Catch a Dragon By the Toe
By R2s Muse
Summary: When Marian Hawke and Cullen's young son, Malcolm, sneaks away to meet a mysterious friend, he never imagined the secrets his friend might be hiding or the danger he might pose. Set three years after "Knight's Bloom."
Disclaimer: The Dragon Age setting, its characters, and the Chant of Light belong to Bioware.
A/N: I didn't think I'd be writing about these characters again so soon, but an idea struck me about Marian and Cullen's son that wouldn't go away. The result is this short story, in three chapters. Thanks so much for reading! Lovely cover art by Inveleth.
Chapter 1: Play Date
At last did the Maker
From the living world
Make men. Immutable, as the substance of the earth,
With souls made of dream and idea, hope and fear,
Endless possibilities.
- Threnodies 5:6
Brecilian Forest, Ferelden
9:43 Dragon
Blue eyes met amber in an uneven battle of wills as the man tried to gauge the five-year old's sincerity.
"You promise you'll go straight home?" Leon asked the boy, giving him a stern look that seemed out of place on the man's normally artless face. Leon's boyish countenance, with his thatch of bright blonde hair, vacuous blue eyes and ready smile, along with his modest understanding made him an unlikely authority figure for a boy like Malcolm, who at five years had a precocity that was almost preternatural. Malcolm's sincere attachment to Leon, his protector since birth, typically made these differences in intellect moot; however, today, Leon was outmatched.
"I promise! I just want to wash off some mud first. Mama won't like it all over her clean floor." Malcolm smiled with what he hoped was just enough mischief at the thought of his mother's dismay over so much mud.
Leon chuckled, having witnessed Marian Hawke's lectures about mud in the past. "Good idea. Okay then, straight home with you." He looked across the village square toward Merrill's tidy cottage, already anxious to be away.
Unbeknownst to Leon, Malcolm was just as anxious to leave but was much better at hiding it. "I promise. I'll go in a minute. But, you should take them to Merrill before they wilt." Malcolm tried his best to sound helpful, and innocent, hoping Leon wouldn't guess that he'd purposely conjured Merrill's favorite flowers.
"I… all right, Malcolm. I'll see you tomorrow. But, no magic while I'm gone. Understood?" The former templar placed a hand on top of Malcolm's red-gold curls for a moment and then started toward Merrill's cottage, Fereldan wild roses grasped in hand.
Malcolm waited for his guardian to round a corner before slipping away from the stream's edge and into the forest. He felt bad tricking Leon, but it was the only way. Malcolm had already felt the call vibrating insistently through his bones for some time now.
The forest was strangely still as he hurried through, like the trees themselves had quieted their leaves from rustling in order to listen. It wasn't long before he also heard it: a voice, singing with such soaring majesty that the birds had fallen silent in the branches overhead, also listening.
Although Malcolm didn't know a word of Old Tevinter, he still somehow understood the meaning of the song. It sang of the rhythms of life within the wood, the turning seasons, and the magnificence of nature, while also pulsing with ancient power. Guided by the unearthly voice, he soon arrived at the sunny glade where his friend sat waiting.
The boy had long golden hair that gleamed in the sun and equally golden eyes that watched the sky as he sang. But what was most striking about the boy was his remarkable beauty, which almost bordered on the effeminate, given his delicate features and slender build. He had the coltish proportions of a twelve-year old who was neither child nor teenager, but his eyes appeared older than the stones upon which he sat.
The boy was seated on a toppled stone marker that long ago had been reclaimed by the wood, its original purpose now obscured with colorful circles of lichen and moss. Gathered around the broken stone were several forest creatures drawn in by the boy's song. A doe and two fauns stood watching with liquid eyes. A raccoon blinked sleepily from its den inside a nearby tree hollow. A pair of chipmunks stood up on their hind legs just in front of the boy, swaying slightly with the song. An old grey wolf sat next to the boy like a dog at heel, wagging its tail while the boy stroked its head. Malcolm stopped at the edge of the clearing, not wanting to disturb the scene.
When the golden-haired boy's song came to an end, he smiled at Malcolm and beckoned him closer. The animals melted back into the wood as Malcolm drew near, leaving only the wolf. Malcolm's fingers started to twitch as he watched the boy continue to pet the grizzled wolf, which for all the world seemed to be enjoying itself. "Can I pet him, too?" Malcolm asked.
In answer, the older boy looked into the wolf's eyes and then turned back and nodded. "He says that you may."
Malcolm inched closer, still wary of startling the creature. Tentatively, he reached out and scratched the wolf's ear. Soon the wolf's tongue was lolling out in a canine grin. "Does he like me?" Malcolm asked the boy.
"He does. You do not hear him?"
Malcolm scrunched up his face, listening hard, but heard nothing. He shook his head. "I guess I don't know how."
"Hmm. Strange. Well, perhaps I can teach you to listen properly. Maybe that can be our lesson for today." The older boy tilted his head to one side. "It took you longer to come this time."
"Sorry, Earth," Malcolm said. "It was harder for me to get away. There's no school today, just Leon watching me, so I had to… um… to…"
Earth smiled at Malcolm's nickname for him, finally resigned to it given the five-year old's difficulties pronouncing his real name. "You lied?"
"Uh, yeah, I guess." Malcolm twisted the hem of his tunic in one hand, worrying at a thread that had come loose.
"It bothers you that you lied to this… templar."
"He's not a templar."
"His mind always feels like a templar's."
"He's… well, he's not one anymore. Like my papa, they quit. They just protect our village now."
"But, this Leon, he monitors you."
"He's my guardian. He takes care of me." Malcolm felt another twinge of guilt that he had tricked Leon, although it really took so little to convince the man to dote on Merrill anymore. Malcolm's mother expected the couple to get married any day now.
"He stops you from using your power."
"He makes sure I'm safe. That the demons don't come for me. For my magic. He's… he's like my second papa."
Earth tilted his head to the side again in puzzlement, strange yellow eyes unreadable. "I do not have even one father. Why would you possibly need two?"
"Well… you must have at least one? Right? Everyone has a father."
"Mother says she is all I have ever needed. And, 'tis true." The older boy cleared his throat, wishing to change to the subject. He ran a critical eye over Malcolm and asked, "Why are you covered in mud?" As he spoke, Earth realized that he sounded just like his mother when she disapproved of something, which was most of the time.
Malcolm shrugged. "I was playing in the mud by the stream. Mud pies."
"Mud… pies?" Earth's nose crinkled in disgust. "Do you truly eat such things?"
Malcolm laughed. "Yuck! Of course not! It's just pretend. You never just… play in the mud?"
"What would be the purpose?"
"Um, to have fun, I guess. The stream mud is the best. It feels… silky between your fingers. It's my favorite for pies. But, too goopy for throwing." He nodded sagely, knowing that he was an expert on mud, that even his friend Rosalind would admit that.
Earth took a pinch of dried mud from Malcolm's shoulder and rubbed it between his fingers. All he could tell was that it was dirt, finely grained like silt, but dirt nonetheless. "Interesting." He briskly brushed his hands together, ready to start their lesson. He scooted over on the stone marker. "Here, sit down. So, have you any experience with wolves?"
"Not really. We have a mabari and my friend Rosalind has a regular dog. He smells, though. Our mabari sort of talks, but not really."
Earth frowned, not fully understanding, and wondered yet again at his patience with the five-year old. "'Tis… similar, I suppose, in some respects. Dogs, after all, were bred from wolves. But they have lost their connection to the Earth."
"Connection?"
"'Tis a bit like instinct, which dogs still have, but also… more. To hear him, all you must do is recognize that connection. Here, take my hands, and let me show you."
Earth held both of Malcolm's hands, and as he always did with their lessons, he also reached out with his mind for a combination of showing and telling. He showed Malcolm how to open his thoughts to the riot of bright souls surrounding them, guiding and nudging him while also explaining. Malcolm could never tell if Earth spoke these words aloud or shared them silently, mind to mind.
Earth helped Malcolm focus in on the old grey wolf, whose soul glowed a bright blue. The wolf was connected with tenuous glowing strands to the rest of his pack as well as to the diffuse blue radiance of the land around them, which underlay everything.
Malcolm looked around with this new awareness, seeing that the entire forest was bright with a tangled web of these blue lines, connecting all living things. The brightest of all, in fact almost incandescent in the depth of his soul and his many connections to the living world, was his friend Earth. Malcolm observed the boy's glow in awe for a moment before attending again to the lesson.
When they released each other's hands and opened their eyes, Earth watched Malcolm expectantly.
"That's amazing. Everything is connected. The whole forest. Even me. And, you, only more so."
"Yes. Yes, that is it. Exactly. Well done." Earth gave him a slow, proud smile. It comforted him to remember that this was why he spent his time on the little boy, because he was quick and very perceptive at times.
The grey wolf turned his head toward Malcolm. Greetings, little one.
Hearing the wolf, Malcolm crowed in delight and clapped his hands. This startled the creature, who shied away and glanced accusingly at the older boy.
Earth grinned at them both. "Be at peace, grey one. Malcolm is merely… showing his enthusiasm. Albeit loudly."
"Um, sorry." Malcolm tried to remember his manners and so swept an awkward bow at the wolf. "Howdoyoudo, Ser Wolf?"
The wolf's jaws opened in a canine laugh. I do well, little one. He stepped toward Malcolm, sniffing him once. Curious. You are different from other humans. Like him. He looked toward Earth. But… also not like him.
"I am a mage, Ser Wolf."
Yes. But, it is something else. The wolf merely looked at him enigmatically and then stood up. I must go. The pack awaits.
Earth inclined his head at the wolf. "You have honored us. Thank you and farewell."
The wolf took a step closer to Malcolm, looking him in the eye. It is good you are his friend. His destiny is a burden. He will need such friends as you in the times to come. The wolf then turned and ran into the wood.
Malcolm watched the wolf until he disappeared and glanced at his friend. "What does he mean?"
"I do not know. I did not hear him." When Malcolm looked confused, Earth continued, "He can choose who hears him. So, it seems what he said was just for you."
Malcolm flushed. "He… he said he is glad we're friends."
Earth was slightly taken aback by this. "Friends? I… Yes, I suppose… I suppose you are my… friend." Friend. It was an unfamiliar word, rolling uncomfortably off his tongue.
Malcolm laughed at the look on Earth's face. "You aren't sure?"
Earth didn't like being laughed at so spoke more harshly than he'd intended. "Friends are luxuries for the foolish and the idle. All one truly needs is one's self."
"I… I didn't mean…" Malcolm looked slightly frightened at this abrupt turn in Earth's mood, making the older boy relent.
Earth sighed, looking down at his slender hands. "What I meant to say is that… when one has no other friends, it can be difficult to recognize such a rare thing."
"Oh. Um. It's okay." Malcolm screwed up his face, thinking. "You know, if you want… maybe my friend Rosalind could come play with us next time...? I think you'd like her."
"Ah, thank you for the offer, Malcolm, but no, I think… with one friend, I am already doing quite well. Plus, my lessons are for you alone."
"Why?" Malcolm had long wondered about this, why this remarkable boy had sought him out so many months ago, calling to him with his enigmatic song and ancient power.
Earth's eyes slid away to the pitted surface of the stone marker, wondering that himself. Finally, he shrugged one shoulder, giving the only answer he had. "You are... like me. Different. Special."
Special. Of course, Malcolm's mother had always told him he was special, but that's just what mothers were supposed to say. Hearing it from Earth, though, was different. Malcolm felt a tingle run down his spine, suddenly knowing this to be true in the way that sometimes he just… knew things. "Special how?"
Earth gave another one-shouldered shrug. "We merely are. We have a stronger connection to the Earth. Did you not see it yourself just now?"
Malcolm looked again the interlocking blue web around him, but instead of focusing on the near blinding light that was his friend, this time he looked at himself and the strong link he also had to that web. "I… suppose."
"You must also notice you are different from the others you know. Can your friend Rosalind call on the winds to do her bidding?"
"Well, yes, she has magic, too."
"But do the winds whisper back to her? Does she hear the ravens grumble about the crosswinds? Does she sense the far ocean tremble from that shift in the air? Does she feel the moon shine down her approval?"
Malcolm thought about this. He always knew when the weather was turning before anyone else, since he usually could hear the giggling of the silly breezes heralding the change. And, the moon had always been his friend, perhaps his first, comforting him on the darkest of nights when his dreams turned frightening or demanding. But Rosalind had never mentioned anything like this. "Do— do you speak to the moon, too?" Malcolm asked.
"Sometimes. What does she say to you?"
"She tells me not to be frightened of my dreams."
"Wise words."
"What does she say to you?"
Earth looked away, eyes distant. "She tells me… not to be frightened of my destiny."
"Destiny?"
Earth looked back and grinned in an effort to shake off the somber turn of his thoughts. "'Tis something I try not to think on and will certainly not dwell on now." He stood up. "I am afraid I must go, too, Malcolm. There is a change in the wind."
"Oh. Okay." Malcolm tried to hide his disappointment. "Well, thank you for my lesson today."
"It was my pleasure. I am afraid it may be some time before I can come back again. But, I will come."
"What if… I need you?"
"Just speak my true name to the winds. They will find me." Earth smiled kindly. "'Twill be good incentive for you to finally pronounce it correctly."
Malcolm took a deep breath, scrunched up his face, and then said slowly, "Earth-them-eel."
Urthemiel inclined his head and smiled. "Close enough. That will always find me. Farewell, my… friend."
He then walked gracefully toward the center of the clearing and raised his hands to his sides. Malcolm heard a faint rushing sound and then the air danced and shimmered around his friend. In an instant, the boy disappeared, replaced by a radiant golden dragon with smooth iridescent hide, sharp golden spikes running from his head down his back, and bright golden eyes. The dragon extended his wings gracefully in preparation for flight, sending dancing arcs of light and color across the clearing as the late afternoon sun scintillated off the delicate golden sails.
"Urthemiel," Malcolm whispered. Dragon of Beauty.
The dragon looked over his shoulder at Malcolm and nodded his head. Then, with a powerful sweep of his massive wings, he was aloft and flying away toward the south.
ooXXoo
Malcolm pushed his food around on his plate, feeling the tension that reigned at the dinner table. He had arrived home at a run, just barely in time for dinner, but he could tell by his parents' silence that somehow they knew something of his adventure today.
Marian was cutting up his little sister Elleni's food when she finally addressed him in a tight but deceptively neutral voice. "So. Leon tells me he sent you home over two hours ago."
Cullen looked up from his food, watching for Malcolm's response. Malcolm returned his gaze, adopting the same solemn expression while his mind raced for a response. It was moments like this that their resemblance was striking. Malcolm had his father's amber eyes, fair skin, and reddish gold curls, although Cullen's hair was more closely shorn in the style from his days as a templar. In a similar way, three-year old Elleni took after her mother's dark hair and grey eyes and had even started mimicking some of Marian's more authoritarian mannerisms.
"I was playing in the mud at the stream," Malcolm said evenly.
"I went by the stream on my way home," his father said. "The mud pies were there, but you were not."
Malcolm schooled his expression as he nimbly adjusted his story. "Well, I had to go into the forest to find the deeper pool. To… to get the mud off, because I didn't want you to be mad, Mama, and… well… I sorta… started to play again." He smiled sheepishly and let his guilt show a little, supporting his alibi.
His father grunted and went back to eating, considering the matter closed.
Marian looked up at her son at last, still struggling to contain the last vestiges of her panic at his seeming disappearance. "You know, it may seem perfectly safe here in the village, but it's important we always know where you are, Malcolm." She shared an uneasy look with her husband. They had gone back and forth about the idea of making a phylactery for Malcolm in order to track him if necessary, but so far had opted against the Chantry's hypocritical blood ritual. This latest episode might have changed her mind.
"I'm sorry! I should have come straight home, like I promised Leon. I'll tell him I'm sorry."
Marian nodded slowly. "You do that. You know how guilty he feels when he thinks he has let us down. He feels so bad that now Merrill may not see him for the next month, and that I blame on you, serah." She gave him an arch look.
He hadn't considered that. "I'm sorry, Mama." He hung his head, feeling truly contrite now.
Marian sighed and then gave Malcolm a smile that was only slightly forced. "So, did Rosalind join you in this illicit expedition into the forest?"
"Sometimes all one truly needs is one's self," he found himself saying.
Her eyebrows shot up at this answer and she shared another look with Cullen, this time amused. "True enough. And yet, sometimes one needs one's friends. Especially when wandering through the forest."
Malcolm smiled to himself at the unintentional truth in his mother's words and started to eat his food. "Yes, Mama."
After a moment, Marian started to eat as well. She then looked over at her husband. "So, what's this I hear about a dragon flying over the woods today?"
Shocked, Malcolm kept his eyes glued to his plate, listening intently.
Responding to the skepticism in Marian's voice, Cullen said, "Donnic saw it, too. Not the biggest I've seen, but it was by far the most unusual. It was golden."
"Hmm, I didn't think they made gold dragons. How odd," Marian said with a frown. "I hope she isn't planning to nest nearby. That's the last thing we need."
"Well, if so, it's lucky we have the mighty, dragon-slaying Champion of Kirkwall here to protect us." Cullen smiled at her proudly.
She laughed. "Given how out of practice that Champion is, I sure hope it doesn't come to that."
Worried for his friend, Malcolm did, too.
You should tell her the truth.
Malcolm started in surprise, wondering from where this new admonishment had come. Looking around, he saw the greying mabari hound laying before the hearth look straight at him. Stretching his new awareness, Malcolm saw the mabari's faint blue connections for the first time.
You should tell her the truth, the dog repeated.
Shush, you, he whispered silently back. You know I can't tell anyone. Especially now.
I think she would understand. They both would. The golden one is an important friend for you. For all of us.
He scowled at the dog, wondering again what the animals knew that he did not.
ooXXoo
Later that night, Marian was tucking Malcolm into bed when he thought it would be prudent to ask a few follow-up questions. "Mama, why do you think the gold dragon would be starting a nest nearby?"
"Well, since it's the first we've seen of her and she was a bit on the small side, I can only guess that she's a young dragon searching for a spot to nest. More mature high dragons tend to stick close to home."
"Um, why do you think it's a girl dragon and not a boy dragon?"
"Because boy dragons don't fly." She laughed. "And thank the Maker for that. You've heard the story enough times of how I fought a high dragon, right? Part of what made that so challenging was that you have to fight her and her whole harem. Hatchlings, male drakes, adolescents. There's a reason so many legends are told of dragon slaying. It's hard."
He frowned, trying to get back to his original point. "Boy dragons never fly?"
"Nope. They don't even have wings."
"And there's never been even one who did?"
"Weell... I... Um, I don't know." Like every other mother of an inquisitive child, Marian struggled with her less-than-omniscient knowledge for a satisfactory answer. "I suppose... an Archdemon is technically a boy dragon with wings. So, there have been a few."
He nodded. I knew it, he thought to himself. "What's an Archdemon?"
Marian tried to decide how much she could tell him. "Archdemons are ancient, fearsome dragons that were once the Old Gods worshiped in Tevinter. The tales say there were seven and that the Maker trapped them underground. The darkspawn constantly seek them out there, following the ancient dragons' call. Whenever they succeed in awakening one, the dragon immediately becomes corrupted and turns into an Archdemon. It then leads the darkspawn to the surface to wage war on the people of Thedas, starting a Blight. You've heard of the Hero of Ferelden, right?"
He nodded. "Right! The Hero of Ferelden saved us by slaying a mighty dragon!"
"Exactly. The dragon was the Archdemon Urthemiel, and when he died, the Fifth Blight was ended. Queen Elissa saved us all."
A chill went through Malcolm upon hearing these words. "Urthemiel. Dragon of Beauty," he murmured.
She nodded, amazed yet again at the unusual things her son picked up. "That's right. Who told you that's what Urthemiel means in Old Tevinter?"
"Um, oh... I don't know," he stammered.
"Malcolm, you don't have to look so worried. There's no way the dragon your father saw was an Archdemon. I'm sure we're perfectly safe."
He tried to appear reassured, while his mind spun at these revelations. "I know, Mama. Anyway, I bet that dragon was just passing through."
"I'm sure you're right." She kissed his forehead. "Now, time to sleep."
He lay awake for some time after his mother left, considering the strange coincidence that his friend was named after one of only seven flying male dragons in existence. And, a dead and evil one at that. The gibbous moon outside his window tonight had no words of comfort.
A/N: Thanks again for reading and for any reviews you might care to share! Stay tuned for Chapter 2: Dream and Idea, next week.