Archive of Our Own

In their hive, the bees began to stir.

—

A rumble erupted out of the cave. It brought a great shaking of the earth down the mountainside and into the village. Stones tumbled and fell down in an avalanche, opening the cave’s mouth in a wide yawn.

Inside, the stone floor stretched and flexed. Undulating ripples created waves from the mouth, along the floor, around the back and over the roof of the cave.

A single stalactite sat at the end of the ripple. It flicked back and forth, shedding dust and debris into the air as a cloud. In a moment, the air was full. It swirled in the thin air of the mountain, particles like ballerinas dancing in the wind. The light filtering in through the new opening caught dust in its streams, a hand of god descended to pluck out the evils of mortals. 

From the base of a belly somewhere in the depths of the mountain, a great crackling began. 

Outside, the avalanche had slowed. Villagers were running from the wreckage as three men stood at the bottom of the mountain. They were dressed in the traditional armour of their community, sewn leather patches covering every inch of their body, a second skin. Each had the scars of war across their faces. 

One stepped forward, a steady hand on the hilt of his sword. He watched the mountain begin to settle. Then he felt the rumbling beneath his feet. He turned to the men, eyes wide. 

They ran.

Behind them, an abyss of fire erupted from the mountain itself, spilling molten rock down towards the village. It slipped down the same path it had before, covering blackened porous rock with another layer of blackened porous rock.

When it ceased, the fire had caught across the mountainside. It had turned trees to ashen stumps, grassland to obsidian patches of dirt, lines of hedgerow to arrows of hell pointing to its mouth.

The men settled at the edge of the flowing rock, feeling its heat. They looked up to the mountain. They waited for more.

Within the cave, a small cough sounded, much smaller than the sounds that had come before it.

—

Whispers had gone through the village quickly.

“It has awakened.”

“It will demand a sacrifice.”

“Will they want money to fight for us?”

“It took my aunt.”

“They should fight for us anyway.”

“My great-great grandfather was its victim.”

“The boy would not risk his life for the village.”

Ilya frowned at the last one, heard coming from the mouth of his father. Was he not dressed in the armour of their family? Did he not bear the marks of battle? Had he not proved himself?

According to his father, he had not.

He walked to the outskirts of town and found Troy and Cliff standing there. They were looking up to the mountain.

“Think they’ll pay us?” Cliff said, not looking back at Ilya closed in on them. Cliff, Ilya’s oldest friend, was taller than him - an unusual trait in a village of 5ft 9 doorways. He was rugged, worn from the years of battle that they had seen together.

“What would they pay us with, Cliff?” Troy asked, leaning on the fence in front of him. It creaked a little under his weight; it had been licked by the edges of the fire. Troy was not particularly tall, but he was strong and quick. Ilya knew exactly where he would be on the field without a single word being exchanged.

“Yeah, ok,” Cliff said and they fell silent for a long moment. “Wasn’t it meant to be every hundred years?” he asked then, looking back at Ilya, who was stood with his hand on the hilt of his sword. It was simply resting.

“Yeah,” Troy replied, but didn’t seem curious about it. He was squinting into the thick, smoky air that covered the mountainside. It was pouring from the ground, each stream of smoke another place damaged by the fire.

“That was, like, seven years ago,” Cliff said. His brow was furrowed as he looked at the other two men for answers.

“Oh, you wake up at exactly the same time every day?” Ilya said, sarcasm threaded through his voice. “Some things just take time,” Ilya finished, looking up towards the glowing mouth of the cave on the side of the mountain. His eyes were dark, piercing into the smoke.

“Ok, a bit intense there, Roz,” Cliff said, rolling his eyes at Ilya’s melodrama.

“Go. Sleep. Hope it sleeps still. I will see you tomorrow,” Ilya said, turning to walk back to the village without waiting for their thoughts.

Cliff shouted over to him, “Yes, boss!” Troy laughed quietly. 

Ilya kept walking.

—

The draig could hear the cracks of his wings as he opened them. His skin there ached so deeply. They had been folded and buried under stone for too long. He suspected he had overslept. 

His parents would be worried. He was always so punctual. 

The cave was glowing red now, the sun casting its rays just over the horizon. It slipped into the darkness corners of the cave, bar his hidden place. He needed to descend now.

He flapped his wings once, twice and slid down out of the cave, pushing off from the mountain and gliding down to the ground. He landed lightly, shrinking down amongst the trees until he stood at human height.

His scales had molded around his body into scaled armour of red leather that covered black silk. A king’s gift for his place in their world.

He continued to move gracefully, through and out of the forest.

He was proud of the forest here. It had grown so well from the small outcropping into a majestic ancient forest. 

The spirits here were old now, more gnarled than he with his deep slumber. Each spirit that greeted him came near him glowed orange and red in his presence. He lent them the fire with every touch. They walked with him to the edge of the woods, bidding him farewell as he made his way towards the village. 

The walk across the plain was quieter, although the insects buzzed around his feet, attracted to his heat. He worked his way across fields of crops and meadows of wildflowers, touching the plants to give them his help.

By the time he arrived, the village was in full swing. Children were running through the streets, shopkeepers were plying their wares, bakers were almost closing.

He had brought his gold purse from the mountain and was heading towards his first destination - buying a cart.

Some people were looking at him as he walked through the streets. He understood. His father had come from this mountain before him, but his mother had been a foreigner, even though she arrived as a child. He did not have the human features of this community. He was an outsider.

He would be kind, he would be generous, he would leave. It was quite simple to avoid complicated interactions in his time before his long flight.

He did not expect fate to greet him with this.

—

The day after the dragon arrived and here was a man in armour. Ilya had seen him arrive through the west gate when he had been doing conditioning. 

Ilya ran around the perimeter each morning, but as the sun rose, he’d looked across to the forest and saw a man. His pace slowed and he squatted down in the long grass.

The man was walking confidently, advancing easily towards the village. His armour was strange, brighter than Ilya had seen, even in the furthest kingdoms. Worryingly, he looked strong. Ilya couldn’t quite make out his form, but he was tall and broad. He did not wear a helmet, however, and his shock of dark hair stood out proudly from his light skin.

As the man entered the village, Ilya started to move forward again. He cut his run short to enter through the same gate and follow the man. He watched the man nod to stall holders and work his way towards the carpenter. He had an open face, smiling at everyone who passed.

The man left the workshop with a small hand-drawn cart. Ilya watched the man’s shoulders ripple as he pulled it towards the market stalls. He moved easily, even with the additional weight. His gait did not change at all, legs swinging easily beneath him.

Ilya followed him towards the market, but skimmed the edge. He was only wearing his base layers; it would not be right for him to engage in the market. But he found himself dragged along in the man’s presence regardless.

Ilya was greeted by a number of people, one of whom was the cheesewright. The man had stopped to speak with the meadmaker, one stall over. Ilya stopped and pretended to listen as he eavesdropped on the man’s conversation.

“We are camped on the other side of the forest. My master has sent me to procure some fine mead from you,” the man said. Ilya frowned. His language was not foreign like Ilya’s; it was old. His words trilled off his tongue as if weaved by silk. There was a low rumble, even when he wasn’t speaking, like the man had a tiger hiding in his chest.

Once Ilya heard the man load the mess into his cart and lift the handles with a small grunt, he turned. He expected to see the man moving away, but he had not.

He was looking directly at Ilya with obsidian eyes. They flicked up and down Ilya’s body. In the sunlight, sparks of red were lit at the corners of his eyes. His face was still open, like it had been with the other villagers, but now Ilya noticed his strong jaw, his soft cheeks, the gentle smile playing on his lips. 

Ilya blinked.

When he opened his eyes, the man had already walked away.

—

Shane did not stay long on that first day. He loaded up the cart with mead and honey and pulled it back out to the forest. 

When he arrived, he sat amongst the spirits and ate his fill. They spun threads of silk at the edges of his vision, winding the thicket of brambles and webs around his sleeping place.

When he’d finished, the draig slowly stretched his limbs, his wings, his tail and dozed the day away.

That night, refreshed from his meal, the draig climbed the mountainside and slipped inside his cave.

He had to start work right away. He had found his trysor.

—

Three days later, when Ilya was accompanying his father in the market, Ilya saw the man again. 

He had returned with his cart and was filling it again with mead. 

Ilya watched as he pulled the cart towards him and the beemaster.

Ilya walked away from his father’s side towards the next stall over and listened again.

“They had worried me in the days before your arrival,” Rose, the beemaster, said to the man. She was beautiful, in her own way. The two of them would make a fine couple, Ilya thought, and then felt a great wave of wrong wash over him.

Ilya looked back at his father to check he did not need help. When he looked back, the wave had passed and had been replaced with a pulling sensation deep in his stomach.

“I will visit them and hear their tales from my slumber. They hold the news of times gone very well,” the man said, pulling large gold coins from his pocket bag. Ilya noticed his hands then, covered with thick leather gloves. 

“They would like that very much, Draig,” Rose said and Ilya frowned. This was a word he had not heard before.

“I am Shane,” the man, Shane, said.

Rose began to talk to the man about the honey then and the man listened carefully. He hummed in the right places, as if the information about the honey was important to him. It was strange, but quite sweet, really.

Rose had been strange to Ilya when he had arrived in the village as a child. She had followed him around for the first few days, asking lots of questions he didn’t understand. Then she would say that the bees thought he was very special. That his crackles were loud. He didn’t think he crackled. But Rose said the bees thought he did.

He didn’t know if she really knew what the bees thought. Some people said they heard her talking to her bees. Ilya thought that without people, the bees might be good company.

Better company than some humans, certainly. 

Ilya’s father called to him and Ilya hurried away. 

He looked back just once and caught the fiery eyes of the man once again. He felt them burn into his, lighting a fire within him.

That evening, as he laid in bed, he could feel the fire still, deep in his belly.

—

The man who had followed him weaved his way into Shane’s dreams and visions so easily. His piercing blue eyes were constantly seeking, looking for Shane. 

Shane had never known who would come for him, he had not wondered. But now, he could not see anyone else.

The man stood near him, breathing his gentle fire out and tugging at the pit in Shane’s belly. He was strikingly handsome as well, sharp cheekbones, pink lips, a firm jawline. The curls atop his head softened it all. 

But they could not soften the flowing lines of musculature beneath his clothes. In the gaping front of the shirt, Shane had seen the defined line of his pecs. They looked strong, dangerous, delicious.

Shane’s tail flicked out in his slumber and he rolled around again. The tug of fire had not left him. And yet, he had to wait. This was the man’s game. Shane was just playing.

—

“Nothing has happened,” Ilya said calmly to the mayor. “If the dragon is there, it has not harmed us. It has not come down into the village and stolen one of us. Why should we try to harm it?” 

Troy and Cliff stood resolutely by his side, in front of the long table at which the mayor and the other elders sat. Their eyes, and Ilya’s, were directed at a spot above the men’s heads, maintaining a formal posture in this setting.

The fire in the hearth was raging, despite the heat in the room. Sweat ran down the lines of Ilya’s muscles here. 

“It has been a week. The others are worried. You are our fighting men, leaders of battalions,” the mayor explained. He was willing them to be brave because he could not be. The other men nodded, knowing they’d they asked of the younger men. Ilya wondered if they understood the consequences.

“We need a show of strength,” Grigori said in his gruff, accented voice, banging his fist on the table. His walking stick clattered to the ground from its resting place. The mayor flinched. Ilya did not flinch. 

Grigori knew the consequences. Ilya did not look at his father.

“We will protect the village. If the dragon attacks, or threatens us, or asks for a sacrifice, we will protect the village. But until that happens, I am not risking any lives,” Ilya said, saluted and then walked out. Troy and Cliff followed through the large wooden doors that led out to the dusty street.

“Hell yeah, brother,” Cliff said, jostling Ilya’s shoulder as they left. Ilya cracked a smile and winked at him.

—

Ilya slept fitfully that night. Each time sleep threatened to overtake him, he would see fire flickering in a pair of eyes. 

He startled awake again, this time with the whisper of follow seeping through into his brain.

It was tempting. He should follow it, really. He slumped back down onto his mattress and fell down into sleep. Towards the whisper.

In front of him, there was a figure dressed in red leather armour that gleamed in the moonlight. His silk underclothes shimmered with the night sky contained within their weave. 

He turned. He was beautiful. His eyes were licked with fire, bursting around the edges.

“Follow me,” he said- Shane said. Ilya stepped towards him and Shane began to walk. 

Ilya jogged forward to catch up and Shane matched his pace. He frowned and picked up his pace a little. 

He looked forward, towards their destination. The forest. The forest with its shadows and hidden places. 

They made their way towards it quickly. It felt like they were flying across the plains towards it.

At the first tree, Shane slowed to a stop and placed a finger on it. It glowed bright red for a moment. Shane pulled his finger away, leaving a scorch mark in the bark. The tree’s spirit appeared and nodded to Shane. He nodded back.

Their journey through the forest was much slower. Shane touched trees every so often, praising the spirits as he did. 

They reached the edge of the forest to a clearing by the bottom of the mountain. In the rock face, there was an opening. It was arched. Shane walked towards it and Ilya followed. They passed through the opening and Shane began to walk up a set of stairs within the mountain. Ilya followed, walking up towards a curve in the stairs.

Shane reached the curve and turned back to face Ilya. His armour had gone and his silken shirt had fallen open around his collar. 

Ilya looked. The muscles on his chest and neck were toned, solid, glimmering.

Shane smiled, looking down at Ilya.

“I will see you soon, trysor,” he said.

Ilya woke up.

He opened his eyes and found himself back on his mattress in the corner. He was facing the wall. 

He could feel the fire in the pit of his stomach burning brighter.

—

Ilya banged on Cliff’s door in the morning. He was dressed with his sword on his hip. He was wearing his full armour, covered in a layer of chainmail, and helmet. His fists shook the house.

Cliff opened the door with a roar, his sword pinching out towards Ilya. He stopped, lowered the sword and looked at Ilya. He was wearing nothing at all.

“Fuck, just hold on. Go and get Troy. I’ll meet you at the gate,” Cliff said, tripping over himself back towards the bedroom. He had thrown the sword down and was grabbing at clothing and armour now.

“West gate,” Ilya said, closing the door and jogging off towards Troy’s house. 

They met by the west gate and finally, Ilya had to explain.

“You will not believe me. I had a dream and- I ran out to the forest and the marks are there. He marked trees to show me how to climb the mountain. We are going out there,” Ilya said, standing with his hand on the hilt of his sword. His jaw was fixed, but his eyes moved swiftly between the mountain and the men.

“And we have to go right now?” Troy asked, rubbing his jaw with his gloved hand. He yawned.

“Yes,” Ilya said. He did not scowl at Troy; he understood.

“Are we going to die?” Cliff asked, knowing he would be told the truth.

“I- I do not know. I do not think so,” Ilya said, looking Cliff, and then Troy, in the eye. Both men looked back and he could see their hesitation. He willed them to trust him.

“Ok,” Cliff said, and then gestured for Ilya to lead the way. Ilya looked at Troy. Troy nodded for him to go forward.

The three men walked towards the forest. Their trudge was a familiar one, swinging their legs easily to make the act of walking smoother. Even under their armour, they moved easily through the fields and meadows.

When they reached the forest, Ilya showed them the marks to follow. Small blackened marks on the bark of the tree. The men looked at each other and they nodded. They had followed Ilya into war before. They would follow him again.

Their journey through the forest went slowly. The marks were sometimes hard to see under the darkness of the canopy. The dream had been lit by the stars, even in the forest. Ilya touched each one he found, letting the fire from them seep into him. It felt stronger now, burning brightly.

They reached the clearing after missing it once. The last marker was hidden by an excitable piece of ivy that had climbed the tree early this morning.

Ilya looked across the clearing. There was the cave opening, arched as if carved into the rock. 

The men looked at each other again.

“I did not think it would be here,” Ilya said quietly, looking directly at the opening. He could see the beginning of stairs within. The dream had already seemed real, but everything could be explained away, bar this.

“We can go,” Cliff said, putting his hand on Ilya’s shoulder. “We don’t have to go inside.”

“I do not think I can leave. I think I must go up. It beckons me,” Ilya said. Troy stepped forward then.

“Is that- er- is that bad?” he asked, looking at Ilya’s face. Ilya felt certain that it wasn’t. He shook his head. Troy’s dark eyes looked at Ilya, then at the arch, a frown forming above them.

“I will go alone,” Ilya said, turning to face the other two men. He was certain of this misadventure.

Troy scowled. 

Cliff said, “No, you fucking won’t.”

They all turned towards the opening and walked through.

—

When they reached the first turn in the stone stairs, Ilya paused.

“This is all I’ve seen,” he said to the others. They nodded and rounded the corner. After a few more steps, the stairs came out into a large cavern. 

The cavern glowed red. A large fire burned in the middle of it, sending shadows across the walls. An opening on the other side showed them level with the clouds. Cliff walked towards the mouth of the cave. 

Ilya looked around. The cave was substantial, an echo running all the way around it to return to the men. He looked at the ceiling, finding a channel there that had been ripped from the stone itself. Debris had fallen from it, scattered across the cave’s floor.

In a shadowed corner, far from the light, there was a pull of air.

A figure walked out of the darkness. 

“Hello, trysor,” Shane said, his greeting tumbling out towards Ilya like a prayer. “And friends, I see.”

All three of them turned to him.

Ilya walked forward, with his hand on the hilt of his sword.

“How did you do that?” Ilya asked, looking at Shane, who was armourless, only covered by his loose silk underclothes. His body moved fluidly, snaking towards them.

“You dreamt of me,” Shane said, walking towards the fire. It glowed brighter when he neared it, adding flames just by his presence.

Ilya followed and Troy moved forward, standing at his shoulder. 

Cliff walked towards the opening, looking down out of it. His shoulders were tight as he peered out into the sky. The sun was slowly rising, filling most of the cave with light. All except for the far corner Shane had emerged from. Something had been lurking there.

“Yes,” Ilya said, watching the man’s eyes for the fire within them. The fire flicked in the reflections, but didn’t dance from his eyes as they had before.

“And you came?” he asked, standing still and facing Ilya. His eyes flicked back and forth from Ilya to the other men.

“Yes, I- I wanted to,” Ilya said, a little shocked at his own honesty. 

“This is the dragon’s cave,” Cliff said suddenly, from his place by the mouth of it. Troy looked over towards him. Ilya looked at Shane.

Shane did not meet his eyes. Instead, he looked towards the other two men. Shane shrank back a little.

Ilya turned to see Troy and Cliff had drawn their swords. They held them steadily, firmly, despite the fear in their stance. Both men had turned to face Shane, waiting for their leader to demand answers of the strange, beautiful man.

“Is the dragon your master?” Ilya asked, trying to get Shane to meet his eyes. He ducked his head, letting Shane find them in his own time.

“No,” Shane said. He was looking down at Ilya’s hand on his sword now. Ilya removed his hand and tried to find his eyes again. There was something in them that he was missing.

“Are we at risk?” Ilya said.

“No.”

“This is weird, Roz. I think we should go,” Cliff said. His voice was steady, but Ilya could feel his fear from here. He could feel it spreading out into the cave. The fear came close to Shane, holding its fingers out towards him. Ilya sent it away.

“There were not enough stairs,” Ilya said in reply, still looking at Shane. His realisation had come all at once. He knew. His breath caught in his throat and he tried to clear it.

“No.”

“That was magic. You did magic?” Ilya asked, stepping back towards Cliff and Troy. He saw the sadness sweep out of Shane’s eyes then, brushing over Ilya’s boots as it reached him.

“Yes. It would have taken you a long time to climb the mountain,” Shane said, looking out towards the cave’s mouth. His eyes were rimmed with tears, adding more flames to the reflection. The flames had built as well, filling his eyes and spilling out over Shane’s face.

“Are you going to harm the village?” Ilya asked. Another wave of sadness came. This time, it reached up into the fire in Ilya’s stomach and pulled.

“No, of course not. I would never harm the village. It is mine to care for,” Shane said, looking sharply at Ilya. Their eyes met and Ilya saw the fire erupt. The heat was close, ready to decimate.

“Ilya, Roz, man, we should go. It’ll be back and I don’t wanna be here when it does,” Cliff said. Both Troy and Cliff had moved into formation behind Ilya, their shoulders touching to look out into the different directions of the cave. They could not defend themselves in the middle of this place.

“I would not harm any of you,” Shane said, frowning at Cliff. Ilya kept his eyes on Shane.

“I will follow in a minute. Go on, Cliff, Troy,” Ilya said, waving them towards the stairs. He kept looking at Shane.

“Roz,” Troy said cautiously. He had not moved from Ilya’s side.

“One minute,” Ilya said, turning and looking at them both. He was breaking their formation. He was choosing to separate himself.

They nodded and edged towards the stairs. He watched them descend until they were out of sight. He noticed that their footsteps stopped shortly after that.

Ilya looked back at Shane.

“You are the dragon,” Ilya said. His accent had softened in the years he had been in the village, but it was there now. He tried to push it back down, but he couldn’t find a place to put it. Ilya’s chest was filled with a delicious burning.

“Yes, trysor. You are smart. You watched me leave the forest, you followed me in the market, you followed me here. Thank you,” Shane said, an earnest tone in the low voice. He was standing tall, but his shoulders were still curved forwards and his eyes were darting around, unable to settle.

“And you will not ask for a sacrifice? Or burn down the village?” Ilya asked again. He was stood at attention now, his strong posture pretending to hide the anxiety threading through the goosebumps on his skin.

“No. No, that is wrong to imagine of me. I protect the village. It is mine as much as it is yours,” Shane said, fire licking at the corner of his eyes. 

Ilya stepped forward towards him, that deep pit of fire crackling within him. He paused a few steps away.

Shane moved towards him instead. He removed his gloves.

“You have been kissed by fire,” Shane said, pressing his ungloved finger gently to the mole on Ilya’s cheek. 

Ilya felt the fire rise within him, burning furiously and pouring out into his veins. He felt a surge of energy pulse through his body. He coughed forcefully, letting out a hot breath.

Shane hesitated and then moved away a step or two.

“You should go back with your friends. I will attend the village tomorrow. Will you meet me in the market?” Shane asked, as he walked back towards the darkness again.

Ilya coughed once more, feeling the fire kicking at the back of his throat still. 

“Yes,” he said. His voice was husky and lower than it had been before. 

Shane slinked into the darkness and Ilya turned out towards the stairs.

—

The fields between the village and the beemaster’s colonies were warm in the early summer sunshine. Ilya walked by Shane’s side through them, fingers touching at the edges of the flowers and crops. Shane walked with his head down, moving carefully through the plants, disturbing not a beetle nor a weed.

Ilya heard the buzzing of the swarm before he saw the colonies. It headed towards them slowly, then less slowly, then very quickly and all at once. They were surrounded, but Shane seemed unconcerned. The bees did not touch them as they walked to the hives.

Shane smiled warmly at the bees and greeted them. 

“They want to be introduced to you. It is good for them to know you. They will tell us tales for many years,” Shane said, gesturing towards the bees for Ilya to speak to them.

Ilya looked at him and then looked at the bees. He paused and looked back at Shane. He did not know what to do.

“Your name, first,” Shane said, smirking a little at him.

“Hello, bees. I am Ilya. I am a soldier. It is a pleasure to meet you,” Ilya said, a seriousness in his tone that Shane had not expected. His face was softer than it had been yesterday. The helmet had hidden his cheeks, the bridge of his nose, his ears. Instead, Shane had only seen his eyes and the fire within.

The bees moved and buzzed and Shane smiled brightly at Ilya.

“You will learn in time,” Shane said, and then asked the bees for their knowledge.

Ilya sat and watched, transfixed as Shane felt his way through the conversation with the bees. It was soothing, calming, to sit amongst them whilst the strange man talked.

Ilya felt the fire running through his veins again, filling him to the brim.

—

Two nights later, Ilya awoke to a whisper of follow. 

He dressed quietly in the dark, shrugging on his leather armour and sword. He jogged through the village, to the forest and to the clearing. 

It was dark in the canopy, but it was lit by the stars. Stars that seemed so close in the forest that they could not be in the heavens.

Ilya caught them moving sometimes, out of the corner of his eye. But he did not slow for them.

He did not slow until he reached the stairs. He climbed those two at a time.

Shane was standing near the fire once more, dressed in only the trousers of his silken underclothes. He did not look cold, even in the thin mountain air. Really, he looked hot, bright, burning vibrant colours.

Ilya walked towards him, drawing himself up to his full height. He stood a little taller than Shane, he could see, even at a small distance.

“Thank you,” Shane said, reaching out to Ilya’s mole once again. He touched it lightly.

“For what?” Ilya asked, his brow furrowing at the greeting. Shane’s fingers were stroking his cheek now. He felt the sparks ignite on his face.

“For coming when I called,” Shane said, watching his own fingers move down onto Ilya’s jaw.

Ilya shrugged. “You are very pretty.” He paused for a moment, catching Shane’s eye.

“Thank you,” Shane said, the fire burning red onto his cheeks.

“Very impressive, also. Magic, and bees, and dragon,” Ilya said, his voice lowered as he crowded around Shane. He wanted to be closer to him now.

“You will be so impressive,” Shane said, holding his jaw in the palm of his hand. “I will enjoy racing you.”

“Racing me?” Ilya said.

Shane just nodded.

—

The next night, Ilya stayed awake until Shane called. He had walked out towards the forest to wait. He could see the fire burning in the cave at the top of the mountain.

The whisper follow had a pull to it now. Ilya could feel his way to Shane.

There he was again. Standing near the fire with only his trousers on. His bare chest glistened in the light and Ilya ached. He ached into his bones.

Shane led him to a corner of the cave, lit by torches. 

There he stopped and looked at Ilya.

“Sit, please,” Shane said, pointing to the throne carved out of the stone. It looked hard, unforgiving, but so desirable. Ilya walked across to it, bending to touch the seat. It looked as if the stone had been melted perfectly into a seat for him.

“Here?” Ilya asked, looking back at him. Shane nodded. Ilya sat down.

It just felt like a stone chair.

Shane walked towards him. He looked a little shaky, a little nervous. Ilya swallowed his fear and held his hand out to Shane.

Shane took it and let himself be pulled in by the momentum. He stood between Ilya’s legs then.

“Can I-?” Shane began, looking down at Ilya’s lap and gesturing to it.

Ilya simply pulled him closer until Shane clambered into his lap, facing forward. 

Shane settled and almost immediately, a deep rumble came from his body. He pressed himself close to Ilya, touching his chest to any available skin there was.

“Hold on,” Ilya said carefully, pushing gently until Shane stepped back from him. He pulled the first layer of armour free and then his tunic. He sat back, bare-chested and soft.

Shane watched, the fire in his eyes leaping as he saw Ilya’s chest. It was fuzzy, with a layer of blonde downy hair across it. Shane pushed his fingers through it and the deep rumble started again.

“Trysor,” Shane said, reverently. He touched Ilya’s chest like it was a religious object, important on a spiritual level. “I have waited for you.” Ilya pulled Shane back into his lap.

“Waited for me?” Ilya asked, astonished that this beautiful man had not been claimed somehow. His hand coming up to touch Shane’s chin, his thumb rubbing just at the edges of Shane’s lips. Shane looked up at him through hooded eyes and nodded. 

Shane shifted closer, moving his hands around to Ilya’s back and pressing himself close. The rumble surfaced finally, becoming a purr in Shane’s throat.

“Trysor,” Shane intoned again, rubbing his hands frantically across Ilya's body. He vibrated with desire. 

From his place in Shane’s chest, Ilya began to shift until he could touch the dragon’s face again.

He tugged at Shane’s chin, pulling it down towards him and pressing his thumb to the split of his lips.

Ilya released his thumb and replaced it with his lips. Shane melted into him.

They kissed, patiently and slowly, whilst Shane’s breathing quickened with each press. 

“Trysor,” Shane whispered again, against Ilya’s lips.

—

His father noticed first. Ilya was surprised it was his father.

“You have seen the dragon,” Grigori said the next morning.

Ilya turned to face him. The fire that burned in the pit of his stomach now raged in every part of him.

“I have,” Ilya said, stoking the fire in the hearth of their bedroom. 

“You did not slay it,” Grigori said then, his voice an unusually even tone. Ilya turned to face him.

Grigori was pale and gaunt. His skin that had been stretched tightly across his face, sagged at the edges. He was hunched over with age and his walking stick did little to support him properly. Ilya had taken to shepherding him around outside of the home. Grigori hated it and told Ilya so. 

“No,” Ilya said.

“Your mother told me once that you were born with fire in your eyes,” Grigori said, too calmly. Ilya awaited the explosion. It did not come. “I did not understand. I do now.”

“Fire in my eyes,” Ilya repeated, feeling the edges of it in his body. He felt it all the time now.

“She told it like an old story. I do not know, Ilya. Do not bother me,” Grigori said then, his usual ire returning as Ilya watched his lucidity fade away.

—

In the market, Ilya was drawn to Rose and to her honey. She was standing patiently behind her stall as Ilya approached. She seemed unsurprised by his arrival.

“Your fire is burning brightly. I can hear it all the time now,” Rose said when he approached her.

For the first time, Ilya thought he understood her.

“Explain,” he said roughly. His voice was tinged with embers that sparked angrily at Rose.

“Your draig has not explained this to you?” Rose asked, cautiously. Her brow had furrowed and she looked up towards the mountain with a frown.

“Tell me what you know,” Ilya said, not answering her question. He too looked towards the mountain though.

“You have the fire. You will be released soon, I think. It is burning brightly in you. I can see it clearly in your eyes now,” Rose said, looking closely at Ilya’s eyes. He saw his flames reflected back in her irises. He stepped back, confused.

“You saw it when we were children,” Ilya said. Rose nodded.

“The bees told me who you were,” Rose said, tapping her fingers on one of the jars of honey. “They have been waiting for the draig to find his trysor.”

“He keeps saying that word,” Ilya said, not even asking the question now. He looked down at Rose, her small frame not portraying her power accurately. He felt it now, in a different way than before. Her aura sparkled just as his flamed.

“I’m sure. He will tell you. Be patient,” Rose said and turned to a customer who had appeared at the stall. 

Ilya looked back at the mountain.

—

That night, Ilya did not wait for Shane’s call. He did not pretend to sleep. At sunset, he walked out of the west gate, into the forest, through the clearing and up the stairs.

A shadow in the far corner of the cave shifted and Shane stepped out of the darkness.

“I did not call,” Shane said, when Ilya arrived in front of him. He seemed surprised, his eyes widening at Ilya’s presence.

“I did not want to wait,” Ilya said, moving forward to place both his hands on Shane’s face and pull him into a deep kiss. 

Shane's hands came up, clinging at Ilya’s armour. He tugged on it, silently asking for it to be gone. Ilya obliged. He let Shane’s hands find his chest over his shirt, pulling at the edges of it. 

Eventually, Ilya pulled back and looked at Shane’s face. He saw the smattering of freckles there properly for the first time. He touched them.

“You have been kissed by fire,” Ilya said, just as Shane had said to him. Shane nodded. They stared into each other’s eyes as Ilya stroked the freckles on Shane’s cheeks, nose, forehead. “I saw Rose today. In the market.”

“She is a good beemaster. The bees like her very much,” Shane replied, nodding sagely. Ilya knew that bees could choose their master, swarming away if they were displeased. He thought he understood the desire to fly away and never return.

“She used to tell me that she could hear my fire when we were children,” Ilya admitted. His hands had moved down to stroke at Shane’s neck. The dragon tilted his head to let Ilya paw at his skin.

“Yes, it is beautiful,” Shane said without any further explanation.

“Tell me,” Ilya pushed and Shane caught his eye. They looked closely at each other.

“I have slumbered in this mountain for many years. I have been waiting for my trysor. My equal, my partner. Some of us mate with dragon-born. Some mate with human-born. But we are all dragons. Draig and trysor,” Shane said, letting his eyes fall closed as Ilya touched him.

“And I am your trysor?” Ilya asked, knowing the answer. He pushed Shane’s hair back across his forehead and smiled at the look of contentment on the dragon’s face.

“Yes,” Shane whispered in reply. “Did you not know? Your fire burns so brightly. I thought you would feel it too,” Shane said, his eyes opening to search Ilya’s. His concern seemed to melt away as Ilya’s hand came to the nape of his neck and squeezed.

“I feel it. I do not understand,” Ilya said. He could feel the pull towards Shane deep in his soul. He leaned down to kiss Shane lightly. The light touch was not enough. He wrapped his arms closely around the dragon and held on tight.

“I want to lie with you,” Shane said, his voice quiet against Ilya’s lips. Ilya pulled back and looked down. Shane did not meet his eyes, leaving them closed.

“Have you laid with someone before?” Ilya asked carefully. Shane had told him that he had waited for Ilya. He did not know what that meant with this.

“No,” Shane said, shaking his head. His eyes were open now and tinged at the edges with water. It seemed to soften his fire. “Have you?”

Ilya nodded. “I am a soldier,” he offered as explanation. Shane frowned. “There is very little to do on the battlefield other than fight and drink. It kept us entertained.” Shane frowned again. Ilya waited for him to speak. 

“Show me,” he said finally, quietly, afraid. Ilya dipped his head down to lock their lips together once again and thanked the lord above that he was allowed to show the dragon this.

—

Shane awoke from his rest slowly. The darkness shrouded him. Light did not filter to his corner of the cave well. 

He stretched his wings out, shaking them carefully. He had been in his other body too much. Shane needed to fly.

Letting the darkness follow him out of the corner, he drew his shadow closely around him as he made his way to the mouth of the cave. He slid around the edge of the mountain and then plunged off it, opening his wings. 

They caught him and he pumped once, twice. He flew. He needed to practise. He would take the long flight to Cymylau soon to see his parents. He had never flown it with another dragon before. Not since his father had bestowed the village into his care.

He tumbled and twisted, perfecting his dance. It would be needed soon. His trysor was here.

—

Ilya was sleeping when Cliff and Troy arrived at the back door. They knocked politely, but also shouted into the window.

“Get the fuck up, Roz. It’s past noon,” Cliff shouted at him. Ilya groaned and rolled off his mattress. He gathered himself and walked to the back door, half dressed. 

He swung it open for the two men and walked inside again. He sat in a chair at the table and let the other men do the same.

“There’s a rumour,” Troy said. Ilya nodded. He wondered whether the rumour was accurate.

“Are you the dragon?” Cliff said, skipping past the explanation to the accusation.

Ilya didn’t know how to answer. Not the dragon. A dragon, maybe.

“I was stood next to you when it awoke,” Ilya said instead. He was not the dragon they were thinking of.

“Yeah,” Troy said, looking at Cliff with a dark scowl.

“I dunno, man. Tiffany heard you talking to Rose. She said that you were full of fire and would burn down the village,” Cliff said, clumping back in his chair in defeat.

“Tiffany exaggerates,” Ilya said simply.

“Exaggerates?” Troy asked, instead.

“I will not burn down the village. Neither will the dragon,” Ilya said, uncertain how far he could push the truth before he had to admit he didn’t really know what was happening.

“Well, as long as you don’t burn down the village,” Cliff said, sarcasm rolling off of him. “Where was your fire-breathing when we needed it at Abertawe?” he said, flinging his hands up. Ilya laughed a little.

“I cannot breathe fire yet,” Ilya replied, the laughter running through his voice.

“Yet,” Troy said. Ilya looked at him. “You said yet.” 

Ilya tried for honesty.

“I think maybe soon,” he said, maintaining eye contact with Troy. Cliff scoffed and threw his hands up. 

“Ok, so you’re a fucking dragon now?” Cliff said, shaking his head with disbelief.

“Shane said that some dragons are human-born,” Ilya offered as his weak explanation. He did not know if he could offer more.

“Well, fuck,” Cliff said and Ilya nodded. 

—

That afternoon, Ilya climbed the stairs to find the cave empty. He sat by the fire and waited for Shane to arrive.

He stared into the fire, letting it settle his soul. He was conflicted. Ilya knew what was to come. He could feel it stretch at his bones. He didn’t know what to think.

A shadow fell across the entrance.

Ilya blinked up to see a large figure silhouetted by the sun. It was clawing its way around the side of the cave’s mouth and slipping in quietly. Its wings were folded against its back.

In the sunshine, Ilya could see the same red of Shane’s armour reflected off the scales of its neck and shoulders.

It was magnificent.

And then it shrank down into itself and Shane appeared at the entrance. He strode forwards towards the fire, not seeing Ilya yet. Shane sniffed.

“Trysor?” he called out, confusion running though his voice. “Ilya?”

Ilya stood and moved to where Shane could see him.

“You are here?” Shane asked, looking at him carefully. His dark eyes scanned Ilya’s body and face, looking for something.

“I have questions,” Ilya said, nodding.

“I may not have all the answers. My parents will, when we go to Cymylau.”

“We will go?” Ilya asked; his first question.

“Yes, once you can fly, we will go.”

“Once I can fly?” Ilya asked; his second question. These were not the ones he was expecting to ask.

“Yes, do you not know? The stories are not quite right, but you should know the dragon lore?” Shane asked, his brow furrowing now. Ilya had not expected this. Shane was talking as if he should understand.

“I only have the stories from my own home. We did not hear the ones from here when we came,” Ilya replied, uncertain again.

“I will tell you the story as the bees tell it,” Shane said, nodding.

—

Once upon a time, a long time ago, but not very far from here, a dragon slept.

It slumbered in a cave, letting a century pass before it awoke again. Each time it awoke, fire hurled down the side of the mountain. It screamed out, calling to the people of the village.

Each time, the villagers grew afraid.

All but one. A girl, a woman, named Yuna. 

She had long dark hair, and piercing eyes that sparkled in the sunlight. She had a fire deep inside her. The villagers knew not to stand in her way. 

One day, she walked to the bottom of the mountain and called up. 

“Show yourself, dragon. I am not afraid,” she shouted.

A boy, a man, appeared at her shoulder. He was young and fair with strong arms and sparkling eyes. His name was David.

“Who should you be afraid of?” he asked.

“The dragon. But I am not afraid,” she said, turning back to the mountain.

“No, you should not be afraid,” the boy said, and unfolded his wings to fly into the side of the mountain.

That night, she heard a voice asking her to follow. She did, drifting through the streets, out of the village, up into the heart of the mountain.

There, the dragon waited.

The boy was waiting beside a great fire. He walked into it and held out his hand.

She stepped into the fire and let go of her human form.

The dragons burst forth from the mountain side the next morning, twisting and trailing up into the air. They danced beautifully above the village, rumbling down around it in a display never seen before.

The dragons left that day, flying off towards the clouds.

Some say, if you listen carefully to the wind, you can still hear their voices up in the mountain. Some say, if you look into the mountain on a dark winter night, you can still see the flicker of the fire burning.

—

Shane looked at Ilya and waited for his questions.

“I will step into the fire?” he asked, looking at the bonfire burning in the middle of the cave.

“If you want to,” Shane answered. “It is a choice.” 

“And what if I never choose to?” Ilya asked. He watched Shane’s grimace form, carving deep lines into his beautiful face.

“Then I will wait until you do. Or I will stay until you pass,” Shane said, looking across at the fire. Ilya felt the pain in Shane’s voice reaching out to touch at his fire.

“Dragons do not die?” 

“Not as quickly as humans,” Shane said, his eyes reflecting the fire in his gaze. Or just burning with a fire of their own.

“And another one will come along for you? Another dragon?” Ilya asked, not wanting to hear the answer.

“No. One draig, one trysor. But I will slumber. I will see other dragons. I will grow old peacefully,” Shane said, shrugging. There were tears forming along his waterline. “You do not want to change?” 

“I do not know,” Ilya said, as honestly as he could. Shane nodded.

Ilya watched Shane walk to the darkest corner of the cave and fill the obsidian black with glints of red.

Ilya sat and waited for Shane to return.

—

Shane did not emerge again that night. Eventually, Ilya made his way down the stairs and towards the village. He walked until he found himself on the other side, closing in on Rose’s cottage.

The hives were quiet in the early morning.

He approached them and sat where Shane had sat with him only a few days ago.

The swarm appeared, trickling slowly from the hive to surround him.

“Hello, bees. You have to tell me what to do. I do not know,” Ilya said to the bees, who buzzed frustrated around his face. He tried to listen for their wisdom.

“It doesn’t work like that,” Rose’s voice came, from the side of the cottage. Her hair was down and she was dressed only in a long robe. She looked ethereal in the morning light. Ilya supposed that she might not be human either.

She walked to him and sat beside him.

“They can only tell you what they know. They saw the fire in you; they told me. They heard the dragon awake; they told me. They watched the villagers change and grow over a century; they told the draig. They cannot make your decisions for you,” Rose said, letting the bees settle on her skin. They buzzed around her, trying to reach into her aura.

“I spoke to him,” Ilya said, his eyes dropped to the ground.

“I can see,” Rose said, smiling at his desperation. “It would be a simple choice for me. Fate has a strong pull on my soul. Can you feel it pulling on yours?” Ilya nodded, his eyes flicking up towards the mountain.

“It does not feel like a simple choice. It feels inevitable,” Ilya admitted, eyes still focused on the mountain.

“How long do you think you will fight it?” Rose asked and Ilya just shrugged. “They have been excited since you arrived,” she said then, gesturing to the bees. “They remember Yuna and David. His parents.”

Ilya looked at Rose and then at the bees.

“He told me their story,” Ilya said. And then the bees spoke.

Yuna kind. Yuna good. Yuna fierce. Yuna protect David.

Ilya waited, listening properly now.

Ilya kind. Ilya good. Ilya fierce. Ilya protect Shane.

Ilya nodded and the bees retreated into their hive. Rose touched his shoulder gently and walked back inside.

Ilya sat by the hive and waited for wisdom to come.

—

That night, Ilya laid in bed and heard the strained whispers of trysor come down the mountain, across the plain, through the village and into his ears.

He did not go to them, even when the whispers turned to sobs. He felt his heart wrenching from his chest.

Ilya stayed.

—

Shane dropped down into the forest two days later. He landed weakly and shrank. The forest grew around him and the spirits poured to him. He petted them gently as they circled around him, following him across the plains. His cart felt heavy in his hands today.

He stopped, halfway to the village and whispered to them gently. They retreated, hovering at the end of the forest for him.

He continued into the village, pulling the cart behind him.

Ilya stood in his doorway, opposite the end of the market. He saw Shane. Shane saw him.

They walked towards each other.

“You did not come,” Shane said, looking at Ilya’s feet.

“I need more time,” Ilya said, without thinking. Shane placed the cart on the ground. He removed his glove and touched Ilya’s hand. The dim fire in Ilya’s belly flamed into life.

“That does not mean you cannot come to me,” Shane said, quietly. Ilya nodded and turned his hand to clasp it together with Shane’s.

“Come. I will help you at the market,” Ilya said, moving Shane away from his cart and picking the handles up with both hands.

“I can carry my own cart,” Shane said, testily. He pushed at Ilya’s shoulder but did not attempt to take the cart.

“The bees told me to,” Ilya said simply and walked towards the meadmaker. Shane beamed and followed him.

After the meadmaker, they walked to Rose, who grinned mischievously at the two of them. She handed over the honey and patted Ilya’s hand when he reached for it.

Shane spoke to her for a while, but Ilya was looking out into the market. The familiar sounds of the last decade of his life. The smells of the cheese and the bread and the meat. The people who had treated him kindly when the three Rozanovs had arrived, fleeing from war.

His friends who had walked into battle with him and his brother. His friends who had helped him home when his brother had not survived the losses of war. His friends who had housed him when his father had refused to see him, blaming him for living when Alexei did not. When his mother did not.

Shane caught his hand, this time with the glove firmly placed.

“Take me to your people,” Shane said quietly, squeezing his hand gently. Ilya pointed with his chin to Troy and Cliff, who were hovering at the edge of the market. They walked towards the men.

“Hello, dragon,” Cliff said, when they were in front of them. Shane’s laugh echoed over the sounds of the market.

“Hello, friend,” Shane replied, and Cliff laughed back. “And other friend,” he said to Troy, who scowled a little.

They walked toward the edge of the village together, stopping at Troy’s house to sit and drink some of the mead in the cart.

They laughed. They talked. They sat in quiet contemplation.

—

Ilya did not need to wait for the call that night. He had not left Shane’s side. 

When he journeyed down to the village in the early morning light, he found Cliff and Troy waiting at the west gate.

“My father?” Ilya asked, and Cliff nodded, resting a hand on his shoulder. Ilya allowed himself to be wrapped in a hug.

The two men walked beside him like an honour guard towards the house. The vicar and mayor were waiting for him. Their faces were soft. Their eyes were soft. Ilya could not make himself soft.

He spoke with them quietly, then went to sit with his father.

—

Two days later, Ilya stood beside the graveside and listened to the vicar speak. His heart whispered draig.

He felt the world shrink around him. From the corner of his eye, a red flame appeared and then disappeared just as quickly. He waited.

Shane slipped his hand into Ilya’s and stood beside him at the grave. Ilya squeezed his hand gently. The fire stayed low and quiet in his stomach.

—

A week later, Ilya climbed the stairs to Shane’s cave. He stripped off his armour at the door and moved confidently towards Shane’s dark corner.

He arrived to see the draig shrinking from its red, scaled, twisting figure. Shane stepped out from the darkness with the glimmer of red just settling into his armour. He pulled Ilya towards him and wrapped his trysor tightly in his arms.

“I am ready,” Ilya said. Shane pulled back, but there was no surprise in his face.

“I could feel it,” he said. Shane stepped back, peeling off his armour, then his clothes. He stood naked before Ilya.

“Now?” Ilya asked, but he pulled his shirt over his head.

“Whenever you are ready,” Shane said, stroking Ilya’s soft chest and touching each one of Ilya’s fire marks.

Ilya hesitated.

“What is trysor? Draig is dragon, yes?” Ilya asked, touching Shane’s face gently and sweeping the hair from his forehead. Shane’s blush rose from his chest and flooded his neck. Ilya traced it to the tips of his pink ears.

“Treasure. You are my treasure,” Shane said quietly and Ilya beamed at him. Ilya stripped off the last of his clothes and pulled Shane close to him.

“I am ready,” Ilya said again. He let Shane lead him toward the fire. When they stepped into it, Ilya held Shane’s hand and waited for the pain to come. It did not.

“You are born of fire, trysor. This cannot hurt you,” Shane said, pulling him close and letting the fire take them both.

—

In the evening, just as the sun was setting, two dragons emerged from the mouth of the cave. One slipped down the mountainside, opening its wings and bidding the second to follow it. 

The red dragon was first, opening its fiery wings as the sun flamed red. The second dragon pushed after it, its wings new and shaky. It was the deepest black, but in the sunlight, it glowed gold.

They twisted around each other in a dance of red, black and gold, colours flowing into and around one another. They soared far into the clouds before dropping down again towards the village. 

The villagers had come out of their houses to watch the dragons fly above them. It was a majesty to behold.

As the dance finished, the two dragons hovered near to each other. They looked down at the village and then the red dragon turned to fly towards the clouds.

The black dragon turned to follow. They were going to Cymylau.

—

In their hives, the bees swarmed and danced. They hummed a merry tune. If you listened closely, you could hear them singing draig and trysor in their rumbling tone.

When the dragons were out of sight, they settled down again to wait. This would be a good story to tell to the next beemaster.