Alistair stared out the window, only to realize he had been staring at the same spot for the past five minutes without registering what he saw at all.
Frustrated, he turned away and cast aside the book he had been trying to read for over an hour without success. Now that he stopped to look, he saw what a state his room was in. It was littered with the refuge of his attempts to distract himself; his bed was unmade, as he had turfed out the maid this morning when he retreated in here from his own impulses. There were books and papers covering every surface and his bookshelf appeared forlorn, as though exhausted by his demand that it distract him completely. Across from it, his lunch tray sat on a table, only partly relieved of its burdens. Sunlight filtered in long, tapered fingers across most of the surfaces in the room, reminding him of the time. Growling through his teeth, Alistair yanked on the curtains, abruptly casting the room in shadow. It didn't do any good; it didn't change anything. No matter how hard he willed it not to be true, his comrades were going to face down eight dragonlings fresh from their eggs, and he couldn't be a part of it.
He had debated with himself for days about whether he should try and force an invitation to the imprinting ceremony; Eamon, of course, thought it best if Alistair maintained his distance, which had only spurred Alistair on to believe he should be there. But then he had remembered how Charlotte had spoken to him last time they met and he couldn't bring himself to face her wrath. He feared pushing his luck too far and losing the opportunity to go to the Brecilian Forest – to escape.
Unlike Alistair, the wardens' were able to move freely within the Arling; this enabled their efforts to scout for darkspawn, even in the harshness of winter. Alistair had itched to go with them, but Eamon insisted that he be cautious now. He had allowed Alistair to spar with his knights so that his sword would not grow dull, but it was evident that Eamon was working hard to keep Alistair away from Charlotte, and that grated on Alistair's nerves. He could not understand the Arl's hatred for her, least of all when he accused her of crimes he himself committed on a daily basis. If Alistair had a sovereign for every time Eamon had tried manipulate him since he accepted the nomination to the throne, he could fund the war against the Archdemon and still have coin left to spare. Even after working diligently by his side for over 2 months, Arl Eamon showed no difference of faith in Alistair. He made it clear he thought Alistair the same man he had always been and that man required not just his guidance, but structure and outside control.
This was why Alistair had not bothered to tell Eamon he was going to the Brecilian Forest. If there was anything he was learning from his time being tutored by the older man, it was that Eamon responded best when surprised with Alistair's decision. If he sensed any room for debate, Eamon would widen that gap until Alistair's will was crushed under the weight of his determination. That was how he was standing her now, frightened and vexed, wishing to be outside and at the same time certain it would ruin everything. Eamon had ridden him about the potential for harm – not just to Alistair, but to the Wardens.
"Imagine if you surprised them and something went wrong," Eamon's voice was lowered to that compelling octave he loved to use on people he thought he had power over. "You simply wouldn't be able to forgive yourself, Alistair."
Gritting his teeth, Alistair silently cursed his own weakness, hating Eamon and hating himself for listening to him. Alistair had hoped that some of the animosity between him and the other wardens would decrease after he offered to secure the last treaty, but he suspected Charlotte had not told them as their silence stretched on. His suspicions were confirmed the day Charlotte told Eamon about the dragonlings; Aneiren had been courteous, but cold, which could not be more unlike him if he tried. Kicking at a rush-back chair, Alistair vented his feelings aloud this time, knowing that even if he could summon the courage to go down to them, the Wardens would not welcome his presence.
What was even more irritating was that they were hatching them in the training yard, robbing him of a place to exercise his tension the best way he knew how. Ser Perth had been kind enough to come by that morning and offer to spar with him, only to have to mutter in embarrassment when he realized there was no room left for them to fight.
"My apologies, Alistair, I thought-"
"It's alright, Ser Perth," Alistair had replied wearily, his eyes still fixed beyond the panes of the window on Anouk and Kinnon as they set up egg stands. "You weren't to know."
Now, Alistair's hands curled in on themselves, longing to grip a shield and sword. He hated feeling useless, apart. One of the other knights under Ser Peth's command had made the mistake of telling him and Ser Perth that Charlotte herself would be taking on one of the dragons as her own; as a result, his mind was filled with visions of the imprinting gone wrong and Charlotte falling back under the weight of an angry dragon as it breathed fire over her wincing face. The vision agitated him further. He had borne the loss of Charlotte as best he could; he had tolerated losing his comrades, one by one, as they witnessed Charlotte's pain and chose her over him. He had even relinquished his duty as a warden for months, trusting the others to fight the darkspawn without him until he could take advantage of their trip in the spring to get away from Arl Eamon. But somehow this was asking too much of him. It was a new kind of risk, one not yet taken by a group of Wardens, and he was loathe to imagine all the ways it could go horribly wrong, all while he was powerless to stop it.
"I need some air," Alistair muttered. Grabbing his cloak, he threw it over his shoulders and swept out, not even sure where he was going.
Charlotte dressed slowly, equal parts numb and hyper-aware. The time for Impression, as Aneiren had come to call it, was finally here.
It seemed hard to believe that she had brought the eggs back with her at all, having not seen them in months. She had gone down to the caves once or twice to make appreciative noises about their progress – and, by association, Aneiren's progress – but even witnessing the explosion in their size had not impressed upon her the reality of their being. It did not seem real that there were dragons growing inside each shell or that there would come a time when she would have to train one of them just as she had done with Mastodon. Dragons were famous for their intelligence, their cunning, and their fierceness when opposed. It was rare nowadays to hear of anyone surviving a real-life encounter with dragons; it was entirely unheard of to try and domesticate them.
Once she was in her hardened leathers – there was no point in wearing mail, a dragon could just as easily bite through it as they could flesh – Charlotte made her way to their dining hall, where she met a row of pale faces staring at their food.
"Good morning," Leliana greeted her promptly, but could not hide the slight tremble in her hand as she reached for her cup of tea. Zevran smiled and got up to pull out her chair, for which Charlotte thanked him absently. Cora, who was on Leliana's right side, did not even react to Charlotte's presence, her blue eyes fixed on nothing as she slowly chewed her breakfast. Charlotte took a quick inventory of the other warden Keepers; Derick was pale, but sitting upright and talking quietly with Brick, who was nodding at Derick with a serious expression. Petra was sipping her tea while Wynne whispered encouragement into her ear; Charlotte noted that Petra's back was unusually straight and that, whenever she was not drinking her tea, she folded her hands tightly and placed them in her lap, as though fighting the urge to tremble.
Cullen sat off to Leliana's left, separated slightly from the group. Charlotte saw him bend his head several times over his plate, muttering under his breath; she knew without asking that he was praying to the Maker. She had briefly considered doing that herself, but decided that she would save what prayers she had for more difficult challenges.
Aneiren, unsurprisingly, was already out in the training yard. Such was his excitement that morning that he almost couldn't eat breakfast (thankfully, his Warden sensibilities had won out). Charlotte dutifully attended to her own meal before throwing on her cloak to join him. Zevran and Mastodon met her in the entry hall, ready to walk outside with her.
"Principessa," Zevran bowed before offering his arm. She accepted it gratefully, smiling at Mastodon as the hound came to heel on her other side, gently touching his shoulder to her hip in comfort unspoken.
"Thank you," she told them both. The three made their way into the training yard, where Aneiren was working with Anouk, Morrigan, Jowan and Kinnon to set up the eggs. They had attracted a small gathering of spectators, including some of Eamon's knights and Sten and Oghren, who were taking this time to critique the mages' technique.
"What? Why don't they carry a bunch at one time? What's all that sparkly nonsense good for if you have to carry the eggs in a wagon?"
"Elf," Sten called to Aneiren, "Your method is curiously crude; would it not be more efficient -"
Whatever suggestion the Qunari had been preparing to share was lost as Aneiren spun on them both, eyes sparkling malevolently. The two knights nearest him actually reared back in alarm.
"Are you volunteering to work?" he asked them in a silky tone. Sten clapped his mouth shut; even he was sensitive to Aneiren's taut nerves. Oghren, however, missed the hint entirely.
"Huh," he grunted, "Like a nug's ass for the barbecue."
Aneiren turned his head slowly, eyes fixing upon Oghren with a disturbing lack of emotion in their depths. Charlotte pressed her lips together, trying not to laugh as Oghren slowly – painstakingly – began to realize his mistake.
"Uh, what I meant was," the dwarf began backtracking hastily, but it was too late. Aneiren had him by the ear in a moment, dragging the dwarf downhill towards the last four eggs. Sten and the knights watched him go, each with a measure of pity in their gazes, but more relieved than anything else that they had not come to the same fate.
"Morrigan! Anouk! Take a break," Aneiren commanded. The two witches turned in confusion, saw Oghren spluttering as he stumbled along in Aneiren's wake, and immediately parted so that Aneiren could march between them and toss the dwarf towards the cart, where Sandal was waiting with a smile.
Sandal and Bodhan had offered to help carry the eggs up the hill with their cart and the oxen Teagan had loaned them. In order to expedite the process, they had secured a second cart from someone in the village and used a combination of magic and brawn to put two eggs to a cart at once, so that they would only have to endure four trips up the hill to the training yard. The first cart had made it up without incident and Bodhan was quickly releasing the oxen so they could be tied to the second cart. Aneiren halted him with one gesture and pointed to Oghren and Sandal instead.
"You two, haul this up to the yard while Bodhan comes down for the last load!"
"WHAT," Oghren began in protest, "Now, listen here, you thunderhumping elf fairy!"
Aneiren pointed one finger at Oghren and a flame lit up between them out of thin air. Oghren stopped mid-sentence and leaned his head back nervously, seeing how close the fire came to his beard.
"You were saying?" Aneiren drawled; Sandal, thinking it all very funny, laughed and clapped his hands together, smiling eagerly.
"Play nice!" Charlotte called from above, deciding that was enough. Aneiren extinguished the flame and Oghren shouldered his burdens, muttering darkly while Sandal bent to help him, his inane smile fixed in place.
"Elves, humans, dwarves – you are all mystifying," Sten informed her and Zevran, frowning down at the stand-off. Zevran chuckled, his eyes dancing with suppressed excitement at the potential for bloodshed.
"It makes life interesting!" he agreed; Sten's frown deepened with distaste at the assassin. "I cannot think of a word less fitting," he retorted sourly. Sten went back to sit on the edge of chaos, shaking his head with disgust for those not of order and sanity. Mastodon watched him go with a whine.
Charlotte took some comfort in the ritual bickering, but could not deny how her heart fluttered, or how her stomach had turned to lead. Any time from the moment the last egg was placed in its stand, she could face
her dragon. Would it bow to her or turn feral? There was no way to know.
"Knights!" Ser Perth's commanding voice echoed across the yard; his men started like naughty school boys caught shirking their lessons. Without further ado, they hurried over to him, offering their customary salute.
"I don't see a need for you to be involved in Warden business," Ser Perth barked, eying his men critically. With blushes and apologies, the men bowed once more and went indoors. Ser Perth remained, his arms crossed in front of his chest and his expression almost disapproving. This was so against the man's amiable nature Charlotte excused herself from Zevran and went to speak with the knight.
"Good morning, Ser Perth. Are we in the way of your men?"
Ser Perth glanced at her, his eyes sharp. Charlotte was brought up short by the look in them; it was almost as though he were angry with her. After a moment, he softened; Charlotte felt him examining her face closely and, bewildered, tried again.
"I pray that we have not caused you any grievance, Ser. It was never our intention."
"I know you would not cause anyone grief purposely, my lady," Ser Perth responded. Sighing, he added, "But I feel compelled, as a man of honor, to denote that you have."
Charlotte flushed, unaccountably embarrassed to be so gently scolded by one of the only respectable men in Redcliffe. "I….." she trailed off, then cleared her throat. "I am so very sorry."
"Tis not I you should speak with, my lady." Ser Perth bowed his respect, in what she immediately came to understand was an attempt to soften the blow of what he said next. "But you might consider warden Alistair's feelings."
"Ser?" Charlotte snapped, astonished he would breach her personal barriers so deeply. Ser Perth remained in a bow, raising his head slightly in acknowledgment of her fury.
"I will only offend decorum once more to say that he was terribly frightened for you this morning, my lady, and would have come to join you had he not thought himself unwelcome."
As Ser Perth's pure blue gaze captured her own, Charlotte saw in her mind's eye all too clearly how Alistair must have reacted when he found out what they were doing. Clenching her fist, Charlotte felt torn between the anger still simmering against Alistair and a knowledge of his character that made it impossible to deny he was likely in a terrific state of unrest at this point. Even before they had begun their relationship, Alistair had always displayed a great deal of worry for others, particularly her. He was only reassured when she took the safer course of action or allowed him to pursue danger at her side. Brought back to the present by the noise of the cart ascending the last crest of the hill, Charlotte released the tension from her hands and nodded her thanks to the knight before her.
"I thank you for your concern," she told him. "However, I cannot justify the danger against our future King. Alistair may feel free to watch from indoors if it pleases him."
Turning abruptly, Charlotte forced herself back towards the flurry of activity in the yard. She heard Ser Perth go inside as the entry doors creaked against the wind. Forcing herself not to look at the windows, Charlotte comforted herself that her allowance may not be hers at all and that Alistair may have been watching all this time anyway. Ser Perth could easily be bait on a hook cast out by Alistair to see how she would react. If he was, Charlotte could take satisfaction in the fact she did not make it easy for him, but did not prevent him from exercising his free will. If Alistair had any gumption at all, he could speak on his own behalf and be done with it, she decided. After that, Charlotte put him out of her mind and went to help Kinnon place the heat wards around the yard. For fear of wearing them out, they had waited until the last moment possible to use them. As soon as Kinnon activated the wards, the biting chill eased and everyone in their circle of warmth relaxed a little.
Gradually, the other Keepers trickled into the yard, equal parts reluctant and excited. Each egg was carefully transferred from the carts to their stands; out of the darkness of the caves, their shells glowed under the thin sunlight of winter, shining with the same sort of luminescence as mother of pearl. None of them were the same color; dotting the expected green were shades of blue, gold, silver – even pink. The largest sat at the top of the yard, its shell a dark turquoise; Charlotte was directed by Aneiren to stand in front of this egg.
"Me?" Charlotte faltered slightly; well, she supposed it was predictable she would get the biggest one. Looking behind her, she caught sight of Brick – or part of him anyway. His head was only visible just above the edge of his stand, where his egg began to narrow in girth as it curved into its apex. He peered around the taupe shell, eyes wide. Suddenly, her nerves lessened. She could not possibly be more at a disadvantage than poor Brick. Facing her egg more resolutely, Charlotte put her fears to one side.
Aneiren was somewhere between harassed and elated as he rushed around, placing each Keeper where he wanted them. The other wardens gathered around the edges of the yard to watch the spectacle. Riordan was leading Wynne from the castle by the arm, followed closely by Cullen, whose face had turned a light shade of green. While Aneiren seized Cullen and forcibly moved him across the field, Morrigan sat with relief beside Jowan, who was smiling widely on the sidelines. They were joined by Riordan; Wynne; Anouk; Kinnon and a deeply disgruntled Oghren. Sten remained slightly to himself; Charlotte could not help but enjoy his curiosity overpowering his crusty sensibility. Not to mention, she added silently to herself, how useful he might be should everything go horribly wrong.
As Aneiren flitted to and fro, worrying over who was not present yet, Leliana came out of the castle with her arm firmly linked to someone else's. It was not initially clear who the someone else was because they were making such a concentrated effort not to exit the hold. Finally, Leliana's insistent tug was too much to resist and Keili was thrust into the cold, her face pale with shame.
"Keili!" Petra called; she did not move from her egg, but waved vigorously in the hopes of encouraging her old friend. Anouk and Kinnon looked up from where they were talking with Morrigan and Jowan. While Morrigan sneered, Jowan's eyes flickered over the other mages, wondering what they would do.
Resolutely and with her chin high, Leliana escorted Keili down the stairs to where their fellow wardens were waiting, stopping before Anouk and Kinnon in particular. As Keili came closer, it was evident she had been crying, perhaps for some time before now. Her face was mottled and puffy, and her eyes were swollen with shots of red. She stared at the ground, mortified, unable to speak.
It was Anouk who responded to Leliana's silent call; she went to Keili and grasped her hand, forcing the other mage to look up.
"Hello, Keili, would you like to sit next to me?" Anouk offered. Keili shook her head, trying to pull away to retreat inside. Morrigan was prepared to say something nasty, but Jowan, surprising both of them, put his hand out in front of her face and shook his head.
"Keili," Kinnon sighed, rising to stand beside Anouk. "If you were nothing but a pet of the Chantry, you would have left a long time ago – but you didn't. Just because you don't want to shapeshift doesn't mean we all hate you. You're a warden – you need to be here."
Keili stopped struggling at looked at Kinnon with wide eyes; he who understood her least of all had invited her back into the group. Spurred on by Kinnon's assent, Anouk gripped Keili more firmly so that Leliana could relinquish her to them and go where Aneiren was emphatically gesturing she should be. Leliana hurried to obey him while Petra craned her neck, eager to see what was happening.
"It's alright, Keili," Anouk said crisply. "Now, you sit down and put on Kinnon's cloak before you catch cold." Kinnon picked up his discarded cloak immediately and draped it over Keili's shoulders as Anouk lowered her to the ground. While Morrigan snorted and turned away from them to help Aneiren, Keili was shaking from the weight of her guilt and gratitude.
"I'm s-sorry," she whispered, fresh tears falling. Anouk squeezed her hand once more and shook her head.
"You've nothing to be sorry for, Keili," she told the other mage firmly. "Nothing to be ashamed of at all."
Jowan patted the young woman's shoulder, sorrowful for her pain. Keili stared at him and realized with amazement she no longer feared him; as she searched each of the faces around her, it occurred to her that she had been more disturbed by the thought of losing her comrades than she had been by the displeasure of the Maker. Tentatively, a small voice inside her wondered if it was the displeasure of the Maker she feared or that of those closer to earth who claimed to represent him. This same voice asked her: Did they ever care for you the way the wardens have? Keili found herself unable to answer.
Gripping the cloak around her more tightly, Keili nodded at them, smiling through her tears. "OK," she replied timidly. Anouk, Jowan, Kinnon – they all smiled back, understanding and so endlessly kind. Can one truly be in defiance of the Maker and be so kind? For the moment, Keili decided she didn't need to know.
Across from where the wardens were sitting was a small trestle table laden down with food and drink – both for the dragons and the wardens. Thankfully, Aneiren had clearly separated what food was for whom so that none of the spectators or Keepers would have the distinct displeasure of biting into raw meat or drinking brandy laced with chicken's blood (according to Aneiren and Jowan's research, this concoction would most closely resemble a liquid like a milk given to the dragnlings as newborns by their mother). Charlotte thought that, were Signe and Gavin here, she would have been waving back to an enthusiastic Signe standing behind the refreshment table ready to serve, while a stoic Gavin would have struck a dignified pose on the sidelines, affecting scientific interest in the ceremonial process.
"Ready?" Zevran appeared with a mug of hot wine. Charlotte accepted it gratefully, sipping the spiced liquid so that she could stretch it out for the potentially long wait.
"As I'll ever be, I suppose," Charlotte tilted her head at him, seeing him clearly for a moment. Zevran, who had been studying her egg with a cautious eye, felt her scrutiny and raised his eyebrow at her.
"I know I am a pretty man," he told her, "But it is rare to be looked upon with such a predatory glance, even by a beautiful woman."
"You are so full of yourself," Charlotte sighed, sipping more wine. Zevran beamed at her.
"Ah, yes, but only with very good reason. Are you hungry? You didn't eat much at breakfast."
Charlotte felt her lips quirk at the edges; she fought against it, trying to maintain that expression that had just so thoroughly disarmed him. It was difficult to remain impassive when he stood there, looking concerned while trying to hide his concern, and so attentive to her every need. "Zevran, I ate two bowls of porridge, toast, and an entire plate of salted ham."
"For anyone else, it would be a feast," he replied smoothly. "Your appetito is much more impressive, Principessa. I should know by now." Zevran glanced at her, his eyes molten; Charlotte caught her breath. Her mug was raised to her lips, but she was unable to drink, trapped as she was in Zevran's gaze. Deliberately, she broke the moment, finally drinking the warm wine so that it filled her belly and sent its heat outward into her fingers and toes. Smiling coyly, she handed it back to the elf, empty.
"I'd love some more wine, if you are offering to fetch me things."
Zevran looked into the mug, then at her. He was enjoying her flirtation – finally, after so many weeks of patience! - but it was doing things to him that were testing his normally iron-clad self-control.
"And what do I get in return?" he queried, thinking Two can play this game, Principessa. Charlotte blushed, her long lashes briefly covering her eyes as she looked down, thinking. He knew she was thinking because she bit her lip; it was an unconscious gesture that she had not yet become aware of. He could only imagine the devastation she could cause if she knew how to use all her little tells against others. Suddenly, Zevran was grateful to whomever had raised this woman; had she suffered the tutelage of the Crows, she would have been the deadliest woman in history. It would have been nothing short of a tragedy.
"I wonder..." Charlotte mused, cocking her head at an appealing angle. "Nothing comes to me. I daresay I could think of something worthwhile, but only with more wine to keep me warm."
Zevran laughed, "Cleverly played, my dear. But make no mistake," he leaned in just close enough to touch, but not touch. Charlotte inhaled with surprise; up close, her eyes were even more vivid, and they widened, her pupils contracting as she took him in. Lowering his voice to a whisper, Zevran finished silkily, "I collect on my debts."
"I thought," Charlotte retorted a little breathlessly, "That you were in my debt?"
"Oh, I am," Zevran assured her, "But you are now also in mine," he raised her mug up to prove his point and went to fill it, his grin mischievous. Once wine touched its brim, he brought it back to her.
"So, once I accept this," Charlotte looked into the mug like a fortune-teller, "Then I owe you something?"
"You have the right of it, my dear," Zevran held the drink closer, tantalizing her with it but not coming on too strong. His heart had picked up speed at the thought of all that he might demand from her, given the opportunity. Patience, he reminded himself. She still pines for him; she will come to you when she is ready.
"Well," Charlotte murmured, taking the wine from him slowly so that the contact between their fingers lingered, "I suppose there are worse debtors to have to repay than a deadly sex god."
Utterly surprised, Zevran threw his head back and laughed out loud. Charlotte grinned at him, blushing furiously, but very pleased with herself. Zevran smiled down at her, lit from within by pure delight, and something more. Charlotte thought he looked almost… affectionate.
"CHARLOTTE!" Aneiren's voice shattered the moment into pieces; he skittered to a halt in front of her and had confiscated her wine before she could even form a suitable protest.
"Concentrate!" he scolded. Aneiren turned to Zevran with much the same attitude he had towards Oghren earlier; Zevran remained poised in the face of his friend's agitated nervousness and, upon seeing Zevran finger his dagger hilt, Anerein clearly thought better of applying force to get his way.
"Shoo!" he said instead, gesturing as emphatically as he could without spilling any wine. Zevran nodded to Charlotte, replying crisply. "I will leave when she tells me to, mage."
"It's alright, Zevran," Charlotte said hastily as Aneiren swelled like an outraged owl. Zevran bowed his head to her and made a leisurely stroll of the few steps he took to reach the sidelines. Aneiren watched him go with bared teeth before suddenly tossing back the remainder of Charlotte's wine and declaring to everyone, "OI, KEEPERS!"
What chatter there was died down immediately. All turned to Aneiren, who was joined by Morrigan and Jowan, to receive their last instructions before Impression began.
"Remember: don't break eye contact! Bow immediately if they do, and once they're done, feed them! If they attack, those who can will help you put them down," Aneiren nodded briefly to the other wardens.
"Alright, places!"
Aneiren realized he too had to take his place; in the moment of bewilderment, Morrigan smoothly took control.
"Give me your mug," she commanded. Aneiren obeyed and hurried off, looking a little startled that the time was here. Charlotte twisted to see the faces of her comrades; Cullen was staring at his blue egg with such determination, Charlotte was sure for a moment it would hatch. Brick was now invisible except for his feet, which were firmly planted in front of his stand. Petra, whose egg was silver, was rubbing her hands to keep them warm and watching her egg warily. Leliana, like Cullen, appeared resolute, as though she were a fighter waiting for a challenger in the ring. Derick was craning his neck, trying to see round his golden egg for any cracks. Cora, who was nearby, was touching her teal egg with one finger, her eyes wide.
Aneiren fell into place at Charlotte's right flank before his own egg, which was a rich forest green with just a hint of gray. Their eyes met; Aneiren nodded at her in a sort of mutual reassurance, before Charlotte turned back around to look her egg up and down. It was accented by a rich gold shine; its size was probably double that of the others. Aneiren had guessed this was a Queen; Queen dragons were the High Dragons who bred clutches of dragons of all breeds, rather than just their own. From his research, Aneiren shared that they were rare and usually born in times when dragons' numbers needed to increase, so one had not been seen for hundreds of years. They were often deferred to by other High Dragons or, if fought, rarely defeated. Charlotte gulped, wondering how large her dragonling would be and whether she would be worthy of a Queen's affiliation.
Wind passed through the yard, kicking up dust twirls and ruffling their clothes and hair. There was absolute silence, heavy with the weight of bated breath as the wardens waited for anything to happen. None of them knew what it would be like, whether there would be some warning before an egg hatched or if they would hatch one at a time. What if they all hatched at once? How could they reach those comrades who were rejected in time? Charlotte vaguely noticed that Jowan and Morrigan had spread out the others so that they formed a circle around the Keepers; unsurprisingly, Zevran and Mastodon had not left her side of the yard.
The heat wards were doing their work despite the lack of shelter against the cold. As the minutes passed, Charlotte began to feel a little uncomfortable standing there; she was near to a ward and its heat was becoming stifling, so she shifted back, fanning her face. Her feet were going numb from standing and she wondered whether it would be safe to sit down.
Suddenly, there was a gasp; Leliana's strangled cry forced Charlotte to spin round, just as the ripple of shock spread through them all. An egg was cracking; stretching her neck, Charlotte saw that it was not Leliana's egg that stirred with life, but Petra's.
The mage was trembling, watching as the perfectly smooth shell began to fracture. A piercing, frustrated screech caused them all to inhale. The dragonling was breaching!
Immediately, as though Petra's little one had sent out a signal, other eggs began to stir. The sound of shells crunching as they split open echoed through the air. Brick looked positively gobsmacked as his egg rocked back and forth from the force of its occupant trying to pry the shell open. Leliana was shivering before her own egg, which was the color of a summer rose, as the top of it burst open and a scaly claw reached out to grip the shell's rim. Cullen bent into a crouch, watching the network of cracks in his egg spread like ink; Derick whooped when his egg began to move, hopping eagerly from foot to foot. Cora was muttering a prayer when hers, like Leliana's, popped open at the top, this time revealing a sniffing snout. Aneiren was spinning in every direction, worried for the others, when his egg rattled ominously and a scratching noise began to issue from within. He looked over his shoulder, eyes wide, before slowly facing it down to wait for the critical moment.
Charlotte too had been occupied with the fate of her wardens, but seeing Aneiren faced with the responsibility of his own beast, she also faced hers with a sense of purpose. To her eyes, nothing appeared to be happening. The Queen egg was silent and still; for one wild moment, she thought maybe it was a dud and that they could cook a spectacular omelet, when it cracked.
She felt herself shift into a battle-ready position, her hand hovering over one of her daggers. In her peripheral vision, Mastodon growled, instinctively wary of these beasts. Her hand automatically stayed him and the hound grumbled, but did not sit, ready to protect her at any moment. Unlike the others, Charlotte's egg did not rattle or shift, but it continued to crack as the baby inside it thrust forward claws and snout. It would be a messy exit at the best of times; Charlotte waited, prepared to assist it if need be, but reluctant to draw too near.
Petra's dragonling was crowning, struggling with shaky arms to lift itself from the amniotic home it had grown in. It screeched again, emitting sparks from its nostrils, licking the air with a pink forked tongue. Petra looked for the eyes, remembering Aneiren's instructions, but they weren't open yet. Behind her, Leliana was feeling nauseous with anxiety as her own dragon flopped drunkenly against the side of its shell, its eyes reeling under layers of protective lids.
Cullen's was thrusting strongly through the front of its shell, its dark claws gripping the sides of the hole it had made with a firmness that befitted the man before it. Its head appeared abruptly, the eyes not yet open, its nostrils sniffing the air. Brick's dragon, near to Cullen, was also trying to smell its surroundings, but through a smaller hole near to the apex of its egg shell. Aneiren's egg was cracking spectacularly and, just as suddenly as Cullen's, it burst open, only its entire top half fell away in pieces and the dragonling within suddenly unraveled from its fetal position, its tail trailing over one side and its head dangling on the other. Aneiren stared at it with amazement, watching the jaw muscles work as it tried to issue its first cry of life.
Derick had taken a more hands-on approach, picking bits of shell out his dragonling's way. It nearly swiped at him with one claw as it tried to exit and Derick jumped back, cautious. Cora, who was on Derick's left, was staring at her own dragon with a sheet-white expression as it struggled to free itself.
Charlotte could not move; one of the pieces of fractured shell exploded outward and disappeared, revealing three curling claws as her dragon felt its way out. A strange clicking noise issued from within the shell, followed by a kind of chirrup. The claw gripped and tore downward, rending the shell open and shattering its front. Charlotte waited, her throat dry, as she watched the claw withdraw and start again.
Bit by bit, they each fought their way out, demonstrating the powerful drive of life. As a resounding crack rent the air, Charlotte grabbed the hilt of her dagger out of habit, only to freeze in place. The egg before her parted and fell in halves as a proud dragonling rolled her long neck back so that she could see in front of her. Two claws, still slimy with amniotic fluid, gripped the edge of her stand as her tail unfurled and rose up behind her. Her back feet chinked against the metal stand and her snout sniffed eagerly. The dragonling's face stopped dead before Charlotte's, the eyes hidden by layers of lids. Charlotte did not move, could not move, as the new life before her recorded her scent. Jaws opened wide and issued a surprised screee, which made Charlotte wince as it pierced her skull. Her heart was pounding, her legs trembling beneath her. Every instinct in her body told her this was a dangerous, wild animal, but Aneiren's voice was in her head, urging her to make eye contact.
Slowly, one by one, each layer of protective covering peeled back from the eyes. Charlotte swallowed, but could not relieve the feeling of dryness in her mouth. She blinked once, knowing it may be the last chance she had to do so; vaguely, she became aware of Zevran and Mastodon's anxiety, of the chaos going on behind her, but before she could react to any of it, two eyes like prisms in ancient stone were staring into her soul.
Each iris seemed to be many colors at once, shifting in shade depending on the lighting and angle. But it was not the beauty of the eyes which made Charlotte go limp or made her withdraw her hand from her dagger. Mastodon, who had begun growling again, suddenly stopped, making Zevran's head swing round with surprise. The Antivan assassin was bent over at the waist, ready to run to his lady's aid; he watched the exchange between her and the beast avidly, fearing the worst. Then, he really took in Charlotte's expression.
It was like peace, she thought dreamily. A warmth unlike anything she had ever known was spreading through Charlotte Cousland. The noises and colors of everything else fell away. Charlotte knew only the dragon before her and the hound off to one side, her other life companion. He is ours, a voice agreed. We are a family. Charlotte nodded, the voice as familiar to her as her own. You're right, she thought. Mastodon, come here. The hound obeyed as though she had spoken aloud and came to sit proudly beside her, his brown eyes meeting the endless gaze of their new companion.
"Raja," Charlotte whispered. Internally, her dragon smiled, proud her Keeper knew her name. She threw back her head and roared, before leaning forward and chirruping again, nuzzling Charlotte with her snout to communicate her affection.
Charlotte reached up and stroked the scaly snout, flooded with emotion. Tears welled in her eyes; they were tears of gratitude, of love, and of relief. Raja and Mastodon had filled a void she didn't know she had and the comfort of their connection was soothing against the chasm that existed before. Shuddering with a deep breath, Charlotte rested one hand on Raja's eye ridge while reaching down with the other to stroke Mastodon on his head. She looked at the latter to gauge his reaction and saw that Mastodon, like her, had bonded completely with Raja. Raja cooed, sending her love to them both before announcing she was hungry.
"Of course," Charlotte murmured, coming back to earth. Suddenly, she remembered the others and spun around.
Silence; all was silent as the Keepers absorbed these new selves into their being. Aneiren was stroking the snout of his dragon, his face wet with tears, while Cullen was holding the head of his in his arms, his face glowing. Cora, Derick, and Leliana were all smiling at each other as they cuddled their own, while Brick was on the ground with his lying on its back as he delivered a pleasing round of belly scratches. Petra was speaking softly to her companion, who cooed contentedly when she scratched its eye ridge.
Charlotte could not see or hear anyone else except for the other dragons and Keepers; the bonding they had all just experienced briefly overwhelmed all other ties and, as they reveled in their shared wholeness, they each spoke the names they had come to learn.
"Iliana," Aneiren whispered, and his little golden Fereldan Frostback chirruped happily.
"Salroka," Brick declared. His purple Hunter lifted her head, chattering affectionately.
"Moira," Cullen spoke softly, reverently. Moira, a purple and red Stormrider, rewarded him with a proud screech.
"Astyth," Petra smiled, stroking the pink and yellow cheeks of her Sandy Howler, who cooed in response.
"Hallisere," Derick boasted; the blue and blunt-headed Mistral hissed, not yet able to growl properly.
"Louise," Leliana's voice trembled and her silver Hivernal bleated with concern, nuzzling her hand with its snout.
"Blossom," Cora's voice was thick with her tears as she stroked the head of her orange and blue Ravager, who pointed its curving horns outward, protective of Cora.
"Raja," Charlotte felt as though she would burst with love as she said her name and Raja threw her golden head back to rouse the others in a declarative roar, announcing their bonds as warriors and friends, as wardens and companions in life. The Keepers alone were not alarmed by the haunting cries of their young; Mastodon was moved to howling and Raja mentally nudged him on, sharing the moment with him.
Zevran stared as Charlotte glowed with happiness, completely wrapped up in the moment. Each of the dragonlings was the size of a young horse, their tails long and already powerful, their claws shiny and sharp. None of them had grown their wings yet; Zevran was grateful, for he had imagined a much worse scenario where they had to fight a flying, feral beast without destroying the castle. Even as he tried to comfort himself that they had avoided blood and death, it was eery to see the immediacy with which each Keeper bonded and the depth of their devotion as they smiled and laughed and cried at the dragonlings' announcement of their birth. He wanted to wrench Charlotte away from all of it, frightened for her safety, but controlled himself, well aware now that he was not the only one who might try and protect her.
Indoors, Alistair stared with astonishment. All of the wardens who had become Keepers seemed overjoyed; it was hard to believe his own eyes as he watched them. Charlotte particularly seemed riotously happy and she ran to retrieve food and drink for her dragon, who audibly cooed at her. He could hear it from this distance? Alistair's eyes flickered towards the village, wondering if they were alarmed by the roaring of a few moments ago. More happy noises drew his attention back to the yard; Mastodon was barking and wagging his tail, and Charlotte's dragon was chirruping in response. Mastodon had bonded with her as well? Was that normal? Alistair scoffed at the idea that there was somehow a standard for "normal" in all of this.
Back in the yard, the dragonlings fed. They all expressed some disgruntlement at not being allowed to hunt, but they listened to their Keepers, who explained they could not be seen by the villagers. Not for the first time, Charlotte felt frustration they did not have their own Keep. She decided it would be one of the many items on their to-do list when they went to the Brecilian Forest. They had to find the Wardens a home.
"I assume it has gone well?" Zevran approached, unable to wait any longer. Raja briefly hissed in surprise, but then stopped upon sensing her Keeper's feelings. Deciding his presence was acceptable, the dragonling attended to her meal, ravished after the exhausting experience of birth.
"Yes," Charlotte breathed, watching Raja like a mother would her own newborn child. She had never experienced anything like this. Eager to share her happiness, she told Zevran, "She spoke to me!"
Zevran paused; delicately, he asked, "She...spoke?"
Charlotte nodded, "Yes! I could hear her as though she were in my mind! It was like what I have with Mastodon, only much, much clearer!"
Zevran nodded, feeling alarmed and trying not to show it. "Perhaps we should tell Aneiren? I am sure he would be eager to hear news of anything you experience."
Charlotte called for the mage, who reluctantly took his attention from Iliana as she ate.
"What is it? Is everything alright?"
"Yes, actually it's wonderful. Raja spoke to me!"
Aneiren froze; slowly, his head turned. "Excuse me?"
A bit frustrated now, Charlotte repeated herself impatiently. "She said, 'He is ours' about Mastodon and then she said, 'We are a family.'"
Aneiren and Zevran both stared; Zevran was watching Aneiren, praying this would be something expected.
Suddenly, Aneiren grasped Charlotte's wrist, yanking her forward so he could stare into her face. She gasped in surprise.
"Are you certain?" he snapped, disbelieving. "Can you be sure you heard this?"
Raja, hungry though she was, immediately responded to her mistress' distress. Roaring angrily, she tossed her head and scraped out with one claw, narrowly missing Aneiren as he dodged out of the way.
"Raja, no!" Charlotte commanded, rubbing her wrist gingerly. Raja sinuously moved in front of her, growling at Aneiren as she fell into a protective crouch. Charlotte heard her clearly once more, He is not to touch you that way.
"It's alright," Charlotte said softly, stroking her companion's neck. Raja grumbled, not convinced. Sensing something, Charlotte looked at Aneiren and saw he had gone white.
"She spoke to you again, didn't she?" he whispered, amazed. Charlotte nodded, her happiness diminished by the tense encounter.
"How did you know?" Charlotte asked.
"I… I don't know," Aneiren blinked, studying Raja as though seeing her for the first time. "Perhaps it is because she is a Queen, or because you have bonded more surely than the rest of us. But I knew somehow she had spoken to you. Charlotte," Aneiren gulped, meeting her eyes again. "This is unprecedented."
"But you said there was a third stage,"Charlotte bleated, her heart picking up speed. "You said you had read of such things!"
"Yes, I did," Aneiren agreed, trying to calm himself. "But not so quickly. In my readings, this sort of communication was the result of years of bonding between Keeper and dragon. And it was the privilege of a few." He shook his head slowly, eyes alight with wonder and a little fear. "Yet you have achieved it upon her birth. It is remarkable!"
Inwardly, Zevran cursed. Charlotte looked frightened now and that dragon was cooing at her, trying to provide comfort. Mastodon had also come to Charlotte's side and was whining softly as he looked up at her. Why, he wondered, was it always Charlotte?
So, before I wrote this chapter, a friend of mine sent me "Dragonflight" by Anne McCaffery. When they heard my description of the previous chapter where the Wardens discuss imprinting and how it works, they didn't believe me that I had never read the Dragons of Pern series before. I actually haven't finished it, mostly because I'm not a huge fan of the writing style, but it was helpful to read McCaffery's description of Impression for tying up my own ideas. There's no such thing as a "queen" high dragon in the original DA lore, but it seemed like an interesting concept, particularly since dragons are trying to come back as a species. Nature usually has a way of exploding populations when she needs to and I thought this would be a fun way of creating something new.
The title is based on "The African Queen" (1952).
