Chapter Text
Even as a gosling, Rey knew they were different. Smaller than other geese, with a larger appetite, and no real desire to be part of a flock, which worked out as the other goslings and even the adult geese didn’t seem to want them around.
As they grew, still smaller than their nestmates, and pin feathers filled in, larger feathers unfurling over down, they found themselves chased, pecked, and hissed or honked at more often than not, and so they made a sort of life on the far end of the pond.
A messy nest under a low hanging branch, enough food to get by if they foraged while the others were sleeping. It was survival, at least until the day their nestmates cornered them beneath a willow tree, the branches a curtain covering the actions no one particularly would have cared to stop anyway.
Rey was surrounded and afraid, the others honking and waddling closer, Snap flapping his wings as Beaumont hissed and Jessika honk-laughed. Rey spread their wings and hissed back, a weak and pitiful attempt that only made their throat burn. Then sweet little Rose, who was still less feathers than down, got between them, honking for the others to leave Rey alone, Finn right behind her, until Beaumont flapped his wings and knocked them down.
“Stop that,” Rey honked. “Leave them alone!” They hissed again, the burning getting stronger, their eyes too dry as a strange smell began, one that spoke of danger. Destruction.
Smoke.
Rey spread their wings as wide as possible and lowered their head, running forward with a slap of webbed feet as they hissed again, a lifetime—entire months—of anger and hurt driving them forward.
The hiss changed, sputtered, and a tongue of flame spewed forth, singeing feathers and grass alike as the others honked curses and fled. Snap actually managed to fly almost a meter before rolling over the ground.
Rey froze, staring in confused horror.
“Rey?”
They turned, startled, and another wisp of flame escaped, barely missing a drying willow branch and far too close to Rose.
Sweet, kind Rose who shared her worms and tried to save her friends from bullies. Rey’s stomach churned and they looked to Finn, sad and resigned as Rose allowed him to tuck her beneath his slightly larger wing.
“I…” Rey began, then shook their head. “I’m sorry.”
They turned and ran, honking sadly as they flapped their wings, gaining air enough to cross the pond before they grew tired, landing just beyond the trees on the other side.
“Rey! Come back!” Rose called, but Rey knew they couldn’t. It wouldn’t be safe. They were too different, a thing of legends, a nightmare, a cautionary tale.
A fire-breather.
Flying was exhausting, so they waddled through the forest, avoiding the trails and paths, pausing occasionally for rest or to follow the scent of water to a tiny spring.
They walked all day and into the night, finally stopping when their feet and wings ached and they could no longer see, and the taste of smoke hung heavy in their throat once more.
Rey was hungry, but they didn’t know where to even start looking for food. Even more-so, they were tired. Completely exhausted and sorely missing their nest, they came upon a small clearing in the trees, a large outcropping with what appeared to be an abandoned nest atop it, tucked between…old sticks?
Perhaps less cautious than they should be, Rey circled around and climbed a ridge lined with curious, thin stones. They couldn’t smell anything but smoke, and whatever hair and soft things had gone into the nest.
If possible, the nest was even more haphazard than their first attempts had ever been. Rey set about neatening it a bit, weaving strands and fluffing sections. They debated the merits of climbing back down for grass, or maybe some soft moss from the trees a short way back into the forest , but it was late and cool and they were just so tired…
One side of the nest listed, trying to fall back into its original disarray, and Rey honked lightly in frustration and tugged with their beak.
The nest—more specifically the outcropping upon which it rested—moved.
“Ouch! Stop that! What are you doing?” the outcropping grumbled, moving up and up—and up—higher than Rey had yet managed to fly. Startled, Rey toppled back on their bum and rolled off the edge, wings flapping desperately as flame belched forth from their beak.
A large, golden eye with slitted pupil opened, the outcropping—a head, it seemed—moved on a long neck, rows of sharp teeth glinting in the moonlight. “It seems I have a guest,” the dragon (for that was what it was) said, voice low and rumbly and oddly comforting. “A fire-breathing goose? I thought you were a myth.”
“Says the dragon,” Rey honked, standing up on aching feet and spreading their wings wide as they glared. The long neck swung, bringing the head down close to Rey on the ground as it chuckled.
“I suppose I am that.” The creature sounded almost wistful, and Rey felt a pulse of something—sympathy, maybe, or kinship—deep inside. The dragon studied Rey then stretched back up, snout to the sky, and sighed.
Rey should leave, should continue on their way, perhaps find a path and stick to it lest they come upon any other dragons.
They should go.
“Do you have a name, dragon?” they queried instead.
“I did once,” the dragon said. “But I suppose you may call me…Kylo.”
Rey hiss-honked a laugh, an unexpected plume of smoke seeping from their beak.
“Interesting,” the dr—Kylo—said. “I see you can’t control it yet.” He leaned back down, snout nearly touching Rey’s feathered chest. “I could teach you.”
Instant suspicion, that was what Rey felt, but also a deep and desperate longing. For understanding. For companionship. “And why would you?”
“Perhaps I simply need some form of amusement.”
Rey tilted their head, the closest a goose could come to a frown.
Kylo sighed again. “The hour is late, and you interrupted my sleep. Do what you want, little fire-goose.”
And so saying, the dragon curled in on himself once more and closed his eyes.
“My name is Rey!” they called. “You can call me…um…by my name.”
“Well noted, little fire-goose,” Kylo rumbled, one open a mere slit as Rey waddled closer. “Don’t pull my hair again.”
“Oh. I suppose I should apologize,” Rey muttered, shaking their tailfeathers and settling to the ground—sans nest—and stretching their wings and neck one last time, before tucking their head beneath their wing.
“Go on then.”
“Hm, what?”
“You were going to apologize.”
Rey tucked their beak more firmly under their wing, too tired for nonsense.
“I see.”
Rey honked loudly, a wisp of flame shooting into the night sky, as the dragon picked them up between his talons and plopped them down atop his head, right between the horns Rey had assumed where sticks. A silly thought, that. It was clear they weren’t. Rey shook themselves and wiggled about, settling their feathers as the dragon lowered his head to the ground once more. “Good night, little fire-goose.”
“Good night, dragon,” Rey muttered, then paused, a naughty thought occurring. They waited a moment longer, and leaned a little to their right, stretching their neck until they could grasp a lock of messy dragon hair and tug.
“Rey.”
“What?”
“I will eat you at sunrise,” Kylo grumbled, and Rey lightly pulled again, then lifted and dropped another dark lock, watching in fascination as it fell back exactly has it had been. For dragon hair it seemed rather soft. Not that Rey had anything to go by, considering they never would have thought dragons had hair (if they even existed) until…oh, about an hour earlier.
“Hm, perhaps I should tug harder. I hear dragon hides fetch a fine price,” they muttered, grasping another clump of strands lightly in their beak and tugging just enough Kylo should be able to feel it.
Kylo huffed. “As greatly amusing as it would be to see you try, the night is deep. Sleep, little fire-goose. You can always try to slaughter me tomorrow.”
“More than try,” Rey mumbled, drifting off to the sound of Kylo’s even breathing, somehow feeling safer than they had since their own hatching.