Chapter Text

The Winning Rose of Aladour (1)

The roaring crowds. The rough leather flap of wings. The bellowing announcer's voice, barely afloat atop the sea of excitement.

All of this noise echoed through Noe Valter's mind as he watched from a tucked-away corner of the coliseum, where the crew of dragonhands stood.

Noe leaned against the wall of a tunnel whose arching ceiling towered overhead. His eyes never left the sky. The dive of eight dragons swept down, blasting winds through his thick brown hair and his empty, right sleeve. Noe swept the hair out of his face with his arm, before it fell back to Tarra's side, stroking her flapping wings.

Noe's pupils shrank as the sound drained away, unable to tear away from the passing blur that broke out of the packed stalemate—a silver dragon, shooting through the sky like lightning, wings slender and sharp like blades.

His heart pounded as the dragon folded her wings, diving hard and fast through the track, nimbly avoiding the floating crystal markers. Her rider was not easy to make out in the blurred speed and great distance from the ground.

But it was no matter. Because Noe could see his every movement in his mind. Everybody could.

The silver dragon craned her head to the sky, wings fluttering as she sang a pretty, vibrating note in celebration. Tarra responded in tune beside Noe, chirping and tromping beside him, her earth brown scales caked in muck. Noe whistled back, swatting at her dancing tail, before turning his head back to the eruption of cheers shaking the ground.

Ivon's broad back straightened from that of his dragon's, steam billowing up from their shared heat of victory. Pale white hair stuck to his neck, dripping with sweat, and his black goggles were like a cut of midnight against snow. He waved at the crowd tossing down flowers, his serious expression breaking slightly with a crinkle of his eyes and the slanted hint of a smile.

A hard, throb shuddered through Noe's chest as he stared, captivated.

For Ivon Adinet, now a 3x national champion of Aladour, amongst the vast crowds and shower of dove roses—turned to Noe's direction and sought his eyes—as if that seldom smile was for him, and him alone.

A playful grin grew on Noe's face as he tapped fingers to his lips and pointed them to Ivon. Ivon's head snapped away, his attention caught by the second-place dragon ambling over. Unlikely he saw—lucky him. If he did, then he definitely wouldn't be happy. Always had that glare on whenever he caught wind of Noe.

Made sense. After all, what did the greatest dragonrider in the world want from a dragonhand like him?

"Noe, ceremony in half an hour," a stablehand called from the back.

"Right, coming," Noe shouted.

The administrative end of the coliseum was kicked into overdrive as the conclusion to the races was drawing near the final ceremony. Noe and the others loaded several wagons full of water and food barrels. After giving Tarra directions to lap the coliseum and pass out everything, he returned and loaded up the ceremonial decor—large, draping sheer fabrics embroidered with shimmering patterns.

Silver tassel ropes, pale blue fabrics, black bells, and glittering ribbons. Even Ivon's ceremonial stuff was a notch above the rest. Pretty, unattainable.

He hummed a tune as he looped the rope around the barrel once with his arm, then held the end taut with his teeth as he fixed the knot quickly, using his residual arm to steady it. Then, he folded the winner's cloak, tucking it safely beneath the tarp.

After double confirming the other dragons' ceremonial goods, Noe gave the okay, and the team began to wheel out to the dragonriders in a busy flurry. With perfect timing, Tarra galloped back over, water flying everywhere as she shook it off her snout. Noe raised a hand, laughing as he wiped it off his face.

"Water from where, you devil? You've only run there and back."

Tarra nudged at Noe's shoulder, crying out happily.

"Okay, okay. This one's to Risa—lucky you. The other boys still won't bring it over to her."

At the name, Tarra had already slipped into the ropes on the floor, shaking her body to slide them down and notch against her spines. She then lay, extending her wing and craning her neck to watch Noe expectantly. Her tail swayed.

Noe gave her a playful swat as he stepped onto the leathery wing, climbing easily to her shoulders. She shook her wings and began to trot, happily chirping one of her little tunes. The movement rumbled beneath Noe's seat as he stroked her wing.

Her contentment was boundless, thrumming beneath her scales and permeating through the invisible connection between them.

"You're awful happy today."

Tarra chattered back as she trotted a long loop, hugging the coliseum's side and avoiding the inner traffic. She slowed down, staring up at Zyrsik, the third-place dragon, who shoved the tip of his maw into the barrel. A wave of water splashed down all around, causing his rider to curse.

Zyrsik dwarfed her size, almost a third larger in height alone, and taller than a human doorway. She chirped a hello, to which Zyrsik's tail swayed, and he lowly cooed back.

Dragons continued to tower over the pair as Noe and Tarra trotted by, with waves here and there aimed toward Noe.

He stroked her side, steadying himself with his residual arm. He inhaled, chin tilting upward. The sky was a bright, glittering blue. Cloudless and blinding.

"I wish that sky were mine too, Beetle."

Ivon stood at his dragon—Risavei's— side, checking her gear for wear. His goggles hung at his neck, and sweat beaded on his tan, muscular arms as they reached up for the miscellaneous straps fitted to her neck. Risavei sat on the ground, neck bent low as she lapped gently at the water in the barrel, her throat faintly undulating. Her low-lidded eyes lifted at approaching noise.

Ivon twisted around at the happy cry of Tarra and her energetic trot, expression stiff as Noe came in from the distance.

Dark skin of clay and roasted wheat. Wild, wet hair thrown into a bun. Black eyes that lit up like fireflies. Ivon shot back around, almost slamming his nose into the lowered edge of the saddle. Risavei purred, chuckling at his actions. He scrubbed his warm cheeks with hand.

"Silence from you, Risa… not a word."