Chapter Text
“I remember you telling me about the fields, but I wasn't aware it had gotten this bad. I'll address it soon, thank you for notifying me Draconic. Have a good day now!” The Queen announced before promptly running off.
“Oh, it's not a problem, your highness, but may I ask, are you alright? Draconic exclaimed, half out of worry (though she'd never admit to it), and half with disappointment. Meetings with the queen were always brief or cut short, that was if she could even get one in the first place.
“Hah… Guess not then?” Turning on her heel, she started out of the great hall.
The air outside was warm, an indicator that summer was creeping upon the kingdom, ready to start the beginnings of the harvest. Soft breezes encourage the grass into performing a dance. The sounds of the leaves rustling in the trees, the distant chatter and music of the earth play its song, all came together, a sweet symphony.
Without a goal mind, the Mercenary wandered and found herself near the market. It was surprisingly busy for a Tuesday afternoon. Maybe she should visit? No. That wasn't Draconic's scene.
She turned to head towards the gates, taking the route behind the tower deemed “Mercenary Tower” though she herself had never been inside. Taking the path would bypass most of not all of the town citizens (since it appeared everyone had gathered near the market).
Looking over the sea of reds, greens, browns, and purples, she saw a familiar blob of electric blue heading her way (quite quickly too).
“Mister Draconic! Mister Draconic!” The blob called (screamed), chasing after the Mercenary. Rolling her eyes beneath her hood, she halted just behind the tower where a large (and quite forbidding) dragon was perched. Its sharp yellow-y, orange eyes scanned over the widening village of Relenix. Draconic looked back back down, just in time to see the small bright colored boy catch up with her.
“Draconic!” He whined, punctuating every syllable.
“Yes Bjorn? What is it?” She replied, stifling a chuckle.
“I made you something!”
Oh?
“Well, what is it?”
“This! I made it at school!” Bjorn beamed up at her, holding a small crumpled paper. Taking it from his hand gently she looked down at it. It was a drawing, a drawing of a red flower with an uneven face, held up by- hold up, is that person dead!? No. He's far too young to draw something that morbid… right? Draconic never drew something like that when she was six, did she? Ah, right. She didn't remember. Couldn't remember. She could only think back three years. Three years was all she knew. Rawrly was trying to help her remember, and find someone she might have known before then. But so far they'd been getting the short end of the stick.
“That's so cool Bjorn.”
“It's for you!”
“Oh, thank you.” A gift? She'll have to get him something then.
“You're welcome! Bye bye Mister Draconic!” He dashed off before she could get another word in.
That's something thing she'd have to talk to him about, “mister Draconic”. Draconic and another friend (could she call them a friend? Yes. She believes so anyway) has tried to explain gender terms to the young boy, but it was to no avail.
Folding the drawing, the Mercenary carefully placed it into her pocket, then continued on her way towards the fields. Passing the Rock Garden (a bakery owned by her friend Jasper) she let herself get lost in thought, and hopefully she wouldn't be stopped again. But, the universe had other plans (it usually does), and a voice called upon her.
“Hey, Dvaconic! Vhere you going today?” A slight accent creeping into their speech.
Oh you know, the fields, maybe bypass the Tarfin district on the way, enjoy the sun, totally not go to the cliffs, nooooo, totally.
“To the upper district. Um, do you need a hand?” Draconic said, finally noticing the stack of pumpkins (stack being 64, gosh did they need a hand!) they were carrying.
“No, I'm vall good. Vut please check in vith Daven fivst, I think he has out in the fields the vast time I sav him.”
“Sure.”
“Ah I thank you Dvaconic! I've got to go, see you latev!”
“It's no problem, really. Goodbye.”
Daven? Who's Daven? Oh. Daren. Daren Beaumont. Also known as Bjorn's good for nothing, deadbeat uncle. At least, that's how the Mercenary put it. Mixed with the fact that he was absent for ALL of Bjorn's life, he didn't even know he existed! Then he just shows and assumes Bjorn will love him?! That's exactly what made the Draconic so frustrated and angry. But, being a Mercenary means tending to everyone's problems, even the ‘insignificant’ ones.
She pushed open the gates and walked through them, letting them slam behind her. She scanned the fields, no Daren. Good. She wasn't looking forward to more conversations
🌓 ~—•×°∆\/ ☀️ \/∆°×•—~ 🌗
It's always a change of pace when traveling out of the kingdom. Because once upon a time you're in this hustling, loud, go big or go home district of Tarfin, Relenix, then silence. Well, not really, there's only so much a wall can do after all. But it's far quieter, you're alone with your thoughts, only you and winds, the rivers, the trees, and the grass. You, all by yourself. To think about how life could have been, what it was like. To reminisce on a life you never knew, a life that's not yours, because you don't remember. That's why Draconic went to the cliffs. No matter if she wasn't supposed to be there. If anyone wasn't supposed to be there.
It felt like home.
The hills looked alive, the sun making them ripple and shine like the sea. The clouds passed overhead, dawning a light blue sky. Everything smelled fresh, the air clean and sharp, with hints of blueberry jam, and raspberry pie (most likely coming from the Rock Garden).
Draconic stared out at the cliffs adjacent to her, listening to the river gushing below. A blur of green and gray came into her sight, the figure slowly stopped next to her, as if warning her she was there. The air around the newcomer smelled of lavender and chocolate, not usually a common combination, but it worked.
“You know… it's not very often you find a Mercenary breaking the rules.” The figure said leaning close to the sitting Mercenary, as their tone was flat, but not cold. Draconic stayed silent, not wanting to start anything.
“Why are you out here then, Rosalind?” The girl in green said, mocking the older.
“Oh, I don't know Draconic, maybe because when you see someone in a forbidden area, you go to see what's wrong, or convince them not to jump off the bloody cliff.” Seemingly happy with her mockery, she walked closer and stood beside the hooded figure on the ground.
“You could at least acknowledge me.” Rosalind said, the cold finally creeping back into her voice.
“I'd rather not acknowledge things that are irrelevant to me.” Draconic stated, almost as if she was waiting for a reason to hurt the green sweatered girl. But, she found herself slightly regretting saying that. Why? Why would she care what the ‘entitled, self proclaimed Mercenary' thought? Maybe Bjorn was making her soft.
“Fine then. Just don't be surprised when Rawrly hounds you for looking suicidal.” Rosalind proclaimed. Draconic stood, scoffing at the thought, and wow. Rosalind's short.
“I'm not suicidal.”
“Uhuh. And I'm blue and the sky's black. Tell that to whomever finds you here, not me.” The shorter of the two said, as she started away.
“Hey, come back here! Brek!” And GAH! Why is she so damned frustrating?! But wait, did she just stop? Why did she stop? They never stop?!
“Well? What is it?”
Huh. Wait, shoot, what was she going to say?
“Thats what I thought. Good day, Draconic.”
Helios, Draconic! Why are you letting her walk away?
“ARGHHH!” The actual Mercenary exclaimed once Rosalind was out of earshot.