Chapter Fourteen

A Long Recovery

Disclaimer: See Chapter One

It took Aragon roughly five weeks to recover from his broken leg.
During that time, he began learning the ancient language as simply a language: It's rules, structure, words, word meanings, word structure, and other assorted beasts.

Aragon found Oromis's instruction to be very patient and thorough compared to Elmïra's.
But despite himself, Aragon was growing impatient and short tempered about simply having to lie in bed all day, having to rely on a crutch to help him limp from his bed to the privy.

Morzan was only exacerbating matters, taking every opportunity he could to try and pay Aragon back for flooring him.
He'd purposely bump into Aragon's bad side, when he was up and hobbling around, in an attempt to dislodge Aragon's grip on his crutch, and make him fall over.

The one time he succeeded, he'd kicked Aragon's crutch away while Aragon lay gasping in pain on the ground where he'd banged his broken leg.
And try as Aragon might,-and he'd tried every trick high and low in the book, along with starting a new volume of tricks,- everything he'd tried had failed, when Morzan either kicked the crutch away again, or simply tripped Aragon again.
In the end, it took the unexpected return of Thelduin to sort Morzan out.
She'd flown in as Aragon had regained his feet, only for Morzan to kick his crutch away.

He was missing for two days, while Elmïra, Oromis, Teclian and Glaedr searched high and low throughout the labyrinthine streets of Ilirea, and throughout Oromis's modest accommodation for him.
They eventually found him,-naked, bruised, scratched, and bound with ropes,- at the top of a disused watch tower.
From there, it was tit-for-tat: Morzan told the two masters about Thelduin beating, stripping and binding him, before dumping him in the tower.

In her defence, both Aragon and Thelduin gave their memories of Morzan's actions.
Morzan was sentenced to sparring with Elmïra once a day for a month; And she was not gentle.

Thelduin from then on remained by Aragon's side, or more accurately, she stayed on his shoulder remaining the size of a hatchling, or flying beside him the same size.
Or she rested on the dais in Aragon's borrowed room.
A dais, she often shared with Anarch, much to Aragon's confusion.
Because, how was it, when he hated Morzan's guts, that Thelduin could even remotely be attracted to Morzan's partner?

Seriously Thelduin, Said Aragon one day as he laid propped against the wall, left leg elevated on a stack of pillows with a portable writing desk on his lap as he focused on reading and copying a text in the ancient language, that Oromis had given him to memorise and copy out.
Why do you like Anarch? Asked Aragon.

Thelduin was lounging in the sun shining in the open window, cleaning her scales.
She was now twice as long, from snout to tail, as Anarch, and he was over a year older than Thelduin.
Granted, she was also about twice as thin, and only about half as strong in terms of strength of limb, but she more than compensated with superior agility, cunning and her ability to size shift.

She looked over at Aragon. I don't know, by rights, because of Morzan, and your hatred of him, I should hate Anarch, but… I think it might be to do with the fact he tries so hard to keep Morzan out of trouble, even though he fails most of the time, and he is rather witty as well, and-
'Thelduin, you've got a crush on him.' Said Aragon as the penny dropped from the feelings radiating across their link, and from her confused tone and her listing of his good traits.

Thelduin chuckled deep in her throat. Don't be daft Aragon, since when did dragons develop 'crushes' on each other? She asked him, her tone dripping with amusement.
Aragon shrugged. Since when were dragons able to shift between their actual size and the size they were as a hatchling, and anywhere in between? Countered Aragon, 'and besides, from what Teclian and Glaedr told me on the great plain, they were infatuated themselves when they were your age.' He added.
They're males though. Said Thelduin with infuriating smugness.

So's Anarch, so he's the one with the infatuation, and you're stringing him on are you? Asked Aragon teasingly.
Thelduin gave Aragon a withering look. We're friends. She said with a tone of finality, then addedin a mock serious tone: And you're taking far to much advantage of that broken leg, I'd deck you if it weren't for it.
Aragon chuckled, and went back to reading, as Anarch flew through the window, and settled beside Thelduin.
Here we go again. Thought Aragon in annoyance, and focused on the paper before him, striving to ignore the soppy feelings coming from his link with Thelduin, and the look on Anarch's face.

As I'm going over these chapters, I'm finding it hard to believe it's taken me two years to write this.

Nothing changed this chapter either except the number again.

Also, noting the number of times Aragon has taken a beating this story, I think I might've stuck him with a plot curse.

And I'm not sure if it's going to improve as time goes on and his opponents get progressively tougher.

No One-liners.