A/N: Hey, everyone! :) Here is the next chapter to Ancient Vows! I never expected to be resurrecting this fic anytime soon, but this was calling to be written. Aptly called 'The Upstart', this short one-shot is centered on Doran the Dragonlover, just before he sets out for his final journey. I'm not entirely sure whether this is completely in canon or not (especially when the DQ Wiki says that Doran used the Dreaming Spring to speak to the dragons and convince them to sleep) but I'll let you all be the judge of that.
I actually got some inspiration for this chapter of Ancient Vows from reading Freida Right's fic Star's Journey: The Moonstone Fragment. There was some mention in it of Doran's special code (I had no clue that it was called 'doric code') and it got me thinking of Doran, and I remembered that Doran had a vow I could write about here. And this fic is all about vows, from the time of Adin to Lief's time. So, I give you 'The Upstart'! :D
The Upstart
Doran the Dragonlover walked through silent halls, halls filled with darkness. Darkness the king himself was unaware of, and his young son the prince as well. Doran felt it clearly, as if it were slithering over him, raising the hairs on the back of his neck—the treachery, the evil that lurked. Sisters four with poisoned breath…
Doran shuddered. Although there was no Sister placed in Del yet, there would be soon. The Sisters of the North and East were already in place, and the Sisters of the West and South would follow quickly. Monstrous beings, created to be the ruin of the kingdom, to lay waste to its land, the crops that fed its people, and drain all the hope from their hearts, bit by bit. It was abominable. It was terrible. How could such a thing be? How could the king be so blind?
Oh, if only he would mingle with the people, as the great Adin had done!
It was what Doran had constantly begged him to do. The king never listened to him. Instead, he listened to the whispers of his chief advisor, Drumm. And Drumm told him that it was safer for him to remain in the palace, away from the ordinary people. They will try to kill you, Drumm said. They are faithless, these peasants, and if you walk among them they will stab you in the heart, when you least expect it. Think of your son, sire! So the king stayed ensconced in his palace, too afraid for his life, and that of his son, to listen to any sort of counsel Doran could have given him about what was happening to their land.
He had not even bothered to listen to a word of the warning Doran had attempted to give him, shortly before leaving to begin his long journey to meet with his dragon-friends. Doran recalled the look of thinly veiled contempt and disbelief which hovered in the king's eyes, even as he politely vowed to heed the advice given to him. A warning come too late, Doran thought bitterly. Two of the Four Sisters were already in place, as the Shadow Lord had planned, and there were no dragons to fight against them now. That, Doran knew, was his own doing, and fate only knew if it would save the land or lead it to more ruin.
He recalled, even more clearly, the scorn in Drumm's eyes, as they met Doran's, and the triumph there, as well. Drumm had never bothered to hide his hatred of Doran, nor his disgust. To the king, Doran was a mad-man, with a wild tale on his lips, to be indulged and restrained, whenever necessary. To Drumm, however, Doran was dangerous. Drumm did not think that Doran knew his thoughts, but he did. He was the upstart, a danger to Drumm and the master he served. He had always actively worked to bring the king back to his people, and the people back in harmony with the dragons that protected them. Drumm hated that.
Drumm was a Shadow Lord servant. Of that Doran was certain. It was he who was to be involved in the placing of the Sisters. Doran almost shuddered again to think of it. What kind of person would do this to their own kingdom? What had the Shadow Lord promised Drumm, if he would do this terrible thing? Power, magic, riches beyond imagining? Granted, Drumm was not the most likeable of people, but what on earth could the Shadow Lord have given him which convinced him to betray his land and king in this way?
It did not matter now, of course. What mattered was that Drumm was a traitor, and that the Shadow Lord was laying waste to the land. Doran had tried to tell the king as much, but he would not listen. He never listens, Doran thought bitterly. It will be his downfall, in time.
The dragons would never have condoned any of what the Shadow Lord plotted. Each would have set out to destroy the evil in their territory, not caring whether they lived or died in the process. His friends… Veritas, Hopian, Forta Fortuna, Fidelis, Honora, Joyeu. The names were imprinted on his heart. He recalled each word they had said to him before they settled into their slumber, and each promise he had given them in return. Do not fear, he had told them. A king will come one day, to wake you from your slumber, carrying the Belt of Deltora with him. All is not lost. Believe me, my friend.
They had believed him. And they slept. It almost destroyed Doran to see it, despite it all. For all of the evil threatening their land, for all this was truly necessary, they were his friends. His only friends, who truly cared and believed in him. Fate knew that humanity had long since stopped doing so. The dragons had spoken to him, carried him on their backs like a friend, had loved him as if he were one of their own. There were many good memories in his soul-stone, filled with dragons of every colour and their names, the names Doran would always carry close to his heart. Veritas, Hopian, Forta Fortuna, Fidelis, Honora, Joyeu… He longed to call out to them, and the knowledge that they were never answer him again nearly tore him in two.
And he did not even know if their sacrifice had been worth it.
Perhaps it had not been. For all he knew, he had merely paved the way for the Shadow Lord, by removing the greatest threats to his plan. Perhaps a king would never wear the Belt again. Perhaps a king would never dare take that journey around Deltora, and awaken the dragons once more. Doran hoped that his promise was true, that he had not lied unwittingly to his friends. The only thing worse than the knowledge that he would never see his friends fly again was the thought that they would never wake to fly again. Please, he prayed to fate. Let it all work out as it will. Let my friends be able to feel the air underneath their wings once more, in a safer era. Do not let this all have been in vain.
Because of him, the dragons were gone from the skies. The Shadow Lord could place the Sisters in their positions readily, with no fears of retaliation. Too late, Doran had realised what was happening. By the time he had known of the Four Sisters and their threat to the land, he had already convinced the dragons to sleep. If he had not, perhaps they could have saved Deltora, with the help of the king's son, Prince Gareth, and the Belt. For only the true king, wearing the Belt, could awaken the dragons and destroy the Sisters.
Or perhaps not. Perhaps Gareth would have been as blind as his father, and as willing to listen to Drumm's ill-meaning advice. But it did not matter now. The dragons were gone, and the Sisters were in place. Something had to be done about it, whatever the cost.
He had to convince the people that his warnings had merit, that there was truly evil in Deltora. To do this, he would need proof of what he claimed. He would need to find the Sisters.
Then, perhaps, he could return to Del, where he would finally be believed, and the king would finally begin to listen to him as if he were not a mad-man. Then, when Gareth was old enough, he would make that journey to awaken the dragons and destroy the Sisters, wearing the Belt of Deltora always, as the great Adin had. He would usher in a new golden era of peace and freedom from the evils of the Shadow Lord.
Perhaps.
First, Doran needed collect the proof he needed to get them all to listen.
He may not have been a king, carrying the Belt of Deltora, and all the magic that went with it, but he was a man, and he loved Deltora with all his heart. Had he not explored it all, marvelling at its wonders, jotting down his discoveries in The Deltora Annals? Had he not descended to the very depths, into the caverns of the earth, befriending the strange race of people that lived there? This would be no different. It could not be any different.
Then why was he shaking so much?
Fate protect me, he prayed. Protect us all.
On the walls, the shadows flickered, as if in response to his plea. The very air was full of menace this night. You do not belong here, they said. You never did. They were right. Always, he belonged among dragons. Among wilderness and lush green landscapes and the wonders that would always set his heart beating anew. The underground caverns. Seas of deepest crimson, brightest gold; seas that shone with all the colours of the rainbow…
Lands beyond that of the Shadow Lord's reach. Lands with such beauty, and yet so much danger—danger from the ancient earth, and from the Lord of Shadows himself.
Always, Doran would regret not exploring further.
It would be dark when he left Del, he knew. The roads would be far more dangerous that in daylight. He did not wish to stay any longer, however. Let me go, go on this journey, however fatal it may prove. Let me go, and not linger.
There were fates much worse than death, he knew.
