It's been a while! My style has probably (and I hope it has) changed in the past few years so I hope it's still enjoyable. Uni has been really busy so I haven't been able to do more than some little fics to relieve stress. This one in particular is from the second day of the 10 days of heroshipping I'm on and off doing going on in the DF section of Tumblr (search the tag).

I always wanted to keep cutesy things here and action things in DE but DE hasn't seen much action lately has it haha...That being said I wanted to do some side stories. After all, I still very much love Dragonfable!

So here's a story about Drakath getting embarrassed over old pictures.

Other than to steal a good bit of coin, Drakath had his bandits attack travelers and villages for the mere sake of it. Every fire was a reminder that he still existed and that this land belonged to him.

Then there was the third reason; sentiment.

Drakath would lie, saying that what they were taking was valuable before hogging the result of the day's work for himself. Not to sell or spend on anything frivolous or to meet his ultimate goal.

Just to have.

"What do we have here?" Drakath slowly walked up beside a carriage he and his men had captured, banging his fist on the fine wood as he made his way to opening its door.

Seizing the carriage so close to the walls of Swordhaven was brazen indeed but oh so satisfying, terrorizing a traitorous noble flying the usurper's colors. The ease of the success added to it.

The Prince, excited to see how fearful the noble would be to see him, threw the door open. If they did not recognize his voice, surely they would throw themselves on their knees beg forgiveness for stealing from the rightful royal family!

A kiss was blown his way instead.

Closing the door, Drakath kept his hands pressed heavily against the handles, glancing back, aghast, at his men.

They were all waiting with bated breath, becoming confused when the Prince stood still, blinking at them.

What was he going to do? Just tell them to go home?

"S-sire?" The closest bandit edged towards him when the carriage's passenger began knocking on the other side of the window.

Panicking, Drakath threw his back against the carriage door like he was trapping a monster inside.

"Run!" He yelled and all of the bandits strategically bolted in different directions, fear overtaking the suspicion of how wildly out of character it was for Drakath to do something selfless.

Accustomed to how knights and adventurers typically came down on criminals, they disappeared quick, either alone or in pairs to cut losses. No one could catch all of them

But, the Hero already got what she wanted.

Once the coast was clear, Drakath flung the door open and jumped into the carriage. His torso made it to the cushiony seat but his legs hung outside, kicking as he shouted at the Hero.

"What are you doing here?" The Prince, struggling to climb up, scowled as Ty giggled. "Why didn't you tell me you were in Swordhaven? What would have happened if we torched the carriage? You foolish, reckless, insolent—"

Ty laid herself flat on her stomach across the carriage seat, leveling her face with Drakath's. It halted his nagging, just about made him swallow his tongue even.

The Prince cursed himself and the bizarre phenomenon that caused him to suddenly become shy in such close proximity to Ty's plain face.

"Why did you stop?" She asked, resting her chin on her palms. "You're adorable when you're worried."

Drakath clenched his teeth, only able to manage a quiet "Shut your mouth. Why would I be worried? A monster like you has a head made of stones. Nothing could scratch that," He kept rambling. "Worried! Me? That's hilarious."

Sliding out of the carriage for more space, Drakath straightened his clothes. It was far too intimate inside for him to think properly. Ty was about to hop out after him, stopping when the bandit blocked her off.

Without looking at her, Drakath offered her a hand to get down.

"Well, it's only proper." He muttered, wondering why he felt the need to do that when his face was already on fire.

Bemused, Ty took his hand and carefully stepped out. Drakath's shoulders stiffened, hyper aware of himself should he mess up somehow.

"Truth is, I wanted this to be a surprise," Ty explained, stepping around to the back of the carriage while Drakath pretended to nurse a crick in his wrist. "Of course, I should have known that you'd be on top of this. Then again, I was afraid someone else would try to take them."

Opening the compartment behind the passenger compartment, Ty revealed a cache of royal heirlooms.

Officially, they were the heirlooms of the former royal family. Mostly dusty robes, silverware, and packaged paintings among other trinkets, none of which Alteon's family felt comfortable using or having around.

Usually, they were kept locked away though a few officials, thinking their pockets could get heavier, sold them off under Alteon's nose. The thought of his family's history getting handled like novelties made Drakath's blood boil.

"I'm glad you're happy." Ty mentioned offhandedly, noticing how a small smile had spread across the Prince's face.

Startled, Drakath shook it off and coughed, clearing his throat.

"How did you get these?"

"I bought them." Ty replied, holding a cape from the seventh King's time. Such an ancient and hallowed garment demanded a careful hand.

That was suddenly the farthest worry on Drakath's mind.

"You're going to get in trouble!" Drakath exclaimed, already glaring at every tree, bush, and pebble hiding a potential spy. "They'll find out that we're–" He rapidly pointed from Ty to himself. "—You know!"

"Amazingly good friends?"

"Lovers!" Drakath blurted, instantly regretting it once Ty's mouth spread into a huge opened mouthed grin. She tried covering it and her laughter, one arm crossed over her stomach and a hand pressed against her mouth.

"Don't say anything." Drakath fumed, trying to not rip clumps of his hair out.

"I'm not! I'm not!" Ty waved her hand at him like she was wafting away the jokey mood. "Don't worry about a thing, Lover Boy."

"There! You said something!" Drakath tugged Ty over and squished her cheeks with his palms, trying to make her stupid grin go away. "H-how else would I have put it?" The Prince kept viciously smushing her face.

Apparently, the way Drakath spoke was antiquated to Ty, who had to be from some other universe. That was what they were, weren't they?

Worked up, completely a fault of his own, Drakath shoved her away, turned his attention to the heirlooms, and roughly rummaged through them.

"Ehem," Ty was already right next to him. "If it makes you feel better, I told the trafficker that I was buying them to lure you out. My daring Prince would dash out, rushing to reclaim his family's belongings—" She stepped back and Drakath's gaze followed her. "—I would make the catch. So…" Ty spread her arms. "Did it work?"

For a good solid beat, Drakath stared at her, nonplussed. The stoic facade erupted into a scowl when he couldn't hold it back anymore. Very soon after, he kicked and chipped a nearby stump. Miraculously, he didn't hurt himself trying to do that. The longest sufferable groan stretched on as the Prince slumped over, cursing himself over and over.

Ty expected more of a show from the God of Drama himself, getting tackled off guard when Drakath jumped into her hug, pinning her against the back of the carriage.

"Heehee,"Ty giggled, tickled when Drakath buries his nose into her hair. "I love you too."

Jostled by the movement, a painting leaning against the compartment's wall wobbled. The corner of its cloth covering became loose, revealing a silver frame that caught Drakath's eye.

"Huh?" The Hero felt Drakath stiffening. "Are you alright?"

"One moment." Drakath broke from the embrace and took the painting out into the sun. Taking care, the Prince stood it on the grass, using the carriage to support its back.

Curious at the sudden shift in atmosphere, Ty watched the bandit pull the corner of the cloth away a smidge farther.

"Could it be…" He murmured, taking a peek inside. His green eyes snapped wide and he slapped the covering back on. "No." He said. Not the 'no' as in 'no, that isn't it.'

This was the 'no' as in 'I want no part in this.'

"Is the vermin around?" Drakath asked, getting nothing but a pointedly blank look from Ty. "The dragon," Drakath sighed and Ty didn't change. "Lib." He decided on using the vermin's nickname.

"Remember that carriage driver?" Ty asked.

"Wait, you're telling me that the baby dragon wore a human costume that well? I saw him take the horses and run!" Drakath watched Ty blow her cheeks up.

Great, he must have done something 'cute' again.

"Magic then." The Prince saw the disguised dragon in the corner of his eye, walking quite leisurely to his Dragonlord.

"I know it's a charm and all but when you put it that way," Ty trailed off, somewhat perturbed at how real the illusion's lazy eyes rolled at her. "Hmm, I don't think I'd notice it if I didn't know. You're very good at this, Lib."

The illusion yawned, rippling until it dissipated, revealing the small blue scaled dragon bobbing up and down before the two.

"That aside," Drakath gazed at Liberta gravely. "Do you want twenty pounds of raw liver?"

Liberta's groggy disinterest was gone with a snap. He charged for Drakath, circled around his head, stopping next to the prince, nodding.

"Good," He jabbed his thumb at the covered painting. "Torch it."

"No!" Ty leaped in front of the painting, her dragon bouncing off of her chest. "Who are you and what did you do to Drakath?"

"Make that thirty pounds." The Prince ignored Ty.

"You don't have money to buy that much liver!"

"Ty?" Drakath clasped his hands together. "May I have money to buy thirty pounds of liver?"

"No!" Ty pushed his hands down. "I'd be paying myself anyways!"

"Alright, forget about the raw liver," Drakath tsked, so intent on destroying the painting that he didn't notice Liberta tearing the bottom of his cape into little shreds. "Ty, let me torch it."

"You were going to kill anyone who wasn't me if they had this," Ty shielded the painting. "Is it cursed? Is that why you're acting so—OH what the hell?" The Hero jumped a foot in the air when she laid her eyes on the most bizarre sight in her life.

Drakath sank down on both knees, chin dipped, with clasped hands raised, begging her.

"Please, Ty."

"Are you dying?" Ty's face was contorted, amazed at how wrong this felt. "The painting's killing you, isn't it?"

"Please. I'll do anything. Just don't–"

The Prince clammed up, practically sucking his lips into his mouth.

Unfortunately, Ty caught it, expression going blank again as her hand found its way to the corner of the painting's covering.

"Please." Drakath started begging again. "I'm asking, please! I'm asking—NO!"

Ty tore the covering off and Drakath's life was over.

"Holy!" Was the only word she could come up with at first. "This is holy!"

"Don't look at it! Stop looking at it!" The Prince covered his eyes, unable to look at the painting directly without gagging. "It's awful!"

Drawing in a slow gasp, Ty knelt by the painting, eyes shining.

"I think I'm going to cry." Her hand hovered over the painting's frame.

Surrounded by the silver border was a portrait, preserved for twenty some odd years. A young boy, spikey hair flattened, and obviously wearing itchy formal garments, tried to stand proudly. What gave him away was the slight wrinkle of the brow the painter must have gotten in huge trouble for. The boy, or the Prince, seemed to have a worry bubbling in his throat. Perhaps the need to call for mother or father? A cry for escape from the foppish cravat?

Every bit of it was perfect to Ty.

"If this had cost a trillion gold and both of my kidneys, I would pay for it up front." Ty was cooing at the painting and it was killing Drakath.

This painting was everything he hated and more. The painter, who Drakath hoped had been beheaded for the travesty, had captured with skilled brushes, a clear picture of weakness.

He wanted to destroy the boy in the painting; rip the thing into shreds so small that they couldn't be torn further. Then, set the pile of shameful dust ablaze.

There was nothing more he hated than weakness.

Or, now there was.

Somehow, it burned him even more when Ty could see it.

Putting those feelings so plainly to himself made the Prince sullen. Getting back to his feet, Drakath retrieved the covering and tossed the tarp back over it.

Sensing the change, Ty didn't stop him. She stayed knelt by the painting while Drakath turned his attentions to the other relics.

"Do what you please with it." Drakath said, curt and uncaring.

For a moment, Ty hesitated by the painting. Drakath was very bothered, in a way that put stones in Ty's stomach. Could she take care of it now?

Judging by Drakath's stiff, joyless back, not yet.

The idea, however, was forming.

Home was far away, behind three walls and armed knights and adventurers out for his head. Drakath couldn't come home yet.

Several years were spent returning to a cold tent or a sleepless room in a fortress filled with skeleton shrieks, and even worse, baby noises.

Drakath didn't admit it to Ty but being allowed into her home was one of the best things that had happened since he had to flee from home. It was the closest thing he had to home. No, Ty's cottage was his home.

Just, not this time.

He had walked in through the front door, gone down the hall to find Ty's bed room, and his past stared at him from the wall at the farthest end. What he had in his arms, a bag of valuables he took as the head of the bandit group's share, dropped to the floor.

Everything inside shattered and he stomped on it as he burst into Ty's room.

"A burglar?" Ty, sitting cross legged by her bed with her journal on her lap, raised her brows at him. "Sorta."

"When I said that you could do as you pleased with that travesty, I didn't mean hang the thing on the wall!"

"What does 'do as you please' mean then?" Ty's smirk was wry, inviting trouble.

"I see how it is," Drakath's eye twitched. He didn't know why he felt the need to peek into the hall but he did and winced hard. "You're trying to prove something. Forget about it," Ty didn't seem threatened. "Forget about it, now."

"That's going to be real hard," Ty said, flipping to a blank page. "How could I even begin to forget if you haven't in two decades?"

The Prince took another peek at the painting. Yes, it still made his eyes die.

"Fine. I will be clear," Drakath said with finality. "Throw it away."

All at once, the air grew heavy.

Ty's smirk disappeared but it didn't fall into a frown; merely a straight line. She didn't seem angry or sad by any appearance but any idiot could tell that she wasn't happy.

"I wish I could thank whoever painted this. Same with the person who kept it safe," Ty hunched over, resting her chin on her knuckles. "Did your father want to keep this?"

Taking deliberate steps, Drakath made her way over to where Ty sat. He was displeased with the Hero sitting there instead of the bed, though he did take the seat next to her despite that.

The answer to Ty's question came with a sour memory.

Drakath's father felt exactly the same way he did now. The Prince remembered the deceased King, eyes practically bugging out, jabbing his finger at the painting and the painter.

'How dare you insult the royal name with such blithering weakness. I will have no welp presented as any blood of mine! Do you hear me, Prince?' The King had turned to his son with a ferocity that it made the young boy's throat close. Then, his father's fury turned into harsh laughter. 'Do you see this?' He sneered at the painting. 'This is no Prince. It is a shame.'

"You didn't tell me why you hate that painting so much?" Ty glanced at Drakath, expectantly.

What was on his mind wanted to come out. It lay on the tip of his tongue, preparing for a reckless jump that would stop once it starts.

"No." Drakath bit down on it and swallowed. A hint of worry bit at him when Ty inspected him but she let the matter rest.

"That's fine," She pulled her hair over her shoulder. "I might feel the same way if you found my baby clothes."

"Just baby clothes?" Drakath asked, amusing himself with the idea of baby Ty in a potato sack.

"Just baby clothes." Ty bit her cheek. "Just baby clothes." She wrung her head. "Ahhhhhhhh damn it. My mom still has them. When she isn't looking, I'm going to get Lib to eat them."

"No." It came out from Drakath without him realizing it did. He thought on it and found that it had been from reflex.

"So you're my mom now." Ty snickered behind her hand. The bandit would have told her to shut it again, if she wasn't so glum.

Drakath bounced his knee, uncomfortable with how the day had turned out. He was aware that Ty had two mothers in her life and he was sure she wasn't talking about the one who had her at birth.

"Why shouldn't I throw that trash where it belongs?" Ty asked him.

"Just don't." He had nothing more to say than that.

"Why?" Ty had torn a page out of her journal, rolled it into a ball, and flicked it into a waste basket.

There were many who kept their homes cluttered, citing the reason to keep broken plates was sentiment. It wasn't something Drakath understood.

Then he pictured a faceless woman, a stand in for Ty's mother, carelessly tossing her clothes into a river as Ty watched.

"You can see whatever you want in that painting," The Hero said, stretching her arms. "But I see my lover boy. How could I ever throw him away?"

"Oof!" Ty's head bumped the side of her bed from Drakath slamming into her. If it had hit the frame instead of the mattress, a big goose egg would have sprouted from her noggin. "You could have killed me there."

The Prince said nothing, arms hugging her neck tight. Ty couldn't see his face with the side of it pressed against the back of her head. It was the shuddering that gave him away.

"It's okay." Ty leaned into him, the relaxed smile returning. "I love you too."

Last Note: Thank you for reviews up until now! I'm so glad you guys like these and I do read them every now and then to make my day brighter. So, I hope your day is bright too 3