When the Sun Rises
By: Eärillë
Camp NaNoWriMo project, July 2013: Evandar, the King of the Elves, is portrayed as "stern and proud" and silver-haired in the Cycle. But was he always like that? What could be the beginning that saw to the making of the King that we glimpse in the series? I assure you, it was truly unexpected.
Chapter 3
The Dragon
It is irksome, to find Nellon to be as evasive as his mother about why he has so little store of energy or why people might shun him. But I suppose I understand it; nobody would boast about their weaknesses after all, or even tell about them, without being pressured – and I do not wish to press Nellon for detail right now.
I am content enough at present, sitting on Nellon's bed near the edge with the dragon egg nestled in my lap, watching Nellon watch it with longing and painful hunger from his place snuggled in bed under the covers. The mother and son are so similar …
But I cannot be like this for much longer, I know that. I am not much of an indoor person anyway. So how to get him go with me to visit with the dragon? Is he fit enough to walk to the central field? I do not think I can carry him while carrying the egg also, and I do not know if he will appreciate being carried halfway across the town all the same.
There is just one way to find out.
"Do you want to go to the central field with me? I would like to introduce you to a new acquaintance of mine. He is a dragon. How awesome is that?" I send him an excited grin, which to my dismay is not reciprocated. But I plough on. "He is huge but kind. You will like him, I am sure. I do not think Ata likes him though; but then again Ata does not seem to like the Shur'tugal, although he has invited the Shur'tugal home. How weird is that?" I snort.
And at last, he smiles; perhaps to my irked expression hence at my expense, but at least he smiles.
I wink conspiratorially at him, then lower my voice a little in a mock whisper: "Ha, I know, we shall prank Ata and the Shur'tugal, so they will not snipe at each other again. Do you think the dragon will help us?"
He giggles. I giggle myself on the images my mind conjures for that idea.
"Do you think she would like to help too?" I wonder aloud, look at the egg now snuggled in-between us atop the covers, then stare thoughtfully at Nellon, who is staring back with a look that is almost stricken.
"You will make a good Shur'tugal," he mumbles on my questioning stare.
"Why not 'we' instead? You are making things more difficult and less fun, you know," I complain half-heartedly.
He smiles bitterly. The stare he is sending to the egg is now dark and fathomless, and I am beginning to worry about what harm he might do to her, despite his apparent weakness. But in spite of the alarming look, his voice is surprisingly calm, even weary, when he points out, "You know that there can only be one partner for one dragon, do you knot? And there is only one egg here."
I huff. A part of me would like to agree with him, but the other – larger – part would love to include him in this. It just seems … right.
"Look at her," I implore him. "She is huge, is she not? She is enough for the two of us, if she desires it. And who ever says that there can only be one partner for one dragon? It just has never been attempted."
He stares incredulously at me. "The bond between a Shur'tugal and his or her dragon is primal. Surely you know that?"
I shrug. I do not wish to concede to his point. I get what he meant though: that such a link between two älfya and a dragon would be considered almost blasphemous. But still, I do not wish to give up my desire.
Now, it is my turn to stare darkly at the unmoving egg nestling between the two of us.
It is mentally and almost physically tiresome, having to drag Nellon out of his home and along the way to the central lawn. But I would do even more than this if it meant I could get him to go out to see the silvery-white dragon with me. He just … I just … well it would be much funner if we go about it together, at any rate! No need for any other excuse.
"Come on, Ello. See? People are going there also. I do not wish to shoulder my way past the adults," I complain. I hear him mutter something, but a pair of girls are giggling loudly nearby, so I do not catch what he is saying. He speeds up a little anyhow, so I do not care much about what he is grumbling about under his breath.
Except if …
"Are you tired already?" I halt and usher him to the side of the path. The tips of his ears go pink and he refuses to look at me, looking at the egg balanced in the crook of his right arm instead, but he shakes his head to my question.
"Did I walk too fast?" I ask again, then add in a mutter, "But we are not snails, are we?"
He glares sulkily at me, then, lifting his chin in a resolute manner, drags me back into the path and onwards. Behind his back, I grin hugely and jog a little to catch up. Great! Now I know how to goad him into doing something. No need for physical means anymore. Now we can hurry there too. It may have been only an hour, but I do not know if the dragon is still there, or if he is still free of admirers, and – like I told Nellon just now – I do not wish to contend with the adults for a position nearest the dragon, because I will sorely lose.
I can be a sore loser, yes yes, no need to dwell on that.
Two little boys – one of whom is far weaker than an average boy – against two Shur'tugalar and at least ten älfya: definite disadvantage. And unfortunately, it is the situation that we are currently facing. It has turned into a stalemate now, but I almost cannot care less about it, because the silvery-white dragon whom we came for is crouched behind all these suspicious people, and I sorely want to be there with Nellon and our huge orange egg.
The chronology is like this: We arrived here in the central lawn about fifteen minutes ago, and the lawn was already full of milling and chattering people, and there were already two other dragons occupying the field aside from the silvery-white one. And then one woman noticed us and the egg and exclaimed about how we got the egg, and accused Nellon of stealing it, perhaps because Nellon had the egg – and he still has her now. She tried to take the egg from him, so I stepped in front of him and thus prevented her from reaching him at all. She did not like it, and demanded why I would defend an abominable creature and a thief, to which Nellon squawked that he was neither an abominable creature nor a thief, and I firmly agreed with him – though I inwardly did not approve of his wavering tone. It degenerated into a shouting match between the two of us and the woman plus some other people, until the two Shur'tugalar stepped in and demanded that Nellon give the egg to them.
I told the Shur'tugalar what I more or less told Cousin Narítha: "I was given this egg by a Shur'tugal, so we are guarding it now. The Shur'tugal might not be pleased if he later sees that his precious egg was no longer in my keeping." One man then remarked that the egg was not anywhere on my person anyway hence she was not "in my keeping," to which I retorted – rather cheekily and belligerently, I admit – that she was on my friend's person and he was here with me, hence she was still "in my keeping." And then one of the Shur'tugalar asked who gave me the egg and how I knew it was a 'she', so I told them: "My father called the Shur'tugal Anurin. The Shur'tugal also mentioned somebody named Elivor, so perhaps that is the name of his dragon partner. Those are all that I know about him. As for the dragon in the egg being a female, I was told by the Shur'tugal, and he told me too that she is precious to him; and then I told Nellon-ránlúith about it all."
And that was all. Everybody froze on my last explanation somehow, and that was perhaps twenty finger-counts ago, and they are still standing stiff and mute like statues before us, with matching looks of surprised incredulity on their faces. I do not understand why, and I find myself reluctant to ask. I am feeling too uncomfortable to speak myself, and too concerned with Nellon's trembling-but-strong grip on my left shoulder to use the chance of the stalemate to immediately dash to the silvery-white dragon's side.
Then, quite abruptly, the silvery-dragon who is barred from us by the living fence of álfya and Shur'tugalar rises up and lets lose a low, earth-quaking rumble which can only be described as threatening.
Our way is suddenly cleared: without a sound, without a fuss.
A shur'tugal raises his silver-hand towards the suddenly-empty space of lawn between the three of us and the dragon.
I grasp Nellon's hand, push it from my shoulder, then yanks it after me as I drag him running as swiftly as possible towards the dragon.
A woman's startled – and perhaps frightened – scream rends the silence rudely. The shur'tugal intones what sounds like a protection spell behind our backs; his magic circles us weakly by his half-worded command.
I bring Nellon into a sprint in the last paces, straight into the hollow between the dragon's left foreleg, and we collapse – Nellon collapses on top of me, that is, and I collapse onto the grassy earth from the sudden weight on my back – right away. The dragon's left wing rustles as it screens us from the onlookers and the spell-weaving Shur'tugal, and the Shur'tugal stops his frantic chanting midway. But I am far more concerned with Nellon now than anything else, even the egg which has just thudded onto the grass nearby. He is convulsing and choking! What should I do? Why is he like this? What can I do?
"Ello I am sorry I am sorry I am sorry I am sorry Cousin – I did not know I swear I did not know – I am so sorry – please please please – please calm down…" I whimper, with the same jumble of words shrieked in my head. He is dying! My cousin is dying – and it is all because of me! I am wretched, terrified, angry with myself, helpless, horrified –
The dragon snakes his snout into the tent he has made himself around us, regards us with one huge light-grey eye, then shifts a little and scrutinises my red-faced, choking, spasming cousin. He hums deep in his being, makes everything including my body tremble because of it, and inches closer to Nellon. Hot tears scold my eyes and run down my cheeks. Even the dragon knows.
But the dragon does something, something that I cannot do myself: he puts the tip of his snout on Nellon's chest in spite of the thrashing limbs and head, and his humming intensifies.
Magic, wild magic, permeates the air. I suck in a breath, and cannot let it go.
Then just so, the magic and the humming vanish without a trace, save for the reeling sensation in my head and the tingles running up and down my whole being.
And Nellon is staring wonderingly at me, with his eyes open wide like the flat pebbles I use for stone-skipping in the creek near home. He is no longer thrashing, no longer heaving and choking his breaths, no longer looks as if he is dying –
No longer glows far dimmer than even the adults do …
"Whoa," I whisper, caught in the same wonder that he must be feeling. "Whoa … "
It is as if the dragon has fixed something fundamental in Nellon's being that was fractured or even lacking, and he is now whole, though maybe still weak in the area of stamina and store of energy. It is unbelieveable! It feels bizarre to me, although I am beholding the result at present. I cannot yet grasp the very concept of healing an unhealable, invisible injury using raw, wild magic, let alone the notion that a dragon was the one doing that.
But I do grasp the notion that now Nellon cannot use the excuse of being too sick to be a Shur'tugal, and I am fully aware of the debt I and my cousin owe to the dragon, whom I do not yet know the name of for certain. Thus I approach the dragon's head, which is still lightly resting atop my cousin's prone body, and hug him around the snout as far as my arms can reach. Meanwhile I let my feelings of relief, gratitude, awe and wonderment overwhelm all my senses and travel mentally towards him, since no mere word would suffice to me to express what I have been feeling, which has left me weak and dazed with acute relief and happiness that my cousin is still alive.
The dragon only flicks the tip of his rough-surfaced tongue at Nellon's cheek, then at mine, and hums softly with contentment.
It feels quite awkward, playing while being stared at by adults as if we were unreal or belong to a new-found kind of creature. But to Nellon's credit, he looks and acts more chipper and unconcerned than I do, as we work in tandem releasing the dragon from his saddle, which he said was enough to repay the debt that we silly children felt we owed him. My cousin even goes as far as playing an impromptu hanging swing briefly on one of the saddle-straps which is only half-connected to the dragon's body and, giggling giddily, bids me to try it myself.
And of course, I do.
And now we are skipping on yet another half-hanging strap, and I love the act and challenge very much. And to that, the dragon only laughs, both physically and in our minds, even as we flood the three-way communication with our chatter about how our day have been - `and how has your day been, white one?` Nellon is asking, to which the dragon replies with, `I was bored until the two of you came,` and the three of us chuckle to that, and then he extols the virtues and beauty of his mate and his unhatched daughter and we laugh uproariously to his love-sick, silly pronouncements.
I do not know if the crowds are still watching us, and I no longer care. The saddle is just slowly being unbuckled, but the dragon does not seem to mind it, so I do not mind it; and it appears that Nellon can even care less about it, given how he is now clambering up the dragon's foot and seats himself in the precariously-shifting half-undone saddle together with our orange egg – the dragon's daughter. And of course, I do not want to be left behind, so as soon as the last knot is freed from the dragons right forefoot I follow after my cousin.
And the shifting and added weight apparently prove too challenging for the freed saddle to stay atop the dragon's shoulders, so the two of us tumble back onto the grass with each a shriek, a breathless huff, and peals of giggles at our own silliness, as the egg lies in-between the two of us in the slight indantation she created as she fell just now.
The dragon snorts out a ploom of smoke to our silliness. We cough, then giggle again, and stare at each other meaningfully over our orange eggy companion.
We know, we are aware of it: we are creating a haven for ourselves in despite of everything, and it would not be possible without each of us and our egg, and the ability is too addicting to let go of, so we cannot let go of each other as well.
We do not wish to.
While I sthill think that witnessing a dragon's previously-unknown-to-me magic at work on a miracle is the most astonishing thing ever in my short life thus far, the sight that I, Nellon and the dragon are beholding right now is second to it: Ata is approaching the bit of lawn where we are lounging with a resigned look on his face, walking side by side in an almost friendly manner with our Shur'tugal guest, and the two men look as if they are being herded here by Ama and Cousin Narítha. It is a tickling sight too, hence why I am giggling hard right now, even though Ata is throwing me a wounded expression for that.
Well, actually, that only tickles me more, and I am now caught in a gale of laughter even as Nellon is watching me with curious amusement shining on his smiling face.
Sadly, I am too busy laughing to notice as Ata, with a playful growl, swoops down and scoops me up into his arms. "You dare laugh at me, little boy?" he mock snarls. I stick my tongue out at him and grin unrepentantly.
To that, he tickles me on the neck, and I squeal with surprise and glee.
"Ataaa!" I yelp in protest, then giggle again even as I try to dodge his dancing fingers.
And then I hear it: somebody else is laughing just as hard nearby, and Ata's Shur'tugal guest is crooning playful threats to … my cousin?
I twist in Ata's arms, and burst into another peal of laughter as my mind registers the sight of Nellon squirming and flailing in Ata's Shur'tugal guest's arms. And nearby, our dragon friend is doing the same, with his lips pulled back slightly, revealing sharp teeth that somehow do not alarm me much.
Around us, älfya and Shur'tugalar alike watch in silent wonder, and I am curious to why, but I cannot care less to the attention now, especially as Ama is ruffling my hair in that affectionate way of hers.
My family are back and whole and all familiar again, with some additions no less, so I am content now and wanting for no other.