George POV
Thunder burst in a battle of gods, dragging the prince from his much-needed slumber. He shifted amongst warm blankets, sensitive to the slight chill in the air. He cracked open his eyes to gentle firelight, staring at the bed's canopy alit in flickering amber.
His body ached in memory of his adventure, chapped lips parted in a deep breath. How long had he slept? He couldn't tell with the way bad weather cast the room in lingering gloom.
George groggily sat up, the fog clearing from his brain as he deciphered the distant howl of wind between trees.
"Sleep well?" The question fell softly, pulling his attention to where emerald luster trailed worn pages.
Dream lifted his gaze from the book, candlelight dancing on his cheeks and fusing with his golden dipped hair. He sat at the table, elbow propped and head leaning comfortably on his palm.
"Yeah... what are you doing?" George balled the blanket in his bandaged fists, mulling over a torpedo of thoughts in his still sleep-heavy brain.
"Studying the effects of herbal plants on dragon mutation." Those alluring eyes blinked, wandering the prince's face before adding, "In terms of what I'm doing here, I didn't want you to be alone should you wake with a nightmare."
"Did you..." George fumbled for a non-awkward way to ask what happened after he fell asleep to the words of a storybook. "... did you stay here last night or...?"
Dream hesitated, allowing several seconds to slip by before tilting his chin toward the bedside. "I slept on the floor so you wouldn't be uncomfortable."
The prince glanced at the gestured area, a foreign emotion wriggling in his chest when he spotted a pillow and blanket discarded on the carpet.
"The bed's big enough..." He hadn't meant to voice his thought aloud, wanting to suck the words back in as he mentally slapped himself.
A tiny smile graced Dream's lips. "Duly noted."
The dragon watched him for a moment more before he returned to studying. His actions weren't rude nor dismissive, rather the opposite. A treatment similar to how one might approach a stray cat, giving him space and removing the pressure to interact.
George slung his legs over the mattress edge, skirting around the makeshift bed on the floor. He stopped near Dream's shoulder, not quite close enough to touch but where he could see the book's contents.
Upon closer inspection, he noticed a paper covered in chicken scratch beside the book. After translating Dream's godawful handwriting in his mind, he recognized a detailed list of herbs and the corresponding side effects.
"You're searching for a cure to the drug?" He guessed.
The dragon hummed in affirmation. "Something like that. I can't determine an antidote without knowing the contents of the drug, but I can find ways to lighten the symptoms one by one."
George stared at him blankly. "Don't make me sound stupid by asking how."
"Alright, then I'll just tell you." Dream's lips twitched, clearly holding back a smile. "Take golden flower for example, a heavy dose can cause migraines. If a victim of the drug has a migraine, we can safely guess a migraine-inducing herb was used in the drug and test the remedy for golden flower."
"And from there it's the process of elimination." The information clicked into place. "You can't reverse the drug entirely, but you can find a cure by removing each symptom one at a time."
"It's complicated and time-consuming, but worth a try." Dream tapped his notes, forehead stitched in thought. "Any dragon left alive in that dungeon deserves hope of a life free from suffering."
He... really cares. George's chest tightened, lashes falling to study the dragon more closely.
Shadows kissed the skin beneath emerald eyes, making him wonder when Dream last got a full night's sleep. His black nails, always glossy and sharp, were chipped at the corners as though they'd been bitten.
How did I not notice before? George frowned. I doubt he's had much private time to rest, what with me invading his room the past two nights.
"If you stare at me any harder I fear I might burst into flames." Dream quirked a brow at him, tilting his head slightly. "What is it?"
"Nothing, got lost in thought." The reply fell softly, quite unlike the prince's usual mouth of thorns. "I've nothing to do up here, let me take over this project."
"You are better suited to it than me," The dirty blond agreed. "I don't know how you ever sat through hours of writing formalities, I'd take combat training any day."
"And it shows." George slanted an exasperated look at the other's barely illegible handwriting. He pitied the paper for bearing such atrocity. "I'd be shocked if you possess a single gene capable of written diplomatic affairs."
"At least I didn't stab myself in the foot the first time I held a sword." Dream shot back.
"For the last time, the hilt was slippery from your disgusting sweat!" He fumed. "And you promised to never speak of it again!"
"Tch, tch." Dream clicked his tongue. "So much anger for such a small body."
"I can't decide if I want to kill you, or throw myself off the balcony again." George dropped his head into his hands with a groan.
He'd barely been awake an hour, and he already had a headache.
"Fun as that sounds, allow me to offer a third option."
"Which is?" He didn't bother lifting his head, already prepared for another whimsical response.
"We're set for a day of nasty weather, and those wounds need fresh bandaging." Dream placated him. "Perhaps you could postpone plotting either of our demises for a chance to beat the rain?"
"Couldn't I just use a bucket to wash up?" Heterochromatic eyes peeked from slender hands, giving the balcony doors a less than enthusiastic look.
The howling wind did not sound inviting.
"Afraid not." The dirty blond smiled apologetically. "A cold front's been pushed in, hence the storm building outside. I think it's safe to say winter is right around the corner."
That explained the added bite to the air when George woke up. He'd gotten used to the chill of autumn, but he'd been warm and comfortable indoors up until now.
A bucket of water simply wouldn't stay hot long enough to treat each wound on his body. If he rushed, he'd accidentally rip off the delicate scabbing.
"Guess it can't be helped." He dropped his hands with a sigh.
"I'll go warm the bath now." Having obtained the prince's compliance, Dream got up and strode towards the balcony. "My winter cloak is in the chest, please put it on."
George hummed in agreement, side-stepping the blast of icy wind. He winced at the ferocity of it, feeling the room around him drop in temperature. He didn't know what he was thinking when he suggested using a bucket to bathe.
He'd already pounced on the chest before the doors clicked shut, locating the hefty cloak almost immediately. Sliding his arms into the sleeves, he found himself in a bubble of warmth.
When Dream returned, he burst into laughter. "You look like a hibernating bear."
George glared at the inches of sleeve exceeding past his hands, silently admitting the cloak turned him into a fluffy ball.
"Don't worry, it's just temporary." The dragon held out his arms, allowing the prince to approach on his own. "I already asked Karl to put together some warmer clothing for you."
"Thanks." George rested his hands awkwardly on his stomach as Dream picked him up.
When he finally entered the harsh elements, he discovered the wind was far louder than he'd thought. It wove between the mountains, screaming as it scraped rock walls and rattled tree branches.
A light rain had begun to fall, but he felt not a single drop. The thick cloak soaked up the freezing droplets, keeping the sweater beneath warm and dry.
"Take your time, don't worry about me." Dream set him down beneath the roof's overhang. "I'll be right here when you need to rebandage your back."
George hesitated, feeling guilty for leaving him in the cold rain and raging winds. The overhang provided some protection, but that didn't make it ideal.
"Really, I'll be fine." The dragon seemed to read his mind, letting out a soft chuckle. "My body temperature runs much higher than yours, unless it's snow I really can't feel it."
"... I wasn't worried." He pursed his lips, hoping the cloak's hood hid his burning cheeks. "I'll be inside, then."
With that, he clasped the door handle and yanked. The wind added what felt like an extra fifty pounds, but the strain was worth it when warm air swirled around him.
Did the wind blow those out when I opened the door? He stared at the single lantern lit with a quiet flame, alone in its battle against the dark. Three lifeless lanterns hung smothered in shadows.
Thankfully, the lit lantern was closest to the steam-breathing water and provided enough light to bathe.
George tossed the soaked cloak aside, reaching for the hem of his sweater when he paused. Some invisible presence nagged at him, sinking its foreboding fangs into his heart.
Memories of the dark dungeon mixed with the current shadows surrounding him. He half expected Sam to saunter out the shadows with an assortment of torture devices.
He shivered, rubbing at his wrists where cold shackles once clasped him. The raw skin healed faster than the now yellowish-green bruises.
"It's just your trauma." He whispered to himself. "There's no one here."
Part of him wanted to ask Dream to light the other lanterns, but he refused to stoop to such cowardice. Hesitating a heartbeat more, he finally removed his clothes and dirty bandages, tossing both aside.
The perfectly heated water welcomed his cold and sore body, but balked at soothing his nerves. He closed his eyes to avoid the shadows that seemed to writhe and withhold around him.
His instincts screamed deep inside him. Something's wrong, something's wrong....
That's when he felt it, a crawl over his skin in the form of the slightest air movement. George's eyes flashed wide, pupils shrinking as his blood ran cold.
A dark figure loomed above him, covered head to toe in black. It was almost like evil itself manifested in solid form. Bloodlust palpable, sword raised in the air with clear intent aimed at his heart.
Adrenaline pumped through the prince's veins, narrowly avoiding the plunge of that sharp blade. Water flew from the sword's miss, and George used the opportunity to make a lunge for the stone ledge.
Hoisting himself over the edge, he barely managed to roll out of the way before a boot stomped down where his head had been.
He used the momentum to spring onto his feet, staring down his attacker in a horribly exposed manner. A shiver ran down his spine, taking in the living shadow that clearly intended to kill him. Black mask, black cloak, and unspeaking.
He couldn't even tell if this was a human or dragon.
Their Mexican standoff ended quickly, the sword swung towards his neck. George ducked, fingers grasping his towel on the floor and whipping it up. Fabric shredded, briefly blocking the attacker's sight.
"Dream! Someone's in here!" He screamed.
Hot liquid streaked his stomach, pressing his hand over the reopened wound. Narrowly avoiding death did not bode well for healing injuries.
Oh, shit. He dug in his heels hard, letting out a startled gasp. The sword embedded into the wall centimeters from his lashes, and he wanted to throw up when he realized the attacker targeted his eyes.
Where was the idiot? Thunder clapped in gruesome answer. He can't hear me over the storm.
Wood splintered and flowered vines scattered as the attacker ripped their sword free. George leapt to the side, putting distance between him and the stranger. His eyes flicked rapidly over the shadowy attacker, searching for the tiniest hint of who hid behind the mask.
Based on the way their attire fluttered unnaturally, he surmised they were wearing multiple layers of black. Cunningly hiding the shape of their body.
The sword's hilt lacked a family crest or blacksmith's signature, leading him to believe it was forged from a black market. A weapon borne for dirty work, how fitting for such bloodlust.
Whoever this was, their conniving intelligence wasn't to be underestimated.
Lost in his thoughts, he yelped when a blur of motion slammed into the back of his knees. His attacker had dipped low, swinging a leg out in a perfect arch to knock him down. George barely evaded smacking his head on the stone floor, his heart lurching into his throat from the fast descent.
Note to self, when in a life or death situation, wait until later to play detective. The attacker's sword reflected faint firelight, swinging with intent to tear his chest open.
"Ready for help with your injuries?" Icy wind flooded the bathhouse from the opening door, dirty blond hair slicked brown with rain. "I tried to knock first but-"
Robes darker than night flashed in a blur towards the voice, abandoning the prince for a higher target.
"Watch out!" George sat up, watching in slow-motion as the shadow figure rounded on the dragon from the side.
Emerald flicked left, Dream's reflexes reacting faster than any he'd ever seen. He dropped low and darted forward, wood shredding in what would've been his face. Black claws extended eerily long, tearing open clothing and flesh. The attacker didn't utter a word, clasping their wounded shoulder and fleeing out the door.
Dream took one step after them, but stopped. His gaze flicked to George, and he retracted his claws immediately to rush to the human's aid.
"Are you alright?" He glanced the prince up and down, settling on the blood dripping to the floor. "Did they do that?"
"No, my wounds reopened." George drew his legs together, his face burning all the way to his ears. "Stop looking at me, idiot."
Dream tilted his head to one side, looking confused. Then his line of sight flicked briefly down, and he practically broke his neck turning away. Silence sealed his lips, abruptly walking to rather roughly snatch a clean towel off the shelf.
His emerald gaze wandered the walls as he walked back, opening the towel and draping it over the human. Only then did he return his gaze to George's face.
"Could you tell who it was?" The prince pulled the fabric tighter around himself, resisting a shiver at the cold air that had wafted inside.
Dream shook his head. "Rain covers scents, it's our weakness."
George searched his eyes, taking notice of the tight line of his mouth and coldness behind concerned irises. "You're blaming yourself."
"I couldn't hear anything from out there, I'd no idea anyone was in here." The dirty blond sighed from the depths of his soul. "But, that's not important now. We need to get that" -he touched a gentle hand to the red seeping through the towel- "cleaned up first."
"You don't think it was someone from here, do you?" George blurted out.
"No." Dream immediately answered. "Everyone here hates the king as much as I do, they wouldn't side with your father. They see you as one of us."
"But..." George tried to protest, trailing off when the dirty blond shook his head.
"They all have reasons for following me. I promise, if I held even the slightest doubt I would act on it." Dream met his gaze for a long moment.
The prince could see his silent plea to drop it. He pulled his lip between his teeth, giving an unreadable nod.
A truce placed in a draining hourglass, edging closer to the bottom with every drop of sand. He would withhold his objections for now, until he gathered information himself. After all, it was equally likely the king had sent an assassin on his tail.
What's the gamble here? George watched numbly as Dream carried a stack of medical supplies to treat his wound. They were clearly after me, but why? The kingdom believes me dead, and he had the chance to make that a reality in the dungeon.
What am I worth in this twisted scheme?
Instead of editing this chapter I wrote an entire backstory to how these two's relationship developed until they got together in the past (pre-betrayal timeline). So... the good news is when this story completes I will upload the 8,000+ word bonus chapter. Bad news... this chapter came out way later than intended.
My apologies, but at least anyone interested in their backstory has something to look forward to! xD