Chapter Text
On the last day of Spring, Alastor brought his meager offerings to the town square. Three rabbits and a squirrel from his snares weren’t much, but he wasn’t certain which herbs in his mother’s shop would be appropriate as a sacrifice, and though they were small, The Dragon had never turned down meat.
He watched as each family stepped forward, bringing crops, livestock, and other gifts to The Dragon’s Voice. The Dragon’s Voice thanked them each, though his eyes darted over the remaining crowd. When it was Alastor’s turn, he bowed, not making eye contact with the otherworldly man, and held out his offerings. The Dragon’s Voice accepted them with his standard speech.
“The Dragon thanks you for this offering and bestows another season of prosperity upon you.”
Alastor wasn’t sure how much he believed in the supposed prosperity from The Dragon, but he kept his head down and his mouth shut until he could escape the crowd and return home.
Some time later, there was a knock at his door. As the last of his mother’s supply had dwindled, the townsfolk rarely darkened his door, so Alastor opened it with apprehension.
The Dragon’s Voice smiled at him. “Is the herbalist here?” he asked in his soft, melodious voice.
Alastor swallowed around the lump in his throat. “No sir. She passed into The Great Beyond last month.”
The Dragon’s Voice dipped his head. “My condolences. I feared as much when I did not see her at the sacrifice. Will you become the herbalist in her stead?”
Alastor shook his head. “She tried to teach me, but I don’t have the keen eye required to discern what will heal and what will harm.”
The Dragon’s Voice nodded. “That would indeed pose a problem. Have you any of her herbs left? There was a tea she made,” he trailed off.
Alastor checked the remaining jars, grateful for how meticulously his mother had labeled everything. He set the entire jar of tea on the counter. “This will be a much more suitable sacrifice than what I brought this morning.”
The Dragon’s Voice shook his head and Alastor’s heart sank.
“I already accepted your sacrifice.” The Dragon’s Voice said. “I can purchase this like everyone else.”
Alastor racked his brain for how much his mother would’ve sold the large quantity of tea for, but The Dragon’s Voice simply set a pouch on the counter. The coins inside clinked softly.
He picked up the jar. “Dragon’s blessings upon you,” he murmured, and then he was gone.
Alastor counted the coins. The pouch was full of smaller silver and copper coins, ones that Alastor could spend without being questioned, or inviting gossip. If he was frugal, the Dragon’s tea purchase could sustain him for nearly an entire year.
On the last day of summer, The Dragon’s Voice returned to Deerborne. The townsfolk gathered with their sacrifices. Alastor was quite proud of himself, for he had managed to snare a fox and had traded with the tanner to properly prepare its pelt. The tanner had a fondness for mint, which Alastor’s mother had grown in their window boxes. Despite Alastor’s admittedly poor care, the mint still grew.
He knelt at The Dragon’s Voice’s feet and held out the fox pelt. The man ran a hand over it, and continued to run his hands through the fur even as he gave Alastor his little speech about blessings. The Dragon’s Voice usually deposited the offerings directly into the baskets behind him, which would be strapped to donkeys for the trip back up the mountain, and Alastor preened at the unspoken praise.
Life in Deerborne moved slowly. Alastor gathered wildflowers to leave at his mother’s grave, and spent much of his time setting and tending to snares in the forest north of town.
As the trees grew bare and frost settled over Deerborne at night, the gossip began. The sacrifice at the end of autumn was different from the others. In the other seasons, The Dragon wanted the fruits of the village’s labor — livestock, produce, furs, and metalwork from the blacksmith. At the end of winter, when resources were scarce, The Dragon’s Voice reminded them that they didn’t have to offer food. One year, all of the women in the town, including Alastor’s mother, gathered together to spin wool and knit a massive blanket. Nobody was quite sure how big The Dragon actually was, having only seen him in the distant sky, but when they presented the blanket to His Voice, as one big tribute from all of the families, he looked delighted.
But before the woman could begin weaving or the men begin whittling, there was the sacrifice on the last day of autumn. On this day, The Dragon took a more traditional tribute — a human sacrifice. The Dragon’s requirements for his sacrifice were specific, and unique. He did not demand a virgin sacrifice, nor a fair young maiden. The sacrifice could be any age and any gender, the only requirement was that they were unwanted.
When the human sacrifice stood before The Dragon’s Voice, if any among the crowd was willing to stand and demand their return, The Dragon’s Voice would do so. Some years he even returned to the mountain without a sacrifice, but those years were surprisingly rare. Some years, the sacrifice volunteered. The previous year, an elderly widower, whose only daughter had married into a family in a town nearly a day’s ride away, volunteered. Some years before that, the town voted on a man who’d lost himself to the grip of alcohol. Alastor recalled a year from his childhood, when the neighbors, who already had more children than they could properly feed, gave birth to twins. Their mother sobbed as she brought them to The Dragon’s Voice, but her husband held back anyone who would’ve protested.
The Dragon’s Voice followed them to their house and emerged with the twins in a basket, each chewing on a teething toy. Alastor’s neighbor never told anyone what The Dragon’s Voice said to her while he was inside their home, but she didn’t cry any more. The twins were never named.
Alastor had a suspicion he would be chosen as this year’s sacrifice. He was of an age where he should’ve been happily wed, and probably a father by now, but he’d rebuffed any advances from the village girls. They weren’t bad people; Alastor had been friendly with them when he was younger, but the thought of forever shackling himself to one of them was revolting.
He’d seen the way his neighbors looked at him. Unable to take on his mother’s role as herbalist due to poor eyesight, and unwilling to marry, he wasn’t seen as a particularly useful member of society. He kept himself fed primarily with his own trapping, and spent his coin when necessary, so he wasn’t a drain, but he certainly wasn’t well liked.
Nobody had ever confirmed what The Dragon did with the human sacrifices, only that none had ever returned. Most assumed he ate them.
The morning of the sacrifice, Alastor rose early. He gathered the last of the wildflowers he’d pressed during the summer, and brought them to his mother’s grave.
He knelt at the simple headstone. “This may be my last visit. The sacrifice is today, and I’ve seen the way Susan looks at me.”
A single tear slid down his nose, and he blinked rapidly, unwilling to let any more fall. “Perhaps The Dragon will send me to you,” he said softly, pressing his hand to her headstone.
Alastor stood, wiped his eyes, and returned home.
Franklin cornered him in front of his house. He at least had the decency to look ashamed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Er, Alastor… we uh, well, the townsfolk have been discussing this year’s sacrifice.”
Alastor waited. He would accept his fate with dignity when the time came, but he would not reassure this man who was sending him to his death.
“We’ve decided to offer you to The Dragon,” Franklin finally bit out.
Alastor regarded him coolly. “I expected as much,” he said finally.
Franklin nodded. “I’ll escort you to the town square.”
The Dragon’s Voice was already waiting. A pair of donkeys were tethered at the outskirts of the town square, calmly snuffling through the fallen leaves in search of a last bit of grass. Franklin marched Alastor to stand before The Dragon’s Voice, and pushed on his shoulder. Alastor knelt, and Franklin backed away.
Alastor kept his head down as The Dragon’s Voice addressed the gathered crowd.
“Does any man, woman, or child speak for this man? Will any of you reclaim him from The Dragon’s maw?”
The crowd was silent.
“Speak now, for you shall never see him again,” The Dragon’s Voice said, giving them one more chance.
The silence was deafening.
“The Dragon accepts your sacrifice.” The Dragon’s Voice decreed. “May you survive the coming winter in peace.”
Alastor remained kneeling as the crowd quickly dispersed.
“They’re gone,” The Dragon’s Voice said quietly. “You can get up now.”
Alastor stood and waited.
“Let’s go gather your things,” The Dragon’s Voice said.
Alastor stared at him. “Why?”
The Dragon’s Voice cocked his head. “Because they’re your things?”
Alastor squinted at him.
The Dragon’s Voice smiled softly at him. “You’ll understand in due time. Come along, I remember where you live.”
The Dragon’s Voice waited just inside the door as Alastor gathered his meager possessions. He carefully folded his few clothes around his mother’s book of herbs. He hesitated with his hand on his hunting knife, but The Dragon’s Voice was still watching impassively, so he put it in his bag. He grabbed the last two jars of herbs, ones he’d kept for himself. One could be made into a salve to help wounds heal, and the other was simply a pleasant addition to cooked food.
Alastor hooked his satchel over his shoulder and faced The Dragon’s Voice.
“Is that everything?” the man asked. “I do have two donkeys.”
Alastor hesitated for a moment, then pulled the quilt off of the bed, bundling it against his chest. His mother had worked for months to make it for his seventeenth birthday.
The Dragons Voice smiled kindly, and Alastor followed him out the door and up the path to Mount Luciferon.
They led the donkeys single file up the narrow, winding path. Though there was nothing stopping the residents of Deerborne from ascending the mountain, nobody did. The woods were untouched.
A stream flowed from higher up, and would eventually meander around the northern edge of the town. The Dragon’s Voice paused to allow the donkeys to drink. He pulled a metal cup from one of the donkey’s packs and dipped it in the stream. He drank, then offered the cup to Alastor. Alastor took it and drank as well.
The path followed the stream for a bit, then curved back away. It’d been late morning by the time they left Deerborne, and Alastor wondered how long the journey would take. Luciferon was not a small mountain.
The sun was a low burst of gold when the path entered a clearing.
“We’ll camp here tonight,” The Dragon’s Voice said as he removed the packs from the donkeys. He hobbled and then released them.
He handed Alastor one of the packs, the one he’d put Alastor’s quilt in, then led the way to a shallow cave.
“The Dragon must be rather small if he can fit in here,” Alastor quipped.
The Dragon’s Voice stopped. He turned to look at Alastor.
There was a long pause, then he cackled.
“That’s the first thing you’ve said since we left town!” he wheezed. “No questions, no pleading, and now you’re cracking jokes! Oh, I like you, er, what is your name anyway?”
“Alastor, sir,” he replied, accepting the bedroll he was handed.
The Dragon’s Voice waved a hand. “Oh, you don’t have to call me ‘sir.’ You can call me Lu.”
They laid out their bedrolls, and Lu gave him some dried meat. He rummaged through his pack and pulled out a jar of what looked like preserved fruit. “Apple pie without the pie?” he offered.
Alastor snorted, but accepted the shared spoon and jar of dessert. Lu offered him a drink from a water skin, and as the last daylight faded, Alastor curled up in his borrowed bedroll, and slept.
Lu was already awake and poking at a small fire when Alastor rose. He smiled up at Alastor, and his golden eyes seemed to sparkle. He held up a small frying pan. “Eggs?”
The eggs were overcooked, but Alastor ate them anyway.
Lu didn’t seem to mind that Alastor didn’t get up to help him pack up. Alastor took the time to appreciate not being on his feet. Lu hadn’t set a particularly grueling pace the day before, but Alastor was still sore. He was accustomed to walking through the woods, but they were relatively flat, and the climb, though gradual due to switchbacks, left his calves aching.
When the donkeys were ready, Lu stood before him and held out a hand. Alastor allowed the shorter man to pull him to his feet, and was impressed with the strength he found there.
They resumed their trek, but Alastor struggled to keep the same pace. When the path crossed another stream — or perhaps the same stream, Alastor wasn’t sure — they watered the donkeys and themselves.
“We can ride the donkeys from here,” Lu said. “They know the way.”
Alastor’s pride bristled. Surely he wasn’t that slow? But Lu easily swung himself onto the lead donkey, so Alastor followed suit.
Or at least, he tried to.
The donkeys didn’t have proper saddles, just the bags with straps over their backs. Lu was settled with his legs in front of the bags, calmly holding the donkey’s halter. Alastor had never even ridden a horse, but he knew enough to know that they usually came equipped with stirrups. How Lu, who was a head shorter than him, had managed to get onto the beast was beyond him.
Lu watched Alastor lift his foot and set it back down a couple of times. His cheeks burned.
Lu hopped down and came to stand next to him. He cupped his hands together, and instructed, “left foot in my hands and swing the right over.”
It wasn’t graceful, but with Lu’s help, Alastor sat astride the donkey. He watched closer as Lu returned to his own donkey and noticed him using a rock to boost himself up.
The ride on the donkey wasn’t especially comfortable, but Alastor decided it was better than walking. As they approached the end of the path, the donkeys increased their pace. Finally they came to another clearing. It was an idyllic mountain scene, something that might’ve inspired a painter. Even though it was the first day of winter, there was still grass, which the donkeys immediately bent their heads towards. At the back of the clearing was a sheer cliff face, broken in two places by small cave entrances. One was lower and appeared near the height of a human, while the other was higher than Alastor’s head. From the higher opening, the stream flowed, forming a small waterfall and pooling at the base of the cliff, before flowing down the mountain. Lu dismounted and removed the donkey’s bags, then turned it loose.
“No hobbles?” Alastor asked, sliding less gracefully off his own donkey.
Lu shook his head, unbuckling the second pack. “No, they know where they are, and they will come if The Dragon Calls.”
Alastor accepted the pack and Lu led him into the other cave.
The light faded quickly and Alastor stumbled on the upward slope of the floor.
“Oh!” Lu exclaimed. “Sorry about that!”
Alastor heard the sound of a match striking, and then a torch flared to life in Lu’s hand. He stuck close to Lu as they walked.
It wasn’t a long walk, just far enough that Alastor couldn’t see the entrance, before the light bouncing from the torch against the cave walls disappeared. Lu still held the flame, but they’d come out into a much larger cavern.
Lu extinguished the torch, plunging them into darkness like nothing Alastor had ever experienced. He stood perfectly still, wondering if this was where he met his end. He would’ve liked to at least have gotten to see The Dragon, before it ate him, but perhaps it was better to not know when it was coming.
He was tense, bracing for something he couldn’t know, when light returned.
At first, Alastor thought that the roof of the cave had somehow disappeared. It was like looking up at the night sky, but none of the constellations his mother had taught him were there. Then the stars moved. They swirled around, growing brighter, and settled on the walls of the cave. More lights glowed to life within the rocks themselves, a soft green pulsed gently, moving throughout the rocks like sunlight reflecting on water.
It wasn’t bright, but there was plenty of light for Alastor to see now.
The cavern was large enough that Alastor thought it must go almost all of the way through the mountain. There was another tunnel like the one they’d come out of on the other side of the cave, and a third, much larger tunnel, nearby. To his right, there was a little cutout in the cavern wall, partially covered by boards. Lu led Alastor that way, and he found behind the wall there was a little room, with a bed and chest of drawers. The floor was covered with furs.
“You’ll sleep here,” Lu told him.
“How many nights must I wait until The Dragon eats me?” Alastor asked, proud of how steady his voice came out.
Lu blinked at him, then slapped his palm to his forehead. He laughed. “I forgot to explain! Usually I do it in the clearing the first night but I forgot!”
Lu grinned at him. “The Dragon isn’t going to eat you!”
Alastor considered that. “Am I to be his servant? Or,” he couldn’t stop himself from grimacing, “must I warm his bed?”
Lu was silent, almost distracted, for a long moment. “The Dragon doesn’t sleep in a bed,” he said finally. “But no, none of that. The Dragon takes a sacrifice from your village, and several others, when winter approaches, because that is the time when resources are at their limit. He asks for someone who is unwanted for two reasons. The first is to give the village one less mouth to feed. But the second is to give that person a new chance. If the town would really choose to send you to what may be your doom, despite knowing that they could speak up and save you, then you’re better off without them.
“When The Dragon returns, he will take you down the far side of the mountain. There’s a town there, much like Deerborne. In fact, many of the residents came from Deerborne, though not all of them. The town is called Hazbin, and it’s led by The Dragon’s daughter.”
“The Dragon has a daughter?” Alastor asked, shocked.
Lu nodded. “You’ll like her. But that won’t be for a bit, not until after The Dragon returns.”
“Where is The Dragon now?” Alastor asked.
Lu just smiled. “I can’t tell you that. Now, let me show you around.”
Alastor set his possessions on the bed and followed Lu around the cavern. There were a few lanterns on hooks embedded in the rock walls, but it seemed Lu had some sort of magic, as he could manipulate the lights that looked like stars.
The center of the cave was empty, presumably to give The Dragon space. There were shelves carved directly into the rock walls, filled with a mishmash of things. Gemstones were piled haphazardly next to books, stacked and leaning against each other. On every single shelf, Alastor estimated there were at least six carved wooden ducks. More furs were piled on the floor near the largest collection of books.
There was another space like Alastor’s new bedroom, that had been turned into something of a kitchen. Alastor could see remnants of a fire, and there was a makeshift counter carved into the wall. Alastor wondered if The Dragon did it with his claws. If he had, he must be huge.
“Isn’t smoke a problem?” he asked.
Lu pointed at a dark spot in the ceiling. “Nope! There’s basically a natural chimney.”
“Conveient.”
Alastor spied the jar of tea he’d sold The Dragon’s Voice that first sacrifice after his mother’s passing, and several other containers he recognized as hers. He swallowed hard, tuning back in as Lu explained what sort of stores were available, and encouraged Alastor to help himself.
The same stream that fed down to Deerborne flowed through the cave, forming a small pool before disappearing back into the rock. Lu assured Alastor that it was safe to drink, and he could bathe in it if he wanted, but the water would be freezing.
Out the tunnel on the far side was a privy. Lu told Alastor he could explore around the cave but not to stray far. There was a small coop of chickens, which explained the eggs Lu had given him that morning.
It was at that moment that Alastor’s stomach growled. Lu heard it and hurried him back inside. There was an ornately carved table and chairs near the little kitchen — perhaps a previous year’s sacrifice.
Lu insisted Alastor sit at the table while he cooked. The meal was simple; Lu cooked a pair of rabbits and fried a few potatoes. Alastor obediently sat and watched, until he realized Lu was only using salt for seasoning.
He shuffled through the jars of spices, then leaned over Lu where he was crouched by the fire. “Use this,” he said, holding out the jar.
Lu tipped his head back to look at him, then grinned. He accepted the jar and shooed Alastor back to the table.
Fortunately, Lu didn’t dump the entire jar over their dinner, and it wasn’t long before he placed a plate in front of Alastor. He sat across from him, picked up a fork, then put it down with a sharp “oh!” Alastor froze with his utensils in hand.
“Do you drink wine?” Lu asked.
Alastor nodded, and Lu scurried off to get a bottle and cups.
The wine was stronger than anything Alastor had tried in Deerborne, which he’d always suspected was watered down.
As they ate, Lu asked about his life in Deerborne. Alastor told him about growing up alone with his mother, and the way he’d learned to hunt in the woods. When he mentioned that he’d always enjoyed the nights of dancing at the tavern, Lu perked up.
“Of course, once I came of age, I had to stop going,” Alastor sighed.
Lu frowned. “Why?”
Alastor poked at his dinner. “An eligible young man is expected to dance with the eligible young ladies, and then they may come to expect things. Is it truly so strange that I might just want to dance for the enjoyment of dancing?”
Lu cocked his head. “Do you know how to waltz?”
“Er, no. The tavern dances were usually faster.”
Lu nodded, standing. “Can I show you something?”
Alastor put the last piece of potato in his mouth and followed him, stumbling slightly as the wine stole his balance. Lu plucked a little trinket off one of the shelves and offered it to Alastor.
He turned the small box over in his hands. There was a little knob at the back, and Alastor twisted it. When he released it, a melody plinked out of the box.
Lu took it from him and wound the device further. “It’s a music box,” he explained, then held out a hand. “May I have this dance?”
Alastor placed his hand in Lu’s, as Lu set the music box on the shelf and moved Alastor’s other hand to his shoulder.
“Like this,” Lu murmured, wrapping his hand around the small of Alastor’s back and guiding him into the steps.
By the time the music box wound down, Alastor was matching Lu step for step. Lu wound the box again and reclaimed Alastor’s hand, and they waltzed around The Dragon’s cave under the light of thousands of magical stars.
Alastor looked down at Lu. The green glow from the walls reflected off his pale blonde hair. His fingers were laced with Alastor’s so much lighter in color, but they contrasted nicely. The wine must’ve addled his brain more than he realized, because Alastor couldn’t help but think that if Lu had lived in Deerborne, he might’ve kept going to the tavern dances after all.
They danced for a while longer, then retired for the evening. Lu disappeared down another tunnel, and Alastor crawled into his new bed. He wrapped his mother’s quilt firmly around him. The cave was cool, but lacked the chill of the coming winter outside, and there were extra blankets folded at the foot of the bed.
There were furs and blankets strung from a makeshift canopy, and Alastor was able to use them to block the glow of the cave. His rest was uneasy, curled up in the unfamiliar place, but eventually he slept.
His own internal clock woke him as usual. He was typically an early riser, but the light in the cave gave no indicator of the time. He rose quietly and wandered into the larger cave.
Lu was awake and crouched in front of another fire. He smiled at Alastor. “I’ve got eggs and bacon, or fruit preserves if you prefer. I can make toast.”
Alastor was accustomed to eggs for breakfast, as the family at the end of the lane had quite a few chickens, and they’d been sharing the surplus with him and his mother for as long as he could remember. “Eggs on toast would be nice,” he said slowly. “Do you want help?”
“You don’t have to. But if you want something to do, you can slice some bread for us,” Lu replied without taking his eyes from the eggs he was cracking.
Alastor did so, then watched Lu poke at the eggs in the pan. He peered around the kitchen. There were some unmarked jars, and he took them down to inspect. He was happy to find several familiar herbs, and chose one. He passed it to Lu, instructing, “take them off the heat a little sooner, and add this at the end.”
Lu followed his instructions, and Alastor was gratified that the eggs today were not overcooked.
“You seem like you’re familiar with cooking,” Lu said around a mouthful of eggs.
“My mother taught me,” Alastor explained.
“Do you like cooking? Because I don’t want to make you do anything, but if you like cooking and wanna do it, you’re welcome to!” Lu rambled.
Alastor chuckled. “Yes, I’d like to cook.”
Lu visibly relaxed. “That’s great, because I’m only good at like five things, and you’d probably get pretty tired of eggs for breakfast and rabbits for dinner.”
Alastor shrugged. “Sounds like home. It’s amazing what you can do to simple food if you have a good collection of herbs. Do you have snares for rabbits or squirrels?”
Lu shook his head. “No, but I go down to Hazbin more often than Deerborne, usually on market day.”
Something warmed in Alastor’s chest. “Perhaps I’ll see you again then, after The Dragon takes me away.”
Lu gave him a blinding smile. “I’d love to! Oh, there’s tavern dances in Hazbin too, maybe you and I could go?” he asked, then ducked his head as if embarrassed.
Alastor cocked his head. “Would they not frown on two men dancing together?”
Lu waved a hand. “Nah, Anthony always makes Henry dance with him. Henry puts on a show of being grumpy about it, but I don’t think he’d have married Anthony if he really minded.”
“They’re married?” Alastor asked, shocked.
Lu nodded. “The Dragon’s daughter is partnered with a woman too. We’re all waiting to see which of them will propose first, but I’ll let you in on a little secret. They’ve both come to The Dragon asking for rings from his hoard.”
Lu chattered on, telling Alastor about the other town residents, seemingly unaware of the weight of his revelation.
There was Henry, who was a Deerborne sacrifice six years ago, chosen for being the town drunk. The twins Alastor remembered from his own childhood had been adopted by the Baxter family, and named Razzle and Dazzle.
There was Vaggi, Charlie’s partner, who, according to her, had been driven out of her village, accused of witchcraft. She’d wandered desolate roads and forests for days until Charlie found her.
Anthony, and his twin sister, Molly, had grown up in Hazbin, much like Razzle and Dazzle. Other names and stories blurred together: Emily, Sera, Mr. Pendleton, Peter, Rusty, Ruby, Sebastian and his wife Alek. Alastor’s head swam.
“But you’ll have plenty of time to get to know them,” Lu assured him.
Alastor nodded, following Lu as he stretched, and stood to clean the dishes.
“We might have to have fruit and dried meat until The Dragon takes you to town,” Lu mused. “Last night was the last rabbit.”
“I can set some snares,” Alastor offered. “I’d like to go outside anyway. I can’t even tell what time it is in here.”
A look of intense thought crossed Lu’s face, and he hurried to one of the messy piles of The Dragon’s hoard. Coins and a metal goblet clattered to the floor as Lu dug through the pile. He kicked them against the wall and returned with his prize.
“Here!” he said, thrusting the item in Alastor’s face.
Alastor reached up to move Lu’s hand back so he could actually see the thing.
It was an intricate brass pocket watch. On the cover, a deer grazed beneath a tree, and a snake curled in an ouroboros around the edge. When he opened it, behind the hands, a tiny etching of the sun and moon ticked through a painted sky.
“This is gorgeous,” Alastor breathed.
“And it’s magic, so you don’t have to wind it! Which is good, because I know it’s morning, but I don’t actually know the time.”
“Won’t The Dragon be upset if he finds me with part of his hoard?”
Lu pushed the watch into Alastor’s hands. “He’d want you to have it. Trust me.”
Alastor was still skeptical, but he couldn’t refuse a gift like that. Besides, it was just until The Dragon took him to Hazbin. A loan, not a real gift.
Lu was able to provide Alastor with some cords to make snares, and watched with interest as Alastor tied them up. He offered some dried fruit to use as bait. Alastor was trying to figure out the best way to ask Lu not to follow him as he set the snares, when Lu saved him the trouble.
“I’ll collect the eggs and tend to the chickens while you set them,” he said.
Alastor crept through the woods, setting his snares. This high up the mountain, the trees were mostly evergreens, and they blocked his view of the mountain’s surroundings.
He allowed himself a few minutes of solitude, listening to birdcalls, and thought about his future. Soon, The Dragon would return and take him down the far side of Mount Luciferon to his new home. He wondered if The Dragon would carry him in his claws, or if the great beast would want him to ride on its back.
Would Lu accompany them into town? Alastor hoped so. He’d like for Lu to show him around. Perhaps they could attend one of those tavern dances before Lu had to leave.
Lu was such an enigma. Alastor had known of him for years, but he was so different as The Dragon’s Voice. When he stepped into Deerborne to collect their sacrifices, he commanded their respect. He spoke with authority, bestowing The Dragon’s blessings, and never stayed longer than necessary. He was dignified, almost ethereal, and he carried himself proudly. It was easy to believe he was directly connected to The Dragon Himself.
Lu was different. He was so open and eager to share things with Alastor. He seemingly lived alone with no one but The Dragon for company, and could only cook a few things. He had some measure of magic, but no interest in flaunting it.
As The Dragon’s Voice, he stoically escorted humans up the mountain, waiting hours to reveal their fates. And yet, Alastor was certain the year he took the twins away, he’d broken that rule to reassure a desperate, grieving mother that her children would grow old together.
Alastor hadn’t had friends in Deerborne since a very young age. As soon as he was old enough to comprehend instructions, he’d begun assisting his mother. He followed her through the woods as she collected herbs, learning the forest surrounding their home better than the town itself. He learned to hunt, and how to dry the herbs his mother brought home.
She taught him to cook and keep their home clean, and always reminded him that even one day when he was married, he should do his share, no matter what the men in town said. Alastor always assured her that he didn’t want to marry, and would stay with her forever. She never did believe him.
He never desired companionship, not a wife nor a friend. So as Alastor returned to The Dragon’s cave and heard Lu chattering to the chickens, calling them by name, he was confused to find he didn’t want to leave.
He swallowed that odd notion down. His fate was in Hazbin, and there was nothing else to it.
Lu grinned at him as he approached. “This is Henrietta,” he said, holding up a massive, fluffy gold hen.
“Hello, Henrietta,” Alastor said politely, and Lu’s smile got even brighter.
A burst of wind ruffled Henrietta’s feathers, and Alastor shivered. Lu noticed, and he gently shooed Henrietta back into the coop.
“Come inside,” he urged, shooing Alastor much like the chicken.
Alastor looked back at the cold winter sun for a long moment, then followed Lu inside.
Lu was already digging in an elaborate wooden chest as Alastor approached. He held up a cloak, long enough that even with his arms raised, it touched the floor. The lining was a vibrant red, while the outside was an unassuming brown.
Lu shook it. “Here!”
“Lu, I can’t just keep taking things from The Dragon’s hoard,” Alastor protested.
Lu’s face fell. He stood, carefully folding the cloak, then straightened, and a detached expression settled over his face. “I am The Dragon’s Voice,” he declared. His voice didn’t echo, but Aalstor felt it ought to. “I am offering you this cloak for the duration of your stay in The Dragon’s lair. Take it,” he commanded.
Alastor took the cloak, wrapping it over his shoulders. The other man’s posture shifted, relaxing, and he was once again just Lu, grinning up at him innocently. “It suits you.”
Alastor smiled, then let that same air of detachment settle over his own face. “I thank The Dragon and His Voice for this kindness,” he intoned.
Lu snorted.
Alastor marvelled at the soft fabric inside the cloak as Lu retrieved the basket of eggs he’d set aside in favor of giving Alastor more gifts. He followed Lu to the kitchen and stood awkwardly as Lu put the eggs away.
“You don’t have to stay right by me,” Lu told him. “You’re welcome to read any of the books on the shelves, or I like to whittle. Mostly ducks,” he admitted. “You can use my tools, as long as you don’t stab me!” he laughed awkwardly.
Neither of those particularly appealed to Alastor. His mother had taught him to read; he knew his letters and the names of all of the herbs, but he had a suspicion that all of the books on The Dragon’s shelves would have a lot of words he didn’t know. Besides that, focusing on small text for a long time made his head hurt, so he wasn’t too keen on whittling either.
In Deerborne, Aalstor spent most of his time in the forest, maintaining snares, or preparing the creatures he’d caught. When his mother was alive, he’d helped her dry the herbs, and if they had time, she would read out loud to both of them. A traveling merchant came through Deerborne twice a year and would trade books for new ones. While she read, Alastor would knit or darn their socks.
Alastor wasn’t sure how Lu would respond to being asked for his socks, so he picked a book at random. The title read, “A Taste of the Harvest Moon,” and he hoped it might be about cooking.
Lu glanced at his pick as he sprawled on the floor. It was covered in a rug and several blankets, but Alstor thought it still must be cold. He sat at the table with his book.
It was not about cooking, much to Alastor’s disappointment, and as he expected, there were enough words that he didn’t know that he wasn’t going to be able to read it.
Lu was on his stomach with his own book in front of him. Alastor stared at the words until they blurred together, and tried to turn the pages at a similar speed to Lu.
Some time passed, broken only by pages turning and Lu humming softly to himself. He turned another page and Alastor did the same.
Lu rolled over and sat up. “Okay, can you just not read, or is there some other reason you’re just turning pages when I do?”
“I’m not sure what you mean,” Alastor bluffed.
Lu rolled his eyes. “I’ve only read the first chapter of that one so far, but I know there’s no way you’re reading it that fast, so fess up.”
Alastor bristled. “I do know how to read, Mother made sure of it. I just know how to read practical things, like Mother’s herbalism book, not this frivolous thing. Besides, it’s rather dim for reading, isn’t it?”
“I can see just fine,” Lu said. “So you don’t read for fun, what do you do?”
“I didn’t exactly have endless amounts of leisure time,” Alastor snapped.
Lu held up his hands. “Sorry! I didn’t think about that, I’m sorry.”
“Mother used to read out loud,” Alastor admitted. “I knitted while she did.”
Lu hopped to his feet and hurried to dig through another haphazard pile. He returned with a ball of yarn and knitting needles. “I tried to learn, but never was very good at it.”
Alastor accepted them. It seemed they were Lu’s, not The Dragon’s, so he didn’t protest. Lu ran a hand through the back of his hair. “I could read to you? If you want?” he offered nervously. He gave Alastor a small, crooked smile.
Alastor returned it with a larger one. “I’d like that.”
Lu flipped to the beginning of the book Alastor had picked as Alastor sorted out the tangles in the yarn. He had a lovely reading voice, strong and clear, and he never hesitated or stumbled over the words.
The story captivated both of them, and by the time Lu’s voice grew hoarse and he needed to stop for a drink of water, Alastor was nearly finished with the scarf he’d started. Lu read one more chapter while Alastor finished the scarf, then Alastor wrapped his newest creation around his neck, put on the cloak he still wasn’t sure he should be wearing, and went out to check his snares.
One had caught a squirrel, which Alastor was happy to cook. It was really nothing impressive, but Lu still acted like Alastor was a cook fit to serve a king.
The next day followed in much the same fashion. Alastor checked the snares while Lu doted on his hens. As they settled in to read, Lu admitted that he had a cloak that he’d caught and torn a hole in on his last excursion into the forest. Alastor mended it as Lu continued their book.
When he handed it back, Lu ran his fingers over the mend, looking impressed, and immediately put the cloak on.
Alastor put on his own for his afternoon check of the snares. Lu watched him, his eyes darting between Alastor and the exit to the cave. The look on his face reminded Alastor of a dog the neighbors once had. When the weather permitted them to eat outside, it would sit at Alastor’s feet, and its eyes would dart between Alastor’s face and his plate. He never fed the creature, but his mother had a soft spot for all animals, and always saved some sort of scrap for it.
“Do you want to check the snares with me?” Alastor asked.
Lu’s face lit up brighter than a sunrise.
He was impressively well behaved, trailing behind Alastor, carefully watching where he stepped. He carried the two rabbits the snares yielded, and stood patiently as Alastor reset the traps.
It began to snow as they returned to The Dragon’s cave, and Lu took a few minutes to make sure all of his chickens were safe in their coop.
After dinner, Lu wound up the music box and held out a hand. “Dance with me?”
By morning, the world outside was blanketed in white. Alastor’s snares were empty, and he took extra time to cover his tracks. Soon, he would need to move to a different spot in the forest, perhaps on the side facing Deerborne, but today the wind was strong and biting, and he wanted to hurry back to the cave.
He crouched over their cooking fire, warming his hands, and decided his next knitting project should be mittens.
Unfortunately, mittens took far longer than a simple scarf, and he wasn’t finished with even the first one by the time he needed to go back out for his evening snare check. Lu didn’t follow him, mentioning that he’d seen Alastor’s care to cover his tracks that morning, and he didn’t want to make it more difficult.
When Alastor returned, empty handed, cold, and grumpy, Lu had a mug of tea waiting for him. Alastor sat with both hands wrapped around it as Lu put together a simple dinner of cured meat and some cheese Alastor hadn’t even known he had.
“Do you think the snow will delay The Dragon?” Alastor asked.
“Oh, um, it might. But once it snows up here, it usually lasts all winter, so I don’t think it’ll delay him too much. Are you eager to get down to Hazbin?”
Alastor looked around The Dragon’s cave. “Not until we finish our book,” he decided.
Lu smiled, then ducked his head. “Maybe I should read slower,” he joked.
They spent that evening drinking tea as Lu told Alastor more about the town that was to be his home.