Title: Dragon
Author: Khylaren
Contact: Khylaren@yahoo.com
Fandom: Original
Rating: [R]

A/N:  This short story was written based on a dream I had, and also as an exercise in writing in a new style, third person present tense. 

~ * ~

No one remembers the exact year the dragon came, only that it was long ago; so long ago, in fact, that none of the village elders remember a time when the dragon was not living in the well. It happened before they were born, before their parents and their grandparents, and possibly even before that. The dragon was not always there, that, the village elders know for certain, because they have stories, handed down from generation to generation that all begin with ‘Once, long ago, before the dragon came’, and there would not be any stories like that if the dragon had always been there, right?

Mieran does not know the answer to that, but she wants to know. The desire for this knowing burns deep within her; sometimes it wakes her up in the middle of the night, trembling and sweating, and she finds no peace from it until the sun comes up over the mountains. As a child, she had no words for the need that filled her; she could not explain to her mother and father that she was not ill, despite her feverish symptoms. As she grew older, she learned the words she needed, but still could not voice them, for her parents would never understand what she herself barely understood. 

It is more than a need to know when the dragon came, or even why. As Mieran leaves her childhood behind, the one thing that she does finally understand is that the dragon is calling her – has been calling her since she slipped from her mother’s womb. And the older she grows, the more difficult it is to resist.

She has exhausted any resources she might have in her village. From the moment she could form the words, she has been asking questions.

“When did the dragon come?”

“No one knows for sure, my child.”

“Why is the dragon here?”

“It is not certain, child, but he does not trouble us, nor we him.” 

“Has anyone seen the dragon?”

“Not since he first came, child. He has never left the well.”

“Then how do you know there really is a dragon?”

“Because we know, child. Our ancestors saw him come.”

The histories the elders tell are tantalizing, yet frustrating all the same, because while they speak of the arrival of the dragon, they are vague in the details she is hungry for.

“It was night, aye, and the moon was full, and the dragon cast his shadow across our village against her glow. A bright flame, brighter than any bonfire, aye, filled the sky with light, and our people cowered in fright beneath the trees. There was a sound, like thunder, aye, only it shook the very trees to their roots and brought many a folk to their knees from the force of it. Winds swept across the village with such strength that no-one was left able to stand in the face of it.  They lay on their backs, staring up at the sky, and the dragon flew over them. In a moment it seemed they would all be consumed in flame and wind and sound, when, with another crash of thunder that is not thunder, aye, the dragon dove into the old well and was never seen again.”

“He must have been very small to fit into the well,” Mieran says.

“Aye, you would think, child, but no. His shadow covered the village.”

“Then how did he fit into the well?”

“I do not know, child. I think it is not a thing we can understand.”

Her ancestors had lived in fear for a while, and many spoke of moving away, but as the seasons passed, it seemed that the dragon would not trouble them at all. The only mark of his existence in the well was the lack of green around it; trees, grass, plants – none could withstand the drying heat that emanated from the mouth of it. As the years went by, the villagers lost their fear of the dragon, yet none would venture into the clearing that surrounded the well. It was judged best to leave the dragon to his business, as he had left them to theirs.

There is little more the elders of the village can tell her. For a little while, it is enough to satisfy her curiosity, her need. She sleeps better, wakes less, and contents herself with playing and learning and growing along with the other children of her village. But it does not last, and she is not surprised when, after she reaches that final stage that marks the transition from girlhood to womanhood, the need begins to burn within her once more. 

It’s markedly different now, the burning ache she feels when she wakes from her troubled dreams. The need is no longer an intangible want for something she has no name for, because she has felt it before, albeit briefly, while dancing in the arms of a handsome boy or from the glance of a comely young man. It leaves her breathless, trembling, and drives her to seek out ways to alleviate the emptiness she feels deep in her core. The place between her thighs is always hot-slippery-wet when she wakes in the night, and she has learned where and how to touch to give temporary relief from the need.  Sometimes it is enough to send her back into dreamless sleep; and sometimes, it is not.

She understands what has kept her from seeking to answer the call of the dragon; as a child, the journey to the well would have been impossible for many reasons; her parents would never have let her make the three-day journey to the well by herself, nor was there anyone who would have been willing to take her, had she asked (she would not, however, because she understood somehow that when the time came for her to seek him out, she must do it alone). There were predators large enough to kill a small child alone in the forest, and it there was also the worry that even if she did manage to get away from the village by herself, that she would not be able to find the way (a groundless fear, she realizes now, because she can feel the pull of him like a magnet). 

She also understands that none of those reasons are the real reasons she has waited. The truth behind her reluctance to seek the dragon out is simply that she is afraid. Not of the dragon himself, no; he holds no fear for her. No, she fears that when she does go to seek him out, he will not be there; that she will find an empty well, and no answers. She secretly fears that all of it is nothing more than her imagination, something she has conjured out of her desire to be special, to be different than the others.

Now she is old enough to make the journey alone; her parents will not question her need for time alone these days, now that she is a woman and will be no-doubt marrying soon (a future that will never be hers, she knows). There is no need for them to worry; she has both the strength and the skill to fend off any predators, and the knowledge to survive on her own. And she has no fear of becoming lost along the way: the dragon’s call has become so strong she feels it even in the daylight, a silent but undeniable pull to the west.

Mieran gathers the food and supplies she will need, declining half-sincere offers of escort in a mindless way. She walks the village for the last time, speaking to those she loves and cares for, saying goodbye without actually saying ‘goodbye’. She will miss them all, but she cannot stay any longer.  Perhaps one day she will come back, she thinks, but knows deep in her soul that she will never return to the place of her birth.  She knows the thought should make her sad, but all it really does is make her relieved, because now, finally, she is going where she is supposed to go. 

When she is finished, she turns her face to the west, to where the sun is already beginning its gradual decline, and does not look back.

~ * ~

Mieran walks until the day is done and finds a spot to lay her blankets for the night. It is a simple matter to clear a place on the forest floor and line it with stones before laying a bed for her fire. The fallen branches and wood surrounding her are dry and easy enough to carry, and within moments, a small fire burns merrily in the center of the rocks. The fire is for the chill that has settled in the forest with the sun’s departure, and to keep any predators from wandering too close. 

She eats her meal of bread and dried meat, washing it down with water, before carefully repacking her supplies in a bundle and tying them to a nearby tree-limb. She has the feeling that nothing will disturb her this evening, but takes the precautions nonetheless, because it is something that has been instilled in her since she was old enough to learn basic survival in the wild.

Her blankets are warm from the fire when she rolls herself into them. It takes very little time for her to fall asleep, and when she does, her dreams, for a change, are restful.

The dragon knows I am coming, she thinks when she wakes the next morning, fully rested and feeling refreshed. She still feels the call, just as strongly as the day before, but the near-painful urgency of it has eased somewhat. 

Her second night alone in the forest passes similarly. She has a moment of worry when she packs what is left of her supplies away; she has only enough to last another day, two at the most, before she will be forced to hunt for her food. She worries because she has seen little sign of wildlife in this part of the forest beyond birds and squirrels; both are far too small to provide much in the way of food. She doubts that this will change the closer she draws to the well and the dragon, given the stories she has heard. 

Putting her worries aside for the night, Mieran climbs into her blankets once more and surrenders to sleep. Again, her dreams are restful, and she sleeps through the night without waking.

By the end of the third day, she is beginning to truly worry. The woods have not ended in a clearing, as she expected, nor has there been any further sign of game she might track and hunt for her supper. The line of trees in front of her seems endless, and she begins to worry that everything she has ever felt has all been a lie. 

Her dinner is small, and she carefully rations her water, because, like the lack of game, there is a decided lack of running water as well.  She has enough for one more day of travel, and decides that it will have to be enough.

The fire is nothing but embers before she finally succumbs to sleep. And her dreams are not restful, and her ears are filled with the dragon’s call. She wakes as she has so many times in the past, burning, feverish, and empty. Her blankets have snarled around her legs, bunching between her thighs. She grabs the edge of one that has worked its way between her legs and draws it upwards, until it presses against her core. She shivers and closes her eyes, pulling more, until the pressure is just right, until it feels almost like someone is touching her there, caressing her there. Eyes closed tight, she rocks against the pressure, her breath catching in small hitches as the heat and ache between her legs builds. 

The dragon’s call fills her ears and she shudders her climax. The pleasure she feels is empty and does not give her any satisfaction; instead, she feels the void inside her all the more.

Tomorrow, she thinks, wiping tears from her cheeks. Oh please let it be tomorrow.

Because she knows that even if she does not find what she is looking for, there is no turning back.

~ * ~

Mieran stands at the clearing and regards the well. The relief she feels at the well’s existence is second only to the relief she feels at seeing the shimmer of rising heat from its mouth, because despite everything, there was always some small part of her that doubted, that feared.

It is real.

It has taken her most of the fourth day to reach it. Her water-skins are empty and her food is gone, but it does not matter any more. The well is real, and that means the dragon is real as well. 

She shifts her pack more firmly against her shoulder and leaves the edge of the clearing, crossing the dry, barren soil that surrounds the well. She can feel the heat of it now, it is like stepping too close to a bon-fire, and she stops half-way across the clearing, wondering how she will ever get close enough. 

I have to wait, she thinks. She does not know how she knows this any more than she knows the dragon is calling her. She simply does.

Mieran draws back slightly, only far enough to give her a reprieve from the heat, and drops her belongings to the ground at her feet. She sits legs crossed in front of her, and waits for something to happen.

But before she can even truly settle herself, she realizes she is no longer alone.

A man stands in front of the well dressed in leather dyed the color of blood. The heat-waves surrounding him distort his features; she can only tell he is tall, fair-skinned, and dark-haired. And though he looks to be a man, Mieran knows he is not. It is him, her dragon. She stands and waits, watching him, even as he watches her.

His step away from the well is hesitant, as if he is afraid to leave it behind him, and perhaps he is, Mieran thinks, after all, it has been his home – his sanctuary - for countless years. His next step is as hesitant as the first, but those that follow grow in confidence, until he is striding purposefully towards her. As he draws near, his features become clearer, and she sees he is every bit as handsome as she could have hoped. His form is muscular and fine, but it is his eyes she is drawn to, as they are an arresting shade of blue, like the sky on a summer’s day, and they seem to look right into her soul.

Despite how badly she wants to go to him, she stays where she stands. Because she knows that is how it is supposed to be. To her surprise, he nods, as if he has heard her thoughts, because even as she thinks it, he is smiling.

He stops in front of her, still smiling, and she can read the relief/joy/wonder in his eyes. 

“I came,” she says simply. “I am here.”

He holds out his hands and she places hers trustingly in his. His smile has faded now and he regards her seriously, as if waiting for her to speak again.

The words come from nowhere, bubbling up within her like a spring, and she speaks them with a feeling of familiarity and rightness.

“Of my own free will I give my heart; will you guard it against all harm?”

Her dragon/man nods. 

“I give you my body; will you take it and make it whole?”

He nods again, this time his fingers tighten around hers, and she knows the next words she speaks are the most important of all.

“Without reserve, I give you my spirit; will you keep it?” She waits for his response, because now she knows he will speak where he could not before.

“Aye,” he says. His voice is rough from disuse, and she knows it is the first word he has spoken in many long years. His eyes hold hers as he speaks again. “All that, and more.”

When he kisses her, the walls of her memory come crashing down, tumbling into ruins. And she remembers…

…she returns from the hunt and finding nothing but the empty echoes of their home…her mate is gone, their young slain where they slept, and the Wolverine-King has sent his sorcerer to deal with her. Rhuksh tells her that her mate is dead, his wings burned away, his eyes torn out and fed to the crows. Before she can kill him – nay, rend him limb from limb, he curses her with blindness, both in body and in mind, so she will forget who she is, no matter how many turns of the wheel she is reborn…she will be trapped forever in her second, weaker form…always longing for something she does not, cannot, remember…only her mate can free her, and he is dead, dead…

In an instant her dragon shows her what came to pass after the Wolverine-King’s men carried her, blind and helpless, across the forests and long desert to dump her dying body at the edge of the great sea. 

…her mate is not dead, but away, following the wicked wolverine-men to stop them from attacking Kieren and Rimi’s village…killing the wicked-men had been good, and Kieren and Rimi were grateful, for Kieren’s body heavy with young…returning to his home and seeing the blood of his own slain young…and Rhuksh’s smug and triumphant smile. More wicked men surround him, and he is wounded…both in body and in his soul, for he knows his Mieran is gone, gone, gone…Mieran is lost to him. He flees with what strength he has left, and Rhuksh follows with the wicked-men, ever behind him, driving him, driving him until he cannot fly any more. The sanctuary of the well calls to him and he flames one last time, killing many wolverine-men and wounding Rhuksh, but there is no pleasure in this, no joy, for his Mieran is gone, and the well is the only place left for him to go. He plummets, changing to fit through the opening, and the wicked-men do not follow. He sleeps the wounded, desperate sleep of the near-dead. He heals, but does not truly wake, nothing can draw him out, not even his traditional duty of guarding the village that lays nearby, so close he can touch the minds of those who live there. He no longer cares for duty; it is a meaningless word to him, as meaningless as love since Mieran oh mymieranlovelost was taken from him. Still he cannot help what he is, and his mind touches those in the village every generation to satisfy his need to know that all is well. So many long years pass this way and he begins to despair and yesohyes perhaps even die now, for his heart is an empty shell, a void; he is broken, what need is there for one such as him all alone now, but wait…the wheel turns as it wills, and he wakes from his sleep because he senses something has changed in the little village not far from where he sleeps. 

“You were re-born,” her mate whispers. “Rhuksh forgot.” His voice so rough it is almost painful to hear him speak, and Mieran smiles at him through her tears. “Dragons mate for life.”

There is heat now, rising from them both, and Mieran does not wonder at it, only marvels that she should feel it again, after so many turns of the wheel, after so many long years. 

“Do you remember how?” he asks. “Can you?” 

Oh yes, she thinks, her heart beating faster, from both joy and the impending knowledge of what was to come. Oh yes. And instead of speaking, she shows him.

-end