Work Text:
High pitched toddler laughter bounces off the cave walls. Sybil’s bare little feet stomping in puddles left behind by the Vishaps as they come and go from this chamber. Wriothesley supports Sybil, his hands holding hers, as his little girl stomps and splashes. Neither of them fear the Vishaps anymore, as it seems the creatures recognize that Wriothesley and his daughter have the favour of their lord.
Even the one Wriothesley jumped on only nipped at his cloak in annoyance when it delivered to Wriothesley a sizable trout for him to prepare for dinner. The Vishaps have been coming and going with gifts, supplies and food to help with Wriothesley and Sybil’s continued recovery. The Melusines, Lord Neuvillette’s many, many daughters, have also come by as well. They bring Sybil waterskins of milk and Wriothesley the coldest, crispest water he’s ever tasted.
Wriothesley likes the Melusines the best. They are childlike and sweet, and they love playing with Sybil. His daughter too, seems to like the Melusines very much. Babbling excitedly and clapping her hands whenever one visits. There seems to be a rotation of three of them Wriothesley sees the most. Sedene, Ottnit and Sigewinne.
Sigewinne especially comes by often, to check on his and Sybil’s health. She and another of her sisters seem to be incredibly adept at creating very potent, and incredibly vile tasting, medicines. Wriothesley almost misses when his tastebuds weren’t working properly in his sickness. Still, he knows that it is incredibly likely her that aided him and his precious Sybil the most as Neuvillette tended to them.
He can’t help but be thankful for that.
Thankful for every day he wakes with his daughter in his arms, to hear her laugh bounce off the cave walls, and hear her little feet splash in the puddles. Even when the price Wriothesley has agreed to has yet to be collected. He worries about it, because how can Wriothesley not? What use does a powerful God like Neuvillette have for a mere mortal like him as a Champion?
Champion of what, exactly?
Neuvillette has been absent as of late, so Wriothesley cannot exactly ask him. None of the Melusines he asks have no idea either. Not even Sedene, who is often Neuvillette’s little shadow. Wriothesley tries not to let his absence worry him, but part of him cannot help it. It doesn’t help that it’s already been a few days since Wriothesley had agreed to the pact the Dragon had proposed.
Wriothesley bites his bottom lip. Remembering the kiss Neuvillette had bestowed upon him to seal said pact. He’s heard stories of pacts with creatures needing some sort of seal. Just never figured he’d ever make one. Or that it would be sealed with a kiss.
There are just so many questions Wriothesley has. He wishes Neuvillette hadn’t sent him off to rest after they’d made their deal. Neuvillette had disappeared shortly after. For what reason, Wriothesley doesn’t really know.
All he can do is wait for Neuvillette’s return to get the answers to all the questions he has.
Until then, he enjoys his days with Sybil. Plays with his little girl. Comforts her when she stumbles and gets spooked from the fall. Sings her to sleep, his voice soft and low as it echoes off the cave walls.
From the materials the Vishaps have brought, Wriothesley has managed to fashion a crude rocking crib. He rocks Sybil to sleep in it each night as he sings to her. Smiling as she tries to stuff her entire fist in her mouth while her other hand grasps at the air to reach for him. Wriothesley offers her his fingers, smiling at her tiny, strong grasp as her hand curls around them.
It’s as Wriothesley’s singing to her yet again, curled protectively over her crib, that he becomes aware of Neuvillette’s return. Wriothesley can feel his presence like a wash of water over a riverbank, and isn’t surprised to see the Dragon God step from the water not long after becoming aware of him. Neuvillette’s tail flicks, and he wears a serene smile as he approaches.
“Do not let me interrupt your nightly routine,” He says, voice soft as spring rain, “Growing girls need their rest.”
Wriothesley just nods, gently rocking the crib as he resumes singing to Sybil. Though he cannot help but be aware of Neuvillette as the Dragon moves to sit next to him. Though he is not wary, remembering the gentle way the Dragon God had cradled his daughter when Wriothesley had been too weak to. Slowly, he fully relaxes once more, and Sybil soon falls asleep. Wriothesley gently tucks blankets and furs around her to keep her warm and dry in the dampness of the cave.
He looks to Neuvillette and finds the Dragon’s gaze fixed on his tiny daughter with something like longing. Wriothesley clears his throat, and Neuvillette’s eyes lift to him. Wriothesley motions for them to move a little ways away, since Sybil is asleep. Even though it feels incredibly strange, to treat a being like Neuvillette as someone normal.
Neuvillette’s face doesn’t betray if he’s offended or finds Wriothesley’s treatment of him novel. He merely walks with Wriothesley a few paces from Sybil’s bedside so they can talk without waking her.
“You have questions for me,” Neuvillette simply says when they reach the distance away from Sybil that Wriothesley is comfortable with.
“How could I not?” Wriothesley replies, tacking on, “My Lord,” before he forgets. It seems to amuse Neuvillette, but Wriothesley continues. “I am to pay a price for your aid, as I have agreed to do, and you disappear before we can fully outline the terms of what being your Champion entails.”
“Yes, I imagine that would be troubling,” Neuvillette seems to murmur more to himself than to Wriothesley as he thoughtfully strokes his chin. “I merely had preparations to make.”
“For our pact?” Wriothesley guesses. When Neuvillette nods, he runs his hands nervously through his hair. “I figured.”
“Do not fret too much,” Neuvillette replies, his tail flicking. “Your end of our bargain, your role as my Champion, will not be called upon until you are fully recovered. I would not send you on any errand until you and your daughter are resettled either.”
“Resettled?”
“I told you, as long as you serve me, neither of you will want for anything,” Neuvillette chuckles, amused. “Did you think you were to remain living in these caverns? It may suit my daughters and my brethren, but it is no place for a human child. Nor is the village from which you hail down in the valley. The plague you fled has overtaken it, and there is little we can do for them now.”
Wriothesley had known there was no hope for the village when he left it. It’s why he even took Sybil away to chase ghost stories in mazelike, waterlogged caverns. Still, it hurts to hear it’s seen as beyond saving by the creature that saved him. It just reinforces what Wriothesley already knows. Just how lucky he is, to have succeeded in finding Neuvillette, to be alive. For Sybil to have survived as well. All of it owed to this being before him, and his daughters.
“It will be rebuilt, one day,” Wriothesley says softly. “We valley folk… we’re hardy people. We have to be.”
“Indeed,” Neuvillette agrees solemnly. He looks past Wriothesley to Sybil and her makeshift cradle. Then his gaze returns to Wriothesley. “I know you have more questions for me, but I admit that they will be best answered come the morning. It is late, and your little one still wakes in the night. You will need your rest.”
Wriothesley wants to protest, but Neuvillette is right. Sybil still wakes in the middle of the night. He will need to rest himself to be ready to wake with her. He runs his hand through his hair and cannot help his frustrated sigh. Flushing when a cool, scaled hand cups his jaw.
“All will be well, I promise you,” Neuvillette says gently, those draconic eyes soft. “Rest.”
His touch drops from Wriothesley’s jaw and the Dragon God turns away, back towards the waters in this chamber. Wriothesley finds himself thankful, so Neuvillette will not see the growing stain of pink on his cheeks. He stumbles back over to his cobbled together bed of furs and mosses and flops into it. Pulling his cloak around himself as he ponders if Neuvillette is playing with him, or is he as a God so far removed from people that he has no idea what he’s doing.
Wriothesley tacks such ponderings onto the end of his growing list of questions and does his best to fall asleep. With the gentle sound of water lapping at the stone, it’s not hard.
The Melusines collect Wriothesley and Sybil in the morning, and lead him through the labyrinthine caverns of the cave. It seems to loop in so many directions, the only thing Wriothesley can clearly note is that the water seems to flow in one direction. He has a feeling, should he ever need to, the best way to find the way out would be to follow the water. Wherever the Melusines seem to be leading Wriothesley is upstream.
Light eventually cuts through the dark, and Wriothesley’s spent so long in the dim cave, he has to hold his hand out in front of his eyes lest it blind him. He tucks Sybil closer so it doesn’t blind her either. As they cross the threshold of the cave exit, Wriothesley has to blink rapidly before he can even begin to figure out why he’s been led out here.
The Melusines seem to waiting eagerly for whatever reaction he gives, giggling when Wriothesley can actually see what he’s been brought to properly. It seems he’s been led into the center of a caldera of some sort, natural stone walls shielding this place, and it is very likely the only entrance is the cave behind him. A spring feeds the waters that flow past Wriothesley and through the cave. Ruins of a long forgotten temple that has clearly suffered destruction and disrepair seem to have once been built around the source of the waters.
Neuvillette is there, staring into the pool as the waters gently flow around him, the light of the sun shining off his scales as his tail sways. The Melusines urge Wriothesley towards him. He goes, of course, cradling Sybil who looks around with interest of her own. Her tiny fist shoved into her mouth and her brown eyes wide. Birds sing somewhere among the branches of the trees above and she babbles in time with their song.
Wriothesley steps up next to Neuvillette, the waters swirling around his knees. The Dragon turns to him and smiles.
“This was the Sourcewater Temple,” Neuvillette says softly. “Built in tribute to a Dragon God of Waters once revered in this land. It has fallen to ruin, as you can see. Defaced and destroyed, and the attendants driven off, in hopes to weaken the connection between the God and the people who once worshiped here.”
Wriothesley notes that there is a statue of a serpentine Dragon that was likely once lowering its head towards the pool. It’s been beheaded. The stone visage is half buried in the waters of the spring. Wriothesley can’t help but feel sorry for it.
For Neuvillette.
“The Dragons Sovereigns were once revered as primordial Gods of Nature by the Dragonborn and other Dragonkin,” Neuvillette continues, wading through the water to rest his hand on the stone of the weathered Dragon statue. “But the world has forgotten them, and the Gods of Men have replaced them, especially as the Dragonborn have been subjected to their laws, or forced to flee from their ancestral lands. These new Gods are the ones the people of this world now turn to.”
“But you remain,” Wriothesley voices softly.
“Yes and no,” Neuvillette says as he turns to Wriothesley, furrowing his brow as if he’s not truly sure either. His head lowers to look at the statue’s head in the waters. “I am not what once was. I am merely what is now.” His tail flicks through the water to stir it. “A ripple. Far out from the initial disturbance. A weak echo.”
“Weak in comparison to what once was, maybe, yet you are still strong enough to save me and my daughter,” Wriothesley finds himself defending the Dragon.
“Were I strong enough to save more,” Neuvillette murmurs. He shakes his head and lifts it to fix his gaze on Wriothesley. “But I am not here to dampen your heart with this history. Only provide context, in hopes it answers some of your questions. I promise I will answer any others, but this ruin is not only what I wish to show you. Come.”
Neuvillette moves from the spring back towards Wriothesley. He motions for him to follow. There’s a train of Melusines giggling conspiratorially behind them as they walk along a path away from the temple and the spring. There are other buildings, very Melusine sized domiciles along the path. Wriothesley stops when he sees what must be what Neuvillette means to show him. The Melusines chatter and giggle, happy with his stunned reaction to the overgrown stone cottage.
“The attendants to the temple once resided here,” Neuvillette says, still moving towards it. “It’s still serviceable, and sturdy. I have made sure of that. I have blessed it with what divine workings I am still capable of. You will have all you need to raise your daughter here.”
Wriothesley swallows the lump in his throat and nods. It’s much more than he’s ever had. The shack he and Sybil resided in the village in the valley seems like nothing more than a plank of wood stuck into the ground in comparison. When he turns to thank Neuvillette, he is gone, and the Melusines are all that remain. Sedene grabs onto Wriothesley’s cloak and starts to tug him towards the cottage.
“Come! Come!” Sedene says cheerfully. “We have much to show you!”
Wriothesley can only nod, dumbfounded with gratitude after receiving such a gift, looking back for Neuvillette even as he and Sybil are swarmed by Melusines and he knows the Dragon is not present. He’s given a whirlwind tour of the cottage, shown how the magic woven into the very stone by Neuvillette works, and then the Melusines are off themselves to make housewarming gifts apparently.
It leaves Wriothesley to go through the motions, settling Sybil down in a finely carved crib in a much finer room than Wriothesley knows he could ever give her. When she’s asleep for her afternoon nap, Wriothesley sinks to his knees at the side of her crib and weeps silently.
Neuvillette had promised him that he and Sybil would want for nothing. Yet Wriothesley cannot help but fear how hefty a price being Neuvillette’s Champion is for the weakened God to offer such favour. Such grace.
Time will tell, and Wriothesley finds himself dreading it.