the feeling of sand in his throat, stretching his stiff leg before he starts to move. It is not much, enough for the numbness to subside—

The man shrieks. Caldarus flinches, his ears dipping in an attempt to protect themselves from the sound. Before he can blink, the stranger is running, faster than he has seen even you move. He watches in silence as the outsider leaves his sight, the moonlight slowly fading once more.

"Oh…" he breathes, pressing a hand to his chest. His heart pounds beneath his fingertips, a feeling surrounding it like it has been plunged into a cold stream. There is tension when he inhales, and he realizes that he, too, was frightened.

His ears twitch again. There is a faint sound, one in the distance. Not in the direction the man ran to, but from the lights—from the town. He strains to hear under the roaring of his pulse, eyes closing to focus on the noise. If there are others coming, he will leave and not return, upsetting though that will be.

It is… a voice, he thinks slowly. Calling out, yelling. He frowns. It comes closer, and he almost takes yet another step to listen better.

"—stard! You bastard!"

His head shoots up. That is your voice, screaming into the night. The distress in it is plain, so clear that he can see it in the air, and before Caldarus can consider other alternatives, he is rushing to the edge of the hill. His body is heavy, protesting with every move he takes, but he will not let you face whoever has earned your ire alone.

He is stood just at the lip of the slope when he sees you. You are running, feet pounding against the ground with a force he has seldom seen you use. You pant, halting just beyond him, squinting into the dark. Under your breath, you mutter, but you are too far for him to read your lips.

Caldarus does not hesitate. He calls out to you. Your name is a blessed relief as it flows from his tongue, and the way your eyes meet his settles the squeezing in his chest.

You blink at him once. Twice. Then, you are gaping, turning to face him. You sputter on your words, and despite himself and what had just happened, Caldarus knows he is smiling. When you are confused with something, you do tend to make the cutest sounds.

"Caldarus?" you speak his name like you have never heard it before. You change course at once to approach him—unlike the stranger, your body shows no sign of fear. "Why are you out here?"

He… does not know if he should admit the reason to you. His face heats at the thought, and when you pause just beneath the hill, he is only aware of how the emerging moonlight highlights your each and every feature. He is aware that he is staring and silent, so he says, "I worried after you left the forest. Forgive me. I only wished to see you return home safely."

The truth slips from his lips like it was never his to keep. You blink at him once more. It is most endearing with those eyes of yours. "You left the Deep Woods," you say, so quietly.

So he did. "For short periods of time, it is no bother to me."

It has not been long, yet his body feels as stone. He is chilled to his bones, shivering even before the warmth of your being. This lie, it seems, is one he must spread even beyond himself.

You chuckle. It is an indiscernible sound. "You… didn't have to do that," you say as you look around, changing the topic. "If you were out here, actually… did you see anyone go by?"

"I did," he confirms, watching your gaze snap back to his. Your eyes burn with something hot, so he quickly continues, "A man. Dressed formally. He, ah…"

He hesitates. "I… believe I frightened him. I apologize. I did not think I would be seen at this hour."

You stare at him. It is scrutinizing, and though he knows you do not mean it, it makes something deep within him wish to squirm and hide away. Your eyes trace down his body, and his heart beats in a way that makes him feel warm for a few, blessed breaths.

You linger on his fingers. You blink. You look up to his face, the stains upon his robe. For some reason, your lip twitches. "What did you eat?"

Bashfully, he ducks his head. "Cherries," he admits in a small voice, unbefitting of a dragon.

He does not know what it is about the fruit that is so funny, but when you throw back your head and laugh, he truly wishes he did. This mirth is not melodic as before—it is loud, ringing, sending jolts up his spine. To him, however, it is no less pleasant a sound. In fact, he might say he prefers it.

"You're amazing," you tell him after you manage to reclaim your composure. His heart thumps hard beneath his ribs, and his next breath comes to him shakily. "Don't worry about scaring that guy. He deserves it."

He is not sure of that at first, but you happily elaborate. "That was Wheedle," you tell him, and something uncomfortable slithers into his stomach. "Hopefully, he'll be gone for good."

You grin at him. "Especially after getting spooked by Mistria's guardian!"

You do not know it, but your words relieve from him a burden that he has long held heavy. He has always worried about his… appearance in the eyes of humans. You have never feared him, and for that, he is grateful beyond any words he may hope to use. Though, to hear the depths of that man's fear was a reminder of why he observes from out of sight.

"Hey," you murmur, resting a hand atop his sleeve. He blinks; you have climbed to his side without his notice, and your warmth, even through the fabric of his robes, makes him shiver. "Really, don't worry about it. That guy's a coward. Like I told you, a snake. I think his own shadow would make him cry if he saw it at a bad time."

Your stare at him is firm. "You don't scare me. You never have, and I doubt you'll scare anyone in town when they see the way you act. You're fine the way you are."

Those words mean more to him than you could ever know. He nods, his throat tight. He thinks that if he tries to speak, he will only embarrass himself. It does not matter what he thinks, however—he watches distantly as you peer up at him, lifting your hand to your lips.

You lick the side of your palm, reaching up. When you scrub at his cheek, trying in vain to remove remnants of cherry juice, Caldarus hopes you do not hear the squeak he makes as loudly as he does.

Thankfully, you hum and swiftly give up. "Seems like you're stained pretty good. I'll help you clean up when we get back to the temple."

He blinks down at you as you start to lead him back to the stairs. The boundary flickers before his eyes, beckoning him home. "Were you not to head back to your farm?"

You shrug, helping him when his knees tremble upon the first step. "I'm already here," you say simply. "And you're here too. It's only polite to make sure you get home safe."

Caldarus does not know what to say to that. He merely nods, breath catching deep in his throat when you rest a chilled yet blissfully warm palm upon his back. It is a modest touch, but his ears burn like they have been set alight. You are supporting him in his weakness, assisting him back to the forest.

Your other hand has his arm in your grasp, quiet encouragement. He is trying not to shake, but he cannot fully fight the way his body tries to collapse from within. You, however, stay by his side.

You do not walk ahead. You wait for him, only taking a step when he does so first. It is a small thing, he does not know if you have even noticed it yourself, but to him, it is a gesture that makes him feel a way he cannot describe.

He wishes he could. He thinks the feeling is pleasant.

Perhaps he shall endeavor to be more mindful of his own steps by your side in turn.

The boundary lies just ahead, and the cold stone beneath his feet is ice against his flesh. He focuses more on your touch—on the way you press your palm into his back to urge him forward. "You're almost there," you murmur, and it is all he can do to swallow any sort of noise he is about to make.

The moment he passes it, the endless pressure upon his bones lifts. He cannot help his sound of relief, followed by a sigh that has his eyes fluttering closed. At his apparent recovery, you drop your hand from his spine. Briefly, he chases you, arching his back. It is not much of a movement, but it is enough for him to notice—quietly, he stands straight and clears his throat, looking down at you.

You are pleased, clearly. Your eyes glimmer in what moonlight passes through the canopy of the entrance, and his gratitude squeezes tight in his throat.

"Thank you for your assistance," he says. It is somehow too formal even to his ears.

"Don't mention it," you brush off his thanks, as though you did not just help your sworn dragon in the way he needed most. "Do you think you'll be walking easier in here?"

He does not understand your question until he feels your grip loosen upon his arm. You are asking if you can let go.

Of course you can. He cannot demand your company—your touch. Caldarus does not think he can tell you to do a single thing for him. You are you, a remarkable example of human will. Such light should not be bent to serve; it is best left to shine within itself for all to see and cherish.

These things, he knows and thinks well. It does not stop him from considering what he would need to say you keep your hand upon him a little longer.

"I believe so. I have regained my protection, and my strength is already returning to me."

Caldarus prepares himself for the loss of contact like it is the loss of so much more.

Instead, you cling to him a little tighter. "Well…" you stare at him, a smile gracing your face. In this darkness, it is a firefly, playing amidst the night's gentle silence. "Just in case, I'll hold onto you. I don't want you falling if you stumble again."

Oh, he thinks as you carefully tug him forward. Obediently, he follows you. He thinks he would follow you anywhere you chose to take him. Even should it spell for him certain death, he cannot fathom not doing all in his meager power to stay by your side.

He should not be greedy. The term is bitter—you have spit it many times like it is. He does not want to be something you will not like, and yet…

Caldarus supposes his body is only human, now. It is only natural that his heart has grown weak in kind.

You guide him through the forest this time. He does not falter again, but he does not mention it. Nor do you, clinging to him in the same way you did when he led you earlier this night. Along the way, you tell him all that happened. He learns of Balor's choice and feels relief so strong it nearly washes him away.

Good, he thinks and says. He is proud of him. Perhaps he will get to tell him one day.

You take him through the courtyard, turning and stopping at the bench. You motion for him to sit, and Caldarus does not question you. He quietly settles, hands folding as his tail sweeps through the grass.

"I'll get you clean before I get you to bed," you tell him. There is a small smile upon your face as you look him over, one that makes his fingers curl into his palms.

His ears twitch. You speak to him as he has heard you speak towards the children in town. Though, your tone is different—something lingers there that he cannot name, and that something makes him feel like he is basking in the sun's brightest rays.

He nods as you walk away, back to the temple for your bag, you had said. He waits as he did before—the stars are bright above him, but they pale before the light named you that he had been watching over. They are beautiful still, and once more, he starts to hum—this stone beneath him is not so chilled, nor does he need to be mindful of how he expends himself.

This time, too, he knows you will return to him. His lips begin to part, to move, to sing in a tongue that none save him will ever speak again. It is a sobering thought, one that plucks his soul's strings with melancholy, but the sound it creates is far from meager. It rings through his chest, through a place he rests his own claws upon and feels his chest rumble.

He keeps his voice soft. He does not wish to disturb the neighbors who have kept silent for him during his rest, nor you when you return. Your absence, fleeting though it is, spreads keenly through his heart. Something sharp presses into his being—a dozen thorns all pricking at soft, tender flesh. It is unsettling, unwelcome. His tender melody cracks under pain.

He should not feel this way. You have only been gone for mere breaths. Why does he ache so? Why is he yet troubled? He does not understand—cannot understand—why his soul is calling out to you in a way his voice can not.

He can not understand why yours is calling back.

His throat chokes tight. The song is stopped with a quiet sound. Caldarus looks up, finding bright moonlight. A cool breeze blows through the woods, the whispering of the winds nearly consuming the soft footsteps behind him. He turns, finding you approaching—your gait is slow, and there is a look in your eyes that he can not look away from.

Tentatively, you smile. You look as though you do not know what to say, but you are ever brave. "You have a beautiful voice."

He blinks as you come to stand in front of him, cloth in hand. It is wet, he notices, though not enough to drip.

"Were you listening?" he asks you quietly. Your hand reaches up to take his chin between your fingers, making his ears perk high. His face warms, burning hot. It makes the sting of chilled water more tolerable upon his cooler skin.

Your laugh is deep and low. It is unlike any noise you have ever made before—Caldarus feels something writhe in his soul as you speak, as though it knows something he does not.

"Caldarus," you murmur, halting the sweep of your hand for one, brief moment, "When you sound like that, I don't think I could do anything but listen."

It is those words catch his breath. Gingerly, you continue to clean his face, tracing under his lips with firm fingers. He trembles in silence, letting you adjust him as you need. He stares just beyond you, deep into the trees, yet your face lingers large in the corner of his eye. You are calm, he sees. He cannot say the same. There is a strange itch under his skin, a pounding in his head lingers near his horns.

You have always affected him. The feeling has simply never been so great.

The cloth leaves his face at last. Quietly, you kneel before him. You take one of his hands within your own, turning it palm up. Carefully, you start to wipe away the stains upon his claws, and Caldarus does not know if he is truly breathing until you look up at him.

"Am I hurting you?"

Had he been making noise? He was not aware. It is hard to think with you between his legs as though you were there for worship. "I am fine. I am only… not used to such touches."

You hum. "I'll be done soon. Or, you can take over if you want. I just don't want you to be dyed red forever."

The edge of the cloth presses between his fingers, sliding up. He shivers so subtly, he wonders if you even notice. "You are welcome to continue. I do not mind your ministrations."

He licks his lips only when you glance away. They have grown dry, but he does not want to frighten you. You have accepted much about him thus far, but he worries that his more drastic changes in anatomy will distress you. His tongue darts back between his teeth when your gaze returns, hesitating in your task.

His cheeks warm. "I… appreciate your care," he admits. He does not want you to stop. You are so warm on this cold night. Even as his body is aflame with feelings he cannot name, you are hotter still. Your touch is so gentle—you touch him as one should touch a god. "Please. Do not hesitate on my behalf."

Silently, you nod. There is nothing left to be said. You finish his first hand and clean the second with only the buzzing of far-off insects to distract him. When you are done, you stand. Caldarus watches you stuff the dirtied cloth into a pocket he cannot see before reaching out your hand. His claws, now damp and chilled, accept the offer without thought.

He admires them as you take him back to the temple, tail happily swaying behind him. "Thank you," he murmurs. "You did not need to do such a thing."

"Maybe," you say, welcoming him inside with a smile. "But it's the least a Dragonsworn can do, right?"

You wink, and Caldarus realizes that you are teasing him. You have explained the concept before, made it clear to his unfamiliar mind and heart when you do so. He has never minded—he still does not, but…

For some reason, your humor makes him wish to reciprocate.

His sense of it is, according to you, really bad. Perhaps in his time, he was received better—things have changed, however, and he tends to take things too seriously or simply misunderstand them. Now, however, in light of your gentle tease, spoken as though he is no different from any other…

"The least my Dragonsworn may do for me," he rumbles, enjoying the way your eyes widen in confusion, "is far less than walking me home."

You stare up at him strangely. His burst of confidence fades as though it has been doused, and he worriedly watches you open the door for him without a word to say. Has he offended you? The thought makes a now familiar nervousness crawl through his veins. It creeps into his throat, making him swallow.

You enter after him, and he does not hear the slam with the way his thoughts roar in his ears. He does not know what to say—it is a sensation he encounters most often these days, always at your hand. It has never become more palatable, however.

You, though, always are.

To his surprise, you laugh. It is once more that bell-like sound he heard in the forest, and it makes him feel that strange bubbling in his stomach yet again.

"Who taught you how to tell jokes?" you ask him when you are through. There is that scent in the air again, Caldarus notes before he can ponder a reply. He watches the way your hands cling to your hips, a single finger tapping soundlessly.

The smile upon your lips distracts him, however. Despite your apparent anxiety, you beam at him widely, a gleam in your eyes that confuses him. He has seen it before, he thinks—when you have spoken of yourself and your early tribulations with farm work, at him, even, when he first played for you his lute.

He can not give that light a name, but he likes it. He thinks he likes it best when it is directed at him. Softly, he returns your glee—though, not as wide. He has eaten in front of you before, but he supposes his fangs might still be… unsightly for you.

"I have only learned from you," he says seriously. For some reason, you laugh again.

"I guess I'll just need to wait and see how long it takes for you to start giving me a run for my money. I can see it now: me as the wizened tutor and you as my eager pupil."

You make a gesture he does not know, but he chuckles all the same. Your imagination is most vivid at times. It is something he has grown to appreciate in light of his own duller mind. "I will look forward to such a time," he says, not understanding why it feels like the right thing to say.

You only reach for his hand once more. "Let's get you to bed."

"I am not so tired as to retire this soon. I have yet to finish my reading."

You raise a brow at him as you lead him past his desk. If he truly wished, he could shake himself from your grasp and do as he pleased. His strength may not be great, but you would not expect it from him.

The thought harshly sours in his head. He… would never deceive you. Somehow, such a concept feels incomprehensible to him. He trusts you fully—that same trust is placed in him in turn, regardless of whether or not he deserves it. He lets you guide him to bed with your warm, soft hands.

They are so gentle with him. He appreciates your touch more than he can truly say or know. He is not delicate—he is now more skin than scale, but he is a dragon yet. He will not shatter should you touch him with force.

You have only ever laid your hands upon him with care, however. With respect. Not for the tales that surround his name or how he is spoken of, but for who he is. In your eyes, he is something—someone worthy of kindness.

The moment he is sat upon his bed, your hand leaves him. At once, exhaustion hounds him. His bones ache, down to the tip of his tail. Quietly, Caldarus sighs.

"That's what I thought," you sound amused, though not as his condition, he thinks. More at his bravado. It was easier for him to be brave around you. "Get some sleep. You'll be feeling tonight for a few days, I bet."

He hums tiredly, closing his eyes. The lights have suddenly grown bright, and until he can muster the strength to wave away his magic, this will have to do. "Perhaps," he says quietly. "Though, I do not regret it."

He can hear your disapproval plainly when you huff. "You sat in the cold for an hour just to make sure you'd see me get home safe somehow. Sounds pretty regrettable to me."

"I have no regrets when it comes to you."

He speaks without thinking. But, he speaks true—with you, for you, he does not think there will ever be regrets. To have simply known you… is perhaps one of his life's greatest blessings. His heart beats hard in his chest at your silence, only growing louder when he hears the shuffling of things upon his desk.

He trusts you and does not open his eyes. Ever worthy of his faith, he hears you rolling his scroll back as it should be before walking to the wall, placing it anywhere you could. It is what he often did, and you were no better at their organization than he was.

Your return is swift, followed swifter still by noises of rummaging. You in your pack, he assumes. Something heavy hits the wood of the desk, and he nearly stares out of curiosity. He does not, for the light is still bright, but his tail does tap against the side of the bed.

Finally, you return to him. He feels your warmth as you stand just before his knees—you are a blissfully dark shadow, but your silence lingers as something far darker. He hears you breathe, soft sounds that soothe him. They are tense, however, and his ears drop in concern.

Your soul shines starkly without anything else to see, but this glow is not one that bothers him. It is light incarnate—if he could, he would reach out with reverent claws and grasp it; for a reason unknown, your very being feels more like home to him than his temple ever has.

Quietly, you speak to him. Though your voice trembles, your courage carries it strongly. "That's a pretty bold thing to say."

Caldarus is forced to recall what you were speaking of. Distracted as he is by his own thoughts, he is mute for longer than he would have liked to be. "I say it truly. In my eyes, you are worthy of all you have been given."

Your chuckle is a mirthless sound. It is cold—it reminds him of the winds that chilled him to the bone, sapped his strength not long ago. This is not a feeling that should reside within your heart. You are so warm—you are sunlight without reservation. This… does not suit you.

"Sorry," now, your voice is so soft. He must strain to hear it, but he will. Caldarus will without complaint, for there is pain there he does not recall ever noticing before. "I'm just… not used to hearing things like that. Especially not from someone who saved my life."

Caldarus opens his eyes, looking up at you. Your face is tight, but your eyes yet shine—they are blinding, but he is willing to be blinded. He glances down for only a breath to catch your hands in his, as you have done for him at his weakest. You would clasp them tight, uncaring of how his claws would leave marks behind, holding him through tremors that wracked him for reasons he could not understand.

When he was at his lowest, when he was unfit for conversation or company, you returned to his side day after day to aid him. Not solely because you were Dragonsworn—it was because in him, you saw something worth caring for.

In you, Caldarus sees much the same.

Your name is a whisper from his lips. When he catches your eyes yet again, they are wide. Glassy in the light.

He says, "I do not believe that there are any who could doubt your strength. Certainly not I. You are boundless beyond words."

He is unsure if he saying the right thing, but as you have told him, to try is better than not to try.

You stare. "You're too nice sometimes. I… I'm not…"

"But you are," he murmurs, "to me."

It does not matter what you would have said—so long as it is not negative, Caldarus thinks it of you. To him, you are so much more than just his sworn. You are important to him. You are—

A strange feeling overtakes his heart. There comes an impulse to his body—he nearly fulfills it. It is only his lifetime of patience that keeps him seated. He… has never had such a thought before. He cannot act on it; Caldarus does not know how receptive you would be to his embrace.

He squeezes your hands once before letting go. His return to his lap as yours go limp by your sides. "Please," he softly requests, "Do not doubt yourself. You are adored by so many. Mistria is only better for your presence."

As am I.

You do not cry, but your scent of distress is strong. It upsets him more than he thought it would, but it fades with haste at his words. He heaves a sigh of relief from his nose. He is glad he could help you in some way. After all you have done for him, this is the least he could ever do.

You chuckle once more. It's watery, choked, but hale. "You're good at comforting people," you tease again, he can tell. "Who taught you how to do that?"

As he has heard you say, he tells you, "Only the best."

You stumble with the force of your laugh. Your mirth is so loud it echoes off the walls, and it is possibly the most incredible sound he has ever heard. The urge of his own comes to join you, but he does not—he watches in silence, in awe.

Like this, you are happiest. Caldarus likes to see you however you may be—you have cried to him, ranted and raved with exaggerated gestures, and been silent with emotions he cannot give names to. He accepts your many facets, for humans do have many, but he prefers this one most of all.

He does not understand why, exactly, but your soul's glow is tangible like this. It sets your body alight, a soft shine that surrounds you so perfectly. It is so real—so very alive, and Caldarus finds it beautiful beyond words.

"You're amazing," you repeat as you calm, and he is reminded at once of your previous departure. "Thank you. I… don't like to get in my feelings, but…"

"Such a thing is normal, is it not? There is no need to apologize. I am only glad I was able to help."

You smile at him once more. Happily, he returns it; when his tail starts to quietly thump against his bed, he does not try and still it.

"I think I should actually get to bed myself," you say. Though Caldarus knew this would happen, he wilts in disappointment all the same. You, ever keen, notice swiftly. "I'll be back tomorrow morning, like I said I'd be."

He raises a brow, even as his eyes fall closed once more. There is a harsh pressure behind them, and he does not wish for a headache so close to sleep. "I have already seen for myself that you are safe from your meeting. There is no need to visit at such early hours."

Strangely, to this, you are silent. You linger in front of him still, so he does not worry. When you clear your throat, however, something odd does manifest within his chest.

"I want to see you early tomorrow," you admit in a tone he cannot place as having heard before. "So, if you're willing…"

"I would not reject your presence. Even if I am not awake, you are always welcome here."

You swallow so loudly that he can hear it. He speaks true—you are allowed to see him whenever you wish, and these grounds are better for it. He has told you as much before, yet that scent is lingering upon his tongue again.

He does not understand. What is there for you to be… embarrassed about? You have had this conversation before, he—

You lean in. Immediately, as his eyes shoot open, Caldarus has two realizations.

The first is that you are very soft. Humans are by nature, but you… you are like a flower's freshest petals, the first of the Spring blooms. Your arms wind around his back, so careful with the way they pass over his own. Your head rests next to his, atop his shoulder. Your hair brushes his horn and it, too, is soft. You work a hard life, but all about you is supple.

The second is that you are very warm. He has known this well—you have always warmed him by virtue of your spirit. Your hands, even in Winter's depths, are always pleasant to the touch, but to know that the rest of you is just so is… indescribable.

The hug is brief. Caldarus does not get the chance to return it before you are pulling away, your scent so cloying that he can taste nothing but you. You blink down at him, swiftly retreating. He felt the heat upon your cheeks rise as you clung to him. He is certain that his are only warmer—he has only ever felt this burn from his own living flame.

You point to his desk with a stiff hand. It is hard for him to look away from the way your face is unguarded, but he does so and finds a small bag of… something.

"For you… for breakfast," you say, voice steady despite your squeaky tone, "So you don't have to worry about it."

His heart roars like a dragon. He does not think he has heard anything louder or ever will. He nods silently—unlike you, his will is not strong enough to keep himself from wavering.

"I'm—I'm heading home," you smile at him one, last time. It is shaky, but so soft as the rest of you that it takes his breath away. "Goodnight, Caldarus. Sleep well. I'll be here when you wake up. Promise."

That…

Those words make him happy in a way he did not know he could be.

He does not get the chance to speak to you, to bid you rest in return, to thank you. By the time his lips have parted, you have run past him, back to his statue, and in a warping of essence, you are gone. When he looks over his shoulder, only faint traces remain of where you once were.

He blinks quietly. Embarrassed though you were, and perhaps even he is, he is glad for your contact. He is glad you find it appropriate—that you find him someone worth touching in a way that is so friendly.

Your warmth yet lingers upon his back. Memories of your softness repeat in his head—the brush of you against him was…

Caldarus presses a hand to his chest. Beneath his claws, his heart is racing. When he breathes in, his exhale trembles. In fact, he realizes, it is him who trembles. He is shaking like he has not done in seasons, and this time, it is not from cold or lack of wellness.

You are someone capable of inflicting him with such oddities. Yet, as he said, you are one thing he cannot hope to regret. Even these shivers are a sign of you, somehow—when he lies down, the temple dimming by his hand, he folds his arms tight, drawing up his knees.

In the dark, he cannot see much. From the window overhead, however, the stars shine high in the night sky. They return his burning stare and offer nothing save their light.

It is not yours, Caldarus thinks. It would never be yours.

He falls asleep this way—uncovered, cold and shaking. Memories of your warmth follow him, however, and his rest is suddenly not so cold after all. Of his, too, he dreams—of an embrace that was not so short nor so chaste.

He does not know why he dreams this, however; it is not you who he sees in his arms. And yet, his soul whispers, to be forgotten in the morning, it is.

He will not remember these words, but he will remember this truth.

And when you are there in the morning, as you told him you would be, sat at his desk like it is yours instead, he sees in those brief, waking breaths a person he has never seen before; it jolts him awake, upright in bed.

You turn and smile at him. The panic, the fear that overwhelms him vanishes by sunrise. Under your grace, even the worst of his many feelings are burned away to ash. "Good morning," you say, "I got home safe."

So you did, Caldarus thinks—your warmth is upon him even now. "Good morning," he replies, and you perk up at the sound of his voice. Despite the time, his heart wastes none in beating faster. "I am glad to see it… and you, even at this early hour."

At his admission, you only grin wider. "Well, I promised that you would, didn't I?"

You did—even as his soul shakes with the force of knowing beyond doubt that, somehow, this is a thing that has been promised to him before and unkept. You, however, the bravest thing he has ever known—human, dragon or otherwise—have kept it. You have kept it and appeared before him unharmed.

For this thing—for all things you have given him, Caldarus is eternally grateful.

"You did," he murmurs, "Thank you for keeping it."

When he gets out of bed, you laugh your loud, echoing, beautiful laugh, and it is a sound that he hopes to hear for the rest of time itself; there is a calling in his soul, harmonizing with yours in a duet that he does not understand but knows better than he knows anything else in existence. It is confusing, disorientating, but it is you.

It is you—your hymn, your song, and Caldarus will not deny it. He has only ever wanted to be brave for you, and when you look at him with those eyes of yours, full of your light, your life, it is so hard to imagine a world where you are not here to see him do so.

You are alive; he has been brave. For you, weak though he is, he will pray to be nothing but.