Pairing: Ace/Marco, Benn/Shanks
Warnings: Violence, burning
Notes: Thank you to lunarshores for the wonderful beta-ing, as well as helping me get this out on St George's day (though unintentional,it seems a good fit!)
Loosely based on the legends of the white and red dragons from Arthurian literature. While England, Scotland and Wales arereferenced, there's no historical accuracy in terms of them forming the UK (and no mention if Northern Ireland at all).
The unicorn does indeed represent Scotland, as does the dragon Wales, though for England it's the lion - which I felt a griffin was an appropriate substitute. The title is Welsh for The Red Dragon.
This was written for aerle mainly for her birthday (though this is very belated), but also because of her help when I was writing my big bang. She's been nothing but a massive pillar of support and I hope that this shows how much she helped.
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The dragon, when it came, was nothing like the bards had sung about. While it was true the creature breathed flames, the flames were destructive, with nothing beautiful about them, and they reduced entire towns and villages to ash in mere seconds. Hundreds of Marco's subjects fled to the city, the clothes on their backs the only things they had managed to salvage. They all described the dragon the same way - invisible, silent, death.
Ever since he was a boy, Marco had known of dragons. He'd dreamt of flying with one of the rare beasts first, then of tearing it's heart from its carcass when he'd been old enough to go along with the hunts. That phase had ended quickly after an incident with a griffin, and Marco had lost all inclination to kill magical beasts. They were wise, he'd learnt, and the griffin lived at Marco's court still, as loyal as any knight and wiser than the oldest physician.
Dragons were rare, exceptionally so. They were said to bestow their wisdom on only the greatest of men, to those only with the purest hearts. They were magic, could summon the element of fire without a second thought, and were said to bode well for the kingdom they resided in.
It became increasingly clear that this dragon that now swooped over Marco's kingdom wasn't that kind of dragon. Or perhaps it was, but it had clearly allied itself with Marco's enemies. It intended to destroy them all, every report from the ruined towns said. There was nothing they could do to stop it.
Marco sighed, looking out of the citadel down to the courtyard. A makeshift infirmary had been installed in the largest of the banquet halls and a reception committee installed in the courtyard to welcome any refugees. Marco frowned at the word. His people should not need to be refugees in their own kingdom. His hand tightened around the hilt of his sword.
"Your Majesty," a soft voice called, and Marco turned to one of his most trusted knights. Sir Thatch had been Marco's friend since they were toddlers and riding wooden horses rather than the stocky destriers and coursers they took out to the battlefields these days.
"What did you find?" Marco asked, half-afraid to hear Thatch's report. Thatch had led the knights to escort refugees, and, of course, to see if the rumours of the dragon were true.
"It's not invisible, but white," Thatch said, and Marco's heart sank. His hand fell from his sword, and he nodded.
"And the rest?" he asked, though it was futile. Marco already had his answer.
"The dragon seems to be burning it's way to the citadel," Thatch said, and Marco nodded sharply. It was information, and he could do something with information.
"Coby," Marco said softly, and his manservant (though he was practically Marco's squire at this point) stepped out from the shadows across the hall, at attention right away.
"Summon the council," Marco instructed, and Coby nodded, running off instantly to summon Marco's advisors.
"Tell the knights to rest well," Marco said. "The likely course of action is we ride to meet the dragon. Suggest for any stragglers to get their affairs in order," Marco said. He hated sending men to their death, but they had sworn an oath. They were honourable men, and Marco would be happy to die as one of them himself.
"Of course, Sire," Thatch said, and he smiled grimly, eyes flickering to Marco's sword.
"I am prepared," Marco replied to his unspoken question.
Marco usually carried no weapons, save for a small dagger hidden by his thigh. This sword was passed down through the line of High Kings, until it had been given to Marco during his coronation some five years back. He'd never had an occasion to use this particular blade, and he wished he hadn't had to strap it to his side now. It was a sword of immense power, forged in the fires of a phoenix rebirth, and had been the phoenix's gift to the First King.
The blade itself was a deep blue, though it seemed to blaze whenever raised in battle - according to written accounts. The blade hadn't been used for decades, and Marco had hoped never to have to wield it himself.
"With great power is great consequence," Marco remembered his father saying when he was small. His father had allowed Marco to touch the sword, to feel the power of an ancient, magical weapon under his fingertips.
"The kings that used this blade all suffered," his father had said, and he'd dragged Marco away, warning him to stay away from the Phoenix Sword unless there was no other choice.
It drove the users to madness, Marco learned later. All the kings who had wielded the blade had fallen ill soon after. Their kingdom had remained protected, but the kings themselves had gone mad, mind vanishing until they withered into nothingness. Marco wasn't afraid to die out on the battlefield in blood and glory, but he was terrified of losing himself to his own mind.
He would do what he needed to for his people though. Even if he'd die terribly, Marco would protect them.
The council met, and Marco sat at the table, frowning over marked maps and battle plans. All signs indicated the dragon was headed inland, closer and closer to his castle, but Marco didn't understand why it was taking the dragon so long. He said as much, and was surprised when a young voice spoke up.
"Perhaps it's waiting for something," Coby said, standing behind the council with wide eyes. He looked as if he hadn't meant to speak at all, flushing slightly as heads turned to look at him. He ducked his head, muttering an apology, but Marco waved a hand, calling him to the table.
"What do you mean?" he asked gently, and Coby took a deep breath. He seemed to summon up his lion's courage, and Marco heard their resident griffin stir from its hole-in-the-wall den behind him.
"What if it's not acting alone? All the stories tell of dragons being intelligent, yet this one seems hell bent on destruction alone." A cold feeling dripped down Marco's spine as he realised what Coby was saying. "What if it's simply waiting for the rest of the army?"
There was a moment of silence. Marco felt all heads turn to him and he nodded, lips pressed together tightly.
"Send word to the coast," Marco said. "I want this invading army scouted before they're on our shores. We'll ride out to slaughter this dragon, show this army that it means nothing to our land, and then deal with these ants as they crawl onto our beaches." Marco's voice rang firm throughout the room and he could see the smiles on his council's faces. They trusted him, believed in him, and Marco would not let them down.
It was too late to ride out that day, but Marco informed each knight he wanted on his team that they'd be riding with him tomorrow. They all agreed, clasped his arm and looked at Marco with trust in their eyes. Marco felt it mirrored in himself, and he headed to bed with a less than heavy heart. They would be able to stop this dragon.
Marco rode out in the morning at the head of his knights. His horse was nervous, and Marco could feel it shy slight to the left as they broke into a gentle canter. He frowned, noting that down. Small details like that could cost a man his life on the battlefield, after all. He managed to soothe his horse a little, but it turned out that it didn't matter at all his horse was the one to shy.
Marco's horse was the first to spook, though Marco couldn''t blame it, terror rising up in his own chest when they laid eyes on the dragon, crawling on the ground. The dragon had spotted them, judging by the roar it let out, and Marco hadn't even realised the dragon was that close until his horse was busy galloping away from the rest of the knights. Swearing, Marco sat back heavily in the saddle, lowering his hands and pulling gently to calm his horse. It snorted heavily, almost shaking Marco from the saddle before it calmed, shifting to a controlled canter and letting Marco turn it back to the knights.
When he was sure the horse had gathered its courage, Marco took a chance to look at the dragon. It was huge, first of all, and a brilliant white all over, no sign of dirt or blood covering it. Its wings were made of thick membranes- like a bat ,Marco thought - and its jaws were easily as big as their biggest draught horse. Its body was covered in hard scales, and Marco could see no weakness. And there was, of course, the matter of the fire it was belching down onto his knights, singeing armour and burning horses.
Marco knew then that he'd have to use the sword. There could be no other possible way in which to slay this dragon, and he clenched his jaw, rising in his stirrups as he slowed his horse. He was close now, close enough to see that the dragon's neck bore a collar, one that wrapped around the top of its head, like a browband on a horse. Marco was puzzled, and he only hoped this dragon was as intelligent as the stories claimed its species were.
"Dragon!" he called, holding a hand out to his knights. Instantly they pulled back from circling the dragon, those who were still on horses riding to stand behind Marco. Those who had been unseated came to stand by his side, all unwavering again the dragon as it turned its grey eye to stare at them.
"Human," it hissed, voice thick and guttural. Marco thought it sounded less as if this was a dragon accent, and more of a human one, but he couldn't place where he'd heard it before.
"We have come to ask you to stop this," Marco shouted, waving a hand behind the dragon. The land was charred, and Marco could remember this region being known for its prosperous orchards. It had been beautiful, once.
"Stop?" The dragon hissed, smoke curling from its nostrils as it laughed. "Oh, little human. I have barely just begun!"
The dragon lunged at them, teeth snapping at Marco's horse. His horse shied to the left as his men scattered, and Marco signalled that they were to move onto their attack. This beast didn't want to be reasoned with, and it would surely stop at nothing to take his kingdom. Marco let his reins out, shifting to steer his horse under the beast's belly. He drew the Phoenix Sword, preparing to slice the dragon down the middle, shouting out a battle call, but his sword never even touched the dragon.
The world burned. Marco's horse crumpled, screaming, and Marco could hear the sound echo as his knights went down. They burned with their horses, and Marco felt sick, rolling on the ground to get out of the way of his horse. He wasn't sure why he didn't die in the flames, but Marco had a feeling his sword had everything to do with it. It was glowing a deep, comforting blue, tendrils floating from the metal to Marco's arm, curling over his skin. The sword was pure magic, phoenix magic, and that was the only reason Marco lived now.
The dragon wheeled round, swiping at Marco with a talon. It growled as Marco hit the ground with a thud, denting his armour. He was sure that he'd broken every bone in his body, but he got to has feet anyway, pain almost overwhelming him. Marco swayed, but the hand gripping his sword felt strong. He could do this - he had to do this - and Marco prepared to strike the dragon.
"Stupid, little human!" it called, and it's eyes fixed on the sword, teeth gleaming as it grinned. "Who likes to play with swords it shouldn't have."
The dragon lashed its tail upwards, crawling forwards. Marco remained as still as a statue, sword ready. The dragon could have the sword, though Marco doubted it wanted the sword in the way he planned.
Talons the size of his torso reached around Marco, and he almost lost his nerve as the dragon tightened its grip, lifting Marco off of the ground. His sword arm was foolishly free, and Marco felt a few bones crumple when the dragon squeezed, a clear warning should he try anything.
"My master," the dragon began, and Marco feels pride swell for Coby as he had been right, "wants the Phoenix King. If I take you to him, I'll be rewarded."
Marco was close enough to see that the collar and browband the dragon wore was etched with words. It wasn't a language Marco recognised, but he could feel the binding in them, and pity towards the dragon hit him in the chest. This dragon wasn't acting of its full will. Maybe it would never have razed the land if it had come here without the binding. Maybe not. Marco really had no idea.
He didn't get a chance to think much else after that. The dragon launched itself into the sky, and Marco promptly threw up over its talons, smug satisfaction mingling with acidic bile at the sight of the dragon's claws. His sword was still in his hand by some miracle, and Marco risked a look down, noting they were heading for the coast. If he returned to court, Marco thought, he first thing he'd do would be to promote Coby to an advisory position.
There was a time for action and a time for waiting, and Marco knew now was not the time to act. As much as he ached, both in body and soul, Marco had to bide his time. If the dragon was taking him to its master, there was every chance Marco could kill this master and turn the battle before it even started. He had to hope for that outcome, but he was still prepared to slice the dragon's foot and drop to the ground, praying he survived a fall that should rightly kill him (then again the fire should have killed him, but the sword had protected him).
The sea was in sight, though Marco couldn't be sure which one they were heading to. The land below gave no clue either, and from the speed the dragon was travelling at, they really could be anywhere.
Marco was craning his head, trying to get a look out at the army they were headed for, when the air around them changed. The talons around Marco tightened and the air whooshed from his lungs. Marco was struggling to get air back in when his blood ran cold, and he nearly dropped the Phoenix Sword in shock.
They were all familiar with the presence of the white dragon by now, but Marco had never heard of another dragon living in his kingdom. Rising up beside them, however, was a blood red dragon, a little smaller than the white one, with teeth poking from its jaws and tail barbed. Marco's first thought was that this dragon was the white one's partner, but he wasn't so sure when the white dragon hissed, turning on its wing to face the red dragon.
That was when Marco noticed the red dragon had a human seated on its neck, tucked between two spines. Whoever this person was, and Marco had a slight inkling now and wanted to laugh, they weren't someone to be trifled with.
"You've entered my land twice now," the red dragon said, accent a little softer than what Marco heard at court, further cementing his belief about where they were. "I warned you last time," the dragon said, and let out a deep growl that shook every aching bone in Marco's body. He groaned, and the red dragon locked eyes on him, wings beating heavily to keep it in place.
"You have a human," the red dragon said, and Marco felt the talons around him loosen, just enough for him to get a better purchase. He'd have to risk it - if he was where he believed, he'd be safe. Wales was under his jurisdiction as High King, Marco simply had to trust the person on the dragon would catch him if he fell.
The first swing of his sword was enough to cut through skin, muscle and bone. One of the dragon's fingers came away from its hand, and the dragon roared in rage as the Phoenix Sword's magic burnt through the wound. Marco brought his sword down again, severing another finger, and then he was falling to the ground, dragon blood raining down on him as his stomach flew out of his mouth and to the heavens. The Phoenix Sword was a comforting weight in his hand, and Marco smiled as he looked up, watching the white dragon flee to the coast. A wound by a magical blade could be fatal, Marco knew, even if the wound was small.
"Not many men would make an enemy of a dragon," a deep voice said, and Marco found himself before the red dragon, looking dead in its eye. He opened his mouth to speak, but Marco was suddenly in too much pain to do anything but fall and keep hold of his sword. He nodded slightly, and his stomach settled a little as he felt a gentle hand cradle him, the dragon pulling him from the air.
"Rest," a voice said, and Marco knew it had to be the human riding the dragon who had spoken. He did as commanded, though, closing his eyes as they drifted towards the ground and safety.
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Marco woke to a crackling fire and a warm bed. He started when he set eyes on the fire, flashes of screaming men and horses, the scent of charred flesh and scorched ground filling his nostrils, and before he'd realised, Marco had stumbled out of the chambers and into the hall outside.
He wasn't, Marco remembered, at home. This wasn't his castle, and one look down the hall confirmed to Marco where he was.
There were three countries under Marco's control, and this was Wales, the country ruled by a man Marco had never met. The previous king had died suddenly a few months back, and his son had never made the journey to court - nor Marco to Wales - through unavoidable duties. It was a little shameful to be a this king's mercy without prior introduction, but Marco could swallow his pride for a man who had saved him.
Hand sweeping his hip, a motion that had become familiar to Marco since he'd strapped the Phoenix Sword to his side, Marco realised that his sword wasn't there. Panic gripped him, and Marco darted back into the room, relief flowing through him as he saw the sword on the table, gleaming as if it has been newly polished. Across one of the chairs were a set of fresh clothes, and Marco changed out of the bedclothes he was in, turned away from the fire as he tried not to think of who might have undressed him.
Marco supposed it was polite to wait for someone to collect him, but with the white dragon and an invasion on its way, he needed to amass his army. Marco needed his men on the Welsh coast, else the kingdom would fall. Marco knew that, had sense to know that if the dragon returned with its master, they'd be done for. So rather than waiting, Marco collected all he needed and set about finding the kitchens. He'd grab some food, speak to the Welsh king and then be off. Perhaps he'd be able to use one of their messenger hawks actually, Marco thought, moving down endless halls trying to find the heart of the castle.
"Excuse me," someone called eventually, and Marco turned. He wouldn't admit it, but he could just about kiss the man before him. He was miserably lost.
"You've taken a lot of damage," the man said, and Marco noticed the simple coronet on his brow and his ring, set with rubies, on his left forefinger. He had dark hair, a few laughter lines at the corners of his eyes, but he held himself with the aura of power, and Marco knew instantly who he was in the company of.
This wasn't just any man, but the Y Ddraig Goch, ruler of Wales. Of course, Marco (and probably the rest of England and Scotland) had thought the dragon was more a metaphorical name for the king, just how Marco adopted the lion for his country's sigil and how Scotland had their unicorn. He hadn't expected a literal red dragon to be under the king's command, but there was no doubt in Marco's mind that that was how things were.
"By all accounts, Sir Knight, you shouldn't be awake until at least a week or so, let alone moving around." Y Ddraig Goch's look was curious rather than accusatory, and Marco knew two things then.
One: his sword was ridiculously magic and had decided to help in the healing process, something Marco was very thankful for. Two: Y Ddraig Goch had no idea who he really was. Which was to be expected - Marco didn't ride out with a crown or any rings. He carried notes of his heritage in his saddlebags, in case they were demanded in proof, but that had all burnt. Y Ddraig Goch must think him a simple knight from the armour and sword, and that was fine by Marco. He wouldn't need an escort when travelling home now, and everyone knew an escort only slowed one down.
"My sword was created of phoenix magic," Marco said, and Y Ddraig Goch raised an eyebrow. He smiled, fingers twitching as if he wanted to touch the sword, but he must have thought better of it.
"You must be hungry then," Y Ddraig Goch said, setting a hand on his own stomach. "I know I'm starving, and I ate a few hours ago!"
The first thing Marco learnt after that was that Y Ddraig Goch was actually called Ace. Ace explained, with embarrassment in his voice, that his whispered name was a mistake. He'd apparently been playing host to a group of scribes who came from a land full of dragons after saving them from a brutal bandit attack.
Ace had been explaining that he'd hatched an egg himself, but scribes has misunderstood him and begun calling Ace the red dragon, for someone with so much heart deserved to be named after the king of all creatures. Ace had never realised how far the name had spread until people began visiting his court just to pay homage to Y Ddraig Goch.
Marco knew many men who would take advantage of such a title, twisting its greatness and lapping up the greed. Ace seemed, if anything, bemused by the title, never once using it himself. It warmed Marco, and he wondered if Ace would like to come to his court one day.
They reached the kitchens, and the cooks began fussing over Ace at once. The head chef, a large woman with unruly hair and an unshakable frown, stood watching the proceedings, tapping a spoon on the nearest hard surface when she'd deemed enough was enough.
"Back to work!" she shouted, and the cooks rolled their eyes, a maid setting up two plates of food for them.
"We'll need provisions too," Ace said, looking at the head chef. She muttered something and stormed off, but Marco saw her small smile and knew she cared for Ace in her own way.
When the food was ready, Ace surprised Marco by taking it himself, rather than calling a servant. Marco was known to do much the same at home, and it made him happy to know that this man under his reign was good to his people. Marco liked Ace from what he'd seen so far, and wondered if there was any way to get Ace to join his council. Wales wasn't too far away from his castle, and Ace could surely split his time between Marco's court and his own, their people safer for the stronger bonds between their two rulers.
"I hope you don't mind dining with me in my chambers," Ace said as they wound through the castle, up a curved flight of stairs and stood before an ornate door. Dragons were carved all over it, and Ace smiled lightly.
"Not at all," Marco replied, resisting the urge to smooth his fingers over the wood. The detail on the carving was astounding - perhaps he would be leaving here with name for a new wood carver to employ at the palace.
"I feel I should clear this up first," Ace said softly, and Marco looked around, expecting a mess. All he saw was a large, warmly decorated room, complete with large, luxurious bed and thick, oak table. It was not unlike Marco's own room, actually, though the view from the window was certainly different. Marco could see the sea, and wondered if he'd glimpse the invading army from this very window.
There was nothing to clear up, however, and he looked at Ace with a raised brow.
"I know you're the High King," Ace said, taking his seat. Marco said nothing, simply sat and shrugged. It would have been nice to keep up the charade, but he supposed he should have addressed Ace as one was supposed to address royalty. He'd not once uttered a 'sire' since he'd woken up.
"There have been no reports that you are missing though, and no one else except my dragon knows. I'd prefer to keep everyone else thinking you're a simple knight, particularly with an invasion on our doorstep." Ace's voice was grim as he spooned some meat into his mouth, shaking his head slightly.
"We sometimes get strange dragons flying over, even ones that are bound like the white one." Ace seemed apologetic all of a sudden, and he refused to meet Marco's eyes. "I would have stopped it if I'd know it was going to burn through our kingdom."
He was young, Marco knew,and still unsure when it came to ruling. Just as any king, taking the throne was sudden, and it was likely that Ace had only just worked through the strain of being a new, untested king. Yes, he had the reputation already (though it was more a case of mistaken identity than anything, Marco knew now), but he'd never been on campaign, never fought for his country. His sword had never been stained with hundreds of people's blood. He was a good, fair king, but the people trusted one more who could and would would rip their enemies apart to protect them.
Could Ace do that? Marco believed he could, if he was following the right man and for the right cause.
"Don't blame yourself," Marco said gently, and Ace looked up with wide eyes. "If we were basing our actions on our oversights, the country would be in ruins."
There was a pause.
"Will you go mad?" Ace asked softly, and Marco stiffened. No one outside of his royal family should know the consequences of the sword, though Marco had told Thatch and a few trusted knights - ordering them to 'take care' of him if Marco ever became an issue, as he'd rather die than run himself to ruin. Perhaps Ace's dragon was the prophetic creature the bards sung gallantly of after all.
"I don't feel as if I'll lose my mind," Marco said, hand dropping to his side. His thumb ran over the hilt of his sword, as a lover would caress their partner. "But I have measures in place should it come to that."
Ace's mouth downturned, and he sighed.
"How do you know anyway?" Marco couldn't help but ask, and Ace smiled sadly.
"My dragon," he explained, and Marco nodded encouragingly. "All dragons seem to know things, and he told me about the Phoenix Sword, how it drove its unworthy wielders insane and how it will protect and restore the land when it's in the hands of the rightful king." Ace picked at his food some more, pouring wine from a jug on the table and offering some to Marco. He declined politely, thumb still resting on the Phoenix Sword gently.
"They say the Phoenix King will be the one to free the enslaved and protect those in his care. His time will bring about such peace and prosperity that his kingdom will shine across the world." Ace set his drink down, looking interestingly down at the table. "I was hoping perhaps you'd know whether you were worthy or unworthy after wielding the sword," he says sheepishly, dark eyes darting to meet Marco's.
Marco considered his words. As much as he'd love to think that he could be the Phoenix King, Marco really has no idea. The white dragon did call him by that title, but it probably was down to the fact he held the sword, not because he was the worthy wielder.
"I don't know," he admitted, appetite lost all of a sudden. What was he doing here with Ace anyway? He needed to send a message home, get his army here and protecting this land. He needed to act like the king he was, not sit around discussing legends.
"I need to send a message to the rest of my knights," Marco said firmly, and Ace moved at once to his desk, returning with ink, a quill and a blank scroll. He even accompanied Marco silently when they head to the messenger birds, asking the handlers which one would get his message there the quickest.
"Would you like to see the red dragon?" Ace asked suddenly, and Marco's hand slipped to the Phoenix Sword, heart pounding at the thought of seeing a dragon again. Despite himself, he nodded, and they stopped by Ace's room to pick up the provisions they'd acquired earlier.
"I found his egg when I was a child," Ace said, smiling. "He hatched and, well, never left. He says a human life is so small compared to a dragon's that he doesn't mind waiting for me to die." Ace laughed, and Marco wondered if the dragon was always as morbid as that. It hadn't seemed particularly bloodthirsty during the small skirmish, but Marco was learning that he knew very little about dragons at all.
The dragon, it turned out, lived largely in an expansive cave network close to the castle, but preferred to lounge around the great hall whenever it could. Ace explained that the people spoilt the dragon, and it happily ate food that was just turning or plain started to rot, even stuff the pigs would turn their noses up at. The entire kingdom loved its dragon, and it seemed the dragon felt much the same, Marco gathered from the stories Ace told him as they made their way to the great hall. The dragon and Ace had saved thousands of people, their own and those travelling on the seas - it appeared the dragon liked the sea, and so Ace flew frequently out to the ocean. The corridor outside of the great hall was littered with trinkets and flowers, presents from the people to their saviours, testament to how much the people loved their king and dragon.
They came to a stop before the huge doors of the hall. Like Ace's room, dragons were carved into the oak, forming a beautiful display. Marco still couldn't help the shudders that passed through his body, remembering the terribly dry air and the feel of the dragon squeezing the life out of him, though, and he looked away.
"Your sword is the only blade that can kill a dragon." Ace said, laying a hand on Marco's arm. He smiled, and Marco understood. He wasn't bushing off Marco's fear but telling him that he still had control. He could face dragons, even the white dragon.
Taking a deep breath, Marco watched as Ace opened the doors. It was warm inside of the hall, that was the first thing Marco noted, but it was pleasant, nothing like the fires his sword had shielded him from. A breeze seemed follow through the room too, and it didn't take Marco long to realise the breeze was actually air passing from the dragon's nostrils.
It lay sprawled out, much like the dogs Marco took hunting, when they'd eaten their fill and lay down before the hearth. It didn't even move a muscle as Ace slammed the door behind them, and Ace sighed, rolling his eyes dramatically.
"When he's home, he's the laziest thing." Ace stepped forward, moving towards the huge, red mass that dominated the back of the room. Marco remained where he was, fingers wrapping around his sword as Ace began tapping the dragon's huge cheek, pulling on teeth as large as Marco's head to coax the dragon awake. It awoke, letting out a huge plume of smoke that was quick to swirl around the room, and Marco steeled himself. It wasn't like the fire smoke he knew but more like a thick fog. It didn't sting Marco's lungs as he took a tentative breath in, nor did he think of charred corpses.
"The High King is here, show some respect," Marco could hear Ace say as he set their provisions down, and the entire room shook as the dragon moved, the smoke clearing quickly.
The dragon was much like the white one, simply red in colour. It was rather unremarkable too, a combination of the small lizards that basked on the turrets when the sun was out and the bats that flittered in the midnight air. It was magnificent, there was no denying that, and it looked down at Marco with wide eyes.
"Your army will never arrive in time," it announced, voice bored. It drummed its talons on the ground, and Ace shoved his shoulder against its leg, chastising the dragon.
"Your best bet would be to ride out with us. The leader of this army is a man of magic. You need to kill him, the only way is with your sword, while Ace and I take care of the dragon." The dragon shrugged, closing its eyes and lowering its head to the ground. That was probably all it was going to offer, and Marco wanted to hunt down all the bards in the country and tell them exactly what dragons were like.
Ace led them silently back to his chambers, and Marco sat down heavily. The dragon was right - it would take probably five days at a push for his army to get here, and the invasion would be won by then if Marco did nothing. He'd have to ride out, with Ace and his dragon. There was no other way.
"My army is at your disposal," Ace said softly, taking the seat opposite Marco and offering him a weak smile. "It would be even if you weren't my king."
Marco raised an eyebrow in question, nodding when Ace offered him a drink of wine.
"You came here last when my father was king, and I was young," Ace said. "I was a selfish brat back then, didn't want to rule, only wanted to run away with my dragon."
Marco took a sip of his wine, succulent berries bursting over his tastebuds. He nodded for Ace to continue. He couldn't remember having met the former prince before, and he remembered the late king making excuses for his son time and time again. The memory of the absent prince somehow didn't match Marco's view of King Ace so far.
"I didn't meet you properly, but I saw you in the stables one night." Marco wasn't sure what Ace meant at first, but then he remembered. His horse had come down with colic, and he'd sat at her side as they'd put her out of her misery. She'd been his constant companion, his first war horse as king, and Marco hadn't been afraid to weep for his fallen friend.
"I'd always heard kings were meant to be this or that, but you sat by that horse's side all night, even after it had passed on." Ace smiled, and he looked so happy."I realised then the king I wanted - needed- to be. I realised that I needed to be a man who you would be proud to have following you, as proud as I am to be following you."
A flush crossed Ace's cheeks and he pushed back slightly, hands resting on the table.
"Despite the circumstances, it's an honour to finally meet you," he said, and Marco had no idea how he was supposed to react.
He was use to his knights looking at him for direction and in reverence at his skills. Marco was used to his strategists seeking his advice to bolster their plans and used to smiles from servants as he passed. He was even used to nobility simpering at him, ladies hoping they could become the High Queen, and men hoping to become the royal bedwarmer or for larger estates and thicker titles. What Marco wasn't used to, however, was someone he could call an equal being proud to follow him, trusting him and, dare Marco say it, showing more than a superficial interest in him.
"Thank you, he said, voice sincere. Ace glanced at him, offering a small smile, and Marco placed one of his hands over Ace's. His skin was warm and smooth, and Marco felt Ace jolt at the contact.
"We will do this together then," Marco commented, eyes darting to Ace's window then back to his eyes. The world was darkening outside, the sun low and sky a brilliant mix of orange and pink. Marco could tell in the gaze he shared with Ace that he was very welcome to spend the night here, sharing the king's own bed, but Marco stood instead.
"I expect there will be a meeting in the morning?" Marco asked, and Ace didn't do well to hide his disappointment. It was almost enough to change Marco's mind, but he held firm. If he did tread that road, Marco wanted more than a quick fuck, and he needed Ace to know that. Besides, he'd already taken so much in his short stay, and he was no pillaging barbarian.
"I'll have someone fetch you," Ace promised, and he rose as Marco moved away from the table.
"It isn't..." he began as Marco made for the door. He suddenly looked nervous, and Marco's heart softened. "It isn't just me, is it?" Ace's voice was quiet, and Marco held back a smile.
"If it was just you, I'd have thrown you on the bed already," Marco confided, and Ace's eyes widened in shock. "It's not just you, and that's why I'm not going to touch you until this is over."
Hoping Ace understood, Marco opened the door and left. He had no idea where his rooms were, and it took him a good while to find a servant who could help. In all that time, though, Marco never once lost his smile, and he fell into bed alone with aching cheeks, thoughts full of Ace. He hardly knew the legendary Y Ddraig Goch, but once they were done with this enemy, Marco wanted to discover everything.
.
A total of three war meetings had taken place, and Marco thanked his temporary manservant as they helped Marco into his armour. Today was the day they rode for the coast, the day the army were set to make for land. This was the day Marco protected his people, helped slay a dragon, and took the head of a ruthless murderer. If he'd come onto Marco's land and attacked himself, he wouldn't be as cowardly as he was, instead he'd forced a dragon to do his job for him, burnt land just for the sake of it, and resorted to kidnapping rather than requesting one on one combat. This man would be deadly, but he was far from honourable, and that made Marco the better man already.
The castle was alive with battle preparations. Ace's army was coming with them, and the red dragon was prowling out on the battlements already, eager to get going. Marco stepped out and was met instantly with respect, soldiers stilling and lowering their heads as he passed. It hadn't been long before they'd found out that he was the High King, and it had helped speed through preparations. The council had been worried the High King would see their marching army as a threat, and Marco had calmly stated that, as he would be riding at its head, no misunderstanding would occur. The meeting had had to be adjourned then, and Marco did feel a little satisfaction at fact he'd caused a man old enough to be his grandfather to faint.
"That was cruel," Ace had muttered as they left, though his grin spoke of his true feelings. Marco had bumped his shoulder, and they'd run down to the kitchens, gathered food, then found an alcove where they could eat in private, overlooking one of the flower gardens. Their legs had been tangled together, breath fogging up the window glass, and Marco almost made foul of his promise not to touch Ace, wanting to kiss him sweetly, show him he was every bit as beautiful as the flowers they were looking out at.
"How long have you been wanting to be a knight?" Marco asked his manservant, snapping from his thoughts, and they stiffened. He smiled and placed a hand on the servant's shoulder.
"I didn't have to direct you once, and you hold every piece of armour as if it's a jewel." Marco had a keen eye for spotting what people wanted, and he made use of it. He plucked knights out from all social castes, simple because the person wanted the role.
"I don't think it would be possible, Sire," the servant said, and Marco patted their shoulder gently.
"I allow women to fight for their kingdoms too, you know," Marco said gently, and the young girl looked up in alarm. She was dressed as a boy, hair cut short too, but there was no hiding her fully.
"I don't like being a woman," she - or perhaps he, if that was what they preferred - said. Marco nodded, placing a hand heavily on their shoulder.
"I know the ideal knight you can squire for, if you'd like to return to my castle with me," Marco said. Thatch was between squires, and Marco wouldn't trust any other man to do a better job of raising a knight.
"Your Majesty," the servant said, scrabbling into a bow, but Marco simply laughed, fetched his sword from the table and strapped it to his side.
"What's your name?" he asked, and the servant looked up, eyes full of tears.
"Haruta, sire," they said, and Marco nodded firmly.
"When I return then, Haruta, it would be my honour of you'd join my knights." He nodded once, leaving the room with the clink-clank of armour, and a calm settling inside of him.
Ace was waiting before the castle, nodding furiously to a blond knight Marco recognised from the war councils. He seemed to be the commander of the knights and smiled widely when he saw Marco, nudging Ace and turning away quickly to order his men about.
"Good morning," Ace greeted cheerfully, though his brow was furrowed, and there were dark circles under his eyes. He hadn't got much sleep then, though Marco could hardly blame him. From what Ace had told him, this was his first true battle in command, and an important one it was. If the invading army slipped past them, they'd ravage the kingdom. If either of them fell, the kingdom would be in turmoil, and Marco knew there was no other option but to win.
"Your dragon's looking mighty impressive," Marco commented, looking behind him to where the dragon stood on top of the battlements, steam pouring from its nostrils as it drummed it's talons against the stonework of the castle. Ace frowned.
"He's impatient," he explained, quietly and only for Marco's ears. "And I'm about as jittery as a newborn colt around a wolf."
Marco smiled softly.
"You have nothing to fear," he said, and Ace looked at him sharply. It wasn't a doubt, but it was a clear calling of truth. Of course they had something to fear - only a stupid man wouldn't fear what they were up against.
"Well," Marco amended, "you need not worry too much. This coward won't be allowed to take our kingdom."
Ace smiled at him, and Marco had heard all the stories that spoke of men riding to battle, wooed by their lovers to do incredible deeds. Marco had laughed at them - how could one person inspire so much to another - but now he thought he understood. It wasn't that he'd do anything for Ace, but that he himself could do anything for his kingdom, safe in the knowledge someone was waiting for him. And even if their relationship remained platonic, Marco had found a good friend in Ace.
"The leader of the knights, Sabo, will defer to you while I'm in the air," Ace said, and he held his arm up, the dragon slinking from the battlements to join them. A few of the horses whickered nervously, but they remained where they stood.
"I'll be aiming just to target the white dragon. On the ground, tactics shall be up to you," Ace finished, patting his dragon's leg and nodding to Marco.
Ace had been wary to give his army's command over but not for the reasons one might think. He'd been worried for Marco, that his men might not be as respectful, but Marco had waved it away. He understood. All Ace's knights had heard about him were stories, and if they had seen him during his past visits, they knew very little of him. He didn't doubt they were more loyal to Ace than him, and he only hoped he wouldn't let them down.
There was a slight commotion, and Marco looked over to see a dappled grey horse struggling against three knights. They could barely hold it back as it wheeled around, teeth flashing and legs poised to kick. It was a spirited animal, and Marco watched as it half-reared, throwing the knights off of it.
"Your Highness," one of the knights said, as the horse snorted, flicking its cropped tail in annoyance. Ace crossed his arms with a sigh.
"I hoped she'd calm," he muttered, and Marco looked at the docile bay he'd been given to ride. He was a perfectly pleasant gelding, perhaps a little dim witted, and Marco felt suddenly emboldened. If this was to be a fight where dragons fought and he defended the land, why shouldn't he try to ride an untameable mare?
Marco had always had a way with horses. When he was a child, he'd always been called to difficult births and, when he'd been helping the mother dry the newborn, the horse master always commented that both the horses should have died. Even now, Marco spent his free time in the stables when he could, and he knew every horse as well as his knights. Perhaps this wild one, that had its ears back and was facing off against the three knights again, might listen to him too.
He gave a quick nod to Ace, made sure his horse wasn't about to wander off (not likely, he was the sort who liked to stand and watch the scenery), and Marco approached the knights. He could feel the eyes of everyone gathered watching him, and the knights stilled as he passed them. He heard Ace whisper a curse, but then he was at the horse's side, stroking between her nostrils and doing a once over of her tack. Whoever had tacked her had been able to do it properly, and Marco hummed to himself, glancing at the mare. Her ears flickered forwards curiously, and Marco took it to mean he had her permission.
No one made a sound as Marco mounted the grey mare. She was as still as any well trained war horse, only moving when Marco was seated and asked her to. It had, admittedly, been a little awkward mounting without a block and this much armour, but the mare had been accommodating, and she rode better than any horse Marco could remember being astride before.
"She only wanted the high life," Marco said, and the horse came to a perfect stop beside the dragon. Ace looked up with wide eyes, then he laughed when the horse stuck her neck out, blowing warm air over his cheeks.
"Her name is Moby," Ace said, fingers running over her cheeks. "I never thought I'd see the day she went into battle."
He smiled, passing by Moby's side. Ace's hand brushed against Marco's leg for a moment, then he was clambering up onto his dragon. They were ready to go, and Marco could feel his horse's excitement.
"To me!" Marco called out to his army, and Moby walked onwards, as proud as any of the Spanish horses her stock came from. She looked like a true king's horse, and Marco knew that impressions meant everything when fighting off an invasion.
The journey to the coast took a while, and villagers came out to cheer them as they heard the war drums and chants of the army. Flowers were thrown down in front of Marco's horse, and she lifted her legs high as she trotted over them, neck curved and Marco sitting tall. He waved to his people, and their awe only grew as the red dragon circled above them.
"You are protected!" Marco called out to the people, and they cheered back. Somehow news of his newest title, the Phoenix King, had spread, and villagers were heralding the Phoenix King alongside Y Ddraig Goch. Marco bowed his head in respect, glancing up at the sky whenever a shadow passed over them.
The coast was empty when they set eyes on it, but Ace swooped low enough to inform them that the enemy ships weren't far away now. He didn't say anything of the white dragon, but Marco knew it was only a matter of time before it came for them.
Marco stood before the army, Moby still under his hands. Their war calls had grown silent, and Marco narrowed his eyes as he looked out at the bay. Ships were approaching fast, and Marco raised a hand. In reply, archers knocked their bows, and squires ran between the lines with torches, setting the oil-soaked arrowheads alight. As Marco's hand went down, the dragon above them roared, and the army broke into its war song, drums echoing and haunting voices floating across the water to the invaders. A few boats caught alight, and Marco saw more men fall, though this was more of a warning shot than anything.
The white dragon moved first, flying fast and low over the water. Marco's horse remained steady as it neared, and he let his hand drift to the Phoenix Sword, just in case the dragon was foolish enough to come within range. It didn't, and instead it landed with a heavy, uneasy thump before Marco, the lack of its forefingers impacting more than the dragon seemed to want to let on.
"My master will allow you clemency if you hand over your crown." A messenger sat on the back of the dragon, accent thick and voice shaking as they declared their master's wishes. The messenger closed their eyes, and Marco could see them shaking from far away. They were petrified, and Marco frowned. No noble man would send another to die carrying a message, yet this messenger seemed to believe that this was the end of their life.
"Return to you master," Marco shouted, the war cries behind him silencing a moment. "Tell your master if he is half the coward he has proved himself so far, he will never be able to take my kingdom by force, let alone have me hand the crown over on a golden platter."
Marco could feel the white dragon's lingering gaze, and it snarled as it returned to the ships. The war cry took up again, and another round of flaming arrows were sent out into the bay.
This time when the white dragon flew, it headed upwards, flames pouring from its mouth as it made for the red dragon. They locked talons, teeth snapping as they fought to rip into each other's flesh. Marco could only spare a passing worry for Ace before the ships were alarmingly close, and he got his first look at the leader.
Wearing what looked to be a manticore's pelt, the leader was quite unremarkable. He was of average build and height, though his head turned with every breeze, and he held a thick club in one hand, sword at his hip. He was battle scarred, a deep gouge running down the length of his right arm, and Marco could already feel his presence, the magic he abused the dragon with seeping out into be water and lapping at the shore.
With a grunted word from their leader, some of the men leapt from the ship, sloshing through waist-high water to be the first to attack. Marco tied his reins up so he could leave both hands free, drawing the Phoenix sword with one, and an ordinary blade the other. Moby understood as well as any horse back home his movements in the saddle, and they danced between foot soldiers, slicing down the enemy as Marco called the first line of soldiers to aid him.
The invader's leader didn't take too kindly to Marco after that, and Marco felt the hiss and spatter of dark magic. In his hand, the ordinary sword grew hot, and Marco saw the army around him drop their weapons, just as he was forced to. Moby snorted, and Marco patted her neck, slipping from her saddle. The Phoenix Sword remained cool in his grip, and Marco called out an order for Ace's army to hold their arms. He noticed Sabo out of the corner of his eye and nodded. He would need their help after he'd destroyed their leader.
"You are no match!" the invading leader said, dark eyes wild. His accent was of the court Marco had ridden out from, this invader not so foreign as he'd assumed. Marco remembered a man who had challenged his right to be king, a man who had poisoned and plotted to try and take the throne. The man before him was one Marco had denounced and exiled, a man who had thrown a tantrum like a child when he hadn't got his way.
"Marshall," Marco said, and the man broke into a thick, cloying laugh.
"The mighty king remembers," Marshall said, and he took a heavy step forward, swinging his club dramatically. "I've come to take what is mine!"
He roared, lunging forward, but even with five years in exile, Marshall was no master fighter. He'd never trained as a knight, instead inheriting his title from a Duke who had died. The former king had taken many children in, and Marshall seemed to think he had the right to take the throne because he was older than the king's blood son.
"You were given opportunities," Marco said stiffly, dodging another awkward blow of the club. "You never had the makings of a duke, let alone a king. You ran your land into ruin, destroyed your peoples' livelihoods, then had the gall to run to the king and beg him to fix it." The Phoenix Sword hummed in his grip, and Marco took a deep breath. The club came for him, and he sliced through it, cleaving the weapon in half and nicking Marshall's fingers. A spray of blood confirmed Marco had hit his target, and he smiled grimly.
"You match your dragon," he commented, and Marshall's face twisted horribly, fingers wet as he reached for his sword.
"That beast," Marshall huffed, hand wobbling as he drew his sword, "is not worthy of comparison to me." He snarled, and Marco felt his ears pop as the pressure around them changed. When he opened eyes, Marshall's fingers were cauterised, and he was panting heavily.
Above them, Marco heard the scream of a dragon, and longed to look up, to see how Ace fared. He didn't dare, not with a coward like Marshall before him.
Marco had no idea how to defend against magic, so when he felt Marshall summon his spells, Marco remained still. He readied his sword and waited, watching Marshall's blade glow, dark smoke curling out from it and spreading. He aimed the sword, and Marco knew a blast would be sent his way. He spread his legs, took a deep breath, and then the wind was knocked out of him, body falling to the floor, as something encircled him, shielding him from the blast of magic.
It was, to Marco's surprise, the white dragon. Gaping wounds covered its neck, and Marco could see two huge scabs where he'd sliced the fingers off of the dragon, but it kept him protected from the dark magic, hissing as the blast rolled over its back. It had to hurt, but the white dragon stayed still, breath steady as its visible eye looked at Marco.
"Perhaps they should call you the finger-cutting king instead," it hissed, and its voice still shook Marco to the bone. It leveled its gaze, and Marco understood. When he'd been wounded, Marshall had lost some of his control over the white dragon. This wasn't an alliance, but a momentary truce, and Marco didn't need to wait long before Marshall paused in hurling his magic at them.
It took all of three parries and a thrust to end Marshall's life. It was sad, really, and Marco felt nothing but pity for the body before him. Marshall was a coward who had done terrible things, all for power he would never understand. There was still the matter of the army, and Marco prepared himself to fight, only to meet Sabo's amused gaze.
"His army," Sabo said, pointing to rotting boats and skeletons. "I believe he practiced necromancy."
The red dragon landed in the water, splintering old boats and spraying the knights with water. It looked at the white dragon, blood coating its teeth, and the white
dragon lowered its head to the ground in submission.
As Moby returned to him, Marco watched Ace as he walked over to the white dragon. They seemed to converse, though there was no outwardly spoken conversation, and the Ace nodded, face grim, and made his way towards Marco and Sabo.
"The dragon has one request," Ace said, and Marco's eyebrows shot upwards as he heard it. He looked to the dragon, sheathed his sword, and nodded.
It took almost the entire army to dig the hole the dragon requested, and when it clambered in, curling up tightly, injured hand cradled to its chest, Marco felt a pang of loneliness for it. He watched as Ace cut the collar and brow band free, and the dragon sighed deeply, seeming to shrink as Ace ordered the dirt to be filled back over the dragon. It would be fine, Ace had said, and all it wanted to do was sleep in peace. Perhaps one day it would emerge, but it was hurting too much right now. Marco could understand, and he stood by the red dragon as they watched the dirt pile up.
"More people will come to challenge you," the red dragon said, and Marco nodded. With a new title came new threats, and while Marco had little experience with magical matters, he knew the Phoenix King was a welcome chance for some to fight.
"If you walk this path alone, you will fall," the red dragon said, and Marco sighed.
"I'll only walk it with him if he wants that." Marco looked over at Ace, to where he stood with a group of young squires, arms waving as he no doubt recounted the events of his sky battle. "And I would never choose him just so I'd succeed."
The dragon let out a warm puff of air, chest rumbling. It seemed happy with his answer, and Marco nodded to it, crossing over to pick up a spade. There was still a lot of dirt to pile back up, and he hadn't exactly spent a lot of energy fighting.
When Marco looked up, sweaty and covered in mud, he found Ace next to him. They shared a smile and turned back to their work, fixing the damage Marshall had caused bit by bit
.
Although Marco would have loved to say he stayed in Wales after the battle and shared Ace's bed from that point on, the truth was he had to return home. He sent a hawk announcing their win, slept for ten hours straight, then feasted like he'd never seen food, and then it was time for Marco to leave.
"Haruta says you offered him a place with the knights," Ace said as Marco stood in the courtyard. He'd bought Moby from her owner (who was actually Ace, who had rejected the money, so Marco had distributed it amongst the stable workers), and she stood behind him, flicking her tail in annoyance. She wanted to get going, but Marco had no idea how to part with Ace.
"I did, and I should like to return the favour. I have a few people who would benefit from spending time in your care," Marco said, and Ace's smile was wide. Marco looked down, placing a hand on the saddle behind him as he leant closer to Ace, almost whispering his next words.
"I would have liked to take you back with me more, but I only take what is offered to me freely." He smiled, mounted Moby, and then his small party of two were off, joined by Sabo and a handful of knights as escort.
He didn't look back, but oh, how Marco had wanted to.
Home was everything Marco remembered it to be. Thatch spent about half a day ignoring, then chiding, him for leaving, but the kingdom was in high spirits, news of the Phoenix King and Y Ddraig Goch conquering a dark magician spreading through the towns quickly. Marco was greeted with even more praise, but it felt hollow. He couldn't take joy in it when Ace was so far away, and Marco took to taking Moby out for long rides, to shake the feeling of being a fool in love.
He was so caught up in trying to forget that Marco did forget he had a meeting with the kings, and that meant the Scottish king was coming to court. Although historically they'd never gotten on, and Marco still thought the Scots were a rowdy bunch, while they thought the English boorish cattle, the current king was a good man, and someone Marco could call a friend (aside from that one time with the kilt and the salmon, Marco didn't think he could ever forget the feeling of fish on his backside).
"Seems to me like you have the kingdom in an uproar, oh mighty Phoenix King!" Shanks said loudly as he entered the great hall. The griffin looked up in interest as Marco sighed, paperwork strewn across the council table. The griffin did like a good gossip, and Marco was sure it had been the one to accelerate rumours about the Phoenix King across the castle. Behind the Scottish King, his chief advisor closed the door and nodded respectfully. At least Baron Beckmann had manners, and a thought occurred to Marco.
"Forgive me for not receiving you," he began, but Shanks waved the words away, sitting down and resting his feet on the table.
"That is centuries old wood," Beckmann commented dryly, and Shanks removed his feet with a sigh, pulling his kilt back down where it had slipped precariously high up his leg. Of course, he was only wearing it to rile Marco up, usually opting for breeches like the rest of them.
"No kingly business from you," Shanks pointed at Marco, moving his finger round to point at Beckmann. "And no gentle reminders from you." He smiled softly, and Marco's stomach twisted.
"Have you met the Welsh king?" he said quickly, and Shanks turned to him, beginnings of a wild grin threatening to overtake his face.
"A few times," Beckmann interrupted, taking a seat at the table after Marco nodded for him to join. "His brother is currently at our court, supposedly learning how to act more nobly."
Shanks was definitely grinning now, and Marco knew that meant Ace's brother (Luffy, his mind supplied, and he was an adopted brother) was out in the highlands hunting with the wolves and bears no doubt.
"If you're asking what do I think of Ace as a person then I can tell you he is one of the noblest, most fearless, and nicest men I know," Shanks started, and Beckmann looked as if he was waiting for Shanks to put his foot in it. "If you're asking what do I think of Ace as a potential High King's consort on the other hand," he continued, and Beckmann sighed, shaking his head.
Marco didn't move an inch. Shanks regarded him, tilting his head as a serious look crept onto his face.
"I would love to say I'd be jealous you were leaving me out," he said thickly, fake sadness showing on his face, "but I find myself tied to one person in particular, and I could never let him go." Shanks turned to Beckmann, smiling softly.
"My suggestion is you keep hold of those dear to you," Shanks said wisely, and he stood, claiming he wanted to rest before their meetings officially began, though Marco couldn't help but grin as he saw Shanks gravitate towards Benn on their way to their (shared) suite.
"He should arrive tomorrow, shouldn't he?" Shanks asked, and his grin returned suddenly. "Will he even need his own room?" he quipped, and Beckmann saw that as his chance to drag Shanks off, bowing deeply to Marco as if he could make up for his king's lack of proprietary.
Marco just smiled, trying desperately not to think too hard about Ace's arrival.
Of course, that didn't happen, and by the time Sabo led the entourage into his courtyard, Marco was running on very little sleep and looked awful (as Shanks had gleefully told him over breakfast). Marco looked out, half-expecting Ace to have brought his dragon, and he was a little disappointed when Ace rode in on a pretty chestnut instead, bright red cloak rippling in the wind. Marco's heart seemed to stop as he met Ace's gaze, and his mouth clamped shut. Any words he'd prepared fled from his mouth, and he moved automatically towards the party, Shanks a step behind.
"It's an honour to welcome you here, King Ace," Marco managed out, and he listened as Shanks shared his own greeting, hardly able to take his eyes off of Ace as he dismounted.
"It's good to be here," Ace said respectfully, though the look he gave Marco was heavy and full of meaning, and Marco felt the world tremble a little under him. It seemed even High Kings still had moments worthy of a lovesick maiden (or so the bards' stories would have one believe, and Marco wasn't sure how much he trusted them anymore).
As the three kings made their way inside, Marco listened to pleasantries. How was the journey, did it rain as much as they say, how long do you expect to stay, and so forth. Marco led the way to a small antechamber, where food and drink lay sprawled, and he heard Ace let out an appreciative moan.
"I take it we're to let the glorious Y Ddraig Goch rest for today?" Shanks asked, arm around Ace's shoulders, and Marco raised an eyebrow, half-pleased and half-panicked that Shanks appeared to be abandoning them. He nodded still, and Shanks was quick to make his excuses, though Marco suspected this things he had to 'do' were largely centred around Chief Advisor Beckmann.
"This is amazing," Ace said softly, and Marco nodded to the guard outside to close the door. He sat down with Ace, and found himself biting his tongue. He wanted to know if Ace was as affected as he was, wanted to know if Ace ever looked at the stars and sighed, for if Marco was to act the perfect part for an idiot in love, he wanted to share the role with Ace.
"I missed you," Marco said instead, simply. He took a piece of bread and cheese, and busied himself with eating.
"I missed you too," Ace replied, and his hand covered Marco's where it lay on the table. Marco looked down, then up into Ace's eyes, and he felt he could write better than the best bard in the land about the beauty he could see from just staring into Ace's eyes,
"You know," Ace said conversationally, "I was always yours. You never needed to take me."
Marco's eyes widened, and Ace threw him a smile. It looked confident, but underneath, Marco could see that Ace was putting himself out, hoping Marco felt the same and taking a chance. Marco already knew that Ace was brave, but he'd never realised exactly how brave.
It was only fair that Marco be the one to kiss him, and he did. He kissed Ace gently, sweetly, how all the tales of knights on conquests for their true loves ended. He slid a hand around Ace's neck and half- stood from his seat, finding that this gentle, sweet kiss simply wasn't enough. Ace seemed to share the sentiment, and they somehow ended up sprawled over lunch, between the sliced ham and the freshly baked bread, when the guards asked if they were alright, on account of the apple bowl smashing to the floor.
"We're great," Marco replied, and Ace burst into laughter, pulling herbs from Marco's hairs.
So maybe the bards had been incredibly wrong about the dragons in their tales. Love on the other hand? Well, Marco thought they might be right about that, on account of the fluttering his chest as Ace picked food from his hair. He smiled, and there was really only one thing for them to decide: when would Ace's castle become their summer home, and Ace move in here. He would still rule over Wales, but the distance was impractical for a relationship and, well, they were about to face more magical challenges than ever before, it only made sense that the Phoenix King and Y Ddraig Goch were together.
In the end, Ace was quick to agree. In fact, he returned for a day, informed his people - who cheered merrily for him - and did a quick turn back to Marco. The red dragon laughed the entire way, something Marco grew accustomed to tuning out as he and the griffin sat gossiping like two young maids. It wasn't long before it became natural to see a huge, red dragon sprawled out on the battlements, and everytime Marco rode for home after being separated from Ace, the red dragon became his beacon to where he knew Ace would be waiting for him.
.
Thank you for reading, all feedback is appreciated.
Also, inspiration for pre battle scene is the painting 'The Two Crowns by Sir Frank Dicksee. I've loved that painting for a long time.