Dragons are known to hoard beautiful things. This is common knowledge. Gold, gems, crowns, precious metals – all of these could be found in an average dragon nest. A dragon’s obsession with beautiful things outweighs even that of a greedy spiteful king.
It is unheard of that a dragon would attach himself to something that is living and breakable. Dragons have long lifespans, and so crave objects that have more chance of making the journey with them. It was against nature itself for Kyriakos to keep Alex under his protection.
Now, should something of a dragon’s hoard be harmed or taken in any way before the dragon’s eyes, he or she who had done the deed would likely be dead within seconds. Either that, or hunted down for the rest of his/her life. So you could imagine what it was like for Kyriakos, to see the only thing he held dear in the world broken and bleeding before him.
His reaction to something of his being wounded, of course, was catastrophic.
Strong, unyielding hands constricted around the elf’s throat. Just a tad more pressure. Just a twist of Kyriakos’ hand, and the elf would be dead. He could almost hear it now; the crack of bone, the give underneath his fingertips. He could feel the fearful thrum of the elf’s blood through his jugular. He imagined ripping it out with his teeth.
No.
That would be too fast.
He wanted to watch Istas suffer. He wanted to see as the light slowly left that god forsaken elf’s eyes. For once, he was thinking like a dragon again. His exterior had become soft to accommodate a human’s manner, to accommodate for him. But Alex wasn’t watching right now. Alex was passed out in a puddle of his own blood. And so soon would Istas be.
He could only hear his enraged blood pumping in his veins. Beyond that, he could hear a hushed silence, and a woman’s scream, hands grabbing at him, trying to hold him back, but his strength could far outmatch one she-elf.
“Please!!!” Desperate, pleading, and broken words came through the thick fog of hatred that kept his rational mind at bay. His eyes came back to focus.
Istas’ pulse was weak and beginning to die beneath his iron grip. The elf underneath him had long since passed out, unable to breath, and there was a dark purple ring around his neck matching that of Kyriakos’ handprints. He felt then with more clarity a woman holding onto him, crying into his shoulder, haven given up the fight to free Istas.
Perhaps sensing his pause, Hasasha whimpered out, “Have mercy… Alex – he needs you. Go to him. I beg of you. He would be horrified to see what you have done.”
Kyriakos allowed his hands to slip from the neck of the nearly deceased elf. Hasasha choked on her tears and slowly lowered herself to Istas, laying her head down on his wounded chest. At hearing a tired and world-weary heartbeat, her eyes widened in shock. The dragon had allowed Istas to keep his life.
“He’s not worth it,” Kyriakos said hollowly, answering the unasked question. He breathed heavily through his nose as his tortured ruby eyes landed on the broken form of the fallen prince. With weak legs he stood and went to him, kneeling by his side. Even unconscious the prince’s beautiful face was twisted in pain, hands resting on the wound at his abdomen, as if trying to keep the pain away. Kyriakos felt something in his chest falter at the sight of someone so precious to him hurt so badly.
Kyriakos lifted and held one of the prince’s bloodied hands with a gentleness that spoke volumes, eyes glazing over when he saw the inflamed wound, dark veins spreading out from the point of contact with the blade. Seeing this only proved one thing – the blade had been poisoned. The scent in the air told him it was the deadly… “Nightshade.” His voice came out in an undefinable growl, low, deep, and rumbling in his chest like a thunder storm.
For a moment, Kyriakos wanted to turn back to the wounded elf and finish what he started. For now, though, he had more pressing matters. He turned to Hasasha, who had yet to look away from him with those prideful, wounded eyes. “Did you know of this?” He frowned, fangs bared.
A tall elf approached, and Kyriakos recognized him as the one who was fighting Istas in the ring. All the other elves had either gone silent or fled in fear. Those that remained were watching vigilantly, but with a sense of dread. “It was meant to be a fight to the death, Kyriakos.” He spoke in a gravelly, tired voice. “The blades were soaked in a condensed and liquefied form of the deadly nightshade plant.”
The dragon hissed underneath his breath, unfamiliar with the diagnosis of such a poison. The elf knelt down on the other side of the whimpering prince and attempted to remove his other hand to see the wound. Or he would have, had Kyriakos not grabbed his arm in a grip stronger than steel and released a guttural growl that shook the air around them.
Glowing red eyes perused the body and facial features of this Elf, who dared to touch his chosen. It was a protective instinct in all dragons to protect what was theirs. With Alex wounded, it only heightened the instinct to lethal levels.
The elf stood his ground, however, and spoke in a calming tone, averting his eyes so as not to challenge Kyriakos. “I need to see the wound more clearly – “ He was interrupted by another growl, “So that I can tell how much time we have to get him to a healer.”
“We have doctors here,” Kyriakos interjected, but the elf sighed.
“No, our healers are not trained in extracting or making cures for poisons such as this.”
“How stupid of you to poison a weapon without having a cure,” Hissed Kyriakos, fangs elongating. Irritation flooded his system like traitorous snakes. “What if a child cut himself on a sword and died because of your people’s incompetence?”
The elf remained with his face pointing downwards. “Like I made mention of before, it was a fight to the death. Nightshade has been used in these battles for centuries without a cure. It was tradition.”
“I care nothing for tradition. I care only for him,” Glowing eyes dimmed to a simmering red, sharp features gentling minutely when he looked down at the prince. A groan from Alex had Kyriakos looking back up at the elf, releasing him. “Do as you must but cause him no more pain.”
The elf, with sweat on his brow, drew away the prince’s hand from the wound in order to get a better look. His facial features belied nothing that was going through his mind. He pressed at the wound gently, making Kyriakos hiss in frustration, and quickly extracted his hand. The wound wept but the prince reacted with only a quick wince, his ragged breaths filling the silence.
Kyriakos’ brow grew heavy with worry. “How long?” He asked gravely, meeting the eyes of the elf, holding his breath.
“Two days before it is likely that he will succumb to the wound.” The elf answered just as stonily, and Kyriakos felt what was left of his heart tear itself in two.
Kyriakos closed his eyes and allowed his head to fall, inky tendrils of black hair shrouding his face. His mouth pursed into a thin line and his eyes narrowed in resolve. The dragon slowly stood, and with it came the attention of his subordinates in the room. Each elf looked up, awaiting a command.
“There is a kingdom north of here, only a day’s flight. I should be able to make it in time. The queen would likely have someone of power there, either a mage or an adequate healer who could cure him.”
“No offense,” Hasasha said, standing up. Her dress was torn – perhaps in the struggle but even with her hair in a craze she still had the visage of a strong female warrior. “But I doubt the queen there will bow to a dragon and do his bidding, wounded prince or not.”
Kyriakos eyed her with cool disdain, but inside he knew he would have to offer something that the queen would not pass up. Himself.
“What queen would forgo the opportunity to control a dragon?” He asked, his tone determined if not a bit shaky. The lengths he would go to for Alex were boundless. Offering himself to the queen was no real loss if it were in exchange for the prince’s life.
There was a moment of shock as the elves in the room realized exactly what the dragon was implying. He would give himself up in return for saving a human.
After a moment of silence, the dragon took one last look at his prince before addressing the inhabitants of the room. “Bring a large amount of cloth and rope. He will have to be tied to my back in order to remain there for the duration of the flight. I want the doctors here to disinfect the wound and to bandage it. Bring him to me at the mouth of the cave.”
The message was clear. The elves with no important duty followed the dragon through the door. The healers that had been called to the room all herded to the prince at once, but none dared to remove Hasasha from Alex’s side.
Hasasha watched the proud, determined dragon go. His stride was sleek and powerful, but she knew something no one else did. The dragon was already deeply in love with the prince. She held Alex’s hand and smiled at his sleeping face. “You have done the impossible, little one. You have tamed a dragon’s heart.”
The form of a winged dragon awaited the sleeping prince at the entrance to the cave. It was night-time, and the stars shone brightly above. The moon was only a thumbnail crescent, but it’s light illuminated the pitch black scales of the serpent. His long, elegant, arching neck held aloft a sculpted, horned head. A monstrous maw opened, sharp fangs glistening, ordering the elves about. Glowing red eyes pinpointed a bundle and watched it as it was put atop his back, fastened there comfortably with ropes. Alex was covered in blankets and though his bandages had already bled through at least there was something holding it together. With the rope tying him tightly to the dragon’s back, the flight would hopefully be finished with little discomfort or flight risk. The dragon stretched his magnificent wings, listening to the wind whistle through the cave.
Hasasha exited the inner cave and went to meet the dragon. Her eyes passed over the sleeping prince on his back and then up to the dragon’s fearsome face, as if he had been a beast sculpted and formed by the gods. The dragon caught sight of her and lowered his massive head, eyes narrowed.
“Be safe, and fly fast for your beloved, Kyriakos. We will await your return, no matter the outcome of this night.” Her gentle melodic voice carried on the breeze, and the dragon snorted, but calmed.
After a moment of she watching him and he watching her, she extended an arm out to him, her eyes hard but motherly, and she slowly came closer until her hand rested upon his muzzle. Her expression dropped to awe as she reverently stroked the glowing blue scales on the outer edges of his cheek. He watched her, allowing her this single chance to touch him uninhibited, and stood witness as something changed in her. He puffed out a fiery breath and though it singed the edges of her billowing white hair, her smile grew all the same.
At the spreading of his great wings, Hasasha backed up, taking shelter at the entrance to the cave. The two had shared a goodbye, but they both knew a life was at stake and Kyriakos had better fly on swift wings.
The dragon released a thunderous roar that shook loose the stones in the cave. Stalactites fell and elves fled to safer alcoves, but all watched in awe as the great beast took flight. Great gusts of wind billowed into the cave, clearing it of dust and debris, and when it had all cleared the black dragon with glowing blue scales disappeared into the night.
Hasasha turned to her people with a determined edge. As Kyriakos was on his quest to save his prince, she was on hers, to change her people and to save the one she loved the most. Eyes narrowed at the group of elders fleeing the main cave. They knew this night had been disastrous and she knew she could use this to her advantage. Other elves had long since become tired of the old bloody traditions, as well as her. She was not alone. It was time things changed.
Hasasha looked finally like the warrior she had been before she fell in love with Istas, glowing white hair cascading down her strong back, flowing in the wind, torn clothes and a bit of blood on her dark skin. She had waited to feel like this again for too damn long.