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An apology to my readers
As of late I've been a whiny, whiny bitch, and the drama recently posted is only icing on the cake, I realize. In recompene, I will post more of Poison when I get home tonight. I would do it now, but my beta has yet to send me the fixed draft.
In the meantime, have some graveyard fics. For one reason or another, these have both died on me. I thought the first might revive, but I think it's a goner.
Again, I apologize for the whining.
Boots
Mallory tensed as he heard the sound of a branch snapping off in the woods – when it was followed by the sound of an animal scurrying deep in the brush, he gave a long sigh of relief and went back to weeding the garden.
Pollux and Castor weren’t due back until sunset, but they’d returned early before…often worse than if they’d returned on time.
Shoving away thoughts of his brothers, determined not to ruin his good mood, Mallory resumed humming and bent back to weeding the tiny garden he’d managed to keep going despite everything.
Tomatoes were good, as were the cucumbers, onions, potatoes…a difficult garden, but worth it, and often their only reliable source of food as Pol and Cas spent more time in fruitless searching, bickering, and bragging about things they’d never done or would do at the local tavern with whatever coin they scraped together.
Angry that he was ruining his good mood, Mallory yanked hard at a weed and threw it into the heap at the edge of the garden. He sat back on his heels to wipe the sweat from his brow, even though that really only replaced it with dirt. It was nearly dinner time, and he could have the bit of leftover meat pie he’d fixed yesterday.
Right after he finished the garden. Nearly done.
Bending back to his work, falling into the rough rhythm of it, he picked back up humming the old song his father used to sing while they worked – stopping short when he came to the end, startled he’d actually finished. Blinking, Mallory slowly pulled himself to his feet, stretching with a long groan, shaking his hair from his face.
He walked toward the stream with stiff steps, unable to avoid looking at the tired mill. Old when he was a boy, it had only grown worse since it had fallen into disuse with the building of a much better mill closer to town.
Kneeling, he quickly washed off in the refreshingly cold water, yanking off his dilapidated straw hat to rake water through his hair.
Not that it really mattered, he would never get anything done if he had to run the mill…but it was yet one more thing falling down around him about which he could do nothing.
The door creaked as he pushed it open, rattling as it hit the wall. Inside was the smell of age – old wood, older stones, dust and neglect. Sometimes he thought he could still smell baking apple bread, a scent that was all he could remember of the mother who’d died when he was a small boy.
His father’s rocking chair was by the little fireplace, a faded quilt draped over it. On the nearby table, set with four chairs, were his brothers’ remains of breakfast and Mallory gave a long sigh. Would it kill them to spend thirty seconds to save him yet more precious minutes of work?
Obviously it would. Mallory shoved the useless, bitter thoughts aside with an effort. His brothers were mean, lazy, and selfish – they didn’t care what they cost others with that attitude. Picking up the trenchers and mugs, he took them to the wash bucket to carry down to the river later for cleaning.
That done, he knelt and pulled up the cellar door, then climbed down the rickety old steps and across the shelf where he stored things which needed to be kept cool but also well away from critters.
Also his brothers, because Mallory might put up with a lot to keep the only home he knew but sharing good food they didn’t earn wasn’t one of those things. He maintained the garden and gladly cooked what they happened to bring every once in a great while; he even caught fish from time to time – but he wasn’t sharing the gifts Boots brought him.
Mallory reached the shelf and smiled in genuine pleasure as he found the carefully wrapped remaining bits of the meat pie he’d made yesterday with the partridge Boots had brought him.
He bit into it happily as he climbed back up the step, licking bread crumbs from his lips. The garden was done…laundry and a bit of housecleaning, the dishes…by then Boots would be back and he would have time to get his dinner cleaned and hidden away before he made dinner for his brothers.
Licking his fingers, silently hoping Boots might bring him another partridge, Mallory closed the cellar door, grabbed up the bucket of dishes and carried it downstream to where he normally did such work.
He hummed softly as he worked, occasionally breaking into whistling, scrubbing the dishes clean and setting them on the grass to dry. Finished, it was awfully tempting to lay back and take a nap…
A gentle nudging against his thigh stirred him from thoughts of napping, and with a smile Mallory reached out to pet his cat – ginger colored but for the black fur that ran up his back legs, which had earned the cat his name. “Hey, Boots,” Mallory said, scooping the cat up to hold against his chest, laughing as Boots began to purr. “Did you have a good day? You’re back early.”
The cat licked at his hand, then squirmed free and strolled through the grass to stand proudly beside his prize, mewling loudly for Mallory to Notice and Praise.
Mallory obeyed, moving to where his cat stood and kneeling to take in Boot’s kill of the day.
A fat rabbit, obviously glutting itself on the results of an excellent spring. Not a partridge, but just as good. Mallory reached out and pet Boots, heaping praise. “You are the finest of cats, Boots. Truly. I would be lost without you.”
Boots purred and pushed into his hand, titling his head just so for a chin scratch.
“Good boy,” Mallory murmured, scooping his cat up to rest against his shoulder. A rabbit like this…he could make pies early while his brothers were still asleep, drop them off at the baker’s to cook while he ran errands in town. He wished he had time for a good stew, but if his brothers saw him working on that they’d take it all and demand more.
He could even make extra and perhaps leave a few in exchange for a loaf or two of bread. The fur would sell too, Boots had snared a fine rabbit indeed. Singing cheerfully, Mallory picked the rabbit up by its ears in his free hand and strolled back to the house to set to work skinning and cleaning the prize.
Just as he’d finished, feeding a few prize morsels to his devoted hunter, he heard the sound of his name being called by the thick, heavy voices of his brothers.
Gathering up his hard work, wrapping it up tight so that it would be all right ‘til he could work on it later when his brothers either went into town or fell asleep, Mallory bolted into the house and down into the cellar, stowing the rabbit meat where it would keep. Racing back upstairs, he stripped and washed himself down at the small wash basin near the door, tossing the dirty, bloody water out the window just as his brothers barged in.
“You’re back early,” Mallory said. “Sorry I didn’t come to greet you, I was cleaning up from…” He paused. His brothers were smiling. Like…good mood smiles. They never did that, not after a long day of trying to find the treasure they were convinced father had left buried in the woods somewhere.
Ridiculous, of course, he didn’t know why they thought something that dumb. He’d tried asking, but they just grinned and told him to be quiet.
“Did you find what you were looking for?” he asked cautiously.
“Nearly,” Pollux said. “Very nearly.”
Castor matched his brother’s ugly, wolfish smile. “We’ve sold the mill and land.”
Mallory froze, unable to believe what he was hearing. “You what?”
“We sold the house. Bought and paid for this very day by Gleason.”
Gleason…the baker whom Mallory went to see every day…the one he always chatted with, who had always seemed…if not a friend, exactly, then at least a pleasant acquaintance.
He swallowed, fighting tears. This was their home, where they’d always lived – mother and father were buried in a low clearing not too far away. “How could you? Is this a joke?”
“We’re moving to the big city,” Pollux said. “We’re tired of this dump. In the city we can make plenty more money. Gleason is taking over the house day after tomorrow.”
Mallory dropped the wash bin he was still holding. “Day after tomorrow! But – we’ll never pack everything up by then. We don’t even have a cart to take it all…”
Castor sneered. “Who needs it? We don’t need this trash. In the city we’ll get much better. Five hundred silver!”
“We don’t know anything about city life. What about this place? It’s always been in the family, how could you…mother and father…” Mallory stumbled to a chair and sat, head spinning.
His brothers shrugged. Pollux flicked his fingers impatiently. “You can stay here if you want. It’s not like you talk to anyone but that dumb cat anyway. We don’t need you, probably be better off without you.”
The words would have hurt once, but Mallory had long grown inured to his brothers’ cruelty. As a child he used to pretend he wasn’t actually related to them, and had real brothers somewhere else in the world.
Certainly he didn’t look like them. His brothers both had light brown hair and hazel eyes, skin that tanned to a nut-brown in the sun, faces that would be handsome but for the laziness in their eyes and the meanness twisting their mouths.
By stark contrast, Mallory took after their mother – dark brown hair, light green eyes, skin that tanned golden, and as hard as he worked he did not put on much mass. Only Boots’ hard work kept meat on his bones, he often suspected.
He ignored his brothers as they continued to brag about their money, what they would do with it in the city – then finally wandered out again to brag further in town. Idiots. He thought for a moment that it would serve them right if they were robbed, then felt guilty for thinking such an awful thing.
Sighing, he altered his plans for the rest of the day – he would have to start packing up what he could and putting it…somewhere…
Despair and anger clawed at him, but Mallory stubbornly ignored them, determined not to give in. There was nothing he could do but pack up whatever he could and hide it somewhere until he found a place to live.
How would he find a home, though? He had no coin.
With a rough sound he tore out of the house and into the field – yelping as he tripped over something which sent up a mewling protest of its own. “Boots!” Mallory scrambled to sit up and pet his cat as it came up still mewling in reprimand. “I’m sorry, Boots.”
After one last mewl, Boots allowed Mallory to pet and placate him. Soothed, he climbed out of Mallory’s lap and walked several steps away – then turned and meowed.
Mallory stared at his cat, slowly standing up as the cat continued to simply meow at him. He moved toward Boots – only for the cat to take several more steps. Brow furrowed in confusion, but long used to his cat’s strange behavior, Mallory again approached.
Boots moved again. By the third repetition Mallory had caught on – Boots wanted Mallory to follow him. Sighing, wondering what his cat was up to now, Mallory obediently followed along.
A few minutes later he didn’t need to follow – this path led to only one thing. The little clearing where his parents and grandparents were buried. The brief levity achieved by Boot’s strange but endearing behavior died, replaced by a sadness that threatened to overwhelm.
Gone. He was all alone now. The mother he could not remember long dead, his father more recently dead…his brothers abandoning him for silver they would likely lose in a day…
He barely noticed as Boots bypassed the graves to go climb an old tree. Mallory approached his parents’ graves and knelt, softly whispering the prayers his father had taught him.
His fingers dug into the soft earth and he bowed his head low. “How could they do this, father? Our home…gone so quickly, and I will scarcely get to say goodbye…”
A harsh, angry meow brought his head jerking up and he gave a long sigh to see that Boots had somehow managed to crawl into a hollow in the tree trunk – no doubt some poor rodent was going to be terrified upon returning to its home. “You stupid cat,” he said, exasperated. “If you got yourself in there, get yourself out.”
Boots merely gave another impatient mewl and with another sigh Mallory rose and crossed the tree, reaching a hand in to drag the dumb cat out – but Boots fought his grip, squirming free. Mallory swore softly, shoving both hands inside the tree to pull the dratted feline out. “Cat! If you don’t want out, then don’t yell at me to—“
He forgot what he’d been saying as his hands landed on something that felt very much as though it had no place being in a tree. Wrapping his fingers around the soft leather, Mallory pulled it out. A leather pouch he recognized – father’s old coin pouch. It was full. Mallory spilled some of the coins out into his hands. Silver, at least fifty pieces.
Something that wasn’t silver.
Unable to believe what he was seeing, Mallory gingerly picked up the gold ring lying amongst the silver coins. It was…real gold…set with a rich green stone. Beautiful. Something a lord or lady would wear. Why was it here?
Boots mewled loudly, rubbing against his leg, clawing at his pants.
“Stop it, cat! What is with you today?” Reaching down to snag the cat, Mallory accidentally dropped the coin purse, scattering the silver in the grass, sending the ring bouncing away. Swearing – softly, because this was a graveyard after all – Mallory knelt and attempted to find the ring.
A muffled meow brought his head up and he glared at Boots, who sat proudly with the ring in his mouth.
Mallory smiled faintly. “Good kitty,” he said, and reached out to take the ring, but the cat moved and he grabbed wrong so instead of simply winding up in his grasp the ring slid onto his middle finger, the metal cool and sort of wet from being held in Boots’ mouth.
He started to take it off, feeling as though he were doing something wrong by wearing it somehow – but noticed abruptly that Boots’ eyes were glowing. Always a bright green, now they looked like sunlight shining through glass.
Gasping, Mallory scrambled back, still watching his cat anxiously as the glowing seemed to spread – he yelped as it grew too bright, looking away and shielding his face.
“Well, I do say, that’s much better.”
The voice was smooth, deep, with the cultured, elegant tones of an educated man – a noble.
Mallory slowly turned his head and looked up. His jaw dropped.
A man stood before him, tall and even more slender than Mallory – even now he could see the bones of the man’s wrist. He was handsome, the bones in his face as sharply defined as the rest of him, softened only slightly by the tight red curls spilling around his face, stopping just past his jaw and the faintest dusting of freckles.
Blazing green eyes.
And his clothes…a long dark green coat with shiny gold buttons, slit up the sides to his hips, the slightest bit of a dark cream undercoat just visible. He wore a thick sword belt around his hips. The tops of high black boots vanished beneath the long coat. The sleeves of the jacket ended in white cuffs trimmed in gold and green.
The man held out a hand. “Mallory, it is a pleasure to properly make your acquaintance. Thank you for finally putting that ring on.”
Mallory ignored the hand, more than content to keep staring until this all made sense. “W-who are you?”
The man grinned, and Mallory thought briefly of the performers who passed through occasionally, the way they dazzled the crowds with their looks and gestures, their smiles and tricks. This man had the same effect…charm, Mallory supposed, for all that he was strange looking. “For the past several years, since you were about twelve, I have been called Boots.” He swept an elegant bow and for the first time Mallory noticed that he held a hat in his other hand a dark green feather stuck in the brim. “Julian Radcliff, at your service, my lord.”
Mallory slowly stood up. “Boots?” He shook his head. “Boots is a cat.”
“Yes,” Julian said, still grinning. “A cat who has stolen your socks on more than one occasion, always sleeps on your pillow, likes to steal cream from the baker’s lazy cat, brought you a partridge yesterday and a rabbit today. Boots is also fond of scratching your brothers when they’re too drunk to retaliate.” He swept another bow.
“How…” He stared hard, and could think only that Julian’s eyes were an exact match for Boots’s…and that curly hair matched ginger fur. “Impossible.”
“Certainly not,” Julian said, wrinkling his nose. “If my lord will permit me, I would be most happy to explain how it is possible.”
Mallory shook his head, then nodded, then sighed. “All right…” He wondered if he’d fallen and hit his head on something. Perhaps his brothers had knocked him unconscious after he protested the selling of their home.
Julian moved to the trees, sitting down with his back against the trunk of one, setting his hat in his lap. He motioned for Mallory to join him. “Better if you sit, my lord.”
“Why do you keep calling me that?” Mallory asked, not able to think of anything more intelligent to say.
In reply, Julian merely grinned and again indicated he should sit. “In due time, my lord, in due time. Sit, please. I would never do you any harm. I swear it on those very graves.”
Mallory pondered the strange man, then with a sigh, obeyed and sat nearby in the grass – just out of reach, and close to the path leading out of the clearing so he could bolt if necessary.
“As I said before, my name is Julian Radcliff.” He lowered his head in a slight bow. “I have long been in the service of the Marquis de Carabas…perhaps you know the name?”
Mallory frowned in thought. “That…is the name of the family who used to own these lands, back before the Marquis D’Ogre took them over.”
“Quite so,” Julian said, beaming in approval, green eyes glinting. Mallory flushed and dropped his gaze, feeling both pleased and stupid that he felt pleased. Julian continued speaking, thankfully, sparing Mallory his own thoughts. “The de Carabas family was given this land generations ago by the King and cared for it diligently through the years…until about seventeen years ago when a jealous, hateful man had the entire family brutally murdered. No one survived, or so it was believed.” He smiled faintly.
“Are you a de Carabas?” Mallory asked, not certain what Julian meant by all this. “Is that what you’re trying to tell me?”
Julian shook his head, laughing softly. “No…my story predates even that terrible night. A long, long time ago I was magician, and a very particular type at that. I was able to shift my shape, alter my form to whatever creature I desired. A horse, a bird, a fox, a cat…” His face twisted into a bitter scowl. “I got into a fight with another magician – he cheated, and so I lost. He stole my power and enslaved me, forcing me to take the shape of a cat unless he desired otherwise.”
He raked a hand through his hair and attempted another smile, but this time Mallory noticed that it fell completely flat. “I was his slave for years, forced to do a great many unspeakable things.” His green eyes had gone dark, like leaves right before a storm. “Finally a man came along who was able to defeat the magician…but with the magician gone he had no way of learning how to undo the spell cast upon me. It was simply too intricate, too unusual.” Julian sighed sadly. “The best he could ever do was to alter it a bit.” He indicated the ring Mallory wore. “The man who rescued me shortly thereafter became the first Marquis of Carabas. So long as one of his blood wears that ring, I am able to take my true form.”
Mallory blinked. “And if no one is wearing the ring you’re a cat?”
“Yes,” Julian said, mouth quirking as though he were vastly amused by something.
A heartbeat later realization dawned. Mallory choked. “One of his blood! Wait—you can’t mean—“
Julian grinned. “Yes, my lord. You are the last Marquis de Carabas and as such the rightful ruler of this province.”
“That’s impossible!” Mallory said, scrambling to his feet, stumbling back. “I grew up here, my mother—“
“Died back in the Castle of Carabas,” Julian said gently, eyes kind but intent. “You look just like her. Hearing what the miller said of the “mother” who brought you here…I think your nurse must have smuggled you out. I do not know how she did it…” He shook his head. “Astonishing, simply astonishing.”
Mallory sat down hard, burying his face in his hands, breaths ragged as he fought to make sense of all he was being told. “It’s not true,” he whispered. “I’m just a poor farm boy. My mother died of illness when I was a babe. Age and grief over my brothers killed my father.”
Warm arms wrapped around him, surrounding him in the scent of earth and wildflowers. The soft fabric of Julian’s coat felt nice against his cheek.
“I’m sorry,” Julian said quietly. “I’ve been callous. You did not deserve to hear these things in so uncouth a fashion. I fear being a cat for so long has not been good for me.”
Mallory stirred, slowly pulling back looking up. “Are you…really Boots? Why…why did I not get the ring sooner?”
Julian sighed and reached out to absently smooth Mallory’s hair. “You were not old enough. I still feel perhaps you are too young for such burdens. Beyond that…when the castle was attacked, I was badly injured. I tried hard to save them…” His face twisted in bitter anguish, the expression so wrenching Mallory found it hard to breathe. “They took us by surprise and by the time I could act it was too late. A maid had managed to hide away, and by that point I was a cat once more, there being no one to wear the ring…she fled, taking me with her, and we lived for many years in a castle far away from here. The Queen of the castle traded me for a favor from a magician…” Julian smiled and tweaked Mallory’s nose. “The magician gave me to the miller, who had begged the magician to find him someone to protect you from your brothers when he was gone.”
Tears stung Mallory’s eyes and he ducked his head to hide them. Protect him…his father…no, the miller… He shook his head. His father. The man who had loved him and raised him. “Did he know the truth?”
“I do not know,” Julian said softly. “Sometimes, I rather thought he did. I was never certain, though. He knew the ring the nurse brought with her was your birthright, though I will always wonder how she managed to obtain it. I believe it is the ring and coins your brothers have been hunting in the woods, though of course the miller hid them where those two fools would never look.”
Gentle fingers grasped Mallory’s chin and forced his head up. “I am sorry, my lord. Perhaps I should not have acted so soon…but I feared what would become of you now that you’ve been displaced. My sole purpose in life is to protect you.”
“It…” Mallory started, pulled free of the gentle hold. “I have to pack! I can’t lose all of my things.” He buried his face in his hands again. “Where am I going to go?”
Julian gave a soft snorting laugh and then Mallory was being hugged again. “My lord, you’ve a castle to reclaim if you want it. We’ve only to drive out the stupid Ogre.”
Mallory laughed, afraid of what he’d do if he didn’t laugh. “I’m a silly country boy, how am I supposed to get rid of anyone? I’m the one being got rid of! By someone I thought I could trust…”
He felt more than heard the low growling sound that rumbled in Julian’s chest. Then his face was again being tilted up and he stared into the green eyes that looked strange to him in a man’s face, rather than a cat’s. “You can trust me, my lord, forever and always. I swear on my life. I will get rid of the foul Ogre which taints your castle, and give you a worthy home.”
The grin he flashed reminded Mallory of the cat who liked to steal his socks, who always looked so smug and pleased when he brought home a fat partridge. “Then you can tell that stupid baker where he can put his bread and take back the mill as well.”
Mallory laughed again, and this time he realized he was genuinely amused. As the laughter finally faded, he shrugged. “Well, what else have I to do?” He looked at the ring on his hand. “I’m no Marquis, but I am homeless…so what can it hurt to try?”
“That’s the spirit, my lord,” Julian said, then stood and dragged Mallory up with him.
Julian slid his hat onto his head, pulling it down over his eyes in way that again reminded Mallory of his playful, mischievous cat. He winked, then turned and quickly retrieved all the spilled coins, and Mallory thought he should be displeased at the way Julian tucked them into his jacket but found he was not.
So much silver only made him uncomfortable. If Julian was nothing but a talented charlatan, come morning Mallory would be no worse off than he was now. He looked again at the ring on his finger, rubbing the green stone. Finally he turned to the graves and said a silent prayer, then turned back to Julian. “We have to empty the house first.”
“As my lord commands,” Julian said, sweeping him an elegant bow before turning and leading the way from the clearing.
Forever and a Day
The Knight was perfect.
Armor well crafted, glinting in the sunlight pouring through the caved in roof of the grand hall. A sword that had probably cost more gold than most people saw their entire lives. The shield was just as fine…the crest was…somewhere in the south, perhaps – they always favored fish.
The long tunic over his armor was bright blue, trimmed in more fish in white thread. Hair the color of gold, but matted and damp with sweat, sticking to his forehead and neck, rather ruining the image of Gallant Knight.
What little remained of that image was ruined by the bright red of his face, as though all the exertion was killing the poor bastard. No doubt it was. This time of year, the weather was hot enough to cook anything that held still too long.
Like arrogant knights who decided the smart thing was to trek up a mountain in full armor at the peak of summer.
Evariste snorted and dropped down from where he’d been sunning on what remained of the roof. He bared his teeth as the knight recoiled, lifting that fancy sword. A mutinous, defiant look overtook the knight’s face. It made him look even more ridiculous. “Dragon, I—“
“Have come to rescue the sleeping princess, blah, blah, blah,” Evariste finished for him impatiently. He dropped his arms from where they were folded across his chest and flexed his claws, snickering at the way the knight recoiled. Honestly, knights were pathetic these days. Once upon a time they’d attacked boldly, unafraid and determined.
Or maybe he was just too much dragon for them. Evariste grinned and threw himself at the knight, growling just to see if the knight would squeak – he did and Evariste growled more, shoving the knight back hard, then whipping around, tail lashing out to send the knight slamming into the crumbling wall.
“Go away,” Evariste snarled. “You are not good enough.”
“I’m not done yet, foul dragon!”
Evariste snorted. He was most certainly not foul. Just this morning he’d taken a bath, and had polished his scales until they shone the brightest of blues. His claws were clean and sharpened – definitely not foul. He’d always rather though himself a handsome dragon. His scales were evenly colored from head to foot and tail tip, a dark blue that made far better armor than the stupid stuff Knights wore. “At least I am not a dumb human,” he growled, then sprang forward, snarling and yipping, driving the knight back, laughing as the fool tripped on a loose bit of stone.
This one wasn’t even proving to be mildly amusing. How did these men get to be knights? Disgusted, Evariste knocked him out with a hard punch and then dragged him out of the crumbling castle, across the valley to where he’d left his horse, and heaved the knight over the saddle.
The horse whinnied at him, and Evariste pet its nose carefully with his claws, laughing faintly when the horse pushed into him for more attention. “Yes, you are a very good girl,” he assured the mare. “Take your foolish master home, now. I hope they give you some oats.”
He waited until the horse and her bumbling knight were well out of sight before he turned and slowly trekked back to his castle.
What was left of it, anyway.
The castle was old, it had been in the family of his masters for generations – at least until they’d packed up and left one day. Really it was just an overblown manor that presumed to be greater than it was. He had always been faithful and loyal to his family, but they had been silly.
His tail lashed restlessly as he walked through the crumbling grand hall, noting every bit of damage and destruction, recalling all the fights that had caused it. Knights often seemed to think that slaying a dragon involved destroying the surroundings as well.
Sighing, he made his way through the grand hall and up what remained of the main stairway up to the little room that had been given to him when he’d first been given to his family. The room was rather stark, the bedclothes and tapestry over the window faded and threadbare. A lone chest stood at the foot of the bed, as plain as the rest of the room.
And empty, save for a precious few items – one of those a simple brown tunic as old and tired as the one he currently wore. It had once fallen to his ankles, and had been cinched with a plain but nice leather belt. The belt had not survived a particular fight and he had nothing but rope to replace it now.
In a small leather pouch he kept several pebbles found in the stream bed, which was as far as he could go to the north and east.. They were very pretty pebbles, worn smooth and round, some of them almost shining.
Beyond the tunic and the pouch, there were only two other objects – a plain silver ring that had been given to him when he’d first arrived and a little crystal vial of nasty smelly stuff. The ring he kept scrupulously polished and bright – so very shiny and lovely, his little ring. But it didn’t sparkle the way the crystal did. Beautiful, once he’d dumped out the smelly stuff and cleaned it up in the stream.
Evariste picked up the little vial and turned it over and over, eyes intent as he watched the way the sunlight caught it, made it flash and sparkle, drawing out so many colors… Gently he put it back, tucking it into the folds of the tunic so it was protected. Then he took out the ring and pet it, clucking that it was not quite as shiny as it could be. He would have to polish it later, after he walked the perimeters. Lastly he took out the pouch and set out each pebble to properly admire, petting each one before carefully putting them all away in the pouch again.
Sighing, he finally stood up and went to tend his duties. Some days there seemed little point to it all – he always knew when the knights were coming, and he likely would not see another one for months and months.
But he was a good dragon and would do as he’d been ordered – protect the manor and lands of his family until they returned.
Though ten years was a long time to be gone…
He snarled and shoved the thoughts away, making his way out of the castle, walking as far as he could, patrolling the borderline of the property, starting at the south and going west, curving along the street along the north end of the property to finish on the east side, which was his favorite part of the stream.
Safety of the lands secured for the day, Evariste gave in to an urge to play, stripping off his tunic and tossing it over a tree branch so it wouldn’t get dirty, then wading into the water, rumbling happily. It was cold, but not unpleasantly so though his family had never liked it, and it was such a nice contrast to the hot sun overhead…
He dove beneath the water, which got rather deep in the middle, eyes not quite as good underwater as otherwise, but still sharp enough to pick out anything that might be good enough for his chest.
None of them were as pretty as Mistress’s jewels had been…he’d always wished she’d given him one of those….
Growling unhappily, upset that the knight had come along and ruined his good mood, Evariste focused on finding pretty pebbles, but eventually he surfaced empty handed. Ah, well – maybe he would find something tomorrow.
Soaking wet, he retrieved his tunic from the tree and walked slowly back to the castle. Now that the knight was gone, and work finished for the day, he could return to dozing on what remained of the roof.
If he was lucky, his mind would settle on happy things instead of wondering what it would be like when his family finally came for him. Though that would be even better than having real treasure.
*~*~*~*
Evariste looked up from admiring his new pebble at the sound of movement downstairs. A knight? How had one gotten so far without him noticing? Too close! Setting his pebbles in his trunk, he quietly closed it and then slunk from his room and downstairs, staying out of sight as he entered the grand hall through the servant door.
His eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed in suspicion. This…was a very strange knight. For one, he wore no armor at all, beyond a simple leather jerkin over a dark green tunic that stopped mid-thigh, with dark brown leggings and high brown boots. His hair was as bright as sunshine, no helmet in sight, messy and sort of spiked up, as if a hand was frequently dragged through it.
At his waist was a plain sword in an equally unadorned scabbard, hung from a thick sword belt wrapped twice around his waist, as simple and serviceable as the rest of him. The strange knight was mostly facing away, so Evariste could not see his face – then abruptly he turned around.
Evariste drew a sharp breath, eyes widening. There was a jewel in the man’s forehead. It was a beautiful blue color, even from a distance. The sunlight spilling down through the ruined roof made it shimmer and flash and Evariste barely kept from growling with a sudden, deep hunger to see and touch and admire the sparkling gem.
Nor was the knight so bad – handsome, older than most of the knights that came to rescue the nonexistent princess. He was sort of…rough looking, but handsome. Sort of like the pretty pebbles Evariste collected; rough, hard stone worn down so it looked appealing but was still tough.
Evariste wanted to see the jewel, but it was more important to get rid of the knight. He’d promised to protect the castle, and he didn’t want anyone to know that he’d been—that he was still waiting. Yes. His family would come back for him, they would.
Growling loudly now, Evariste stood and stalked out into the grand hall. “Knight. You will not get the princess!”
Instead of making one of the usual replies, the man merely smiled as though extremely pleased. “There is a dragon up here! And such a fine one!”
Evariste frowned, confused. “…What?”
“I didn’t think the knights were telling the truth,” the man explained. “No one has lived up here for years, so I couldn’t see how a dragon would be here…”
“That is none of your business!” Evariste snarled. “You will leave or I will make you.” He flexed his claws, tensing to spring. The jewel on the man’s head flashed, and Evariste suddenly felt a cold tingling crawl over his scales. He growled low, knowing now why this knight was so strange. He had never met one before, but he knew of them – even sort of remembered they wore jewels. “Mage!”
“Yes,” the man said, smiling. “So you’re completely immune to magic…and the brightness of your scales…a very fine dragon, indeed. Why are you all alone up here?”
“I am not alone!” Evariste replied, growling. He felt anxious, sick. This mage-knight needed to go away. He wasn’t alone, he wasn’t, he was just waiting until his family returned for him. This annoying man needed to leave. Angrily he launched himself at the mage-knight, snarling when the man actually dodged away, growling with all his fury when he continued to do so, the mage-knight seemingly afraid of nothing, cleverly dodging his tail, ducking his claws – then all of a sudden Evariste found he was the one sent crashing into a wall, the knight standing over him, sword pressed to Evariste’s throat.
“Will you stop attacking?” the man asked. “I don’t want to fight you.”
Evariste growled low, but didn’t try to move – the sword probably couldn’t get through his scales, but he’d never fought a mage before, and he’d never heard of mages who used swords like knights, so he wasn’t entirely sure. “What do you want, mage?”
“Odilon,” the mage said calmly. “My name is Odilon. I’m a wandering mage currently doing trifling jobs for the King. I heard an interesting rumor and came to see what the reality truly was – I did not know the knights were telling the truth when they spoke of a dragon.”
“Knights tend to be very stupid,” Evariste said cautiously.
Odilon flashed a grin. “Yes, that is quite true. Will you stop attacking me, dragon? I promise I mean you no harm, I merely wanted to know who kept beating up all the knights. I thought it some troll or hermit, and the knights were attempting to save face.”
Evariste nodded, and slowly stood up as Odilon backed away. “So what do you want, if not to slay me?”
“What are you protecting?” Odilon asked, ignoring the question. “There is no one living here, that is easy enough to see. Is the story about a sleeping princess true?”
Growling low, feeling panicked, miserable, wanting the mage-knight to leave and never come back, Evariste backed far away, moving slowly to the door that led to the tower where the princess purportedly slept. He’d never made the story up, somehow it just happened, and he’d picked it up so no one would know his shameful secret. “Leave, mage. You are not wanted here. You will not beat me every time.”
Odilon frowned, looking troubled. “Very well, but I won’t stay away. I believe I’ll come again tomorrow.” He winked. “With a resounding defeat. Farewell, dragon.”
Evariste waited until the mage-knight was well and truly gone, climbing up to the tower to make certain of it, growling low all the while, deeply troubled.
He’d never been beaten before. Never. He was a strong dragon; that was why he’d been given to his family. They’d needed a strong dragon…to watch over them while they lived in alone in the mountains…and to guard their home in their absence…because they would come back.
They would.
*~*~*~*
To Evariste’s surprise, the mage-knight returned the next day.
He hopped down from his perch on the roof of the grand hall and growled low. “What?” he asked.
Odilon smiled easily. “Hullo, dragon. How does the day find you?”
Evariste frowned. “What do you want, mage?” he asked, tail lashing. He flexed his claws in warning.
“You’re supposed to say – ‘Quite well, Odilon, how does the day find you?’ and then I reply ‘very well indeed.’”
“You are a very strange mage,” Evariste replied.
Odilon laughed. “Yes, I am frequently told that, but as I’m very good at what I do, people find they are forced to put up with my oddness. I shall assume the day finds you well, then, my dear dragon. I have brought you a gift. He rifled through a bag slung across his chest, coming out with a small leather pouch. Grasping the drawstrings that kept it closed, he held it out toward Evariste. “To say I’m sorry for upsetting you yesterday.”
Evariste growled uncertainly, tail lashing more restlessly than ever. A gift? No one gave him gifts, except for the silver ring he’d gotten when he first arrived. Why would someone not his family give him a gift? It must be a trap. “You are trying to trick me.”
“No,” Odilon said gently, shaking his head. “Catch!”
He caught the bag purely out of reflex, surprised at the weight. The bag was smaller than his fist, and the contents felt smaller still. It should not weigh what it did. Frowning, wondering if this was some sort of mage-knight trick, he pulled open the strings and dumped the contents into his hand.
His eyes widened, and for a moment Evariste couldn’t remember how to breathe. It—it was a jewel! The size of a robin egg, it was a deep, rich green that positively sparkled as he held it to the sunlight.
So pretty.
Evariste moved to where the sunlight could better strike it, turning it over and over, watching it sparkle, memorizing every bit of it.
A soft chuckle broke into his thoughts, and he realized the mage-knight had drawn way too close. He growled low and held the jewel tight in his fist. “You can’t have it back,” he said. It was his now, the mage-knight had said it was a gift. A jewel, a real and beautiful jewel for his chest.
Odilon smiled. “It’s yours, I don’t want it.” His eyes gleamed. “There is a far finer treasure I seek.”
Finer? What could be finer than something which sparkled and shone and flashed? There was no such thing – except his family of course, but a family was family and not treasure. “Why do you give me treasure?” he asked.
“To say I’m sorry I upset you,” Odilon replied. “I do not suppose you would tell me your name?”
Evariste frowned…but the mage-knight had given him a jewel…and was being nice…and he hadn’t yet called Evariste a foul dragon. “My name is Evariste,” he finally said.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Odilon said, and swept him a bow.
Oh. No one had ever done that before. Back when he’d had his family, most people just ignored him unless they did something suspicious and he growled at them. Knights only wanted to kill him. “You are a very strange mage.”
Odilon merely grinned. “So how long have you lived here, Evariste?”
It felt very strange to hear someone else say his name, when he’d not heard it every since his family had left. “I came here when I was five,” he said. “I am twenty five now.”
“Twenty years?” Odilon stared at him. “Impressive. You must be a very loyal dragon – even more loyal than most.”
Evariste blinked, surprised. “I am very loyal, as all dragons should be.” He lifted his chin. “I was a gift to my family, and always guarded them.”
“Past tense,” Odilon said softly. “You don’t guard them anymore.”
Evariste stiffened, then snarled angrily and backed away. “You tricked me,” he hissed. “I obey my family and do as they tell me. Go away.” Growling, he turned and fled the courtyard, racing up to his room and curling up in his bed – too small for him now, as he’d only been fifteen when his family left, but it was his bed and that was all that mattered.
He stared at the pretty jewel, knowing he should throw it away but not able to. It sparkled and shone, the green deep and rich, and he’d never had such pretty treasure before.
The sound of movement brought his head up, and he growled angrily to see Odilon in the doorway. “I told you to go away!” he snarled. “You are not welcome here!”
“I’m sorry,” Odilon said softly. “I’ve upset you again. I didn’t mean to – could I give you another gift?”
“No,” Evariste said. “You can leave.”
“Why do you stay here without your family?”
“Because they told me to!” Evariste snarled, chest feeling tight and sore, eyes burning. “Go away!” Unable to stand the stupid mage-knight, he ripped away the faded tapestry covering the window and climbed out, holding his jewel carefully in his mouth as he scaled the wall and hid on the roof.
He ignored the way Odilon called his name, hoping the stupid mage-knight wouldn’t follow him…yet as the sun was setting and finally saw Odilon mount his horse and ride away, Evariste felt worse than ever. He looked at his jewel until it was too dark to see, then climbed back down and into his bed, where he didn’t fall asleep for a long time.
*~*~*~*
Evariste tucked his jewel away in its pouch, which he’d attached to the rope around his waist. He’d tried to put it in his chest, but it was too pretty. He liked being able to look at it whenever he wanted, no matter where he was.
These men were not normal knights – their armor was strange…it looked funny in the sunlight, glimmering oddly…but Evariste could not figure out what bothered him about it. Three of them, and they all clattered horribly where they’d fastened their helmets to their belts. The swords they drew were as ugly as the armor – tools, little more, though they looked better cared for than the armor.
“Dragon!” The one in front roared. “Come out and play!”
Fighting back a growl, for that would give him away, Evariste waited. These men did not smell right. They did not smell like sweat and metal and flowers as most knights did, nor did they smell like sunshine, as the annoying knight-mage did.
No, these men smelled sour…and like blood.
There. Right beneath him. Evariste launched himself through the hole in the roof, landing hard with claws out on the smallest of the three, growling loudly, gathering the man up and pitching him into the other two. “Get out!” He bellowed, long tail lashing. He lunged at all three, determined to get rid of the big one because—
He screamed in pain as the big one threw a powder in his face, and stumbled back, trying desperately to get the stuff out of his eyes but it wouldn’t go away and it hurt and he felt dizzy and what was this stuff? Growling, snarling, he attacked blindly. “Go away!” he said, unable to see anything but a few blurry blobs. Frustrated, truly scared, he kept trying to attack them, but all he heard was laughter, followed by flashes of heat and pain and he realized their swords had gotten through his scales and—
Dizziness washed over him stronger than ever, and Evariste tried again to get the weird powder from his face, but it only seemed to get worse and there was more pain and then somehow shoved him down and he only heard someone mutter something about armor and treasure and no they couldn’t have his treasure!
There was another flash of pain and he screamed – then the world went mercifully black.
*~*~*~*
Evariste opened his eyes and immediately wondered what was strange.
This was…not his castle. The ceiling was most strange – squares of dark, gold-brown wood, each carved with odd images. He sat up slowly, confusion and anxiety growing. Anxiously he touched his face. Everything seemed okay…
Where was he?
The bed reminded him much of the one master and mistress had slept in, the one time he’d seen it. Big, wide, a tall post at each corner that led to a covering, from which hung drapes. The wood was darker than the ceiling, and the drapes hanging from it were a slightly lighter gold-brown…and shimmered faintly. The bedclothes were the same, a heavy quilt of the softest fabric he’d ever felt, warm and smooth beneath his hands.
Large rugs covered a wooden floor here and there…a fireplace of dark brown stone, with a small table nearby, and shelves filled with books and scrolls on the wall to Evariste’s right, the opposite hosting three long windows, currently covered with colorful tapestries.
He continued to look around the room, more confused than ever – then his eyes landed on something he recognized, tucked on the far side of the shelves filled with books.
His chest. Why was his chest here? Had the awful knights with the stupid powder taken his treasures along with him? Why had they taken him? Weren’t they trying to kill him? Evariste rumbled in confusion and ducked his head – only then noticing the bandage on his forearm.
And now that he was noticing, other pains became apparent and he threw back the bedclothes to see that his left thigh was bandaged as well, and that still more bandages were wrapped around his chest – his back ached something fierce now, that must have been where they struck that last blow that knocked him out.
He wasn’t dressed – his clothes were gone unless they were in his trunk. It wasn’t the clothes he cared about though – he’d been carrying his jewel at the time and now it was gone and he’d never get another like that. Maybe they’d left him his crystal and silver and pebbles at least….
Anxious to know, needing to know, Evariste climbed out of bed with a hiss of pain and limped toward his trunk, grunting as he knelt down. He fumbled briefly with the fastenings, but finally got them undone and threw back the lid.
It was all there. His tunics, his pebbles, his ring, his crystal – and his jewel. Rumbling happily, something in him easing, Evariste tugged on his ragged tunic and then scooped up the green jewel and examined it for any damage, relearning all the ways it sparkled.
The sound of the door opening brought his head up, and he clenched the jewel tight to keep it from the eyes of whoever – “You!” He stood up, wincing slightly in pain, and growled low at the mage-knight. “Why are you here?”
Odilon chuckled softly. “I live here, Evariste. You were badly injured by those mercs, and this was the only way to save you.”
Evariste growled, tail lashing. “Mercs? The sour knights, you mean? The ones with that stupid powder?”
“Yes,” Odilon said with a grimace. “That was swamp power. Apparently word of the dragon on the mountain has spread, and they wanted your hide to make armor.”
“What?” Evariste, horrified. “Dragon scales?” He growled low, realizing suddenly why they mercs’ armor had seemed strange to him – it had been poorly tended dragon scale. He shuddered and hugged himself, not even his jewel able to ease the fear and disgust that washed over him in a cold wave.
“You’re safe now,” Odilon said, voice quiet, and despite himself Evariste felt warmed and soothed by it.
Still, he could not help his suspicions. “What do you want? When can I go home? Where am I?”
“You shouldn’t go home until people forget about you,” Odilon said. “It’s not safe.”
Evariste mewled low at the mention of being forgotten. He wasn’t forgotten! He wasn’t! “So what do you want, mage?”
“I told you,” Odilon said with a soft smile. “I’m attempting to acquire a great treasure.”
“What kind of great treasure?” He held his jewel tight.
Odilon grinned. “It’s blue and shining, strong and fierce, loyal and hopelessly devoted. I assure you, all jewels pale in comparison.”
Evariste frowned. “You are a very, very strange man. It sounds like an odd treasure. What sort of treasure is all those things?”
“A very fine one,” Odilon said softly. “How are your wounds?”
Huffing in confused frustration, Evariste shrugged. “Fine. What is this place?” He wanted to go back to his castle, to where things made sense. He didn’t want to be here with a strange and confusing mage.
“This is my home,” Odilon said with a bright smile. “It’s old, but sturdy, and you can see how much effort was put into it.” He motioned to the ceiling. “This sort of thing is everywhere, every tile telling a story. That one is about dragons,” he said, pointing to a tile close to Evariste. “How two of them defended the Great Queen from a band of rogues.”
Evariste looked where he indicated, surprised to see he told the truth – the wood was carved into the shape of two large dragons guarding a woman in a flowing gown from a band of men who looked, to his mind, a lot like the sour men who had attacked him. He growled low, pleased the dragons were going to defeat them.
“I can tell you the other stories, sometime. Are you hungry? I have food downstairs.”
Food sounded good, as did more stories, he’d always liked the stories the servants of his family had told.
His family…
Evariste rumbled low, guiltily, as he realized he’d almost forgotten all about his family since Odilon had walked in the room. “I have to go back to my castle, to be there when my family returns for me.”
A shadow passed over Odilon’s face. “Evariste…your family isn’t coming back. They’re gone.”
“No!” Evariste shouted, snapping. How dare anyone say that! He’d been loyal and strong all his life and his family had said that and that they’d come back for him. “You don’t know! They promised they’d return! I was their gift, their dragon! I said I would wait and protect and you aren’t going to stop me.” Snarling, tail lashing, he stalked to the door – and abruptly stopped outside in the hallway.
Growling in frustration, ignoring Odilon’s voice behind him, he turned right and stormed down the long hallway, wanting out and to be home and away from the strange mage-knight even if he was the one who had given Evariste the pretty jewel.
He snarled as he reached a dead end, but before he could decide which room to bolt into, anxious to avoid stupid Odilon, the mage-knight rounded the corner and strode toward him “Evariste, you should not be moving so with those wounds.” Odilon frowned. “Your leg is bleeding again.”
Evariste followed his gaze and saw what he was now feeling – he had indeed reopened the wound on his leg. His shoulders sagged. It wasn’t fair. He’d never done anything but what his family had told him to do – why all this? “They’re coming back,” he said, chest getting that tight, heavy feeling again, eyes burning.
“No,” Odilon said softly. “I’ve been searching, while you slept. They crossed the sea a long time ago.”
“No!” Evariste shouted. “You’re lying! They said they’d come back – I was their dragon—“ Angrily he wiped away the tears that had started streaming down his face, furious he was doing something so stupid in front of the mage-knight. “You’re wrong!” He sank to the floor, the pain in his injured leg too great, and buried his face in hands.
It wasn’t fair. He’d only ever done what he was told, and because of that he was trapped in the house of a strange mage-knight who said his family had left him to go across the sea. They wouldn’t!
Except it had been ten years…
Evariste shuddered in agony, feeling as though he were in pieces, even his pretty jewel not enough to make all the pain go away.
Then all of a sudden he was surrounded by warmth and the smell of sunshine, soft words being murmured in his ear, hands stroking his back, and Evariste wanted to pull away and tell the mage-knight to leave him alone because it was all his fault – but instead he only cried harder and held tight.
“Come on,” Odilon said gently some time later. “Let’s get you some food, hmm? And fix that leg.”
Feeling drained and hideously embarrassed, Evariste let himself be led back through the halls and slowly down a set of wide, curving stairs. Unable to walk on his own at the moment, he had to lean on Odilon and laboriously limp his way along until they at last settled in a small, warm room which sported nothing more than a long, low…bench thing with deep cushions and a curving back at one end. Odilon put him there and then brought a tray full of all kinds of food from a table, setting it on a nearby smaller table. “Here,” the mage-knight said with a soft smile. “A meat pie my housekeeper made this morning. It’s very tasty. I’ll fix your leg while you eat.”
Though he hissed in pain from time to time as Odilon cleaned and bandaged his leg, the food was far more interesting – so much better than the fish he most often ate, the occasional deer that strayed onto castle property. He quickly finished the meat pie Odilon had given him, and with a gentle encouragement from the mage-knight, he eagerly set to eating more of the food. Another pie, something that was white – crunchy and sweet and tart. The berries he recognized. Eggs! Those he knew.
A soft chuckle stopped him as he bit into one of the boiled eggs, and he looked guiltily at Odilon – disconcerted to see the man was giving him another of those soft smiles.
“You must be healing well if you’re that hungry,” Odilon said. “Eat all you want, my housekeeper will be happy that someone around here will finally appreciate her cooking.” He winked. “Your leg should be fine so long as you stay off it.”
Evariste’s shoulders sagged as he hastily finished the egg, mouth dry as he swallowed. “So where am I supposed to go?” He…thinking of home made him sick, suddenly. His eyes stung when he thought about being left behind…
“Go? You can stay here, of course. I would like you to stay,” Odilon said. Calloused fingers grasped Evariste’s chin and tilted his face up. “I realize you probably don’t want to be here, and you are welcome to leave whenever you want – but I would very much like for you to stay.”
Tugging free of the gentle hold, Evariste closed his eyes, wanting nothing more than to go to sleep and never wake up. “Why?” he asked. “I’m obviously a worthless dragon.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Yes, I am!” Evariste snapped, opening his eyes as he jerked his head up to glare at Odilon. “If I’d been sufficiently skilled, strong enough, good enough, my family wouldn’t have—have—have abandoned me.” He forced the ugly word, hating the sound of it. Abandoned. He dropped his head and stared miserably at his hands. His scales were dull, in need of a good scrubbing. So too his claws, covered in dirt and grime. He grimaced at the hair he could see, the blue-black strands snarled and knotted and tangled.
Then Odilon was kneeling in front of him, and Evariste dully noted that the mage-knight was as fine as Evariste currently was hideous. His spiky hair was still sunshine bright, completely askew, such an interesting, almost playful contrast to the harder lines of his handsome face. But the thoughts were distant, automatic.
“You’re a splendid dragon,” Odilon said firmly, voice somehow cutting through the numbness Evariste was beginning to feel. “The family that left you was stupid. They didn’t deserve a dragon like you.”
“I was a gift…” Evariste said sadly. Taken from his mother and brothers not long after he could function more or less on his own, young enough to grow with his family and be close to them. Hadn’t he been a good dragon? He knew the castle and property by heart. He’d caught a thief, driven off bandits, scared away annoying visitors… “I tried to be a worthy gift.”
“They weren’t worthy of you,” Odilon said fervently, and for the first time Evariste noticed his eyes were blue, a few shades lighter than the glittering stone set into the middle of his forehead…both similar to his scales. He didn’t know why he thought that, or why it mattered…but somehow it did. “You’re the finest dragon I’ve ever seen, and I’ve seen many. You’re beautiful and strong and loyal and I would really like it if you stayed.”
Evariste nodded – it wasn’t as though he had anywhere else to go, after all.
“Good. Perhaps someday you’ll be happy here. I hope so, for I’d like to see you happy.” Odilon smiled and stood up, then bent to slowly and carefully help him up. “Now, you should rest and heal.
At those words, Evariste finally felt every last bit of strain and weariness and exhaustion. By the time they’d gotten him upstairs and settled in the bed where he’d woken up, he was barely conscious at all. The last thing he remembered was something warm against his cheek, while something cool was pressed into his hand, then sleep mercifully took him away.
*~*~*~*
Evariste studied his latest jewel intently. The deep, burning red was beautiful, like fire – but he likes his blues and greens more. Still, the red made a pretty contrast. He moved away from the window to add the latest jewel to his growing collection.
In the meantime, have some graveyard fics. For one reason or another, these have both died on me. I thought the first might revive, but I think it's a goner.
Again, I apologize for the whining.
Boots
Mallory tensed as he heard the sound of a branch snapping off in the woods – when it was followed by the sound of an animal scurrying deep in the brush, he gave a long sigh of relief and went back to weeding the garden.
Pollux and Castor weren’t due back until sunset, but they’d returned early before…often worse than if they’d returned on time.
Shoving away thoughts of his brothers, determined not to ruin his good mood, Mallory resumed humming and bent back to weeding the tiny garden he’d managed to keep going despite everything.
Tomatoes were good, as were the cucumbers, onions, potatoes…a difficult garden, but worth it, and often their only reliable source of food as Pol and Cas spent more time in fruitless searching, bickering, and bragging about things they’d never done or would do at the local tavern with whatever coin they scraped together.
Angry that he was ruining his good mood, Mallory yanked hard at a weed and threw it into the heap at the edge of the garden. He sat back on his heels to wipe the sweat from his brow, even though that really only replaced it with dirt. It was nearly dinner time, and he could have the bit of leftover meat pie he’d fixed yesterday.
Right after he finished the garden. Nearly done.
Bending back to his work, falling into the rough rhythm of it, he picked back up humming the old song his father used to sing while they worked – stopping short when he came to the end, startled he’d actually finished. Blinking, Mallory slowly pulled himself to his feet, stretching with a long groan, shaking his hair from his face.
He walked toward the stream with stiff steps, unable to avoid looking at the tired mill. Old when he was a boy, it had only grown worse since it had fallen into disuse with the building of a much better mill closer to town.
Kneeling, he quickly washed off in the refreshingly cold water, yanking off his dilapidated straw hat to rake water through his hair.
Not that it really mattered, he would never get anything done if he had to run the mill…but it was yet one more thing falling down around him about which he could do nothing.
The door creaked as he pushed it open, rattling as it hit the wall. Inside was the smell of age – old wood, older stones, dust and neglect. Sometimes he thought he could still smell baking apple bread, a scent that was all he could remember of the mother who’d died when he was a small boy.
His father’s rocking chair was by the little fireplace, a faded quilt draped over it. On the nearby table, set with four chairs, were his brothers’ remains of breakfast and Mallory gave a long sigh. Would it kill them to spend thirty seconds to save him yet more precious minutes of work?
Obviously it would. Mallory shoved the useless, bitter thoughts aside with an effort. His brothers were mean, lazy, and selfish – they didn’t care what they cost others with that attitude. Picking up the trenchers and mugs, he took them to the wash bucket to carry down to the river later for cleaning.
That done, he knelt and pulled up the cellar door, then climbed down the rickety old steps and across the shelf where he stored things which needed to be kept cool but also well away from critters.
Also his brothers, because Mallory might put up with a lot to keep the only home he knew but sharing good food they didn’t earn wasn’t one of those things. He maintained the garden and gladly cooked what they happened to bring every once in a great while; he even caught fish from time to time – but he wasn’t sharing the gifts Boots brought him.
Mallory reached the shelf and smiled in genuine pleasure as he found the carefully wrapped remaining bits of the meat pie he’d made yesterday with the partridge Boots had brought him.
He bit into it happily as he climbed back up the step, licking bread crumbs from his lips. The garden was done…laundry and a bit of housecleaning, the dishes…by then Boots would be back and he would have time to get his dinner cleaned and hidden away before he made dinner for his brothers.
Licking his fingers, silently hoping Boots might bring him another partridge, Mallory closed the cellar door, grabbed up the bucket of dishes and carried it downstream to where he normally did such work.
He hummed softly as he worked, occasionally breaking into whistling, scrubbing the dishes clean and setting them on the grass to dry. Finished, it was awfully tempting to lay back and take a nap…
A gentle nudging against his thigh stirred him from thoughts of napping, and with a smile Mallory reached out to pet his cat – ginger colored but for the black fur that ran up his back legs, which had earned the cat his name. “Hey, Boots,” Mallory said, scooping the cat up to hold against his chest, laughing as Boots began to purr. “Did you have a good day? You’re back early.”
The cat licked at his hand, then squirmed free and strolled through the grass to stand proudly beside his prize, mewling loudly for Mallory to Notice and Praise.
Mallory obeyed, moving to where his cat stood and kneeling to take in Boot’s kill of the day.
A fat rabbit, obviously glutting itself on the results of an excellent spring. Not a partridge, but just as good. Mallory reached out and pet Boots, heaping praise. “You are the finest of cats, Boots. Truly. I would be lost without you.”
Boots purred and pushed into his hand, titling his head just so for a chin scratch.
“Good boy,” Mallory murmured, scooping his cat up to rest against his shoulder. A rabbit like this…he could make pies early while his brothers were still asleep, drop them off at the baker’s to cook while he ran errands in town. He wished he had time for a good stew, but if his brothers saw him working on that they’d take it all and demand more.
He could even make extra and perhaps leave a few in exchange for a loaf or two of bread. The fur would sell too, Boots had snared a fine rabbit indeed. Singing cheerfully, Mallory picked the rabbit up by its ears in his free hand and strolled back to the house to set to work skinning and cleaning the prize.
Just as he’d finished, feeding a few prize morsels to his devoted hunter, he heard the sound of his name being called by the thick, heavy voices of his brothers.
Gathering up his hard work, wrapping it up tight so that it would be all right ‘til he could work on it later when his brothers either went into town or fell asleep, Mallory bolted into the house and down into the cellar, stowing the rabbit meat where it would keep. Racing back upstairs, he stripped and washed himself down at the small wash basin near the door, tossing the dirty, bloody water out the window just as his brothers barged in.
“You’re back early,” Mallory said. “Sorry I didn’t come to greet you, I was cleaning up from…” He paused. His brothers were smiling. Like…good mood smiles. They never did that, not after a long day of trying to find the treasure they were convinced father had left buried in the woods somewhere.
Ridiculous, of course, he didn’t know why they thought something that dumb. He’d tried asking, but they just grinned and told him to be quiet.
“Did you find what you were looking for?” he asked cautiously.
“Nearly,” Pollux said. “Very nearly.”
Castor matched his brother’s ugly, wolfish smile. “We’ve sold the mill and land.”
Mallory froze, unable to believe what he was hearing. “You what?”
“We sold the house. Bought and paid for this very day by Gleason.”
Gleason…the baker whom Mallory went to see every day…the one he always chatted with, who had always seemed…if not a friend, exactly, then at least a pleasant acquaintance.
He swallowed, fighting tears. This was their home, where they’d always lived – mother and father were buried in a low clearing not too far away. “How could you? Is this a joke?”
“We’re moving to the big city,” Pollux said. “We’re tired of this dump. In the city we can make plenty more money. Gleason is taking over the house day after tomorrow.”
Mallory dropped the wash bin he was still holding. “Day after tomorrow! But – we’ll never pack everything up by then. We don’t even have a cart to take it all…”
Castor sneered. “Who needs it? We don’t need this trash. In the city we’ll get much better. Five hundred silver!”
“We don’t know anything about city life. What about this place? It’s always been in the family, how could you…mother and father…” Mallory stumbled to a chair and sat, head spinning.
His brothers shrugged. Pollux flicked his fingers impatiently. “You can stay here if you want. It’s not like you talk to anyone but that dumb cat anyway. We don’t need you, probably be better off without you.”
The words would have hurt once, but Mallory had long grown inured to his brothers’ cruelty. As a child he used to pretend he wasn’t actually related to them, and had real brothers somewhere else in the world.
Certainly he didn’t look like them. His brothers both had light brown hair and hazel eyes, skin that tanned to a nut-brown in the sun, faces that would be handsome but for the laziness in their eyes and the meanness twisting their mouths.
By stark contrast, Mallory took after their mother – dark brown hair, light green eyes, skin that tanned golden, and as hard as he worked he did not put on much mass. Only Boots’ hard work kept meat on his bones, he often suspected.
He ignored his brothers as they continued to brag about their money, what they would do with it in the city – then finally wandered out again to brag further in town. Idiots. He thought for a moment that it would serve them right if they were robbed, then felt guilty for thinking such an awful thing.
Sighing, he altered his plans for the rest of the day – he would have to start packing up what he could and putting it…somewhere…
Despair and anger clawed at him, but Mallory stubbornly ignored them, determined not to give in. There was nothing he could do but pack up whatever he could and hide it somewhere until he found a place to live.
How would he find a home, though? He had no coin.
With a rough sound he tore out of the house and into the field – yelping as he tripped over something which sent up a mewling protest of its own. “Boots!” Mallory scrambled to sit up and pet his cat as it came up still mewling in reprimand. “I’m sorry, Boots.”
After one last mewl, Boots allowed Mallory to pet and placate him. Soothed, he climbed out of Mallory’s lap and walked several steps away – then turned and meowed.
Mallory stared at his cat, slowly standing up as the cat continued to simply meow at him. He moved toward Boots – only for the cat to take several more steps. Brow furrowed in confusion, but long used to his cat’s strange behavior, Mallory again approached.
Boots moved again. By the third repetition Mallory had caught on – Boots wanted Mallory to follow him. Sighing, wondering what his cat was up to now, Mallory obediently followed along.
A few minutes later he didn’t need to follow – this path led to only one thing. The little clearing where his parents and grandparents were buried. The brief levity achieved by Boot’s strange but endearing behavior died, replaced by a sadness that threatened to overwhelm.
Gone. He was all alone now. The mother he could not remember long dead, his father more recently dead…his brothers abandoning him for silver they would likely lose in a day…
He barely noticed as Boots bypassed the graves to go climb an old tree. Mallory approached his parents’ graves and knelt, softly whispering the prayers his father had taught him.
His fingers dug into the soft earth and he bowed his head low. “How could they do this, father? Our home…gone so quickly, and I will scarcely get to say goodbye…”
A harsh, angry meow brought his head jerking up and he gave a long sigh to see that Boots had somehow managed to crawl into a hollow in the tree trunk – no doubt some poor rodent was going to be terrified upon returning to its home. “You stupid cat,” he said, exasperated. “If you got yourself in there, get yourself out.”
Boots merely gave another impatient mewl and with another sigh Mallory rose and crossed the tree, reaching a hand in to drag the dumb cat out – but Boots fought his grip, squirming free. Mallory swore softly, shoving both hands inside the tree to pull the dratted feline out. “Cat! If you don’t want out, then don’t yell at me to—“
He forgot what he’d been saying as his hands landed on something that felt very much as though it had no place being in a tree. Wrapping his fingers around the soft leather, Mallory pulled it out. A leather pouch he recognized – father’s old coin pouch. It was full. Mallory spilled some of the coins out into his hands. Silver, at least fifty pieces.
Something that wasn’t silver.
Unable to believe what he was seeing, Mallory gingerly picked up the gold ring lying amongst the silver coins. It was…real gold…set with a rich green stone. Beautiful. Something a lord or lady would wear. Why was it here?
Boots mewled loudly, rubbing against his leg, clawing at his pants.
“Stop it, cat! What is with you today?” Reaching down to snag the cat, Mallory accidentally dropped the coin purse, scattering the silver in the grass, sending the ring bouncing away. Swearing – softly, because this was a graveyard after all – Mallory knelt and attempted to find the ring.
A muffled meow brought his head up and he glared at Boots, who sat proudly with the ring in his mouth.
Mallory smiled faintly. “Good kitty,” he said, and reached out to take the ring, but the cat moved and he grabbed wrong so instead of simply winding up in his grasp the ring slid onto his middle finger, the metal cool and sort of wet from being held in Boots’ mouth.
He started to take it off, feeling as though he were doing something wrong by wearing it somehow – but noticed abruptly that Boots’ eyes were glowing. Always a bright green, now they looked like sunlight shining through glass.
Gasping, Mallory scrambled back, still watching his cat anxiously as the glowing seemed to spread – he yelped as it grew too bright, looking away and shielding his face.
“Well, I do say, that’s much better.”
The voice was smooth, deep, with the cultured, elegant tones of an educated man – a noble.
Mallory slowly turned his head and looked up. His jaw dropped.
A man stood before him, tall and even more slender than Mallory – even now he could see the bones of the man’s wrist. He was handsome, the bones in his face as sharply defined as the rest of him, softened only slightly by the tight red curls spilling around his face, stopping just past his jaw and the faintest dusting of freckles.
Blazing green eyes.
And his clothes…a long dark green coat with shiny gold buttons, slit up the sides to his hips, the slightest bit of a dark cream undercoat just visible. He wore a thick sword belt around his hips. The tops of high black boots vanished beneath the long coat. The sleeves of the jacket ended in white cuffs trimmed in gold and green.
The man held out a hand. “Mallory, it is a pleasure to properly make your acquaintance. Thank you for finally putting that ring on.”
Mallory ignored the hand, more than content to keep staring until this all made sense. “W-who are you?”
The man grinned, and Mallory thought briefly of the performers who passed through occasionally, the way they dazzled the crowds with their looks and gestures, their smiles and tricks. This man had the same effect…charm, Mallory supposed, for all that he was strange looking. “For the past several years, since you were about twelve, I have been called Boots.” He swept an elegant bow and for the first time Mallory noticed that he held a hat in his other hand a dark green feather stuck in the brim. “Julian Radcliff, at your service, my lord.”
Mallory slowly stood up. “Boots?” He shook his head. “Boots is a cat.”
“Yes,” Julian said, still grinning. “A cat who has stolen your socks on more than one occasion, always sleeps on your pillow, likes to steal cream from the baker’s lazy cat, brought you a partridge yesterday and a rabbit today. Boots is also fond of scratching your brothers when they’re too drunk to retaliate.” He swept another bow.
“How…” He stared hard, and could think only that Julian’s eyes were an exact match for Boots’s…and that curly hair matched ginger fur. “Impossible.”
“Certainly not,” Julian said, wrinkling his nose. “If my lord will permit me, I would be most happy to explain how it is possible.”
Mallory shook his head, then nodded, then sighed. “All right…” He wondered if he’d fallen and hit his head on something. Perhaps his brothers had knocked him unconscious after he protested the selling of their home.
Julian moved to the trees, sitting down with his back against the trunk of one, setting his hat in his lap. He motioned for Mallory to join him. “Better if you sit, my lord.”
“Why do you keep calling me that?” Mallory asked, not able to think of anything more intelligent to say.
In reply, Julian merely grinned and again indicated he should sit. “In due time, my lord, in due time. Sit, please. I would never do you any harm. I swear it on those very graves.”
Mallory pondered the strange man, then with a sigh, obeyed and sat nearby in the grass – just out of reach, and close to the path leading out of the clearing so he could bolt if necessary.
“As I said before, my name is Julian Radcliff.” He lowered his head in a slight bow. “I have long been in the service of the Marquis de Carabas…perhaps you know the name?”
Mallory frowned in thought. “That…is the name of the family who used to own these lands, back before the Marquis D’Ogre took them over.”
“Quite so,” Julian said, beaming in approval, green eyes glinting. Mallory flushed and dropped his gaze, feeling both pleased and stupid that he felt pleased. Julian continued speaking, thankfully, sparing Mallory his own thoughts. “The de Carabas family was given this land generations ago by the King and cared for it diligently through the years…until about seventeen years ago when a jealous, hateful man had the entire family brutally murdered. No one survived, or so it was believed.” He smiled faintly.
“Are you a de Carabas?” Mallory asked, not certain what Julian meant by all this. “Is that what you’re trying to tell me?”
Julian shook his head, laughing softly. “No…my story predates even that terrible night. A long, long time ago I was magician, and a very particular type at that. I was able to shift my shape, alter my form to whatever creature I desired. A horse, a bird, a fox, a cat…” His face twisted into a bitter scowl. “I got into a fight with another magician – he cheated, and so I lost. He stole my power and enslaved me, forcing me to take the shape of a cat unless he desired otherwise.”
He raked a hand through his hair and attempted another smile, but this time Mallory noticed that it fell completely flat. “I was his slave for years, forced to do a great many unspeakable things.” His green eyes had gone dark, like leaves right before a storm. “Finally a man came along who was able to defeat the magician…but with the magician gone he had no way of learning how to undo the spell cast upon me. It was simply too intricate, too unusual.” Julian sighed sadly. “The best he could ever do was to alter it a bit.” He indicated the ring Mallory wore. “The man who rescued me shortly thereafter became the first Marquis of Carabas. So long as one of his blood wears that ring, I am able to take my true form.”
Mallory blinked. “And if no one is wearing the ring you’re a cat?”
“Yes,” Julian said, mouth quirking as though he were vastly amused by something.
A heartbeat later realization dawned. Mallory choked. “One of his blood! Wait—you can’t mean—“
Julian grinned. “Yes, my lord. You are the last Marquis de Carabas and as such the rightful ruler of this province.”
“That’s impossible!” Mallory said, scrambling to his feet, stumbling back. “I grew up here, my mother—“
“Died back in the Castle of Carabas,” Julian said gently, eyes kind but intent. “You look just like her. Hearing what the miller said of the “mother” who brought you here…I think your nurse must have smuggled you out. I do not know how she did it…” He shook his head. “Astonishing, simply astonishing.”
Mallory sat down hard, burying his face in his hands, breaths ragged as he fought to make sense of all he was being told. “It’s not true,” he whispered. “I’m just a poor farm boy. My mother died of illness when I was a babe. Age and grief over my brothers killed my father.”
Warm arms wrapped around him, surrounding him in the scent of earth and wildflowers. The soft fabric of Julian’s coat felt nice against his cheek.
“I’m sorry,” Julian said quietly. “I’ve been callous. You did not deserve to hear these things in so uncouth a fashion. I fear being a cat for so long has not been good for me.”
Mallory stirred, slowly pulling back looking up. “Are you…really Boots? Why…why did I not get the ring sooner?”
Julian sighed and reached out to absently smooth Mallory’s hair. “You were not old enough. I still feel perhaps you are too young for such burdens. Beyond that…when the castle was attacked, I was badly injured. I tried hard to save them…” His face twisted in bitter anguish, the expression so wrenching Mallory found it hard to breathe. “They took us by surprise and by the time I could act it was too late. A maid had managed to hide away, and by that point I was a cat once more, there being no one to wear the ring…she fled, taking me with her, and we lived for many years in a castle far away from here. The Queen of the castle traded me for a favor from a magician…” Julian smiled and tweaked Mallory’s nose. “The magician gave me to the miller, who had begged the magician to find him someone to protect you from your brothers when he was gone.”
Tears stung Mallory’s eyes and he ducked his head to hide them. Protect him…his father…no, the miller… He shook his head. His father. The man who had loved him and raised him. “Did he know the truth?”
“I do not know,” Julian said softly. “Sometimes, I rather thought he did. I was never certain, though. He knew the ring the nurse brought with her was your birthright, though I will always wonder how she managed to obtain it. I believe it is the ring and coins your brothers have been hunting in the woods, though of course the miller hid them where those two fools would never look.”
Gentle fingers grasped Mallory’s chin and forced his head up. “I am sorry, my lord. Perhaps I should not have acted so soon…but I feared what would become of you now that you’ve been displaced. My sole purpose in life is to protect you.”
“It…” Mallory started, pulled free of the gentle hold. “I have to pack! I can’t lose all of my things.” He buried his face in his hands again. “Where am I going to go?”
Julian gave a soft snorting laugh and then Mallory was being hugged again. “My lord, you’ve a castle to reclaim if you want it. We’ve only to drive out the stupid Ogre.”
Mallory laughed, afraid of what he’d do if he didn’t laugh. “I’m a silly country boy, how am I supposed to get rid of anyone? I’m the one being got rid of! By someone I thought I could trust…”
He felt more than heard the low growling sound that rumbled in Julian’s chest. Then his face was again being tilted up and he stared into the green eyes that looked strange to him in a man’s face, rather than a cat’s. “You can trust me, my lord, forever and always. I swear on my life. I will get rid of the foul Ogre which taints your castle, and give you a worthy home.”
The grin he flashed reminded Mallory of the cat who liked to steal his socks, who always looked so smug and pleased when he brought home a fat partridge. “Then you can tell that stupid baker where he can put his bread and take back the mill as well.”
Mallory laughed again, and this time he realized he was genuinely amused. As the laughter finally faded, he shrugged. “Well, what else have I to do?” He looked at the ring on his hand. “I’m no Marquis, but I am homeless…so what can it hurt to try?”
“That’s the spirit, my lord,” Julian said, then stood and dragged Mallory up with him.
Julian slid his hat onto his head, pulling it down over his eyes in way that again reminded Mallory of his playful, mischievous cat. He winked, then turned and quickly retrieved all the spilled coins, and Mallory thought he should be displeased at the way Julian tucked them into his jacket but found he was not.
So much silver only made him uncomfortable. If Julian was nothing but a talented charlatan, come morning Mallory would be no worse off than he was now. He looked again at the ring on his finger, rubbing the green stone. Finally he turned to the graves and said a silent prayer, then turned back to Julian. “We have to empty the house first.”
“As my lord commands,” Julian said, sweeping him an elegant bow before turning and leading the way from the clearing.
Forever and a Day
The Knight was perfect.
Armor well crafted, glinting in the sunlight pouring through the caved in roof of the grand hall. A sword that had probably cost more gold than most people saw their entire lives. The shield was just as fine…the crest was…somewhere in the south, perhaps – they always favored fish.
The long tunic over his armor was bright blue, trimmed in more fish in white thread. Hair the color of gold, but matted and damp with sweat, sticking to his forehead and neck, rather ruining the image of Gallant Knight.
What little remained of that image was ruined by the bright red of his face, as though all the exertion was killing the poor bastard. No doubt it was. This time of year, the weather was hot enough to cook anything that held still too long.
Like arrogant knights who decided the smart thing was to trek up a mountain in full armor at the peak of summer.
Evariste snorted and dropped down from where he’d been sunning on what remained of the roof. He bared his teeth as the knight recoiled, lifting that fancy sword. A mutinous, defiant look overtook the knight’s face. It made him look even more ridiculous. “Dragon, I—“
“Have come to rescue the sleeping princess, blah, blah, blah,” Evariste finished for him impatiently. He dropped his arms from where they were folded across his chest and flexed his claws, snickering at the way the knight recoiled. Honestly, knights were pathetic these days. Once upon a time they’d attacked boldly, unafraid and determined.
Or maybe he was just too much dragon for them. Evariste grinned and threw himself at the knight, growling just to see if the knight would squeak – he did and Evariste growled more, shoving the knight back hard, then whipping around, tail lashing out to send the knight slamming into the crumbling wall.
“Go away,” Evariste snarled. “You are not good enough.”
“I’m not done yet, foul dragon!”
Evariste snorted. He was most certainly not foul. Just this morning he’d taken a bath, and had polished his scales until they shone the brightest of blues. His claws were clean and sharpened – definitely not foul. He’d always rather though himself a handsome dragon. His scales were evenly colored from head to foot and tail tip, a dark blue that made far better armor than the stupid stuff Knights wore. “At least I am not a dumb human,” he growled, then sprang forward, snarling and yipping, driving the knight back, laughing as the fool tripped on a loose bit of stone.
This one wasn’t even proving to be mildly amusing. How did these men get to be knights? Disgusted, Evariste knocked him out with a hard punch and then dragged him out of the crumbling castle, across the valley to where he’d left his horse, and heaved the knight over the saddle.
The horse whinnied at him, and Evariste pet its nose carefully with his claws, laughing faintly when the horse pushed into him for more attention. “Yes, you are a very good girl,” he assured the mare. “Take your foolish master home, now. I hope they give you some oats.”
He waited until the horse and her bumbling knight were well out of sight before he turned and slowly trekked back to his castle.
What was left of it, anyway.
The castle was old, it had been in the family of his masters for generations – at least until they’d packed up and left one day. Really it was just an overblown manor that presumed to be greater than it was. He had always been faithful and loyal to his family, but they had been silly.
His tail lashed restlessly as he walked through the crumbling grand hall, noting every bit of damage and destruction, recalling all the fights that had caused it. Knights often seemed to think that slaying a dragon involved destroying the surroundings as well.
Sighing, he made his way through the grand hall and up what remained of the main stairway up to the little room that had been given to him when he’d first been given to his family. The room was rather stark, the bedclothes and tapestry over the window faded and threadbare. A lone chest stood at the foot of the bed, as plain as the rest of the room.
And empty, save for a precious few items – one of those a simple brown tunic as old and tired as the one he currently wore. It had once fallen to his ankles, and had been cinched with a plain but nice leather belt. The belt had not survived a particular fight and he had nothing but rope to replace it now.
In a small leather pouch he kept several pebbles found in the stream bed, which was as far as he could go to the north and east.. They were very pretty pebbles, worn smooth and round, some of them almost shining.
Beyond the tunic and the pouch, there were only two other objects – a plain silver ring that had been given to him when he’d first arrived and a little crystal vial of nasty smelly stuff. The ring he kept scrupulously polished and bright – so very shiny and lovely, his little ring. But it didn’t sparkle the way the crystal did. Beautiful, once he’d dumped out the smelly stuff and cleaned it up in the stream.
Evariste picked up the little vial and turned it over and over, eyes intent as he watched the way the sunlight caught it, made it flash and sparkle, drawing out so many colors… Gently he put it back, tucking it into the folds of the tunic so it was protected. Then he took out the ring and pet it, clucking that it was not quite as shiny as it could be. He would have to polish it later, after he walked the perimeters. Lastly he took out the pouch and set out each pebble to properly admire, petting each one before carefully putting them all away in the pouch again.
Sighing, he finally stood up and went to tend his duties. Some days there seemed little point to it all – he always knew when the knights were coming, and he likely would not see another one for months and months.
But he was a good dragon and would do as he’d been ordered – protect the manor and lands of his family until they returned.
Though ten years was a long time to be gone…
He snarled and shoved the thoughts away, making his way out of the castle, walking as far as he could, patrolling the borderline of the property, starting at the south and going west, curving along the street along the north end of the property to finish on the east side, which was his favorite part of the stream.
Safety of the lands secured for the day, Evariste gave in to an urge to play, stripping off his tunic and tossing it over a tree branch so it wouldn’t get dirty, then wading into the water, rumbling happily. It was cold, but not unpleasantly so though his family had never liked it, and it was such a nice contrast to the hot sun overhead…
He dove beneath the water, which got rather deep in the middle, eyes not quite as good underwater as otherwise, but still sharp enough to pick out anything that might be good enough for his chest.
None of them were as pretty as Mistress’s jewels had been…he’d always wished she’d given him one of those….
Growling unhappily, upset that the knight had come along and ruined his good mood, Evariste focused on finding pretty pebbles, but eventually he surfaced empty handed. Ah, well – maybe he would find something tomorrow.
Soaking wet, he retrieved his tunic from the tree and walked slowly back to the castle. Now that the knight was gone, and work finished for the day, he could return to dozing on what remained of the roof.
If he was lucky, his mind would settle on happy things instead of wondering what it would be like when his family finally came for him. Though that would be even better than having real treasure.
*~*~*~*
Evariste looked up from admiring his new pebble at the sound of movement downstairs. A knight? How had one gotten so far without him noticing? Too close! Setting his pebbles in his trunk, he quietly closed it and then slunk from his room and downstairs, staying out of sight as he entered the grand hall through the servant door.
His eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed in suspicion. This…was a very strange knight. For one, he wore no armor at all, beyond a simple leather jerkin over a dark green tunic that stopped mid-thigh, with dark brown leggings and high brown boots. His hair was as bright as sunshine, no helmet in sight, messy and sort of spiked up, as if a hand was frequently dragged through it.
At his waist was a plain sword in an equally unadorned scabbard, hung from a thick sword belt wrapped twice around his waist, as simple and serviceable as the rest of him. The strange knight was mostly facing away, so Evariste could not see his face – then abruptly he turned around.
Evariste drew a sharp breath, eyes widening. There was a jewel in the man’s forehead. It was a beautiful blue color, even from a distance. The sunlight spilling down through the ruined roof made it shimmer and flash and Evariste barely kept from growling with a sudden, deep hunger to see and touch and admire the sparkling gem.
Nor was the knight so bad – handsome, older than most of the knights that came to rescue the nonexistent princess. He was sort of…rough looking, but handsome. Sort of like the pretty pebbles Evariste collected; rough, hard stone worn down so it looked appealing but was still tough.
Evariste wanted to see the jewel, but it was more important to get rid of the knight. He’d promised to protect the castle, and he didn’t want anyone to know that he’d been—that he was still waiting. Yes. His family would come back for him, they would.
Growling loudly now, Evariste stood and stalked out into the grand hall. “Knight. You will not get the princess!”
Instead of making one of the usual replies, the man merely smiled as though extremely pleased. “There is a dragon up here! And such a fine one!”
Evariste frowned, confused. “…What?”
“I didn’t think the knights were telling the truth,” the man explained. “No one has lived up here for years, so I couldn’t see how a dragon would be here…”
“That is none of your business!” Evariste snarled. “You will leave or I will make you.” He flexed his claws, tensing to spring. The jewel on the man’s head flashed, and Evariste suddenly felt a cold tingling crawl over his scales. He growled low, knowing now why this knight was so strange. He had never met one before, but he knew of them – even sort of remembered they wore jewels. “Mage!”
“Yes,” the man said, smiling. “So you’re completely immune to magic…and the brightness of your scales…a very fine dragon, indeed. Why are you all alone up here?”
“I am not alone!” Evariste replied, growling. He felt anxious, sick. This mage-knight needed to go away. He wasn’t alone, he wasn’t, he was just waiting until his family returned for him. This annoying man needed to leave. Angrily he launched himself at the mage-knight, snarling when the man actually dodged away, growling with all his fury when he continued to do so, the mage-knight seemingly afraid of nothing, cleverly dodging his tail, ducking his claws – then all of a sudden Evariste found he was the one sent crashing into a wall, the knight standing over him, sword pressed to Evariste’s throat.
“Will you stop attacking?” the man asked. “I don’t want to fight you.”
Evariste growled low, but didn’t try to move – the sword probably couldn’t get through his scales, but he’d never fought a mage before, and he’d never heard of mages who used swords like knights, so he wasn’t entirely sure. “What do you want, mage?”
“Odilon,” the mage said calmly. “My name is Odilon. I’m a wandering mage currently doing trifling jobs for the King. I heard an interesting rumor and came to see what the reality truly was – I did not know the knights were telling the truth when they spoke of a dragon.”
“Knights tend to be very stupid,” Evariste said cautiously.
Odilon flashed a grin. “Yes, that is quite true. Will you stop attacking me, dragon? I promise I mean you no harm, I merely wanted to know who kept beating up all the knights. I thought it some troll or hermit, and the knights were attempting to save face.”
Evariste nodded, and slowly stood up as Odilon backed away. “So what do you want, if not to slay me?”
“What are you protecting?” Odilon asked, ignoring the question. “There is no one living here, that is easy enough to see. Is the story about a sleeping princess true?”
Growling low, feeling panicked, miserable, wanting the mage-knight to leave and never come back, Evariste backed far away, moving slowly to the door that led to the tower where the princess purportedly slept. He’d never made the story up, somehow it just happened, and he’d picked it up so no one would know his shameful secret. “Leave, mage. You are not wanted here. You will not beat me every time.”
Odilon frowned, looking troubled. “Very well, but I won’t stay away. I believe I’ll come again tomorrow.” He winked. “With a resounding defeat. Farewell, dragon.”
Evariste waited until the mage-knight was well and truly gone, climbing up to the tower to make certain of it, growling low all the while, deeply troubled.
He’d never been beaten before. Never. He was a strong dragon; that was why he’d been given to his family. They’d needed a strong dragon…to watch over them while they lived in alone in the mountains…and to guard their home in their absence…because they would come back.
They would.
*~*~*~*
To Evariste’s surprise, the mage-knight returned the next day.
He hopped down from his perch on the roof of the grand hall and growled low. “What?” he asked.
Odilon smiled easily. “Hullo, dragon. How does the day find you?”
Evariste frowned. “What do you want, mage?” he asked, tail lashing. He flexed his claws in warning.
“You’re supposed to say – ‘Quite well, Odilon, how does the day find you?’ and then I reply ‘very well indeed.’”
“You are a very strange mage,” Evariste replied.
Odilon laughed. “Yes, I am frequently told that, but as I’m very good at what I do, people find they are forced to put up with my oddness. I shall assume the day finds you well, then, my dear dragon. I have brought you a gift. He rifled through a bag slung across his chest, coming out with a small leather pouch. Grasping the drawstrings that kept it closed, he held it out toward Evariste. “To say I’m sorry for upsetting you yesterday.”
Evariste growled uncertainly, tail lashing more restlessly than ever. A gift? No one gave him gifts, except for the silver ring he’d gotten when he first arrived. Why would someone not his family give him a gift? It must be a trap. “You are trying to trick me.”
“No,” Odilon said gently, shaking his head. “Catch!”
He caught the bag purely out of reflex, surprised at the weight. The bag was smaller than his fist, and the contents felt smaller still. It should not weigh what it did. Frowning, wondering if this was some sort of mage-knight trick, he pulled open the strings and dumped the contents into his hand.
His eyes widened, and for a moment Evariste couldn’t remember how to breathe. It—it was a jewel! The size of a robin egg, it was a deep, rich green that positively sparkled as he held it to the sunlight.
So pretty.
Evariste moved to where the sunlight could better strike it, turning it over and over, watching it sparkle, memorizing every bit of it.
A soft chuckle broke into his thoughts, and he realized the mage-knight had drawn way too close. He growled low and held the jewel tight in his fist. “You can’t have it back,” he said. It was his now, the mage-knight had said it was a gift. A jewel, a real and beautiful jewel for his chest.
Odilon smiled. “It’s yours, I don’t want it.” His eyes gleamed. “There is a far finer treasure I seek.”
Finer? What could be finer than something which sparkled and shone and flashed? There was no such thing – except his family of course, but a family was family and not treasure. “Why do you give me treasure?” he asked.
“To say I’m sorry I upset you,” Odilon replied. “I do not suppose you would tell me your name?”
Evariste frowned…but the mage-knight had given him a jewel…and was being nice…and he hadn’t yet called Evariste a foul dragon. “My name is Evariste,” he finally said.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Odilon said, and swept him a bow.
Oh. No one had ever done that before. Back when he’d had his family, most people just ignored him unless they did something suspicious and he growled at them. Knights only wanted to kill him. “You are a very strange mage.”
Odilon merely grinned. “So how long have you lived here, Evariste?”
It felt very strange to hear someone else say his name, when he’d not heard it every since his family had left. “I came here when I was five,” he said. “I am twenty five now.”
“Twenty years?” Odilon stared at him. “Impressive. You must be a very loyal dragon – even more loyal than most.”
Evariste blinked, surprised. “I am very loyal, as all dragons should be.” He lifted his chin. “I was a gift to my family, and always guarded them.”
“Past tense,” Odilon said softly. “You don’t guard them anymore.”
Evariste stiffened, then snarled angrily and backed away. “You tricked me,” he hissed. “I obey my family and do as they tell me. Go away.” Growling, he turned and fled the courtyard, racing up to his room and curling up in his bed – too small for him now, as he’d only been fifteen when his family left, but it was his bed and that was all that mattered.
He stared at the pretty jewel, knowing he should throw it away but not able to. It sparkled and shone, the green deep and rich, and he’d never had such pretty treasure before.
The sound of movement brought his head up, and he growled angrily to see Odilon in the doorway. “I told you to go away!” he snarled. “You are not welcome here!”
“I’m sorry,” Odilon said softly. “I’ve upset you again. I didn’t mean to – could I give you another gift?”
“No,” Evariste said. “You can leave.”
“Why do you stay here without your family?”
“Because they told me to!” Evariste snarled, chest feeling tight and sore, eyes burning. “Go away!” Unable to stand the stupid mage-knight, he ripped away the faded tapestry covering the window and climbed out, holding his jewel carefully in his mouth as he scaled the wall and hid on the roof.
He ignored the way Odilon called his name, hoping the stupid mage-knight wouldn’t follow him…yet as the sun was setting and finally saw Odilon mount his horse and ride away, Evariste felt worse than ever. He looked at his jewel until it was too dark to see, then climbed back down and into his bed, where he didn’t fall asleep for a long time.
*~*~*~*
Evariste tucked his jewel away in its pouch, which he’d attached to the rope around his waist. He’d tried to put it in his chest, but it was too pretty. He liked being able to look at it whenever he wanted, no matter where he was.
These men were not normal knights – their armor was strange…it looked funny in the sunlight, glimmering oddly…but Evariste could not figure out what bothered him about it. Three of them, and they all clattered horribly where they’d fastened their helmets to their belts. The swords they drew were as ugly as the armor – tools, little more, though they looked better cared for than the armor.
“Dragon!” The one in front roared. “Come out and play!”
Fighting back a growl, for that would give him away, Evariste waited. These men did not smell right. They did not smell like sweat and metal and flowers as most knights did, nor did they smell like sunshine, as the annoying knight-mage did.
No, these men smelled sour…and like blood.
There. Right beneath him. Evariste launched himself through the hole in the roof, landing hard with claws out on the smallest of the three, growling loudly, gathering the man up and pitching him into the other two. “Get out!” He bellowed, long tail lashing. He lunged at all three, determined to get rid of the big one because—
He screamed in pain as the big one threw a powder in his face, and stumbled back, trying desperately to get the stuff out of his eyes but it wouldn’t go away and it hurt and he felt dizzy and what was this stuff? Growling, snarling, he attacked blindly. “Go away!” he said, unable to see anything but a few blurry blobs. Frustrated, truly scared, he kept trying to attack them, but all he heard was laughter, followed by flashes of heat and pain and he realized their swords had gotten through his scales and—
Dizziness washed over him stronger than ever, and Evariste tried again to get the weird powder from his face, but it only seemed to get worse and there was more pain and then somehow shoved him down and he only heard someone mutter something about armor and treasure and no they couldn’t have his treasure!
There was another flash of pain and he screamed – then the world went mercifully black.
*~*~*~*
Evariste opened his eyes and immediately wondered what was strange.
This was…not his castle. The ceiling was most strange – squares of dark, gold-brown wood, each carved with odd images. He sat up slowly, confusion and anxiety growing. Anxiously he touched his face. Everything seemed okay…
Where was he?
The bed reminded him much of the one master and mistress had slept in, the one time he’d seen it. Big, wide, a tall post at each corner that led to a covering, from which hung drapes. The wood was darker than the ceiling, and the drapes hanging from it were a slightly lighter gold-brown…and shimmered faintly. The bedclothes were the same, a heavy quilt of the softest fabric he’d ever felt, warm and smooth beneath his hands.
Large rugs covered a wooden floor here and there…a fireplace of dark brown stone, with a small table nearby, and shelves filled with books and scrolls on the wall to Evariste’s right, the opposite hosting three long windows, currently covered with colorful tapestries.
He continued to look around the room, more confused than ever – then his eyes landed on something he recognized, tucked on the far side of the shelves filled with books.
His chest. Why was his chest here? Had the awful knights with the stupid powder taken his treasures along with him? Why had they taken him? Weren’t they trying to kill him? Evariste rumbled in confusion and ducked his head – only then noticing the bandage on his forearm.
And now that he was noticing, other pains became apparent and he threw back the bedclothes to see that his left thigh was bandaged as well, and that still more bandages were wrapped around his chest – his back ached something fierce now, that must have been where they struck that last blow that knocked him out.
He wasn’t dressed – his clothes were gone unless they were in his trunk. It wasn’t the clothes he cared about though – he’d been carrying his jewel at the time and now it was gone and he’d never get another like that. Maybe they’d left him his crystal and silver and pebbles at least….
Anxious to know, needing to know, Evariste climbed out of bed with a hiss of pain and limped toward his trunk, grunting as he knelt down. He fumbled briefly with the fastenings, but finally got them undone and threw back the lid.
It was all there. His tunics, his pebbles, his ring, his crystal – and his jewel. Rumbling happily, something in him easing, Evariste tugged on his ragged tunic and then scooped up the green jewel and examined it for any damage, relearning all the ways it sparkled.
The sound of the door opening brought his head up, and he clenched the jewel tight to keep it from the eyes of whoever – “You!” He stood up, wincing slightly in pain, and growled low at the mage-knight. “Why are you here?”
Odilon chuckled softly. “I live here, Evariste. You were badly injured by those mercs, and this was the only way to save you.”
Evariste growled, tail lashing. “Mercs? The sour knights, you mean? The ones with that stupid powder?”
“Yes,” Odilon said with a grimace. “That was swamp power. Apparently word of the dragon on the mountain has spread, and they wanted your hide to make armor.”
“What?” Evariste, horrified. “Dragon scales?” He growled low, realizing suddenly why they mercs’ armor had seemed strange to him – it had been poorly tended dragon scale. He shuddered and hugged himself, not even his jewel able to ease the fear and disgust that washed over him in a cold wave.
“You’re safe now,” Odilon said, voice quiet, and despite himself Evariste felt warmed and soothed by it.
Still, he could not help his suspicions. “What do you want? When can I go home? Where am I?”
“You shouldn’t go home until people forget about you,” Odilon said. “It’s not safe.”
Evariste mewled low at the mention of being forgotten. He wasn’t forgotten! He wasn’t! “So what do you want, mage?”
“I told you,” Odilon said with a soft smile. “I’m attempting to acquire a great treasure.”
“What kind of great treasure?” He held his jewel tight.
Odilon grinned. “It’s blue and shining, strong and fierce, loyal and hopelessly devoted. I assure you, all jewels pale in comparison.”
Evariste frowned. “You are a very, very strange man. It sounds like an odd treasure. What sort of treasure is all those things?”
“A very fine one,” Odilon said softly. “How are your wounds?”
Huffing in confused frustration, Evariste shrugged. “Fine. What is this place?” He wanted to go back to his castle, to where things made sense. He didn’t want to be here with a strange and confusing mage.
“This is my home,” Odilon said with a bright smile. “It’s old, but sturdy, and you can see how much effort was put into it.” He motioned to the ceiling. “This sort of thing is everywhere, every tile telling a story. That one is about dragons,” he said, pointing to a tile close to Evariste. “How two of them defended the Great Queen from a band of rogues.”
Evariste looked where he indicated, surprised to see he told the truth – the wood was carved into the shape of two large dragons guarding a woman in a flowing gown from a band of men who looked, to his mind, a lot like the sour men who had attacked him. He growled low, pleased the dragons were going to defeat them.
“I can tell you the other stories, sometime. Are you hungry? I have food downstairs.”
Food sounded good, as did more stories, he’d always liked the stories the servants of his family had told.
His family…
Evariste rumbled low, guiltily, as he realized he’d almost forgotten all about his family since Odilon had walked in the room. “I have to go back to my castle, to be there when my family returns for me.”
A shadow passed over Odilon’s face. “Evariste…your family isn’t coming back. They’re gone.”
“No!” Evariste shouted, snapping. How dare anyone say that! He’d been loyal and strong all his life and his family had said that and that they’d come back for him. “You don’t know! They promised they’d return! I was their gift, their dragon! I said I would wait and protect and you aren’t going to stop me.” Snarling, tail lashing, he stalked to the door – and abruptly stopped outside in the hallway.
Growling in frustration, ignoring Odilon’s voice behind him, he turned right and stormed down the long hallway, wanting out and to be home and away from the strange mage-knight even if he was the one who had given Evariste the pretty jewel.
He snarled as he reached a dead end, but before he could decide which room to bolt into, anxious to avoid stupid Odilon, the mage-knight rounded the corner and strode toward him “Evariste, you should not be moving so with those wounds.” Odilon frowned. “Your leg is bleeding again.”
Evariste followed his gaze and saw what he was now feeling – he had indeed reopened the wound on his leg. His shoulders sagged. It wasn’t fair. He’d never done anything but what his family had told him to do – why all this? “They’re coming back,” he said, chest getting that tight, heavy feeling again, eyes burning.
“No,” Odilon said softly. “I’ve been searching, while you slept. They crossed the sea a long time ago.”
“No!” Evariste shouted. “You’re lying! They said they’d come back – I was their dragon—“ Angrily he wiped away the tears that had started streaming down his face, furious he was doing something so stupid in front of the mage-knight. “You’re wrong!” He sank to the floor, the pain in his injured leg too great, and buried his face in hands.
It wasn’t fair. He’d only ever done what he was told, and because of that he was trapped in the house of a strange mage-knight who said his family had left him to go across the sea. They wouldn’t!
Except it had been ten years…
Evariste shuddered in agony, feeling as though he were in pieces, even his pretty jewel not enough to make all the pain go away.
Then all of a sudden he was surrounded by warmth and the smell of sunshine, soft words being murmured in his ear, hands stroking his back, and Evariste wanted to pull away and tell the mage-knight to leave him alone because it was all his fault – but instead he only cried harder and held tight.
“Come on,” Odilon said gently some time later. “Let’s get you some food, hmm? And fix that leg.”
Feeling drained and hideously embarrassed, Evariste let himself be led back through the halls and slowly down a set of wide, curving stairs. Unable to walk on his own at the moment, he had to lean on Odilon and laboriously limp his way along until they at last settled in a small, warm room which sported nothing more than a long, low…bench thing with deep cushions and a curving back at one end. Odilon put him there and then brought a tray full of all kinds of food from a table, setting it on a nearby smaller table. “Here,” the mage-knight said with a soft smile. “A meat pie my housekeeper made this morning. It’s very tasty. I’ll fix your leg while you eat.”
Though he hissed in pain from time to time as Odilon cleaned and bandaged his leg, the food was far more interesting – so much better than the fish he most often ate, the occasional deer that strayed onto castle property. He quickly finished the meat pie Odilon had given him, and with a gentle encouragement from the mage-knight, he eagerly set to eating more of the food. Another pie, something that was white – crunchy and sweet and tart. The berries he recognized. Eggs! Those he knew.
A soft chuckle stopped him as he bit into one of the boiled eggs, and he looked guiltily at Odilon – disconcerted to see the man was giving him another of those soft smiles.
“You must be healing well if you’re that hungry,” Odilon said. “Eat all you want, my housekeeper will be happy that someone around here will finally appreciate her cooking.” He winked. “Your leg should be fine so long as you stay off it.”
Evariste’s shoulders sagged as he hastily finished the egg, mouth dry as he swallowed. “So where am I supposed to go?” He…thinking of home made him sick, suddenly. His eyes stung when he thought about being left behind…
“Go? You can stay here, of course. I would like you to stay,” Odilon said. Calloused fingers grasped Evariste’s chin and tilted his face up. “I realize you probably don’t want to be here, and you are welcome to leave whenever you want – but I would very much like for you to stay.”
Tugging free of the gentle hold, Evariste closed his eyes, wanting nothing more than to go to sleep and never wake up. “Why?” he asked. “I’m obviously a worthless dragon.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Yes, I am!” Evariste snapped, opening his eyes as he jerked his head up to glare at Odilon. “If I’d been sufficiently skilled, strong enough, good enough, my family wouldn’t have—have—have abandoned me.” He forced the ugly word, hating the sound of it. Abandoned. He dropped his head and stared miserably at his hands. His scales were dull, in need of a good scrubbing. So too his claws, covered in dirt and grime. He grimaced at the hair he could see, the blue-black strands snarled and knotted and tangled.
Then Odilon was kneeling in front of him, and Evariste dully noted that the mage-knight was as fine as Evariste currently was hideous. His spiky hair was still sunshine bright, completely askew, such an interesting, almost playful contrast to the harder lines of his handsome face. But the thoughts were distant, automatic.
“You’re a splendid dragon,” Odilon said firmly, voice somehow cutting through the numbness Evariste was beginning to feel. “The family that left you was stupid. They didn’t deserve a dragon like you.”
“I was a gift…” Evariste said sadly. Taken from his mother and brothers not long after he could function more or less on his own, young enough to grow with his family and be close to them. Hadn’t he been a good dragon? He knew the castle and property by heart. He’d caught a thief, driven off bandits, scared away annoying visitors… “I tried to be a worthy gift.”
“They weren’t worthy of you,” Odilon said fervently, and for the first time Evariste noticed his eyes were blue, a few shades lighter than the glittering stone set into the middle of his forehead…both similar to his scales. He didn’t know why he thought that, or why it mattered…but somehow it did. “You’re the finest dragon I’ve ever seen, and I’ve seen many. You’re beautiful and strong and loyal and I would really like it if you stayed.”
Evariste nodded – it wasn’t as though he had anywhere else to go, after all.
“Good. Perhaps someday you’ll be happy here. I hope so, for I’d like to see you happy.” Odilon smiled and stood up, then bent to slowly and carefully help him up. “Now, you should rest and heal.
At those words, Evariste finally felt every last bit of strain and weariness and exhaustion. By the time they’d gotten him upstairs and settled in the bed where he’d woken up, he was barely conscious at all. The last thing he remembered was something warm against his cheek, while something cool was pressed into his hand, then sleep mercifully took him away.
*~*~*~*
Evariste studied his latest jewel intently. The deep, burning red was beautiful, like fire – but he likes his blues and greens more. Still, the red made a pretty contrast. He moved away from the window to add the latest jewel to his growing collection.
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You're a very, very mature person. The kind that people just starting out writing look up to. Your rant was, in my opion, very mature and professional. You are by far my favorite authour ever, published or not.
My Spelling sucks, btw.
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--I think the last one is good though as it is; maybe add/cut a couple chapters and wa-la! Instant fluffy story ending.
You're still my favorite author liek, EVER. *showers love and insperation upon*
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VERY MUCH APOLOGIZING AT NOT FINISHING
Iiiinteresting, people keep saying that. Why did I not think of this?
<<333 You keep my trying, babe, believe me
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Mmm, Boots sounds HOT. And you already knew I adooooooooore Evariste and Odilon. ^__________^ Mallory is so cute and naive and young. *wubs them all*
*loves you*
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The ranting. Well, tis your lj and you can whine if yah wanna. ;) And hey, it's even well writen and tis good to let off steam.
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The Boots story reminds me, I have to send this bizarre picture to you. When I was in Edinburgh we went to a children's toy museum, and I found this old victorian mechanical Puss-in-Boots doll. But it was, like, creepy.
I love the second story. Dang, does that thing have potential. I only have a few critiques for it, otherwise I think it's great! I sincerely hope you continue it. I want to know Odilon's (cool name) motivation for seemingly deciding to acquire Evariste (another cool name) so immediately upon meeting him. I want to know why Evariste's family would leave behind something so valuable as a dragon-protector. I want to know what terrible vengeance Odilon will visit upon those uppity mercs. The curiosity is killing me!
I had an idea the other day regarding your stories, so I am going to e-mail you about it. Also, my goal today is to write up a proper review of Prisoner and post it to
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Dude, want to see Creepy Puss in Boots.
Gods, that story has been kicking my ass. I'm not sure I'm managing it well at all. Tygs will tell you man, I've been whining like a fiend. Any crits would help, b/c I am pwned.
Heh. Got your email, will reply when I can string coherent thoughts together. Much of it I've pondered before. And I would luff you for reviews, though I think you've probably got better things to do (like figuring out how you're bringing back a hottie with an accent for me to enslave).
<3
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The image doesn't even begin to illustrate how creepy he was. Also, factor in that he was in a tiny room stuffed to the rafters with hundreds of beady-eyed antique dolls, and you begin to see a how environment also contributed to uncomfortableness.
Hm, I will read over it again and see what I can come up with. But I do very heartily enjoy it so far. :)
Good gravy, this review is seriously turning out to be a review but also an in-depth analysis of Deiter and Beraht's relationship. I am actually at 1500 words already, so I don't think it will be finished until tomorrow. ;_;
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Jeezus that is creepy. I would not want to be alone with that doll.
Heh. No rush. I've got other stuff eating me alive, and I'm sure you've more entertaining things to do.
Good lord, woman. You're only supposd to write that much nonfiction when you're being graded or paid ^_~
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And btw - is graveyard tied in with the rumplestiltskin/snow white stories you dd a while ago?
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Now letting it stand alone is an interesting idea. I think people would likely kill me ^_^ but def worth pondering.
It is ^___^
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Besides, it does help to vent when you feel upset about sth.
Thank you for putting up both stories! I loved Boots best - the cat lover in me speaks again~ ^^
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I am having trouble getting used to your dragons though. I am used to the big towering ones of fairy tale and St. george stories, and I always picture them like that, which clashing with what you are writing about most of the time. (shakes head). Oh well, I'll get used to it.
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Heh. I live to serve ^___^
Gods, I love Puss in Boots. I so wish I could make the story cooperate *kicks it*
Ahahah, sorry? ^^;; I'm afraid my anime/manga influence is showing quite heavily. I'll try to write a more classic-type dragon someday ^__^
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your stuff is by far the better quality. even these unfinish bits make me happier than the 200+ pages of nonstop uninteresting sex.
Published? Big deal :)
(Anonymous) 2007-04-26 02:35 pm (UTC)(link)"You are not published? So what? Was Jesus published? Was Socrates?"
I am sure you have a lot of fans (and I am one of them)
Rose Red
Re: Published? Big deal :)
Hah. Good point. ^____^
And you are one of the finest. I always note your comments, and am ever happy to see you.
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(Anonymous) 2007-04-26 02:53 pm (UTC)(link)I found one of your fairytales on Fictionpress, followed the links and have been addicted ever since. I love your writing, it's well paced flowing and unpretentious - I actually prefer it to a lot of the published stuff. I can honestly say I don't think there's a fic you've writen that I haven't liked.
Everytime I visit I eagerly wait to see what's new, and even if there's not you always seem to find the best diversions and recs. Quite honestly I'm astounded and in awe of the amount of writing you do, and all of it seems to turn out so well. I don't think you're being a whiny bitch, just someone who understandably gets frustrated occasionaly (like me and all the other 6 million people on the planet).
So thank you for the hours of enjoyment I get from reading your stories, and I hope you feel better soon. If I ever get the confidence to give it a shot you may end up with some fanart as well ;)
~Anonymous Lurker
ps: I seem to have a kink for the phrase "pretty jewel". Can we please see more of Evariste and his funny Mage-Knight? Pretty please?
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^___^ Thank you. I feel your words are far too kind for silly little me, but they mean more than I can express. I try to write what I want to read, and I like to think I'm managing that.
Ooooh, fanart. Sparkly.
<3
p.s. hee hee. I will do my best <3
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I totally love the first one. I wish you could finish it. I like the characters in the second one, too, but I'm not sure where it would go from there.
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Heh. And I tend to think I do it *to* often. I have sadly noted I tend toward Drama Queen, though I try not.
I am giving it a valiant effort. And as to the second one, that was rather my problem. It just...stopped, and damned if I can start it again. Mayhap I should leave it there, someone suggested that.
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Yayfor on the first one. On the second, I think it could do with just leaving it there, but make a segue other than just *** from the main body of the story into that last snippet with the gem. I think it begs for a big long plot about what happened to the family or the mage gets hurt and the dragon has to save him or something, but that's another epic, and I'm not sure you want to bother with that.
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Just a writer given to rants then. I can live with that ^___^
Hmmm...Tygs suggest mage hurt/dragon rescue, and I thought it would be too cliche. So you say backtrack and extend the story in other places? Hmmm...that would be epic, which seems to be par for the course for me, sheesh ^^;; So start the story with the family leaving and all, you say? Or maybe try interweaving it, but flashbacks can be tricksy, hmmm....
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apologize. =3
...I won't say no to more Poison though. ^^;
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(Anonymous) 2007-04-26 04:42 pm (UTC)(link)I like your stories (characters, writing, plot...). You're one of my fav' of fav' writers on the net and I truly enjoy your work. Hope you will feel better soon.
C66
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Thankee, babe ^__^ I just try to keep to a min b/c as I post writings here, I feel I should behave a bit more. My stories come first, not my melodrams.
I will. I never stay down for long. Thankee muchly <3
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I'm sorry to hear that they're dead, because I think they're terribly cute. I liked both, but preferred the one about Everiste, who is so sweet and loyal and cuddly. If you ever regain inspiration for them, I'd certainly be happy to read more someday.
Much love.
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I am trying my dangdest, I swear. I do not want to lose them, I am most fond of the chars and hate wasting that many hours of work.
Thankee muchly <3
Did graveyards stop frankenstein? Hell no!
Re: Did graveyards stop frankenstein? Hell no!
Did graveyards stop frankenstein? Hell no!
*dies giggling*
I will endeavor to get all Victor on their asses, but no promises.
<3
Victor, is that a liver in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?
Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today...
*le sigh* I don't want these to be dead. Especially the Puss In Boots one. Mallory just may have killed me with cute!
It's sad when you lose respect for authors you really liked =/ Alas, it happens. =P Don't apologize for whining! It's your party and you can cry if you want to. Everybody has times when they gots to complain about stuff or whatever.
These stories are lovely...I hope there's still hope for them yet ^^
Re: Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today...
Mallory is love. I like writing cute chars b//c I am very much not ^^;;;
Eh. I should probably be less tetchy.
I hope so too. Thanks, babe ^__^
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If these two really are dead, which would be a shame, I think they could stand as they are. Julian and Mallory off to get rid of the Ogre and start a new life (together). Leaving the mill is the end of a chapter in their lives, so could be the end of the story (for now).
Evariste and Odilon are complete with Evariste agreeing to stay. Again an end of chapter.
Maybe you'll be inspired to write more later and get them all together properly, but these stories lay the groundwork for that nicely. And if you don't get back to them we lazy readers will just have to use out imaginations!
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but don't let me dissuade you from feeling guilty and posting more fics!
*dies giggling* I love my readers (though I guess I should class you as a beta these days ^__^), truly I do.
Third time someone has said dragon story could stand as is. Interesting, interesting ^___^
Thankee! And as to writing you drabbles, the other betas shamelessly extort me ^__^ Writing them is fun, esp. when I do it for people.
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Poor Mallory. I wanted to kick Pollux and Castor's heads in. >E Stupid non-brothers. I so LOVE that Mallory ends up being a lord, and I LOVE that Julian can't change without Mallory having the ring on his finger. (And man, waiting for Mallory to grow up had to be both frustrating and fun at the same time. XD Poor Kitty. Imagine getting outed as a mage before you even get the chance to go innocently wnadering around in cat form and seeing Mallory in all his naked glory (skinny dipping, bathing, changing...I imagine there's got to be plenty of chances for a kitty to be a perv. ^_^;;) without Mallory worrying about baring it all in front of a person...XD) I love the take on Puss and Boots. *________* *paws at you with puppy eyes*
Poor Evariste. ;________________________; *kicks his stupid ass family* I love his obsession with his treasures, and I love his blind loyalty. I also love and adored Odilon's veiled reference to Evariste as an important and valuable treasure. ^_____^
Also, jewel in the forehead!!!! *_______________* Pretty...
*more puppy eyes*
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Speaking of people and unfinished sparklies....
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Also Puss in Boots will always be the WIN.
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LJ (and all like internet blogs etc) = Rant Haven
So no problem, and yours was mature and much more coherent then a lot of others i read...plus, at least this method of letting loose steam doesn't harm anyone (unless they're overly sensitive in which case they need to grow some scales)
However, we won't say no to graveyard fics (::pumping fists:: 1! 2! 3! 4! Show those fics who's boss!) and more poison 4 days earl ::melts into a pile of goo:: ^^
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Anyway, the insta-squee has been dampened by the longest workday ever coupled with the *_________* of Poison, but I very much enjoyed both of these and hope that they inspire you in the future.
Oh, and, no apology needed. If you were going off on you loyal readers, maybe, but I don't see that happening. 'sides, I respect your protective!sister role muchly.
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Just wanted to say that I think sometimes you have to rant, otherwise things fester and that's just not healthy. And hey, maybe if those authors read what you wrote it'll shock some sense into them. Anyway, hope you feel a bit better after expressing your feelings. Cheers.
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Um. People suck. Even adults who should know better, often.
Right, back to the happy! I, too, have an unfinished slashy Puss in Boots tale, inspired by the ballet version ("Le Maitre Chat"/"Le Chat Botte") I saw on video over the summer. Truly, if you can find a copy...there's a duet...dance...thing between the miller's son and Puss that's frankly smexiness in tights. First time I ever saw a ballet duet between guys that wasn't supposed to be a fight...
Yours is a nice start, though. Good phrase here: "it was yet one more thing falling down around him about which he could do nothing." That really gives a sense of the sort of dull despair almost that's been stealing over Mallory's life. "Praise and Notice"...yeah, that's a cat. It might be fun to work in some more kittytraits to Julian than a loss of manners. After all, he has been living as a cat for years now and shape often affects the mind contained within it.
I like dragons! ^_^ Evariste is a sweetie, and I do like his characterisation. I am always fond of characters who are sentient and not human, when their writers can portray the difference in the ways they think. That one, as others have said, is nearly enough for a complete story. We just need some background to flesh out the mental and physical conflicts--the presence of roaming merc-bandits when there are all these random knights wandering the place, Odilon's motivation besides dragon?Oohpretty!, maybe a little of Ev's history.