Fic: Heart of the Matter (J2 AU, NC-17)
Written as a pinch-hit for morrezela in the spn_j2_xmas exchange. AU dragon!fic, for the prompt "He was supposed to slay the creature, not end up soulbonded to it." J2, ~7000 words, rated NC-17, no particular warnings.
Heart of the Matter
The magic began fading long before Jared was born.
It began even before his grandfather's time. Jared used to sit by the fire of an evening, listening to his grandfather's stories of how his grandfather could charm rabbits, keep the vegetable garden free from cabbage moths, or speed the ripening of grain.
“In the old days, the people had a bond with the land.” His grandfather would shake his head sadly, patting Jared's head. “Magic was there for the taking, for those who could feel it. Our family always had the gift.”
“Tell us about Great-gramma,” Megan would pipe up, and the old man would smile.
“Your great-grandmother - my mother - now she was strong in the healing magic. Herbs, waters, sunlight or starlight, fire or spiderweb: she could look at a wound, or an ailing baby, and know what was called for. This one time, old Pearson's cow got stuck...”
Her powers had dwindled, very slowly. She had put it down to aging, as did others who were losing their skills, but gradually it became clear that there was something wrong with magic in general. Fewer children were showing the ability, and those that did had weaker talents than expected. It was as if the magic were withdrawing, or the connection broken.
By the time Jared was grown, there had not been a child in thirty years who could feel or use magic.
Still, people managed. Most of Jared's generation didn't pay much heed to stories of old times. Old people always say things were better before, back when they were young and times were more innocent, and people respected their elders, not like today's young hooligans.
And then, the dragon came.
Winter had arrived early last year, frost striking quick and hard, freezing the fruit yet on the trees and withering the squash vines. With nobody to encourage ripening, or foretell the weather, much of the harvest was lost when the first storm came tearing out of the mountains.
Behind it came a creature of legend.
It was the night of the solstice, and a dark moon. It should have been the longest, darkest night for years. But the sky to the north was lit with a weird glow, curtains of colored light writhing against the black.
“Is it magic?” the young ones asked, and the elders shook their heads.
“There is no magic,” they said sadly. “Though this is strange weather, to be sure. It bodes ill for us.”
Most people were sleeping, but a few were still awake, worrying or working or watching the sky, when a dark shape came flying out of the heart of the light. It arrowed straight towards the castle, and engulfed the top of the north tower in a wave of flame.
That night, the two guards there were father and son, and they had a few moments only to give warning. The father urged his son to go below, to sound the alarm and summon others, but the son refused, pushing his father towards the stairs and drawing his sword against the monster.
He died instantly in the burst of dragonfire. His father, returning with a few other hastily assembled soldiers, loosed arrow after arrow at the beast as it hovered above the tower, but all fell short. It did not descend to attack again, although it circled, as if waiting for something more to happen.
Nothing did. Just before the first hint of false dawn, it left, flying back into the north.
It did not return the next night. Nor the next, nor the next. People gradually relaxed, thinking that maybe it had been scared away, or that the volleys of arrows had wounded it after all and it had retreated to die.
At the dark of the moon, the following month, it came again. There was a double guard of elite knights on the tower that night, but this time, the beast gave no warning, nor were there lights in the sky to show its passage. Instead of flames, there was a dark shape that swept in silently and snatched up Sir Manfred. His body, bitten almost in half, fell into the central courtyard. More arrows were sent into the dark, but the only effect was discovered the following day when a few people complained about holes in the washing they'd left on the line.
In the third month, the north tower had no guard. None of the towers did: the night guards spent their shift on the lower levels, keeping a watchful eye on the sky. In the darkest part of the night, they heard claws scrabble on stone, and stormed up the stairs with torches and swords in hand, but the dragon was gone before they reached the top. A young man sneaking home from an illicit rendezvous on the outskirts of the city was found, gutted, the next morning.
“What does it want?” Grief, anger and fear warred with puzzlement. What beast comes one night a month, to kill without eating? No sheep went missing; no buildings were set on fire.
In the fourth month, the King sent an entire squadron to spend the night at the top of the north tower. The dragon veered away just before it came within range of arrows, and instead flew southeast. A woodcutter's daughter, walking home late, was killed that night, chest carved open by long, razor-sharp claws. Her heart, bearing a puncture wound, was lying eight feet from her body.
In the fifth month, the tower was manned by two guards, and a new device created by the country's foremost inventor. A sort of modified catapult, it could launch a large metal ball at tremendous speed. It was tricky to aim, and took a long time to prepare, but they knew when and from what direction the dragon would arrive, and spent two days setting it up and adjusting it.
The shot was perfect.
The projectile struck the dragon full in the chest. It fell backwards, tumbling head over tail through the air, wings fluttering uselessly. Gouts of blood splashed the streets it flew over. It crashed in a meadow on the edge of the city, and its body burst into flames.
By morning, it was gone, incinerated, leaving a huge charred circle in the meadow and people dancing and rejoicing in the streets. The inventor was fêted and awarded a barony.
And the next month, another dragon came, and another corpse was the result.
Its mate? Its child? Nobody knew, but an identical dark, deadly shape streaked out of the night, and another young woman, this time a castle maid, was found with her heart exposed and pierced. In the seventh month, it was a young man from the castle kitchens, but the result was the same.
The thinkers of the kingdom had not been idle. The inventor was working overtime, the former cattle shed on his estate converted into a laboratory (which frequently needed re-roofing after explosions gone awry.) Zoologists, priests, historians - all were reading, researching, offering advice that proved useless.
Until, in the eighth month, a small council was summoned to hear a report from the King's soothsayer.
The soothsayer was an old man, last of his line in a time of fading magic. He couldn't see clearly or often, but he was the only one left in the land who got even blurred glimpses of the future. He was good with omens, sometimes, and he could read a lot of languages. For months, he had been ensconced in the castle library, poring over dusty scrolls and crabbed writing in ancient tomes, seeking information on a beast that had not been sighted for centuries.
(That was not, as it happened, something he'd foreseen.)
Jared doesn't think he really belongs at this council. As far as he can tell, he's there mainly to demonstrate that Princess Cassandra has a will of her own and is prepared to enforce it.
“I don't know anything about dragons.”
“You're my bodyguard.”
“You're going to a meeting with your parents.”
“And some other people.” Cass glares. “That's not the point. I am the Princess and if I want my personal knight to accompany me, then he will do so.”
Cass has been on edge lately. She's eighteen, and various missives seeking her hand in marriage have arrived over the past year. Some have been intercepted and burned before their Majesties received them - Jared knows this because Cass had ordered him to do it - but a few have unfortunately made their way through and the Queen has been hinting, not so subtly, that Cass might consider inviting a couple of the letter-writers over to help deal with the country's dragon problem.
Jared's actually surprised that more princes, knights and heroes haven't been beating a path to their castle gates. Cassandra is stunning. He'd been appointed to her service when he was seventeen and she was eleven; she was beautiful and vivacious then, and only got more so as she grew up. If he liked women, he'd be trying to work out how to win her hand for himself.
On the other hand, if he liked women, there's probably no way the Queen would have appointed him as her young daughter's personal guard. And he loves his job - and Cassandra.
“Yes, milady,” Jared says.
“Thanks,” Cass says, quieter. “I have a bad feeling about this.”
The meeting isn't particularly bad at first, simply confusing. Jared's glad to note he's not the only one to look puzzled by the soothsayer's big announcement; everyone there, including the baron inventor and the King, look baffled.
“It is the same dragon.”
“It can't be,” the King says. “We killed it. It burned.”
“And returned. It is the same.” The soothsayer spreads his hands. “Sire, I know how it sounds. But that is what I've been able to find in the scrolls. This is not a mere beast. It has a purpose, and it will return until that purpose is fulfilled. The dragon is part of the old magic, and is reborn from it.”
“The land has lost its magic,” the Queen says harshly.
The soothsayer bows low. “Yes, my Queen. But...where did it go?”
“Away?” Cass says. It's flippant, but Jared can see her hands, clenched so tightly her nails must be cutting half-circles into her palms. “Didn't it just disappear?”
“Nothing simply disappears. It is not here, but it is - somewhere. And now we have the dragon, which is a part of the magic, somehow. It is born out of the build-up of magic, maybe? Born may not be the right word. But the legends say it will come when we need it, and its coming will bring the magic back to the world.”
“Are the legends any more specific on how this miracle happens?” The King shakes his head. “It is harassing us and killing our people. I fail to see how this is magical.”
The soothsayer doesn't answer immediately; Jared looks over and sees him twisting his hands in the sleeves of his robes. He takes a deep breath.
“It is looking for a sacrifice,” the soothsayer says, words dropping like stones in the silence. “It needs 'the blood of the kingdom.'”
“It has had blood. Six times so far! How much more blood must be shed?” The King slams a fist on the table.
“I don't know.”
“How very helpful,” the Queen says bitterly. “Why are mystical legends always vague and cryptic?”
“Your Majesty, the scrolls that speak of this are very old,” the man says, shrugging helplessly. “Bits may be missing. Or it may be they didn't bother writing down things that everybody knew - things that have since been lost to history.”
Cass stands abruptly, knocking over her chair. Everyone startles in surprise.
“It wants the blood of the kingdom,” she says. “Royal blood. It wants me.”
The stunned silence is broken by the King, also leaping to his feet. “Cassie! Nonsense.”
“It keeps coming back. It's not getting what it wants - what it needs, if the scrolls are correct.” She turns to the soothsayer. “If it gets it. Blood. My blood. That will bring the magic back? Stop the dragon?”
“I... er...” the soothsayer stammers, looking back and forth between Cassandra and her father, who now looks thunderous. “I think so. Yes.”
“You can't know this,” the King snarls at the old man. “All you have is some half-baked gibberish and crazy speculations.”
“And a dragon!” Cass yells.
“You're not doing this, Cassie.” The King rounds on her in apparent anger, but it is fear that looks out from his eyes. “If it needs royal blood, it can have mine. It doesn't have to be you!”
“Of course it has to be me,” Cassandra snaps. “When is it ever not the tasty young virgin princess?”
Jared manages, with great effort, to keep a poker face while the King turns several shades of red. Most of the Council is suddenly intently absorbed in their notes, or examining the cuffs of their robes.
“You know I'm right.” Cass bites her lip and meets her father's eyes. “I know you want to do it for me, but you can't.”
There is a long silence.
“You will not go alone,” the King says grimly. “I will come with you.”
“Then it will kill us both.”
“No.” The Queen also stands, looking back and forth between her husband and daughter. “The price is not worth it! There has to be another way.”
“The price of what?” Cass answers. “Our country? Our people? Our magic?” She draws herself up tall; she has never looked more royal. “All those are my responsibility. If there is a way to save our people from the dragon's predations - more than that, if there is a way to bring magic back to the land? I will pay the price. I will be the sacrifice. I will go alone to the tower, and I will meet the dragon.”
She doesn't go alone, however. Not that she knows that.
The King had tried to send a troop of guards with her; the Queen had urged her to bring her sword. Cass had dismissed the guards, and left her sword behind. “The sacrifice is the point. Killing it will solve nothing, only bring its return and more deaths!” She has ordered Jared not to interfere - she knows him well.
Jared, however, cannot let his charge, his princess, his friend, be alone in this.
He sneaks up the stairs behind her. He's left his armour behind - too noisy - and his sword is sheathed for now. If it weren't the dark of the moon, he would have been discovered. At the top of the tower, there is almost nowhere to hide: it's almost flat, with only a bare lip of stone gutter at the edges, and crenellated corners. There is still the cannon mount, however, and he crouches in the slightly darker pool of shadow behind it, trusting to the general lack of light - and lack of reflection off his nonexistent armour - to keep him undetected.
It's still August and the air is warm, but Cass shivers. She's wearing a green dress whose full skirt brushes the stones. It has long sleeves, a low back and barely any shoulders. Jared thinks it's the dress she wore to last year's winter ball, only a few days before the dragon came. Less than a year, and it feels so distant.
Maybe that's why she chose it. Not that the dragon is likely to pay much attention to what its sacrifice is wearing.
The dragon takes its time. Jared is nodding off, beginning to wonder if it's actually going to come to the castle tonight, when he hears the rush of air signalling its approach.
He grips the hilt of his sword, loosening it in the scabbard, and prepares to leap out. He half-expects it simply to grab Cass in mid-flight; he needs to be ready.
The wingbeats slow, however, and there is a loud grating sound as claws strike stone.
Then there is an odd sussuration, and a muffled shriek from Cass. That's his cue.
Jared springs to his feet, drawing his sword.
He stops short and staggers back in astonishment, very nearly falling off the tower.
There is no dragon.
A man is standing in front of Cassandra. He's almost as tall as Jared, and carries himself like nobility. He wears no armour, but a sword hangs at his hip.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” Cassandra shrieks, as Jared yells “Where's the dragon?”
“I came to rescue you!”
“I ordered you not to!”
“What the hell's going on? Where's the dragon?”
“That's the dragon!” Cass says. “It turned into...that! Him!”
Jared hasn't taken his eyes off the man during their shocked exchange. The man hasn't made a move towards his sword; he's watching the two of them calmly.
“Don't interfere,” says Cass. “I'm ready to do this.”
“I'm not ready to let you.”
Cass stamps her foot. “I can't stand by and let others die in my place! It won't end otherwise. People will keep dying.”
“Not if I kill it every time,” Jared says. “It only comes the one night each moon. The time we killed it? Nobody died.”
“You're clever.” The dragon man speaks for the first time. His voice is human, and pleasant, but the amusement in his tone infuriates Jared even more. “But that's not a viable long term solution.”
“Why not?!” Jared grips his sword more tightly, readying himself to swing.
“Because you won't be able to? And because you need what I'm offering.”
“We don't need anything from you,” Jared spits.
“The land is struggling to balance itself.” He looks away from Jared for a moment. “Can't you feel it? I am part of that. Your country is dying without magic.”
“People are dying because you keep cutting out their hearts!”
“I am compelled to. Heart's blood is needed.”
“Then take mine,” Cass says.
“Fuck that,” Jared says, stepping in front of her and swinging his sword directly at the dragon's neck.
He's blocked, impossibly.
The dragon man has drawn his own sword. He handles it extremely well. Especially for a dragon.
Jared parries, slashes, and considers. He needs to kill the creature, but he also needs to keep it away from Cass and her stupid, heroic, self-sacrificial intent. He keeps between it and her.
“Jared, no!” She tugs at his left elbow.
The dragon takes advantage of the moment to press hard on Jared's defences. Jared tears his arm out of Cass's grip so he can employ a two-handed grip. She's thrown off balance and stumbles. There's a ripping sound as she steps on her long, full skirt, and she falls.
“Cass, get back!”
He feints left. The bastard goes for it; Jared immediately blocks, lunges forward and brings down a swing that should disconnect the monster's arm from its body. Except it's ready for him, blocking his attack and launching a counterattack of its own that Jared actually struggles to keep up with.
“You're good,” it comments, amusement silver in its voice, and then it turns its blade and presses forward.
Jared knows this move, knows what comes next, and knows in that second that he can't stop it. Its sword is sliding up his own and it has the advantage.
He's about to be disarmed.
The point of the dragon's blade engages the guard, and twists. Jared's sword is yanked from his hand and flung aside. It clatters on the stones, sliding toward the edge of the tower, but then the hilt snags on a roughened point in the rock.
Jared locks his gaze with the dragon's. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Cass very slowly creeping towards his sword. He doesn't dare let his eyes flicker for even the briefest moment. He doesn't know why she's changed her mind about attacking the dragon - he hopes it isn't in order to save him; he would gladly give his life if it spared hers - but he can't let the dragon notice her.
It stalks towards him, and he instinctively backs up a few steps. The eyes that hold his are beautiful and compelling. Green as emeralds, green as new barley sprouts in the spring earth. Suddenly Jared finds it hard to breathe, bands constricting his rib cage.
“What's your name?”
Its voice is warm. Friendly. Not the way a monster should sound.
Jared takes another step backward, and feels his heel brush the edge of the tower. There is another clatter as a few pebbles are dislodged, tumbling down. Cass takes advantage of that moment to snatch up the sword; any noise she might have made is likely hidden, but Jared clears his throat for added measure.
“Jared,” he says.
“Just Jared?” The dragon tilts its head to one side, and swings its sword in a lazy circle. Jared doesn't understand why it isn't going immediately for the kill, but anything that keeps him alive is fine by him. Cass is struggling to rise to her feet quietly, without tripping on her torn gown or letting the heavy broadsword hit anything.
“Sir Jared,” he says.
“Ah!” says the dragon, delighted. “Sir Jared. Does my defeating you mean I get to be sir as well?”
“Sir Dragon?” Jared snorts. “Not likely.”
“I do have a name, actually,” the dragon says. “It's Jensen. Sir Jensen. I like the sound of that.”
“Sounds great,” Jared says flatly. Cass has his sword in two hands now. “You're still a murderer.”
“It wasn't me, exactly.” The dragon man sighs. “With each month that passes, the magic crystallizes further and becomes more aware. I didn't understand, at first.”
“Understand what?”
“What must be done.”
“Killing? Is that what the magic wants?”
“Wild magic always demands blood.”
“It's had it! How much more is needed?”
“This will be the last,” the dragon says, “if I get it right.”
Jared shifts his weight slightly, and his foot slips on the stone. He tries to correct, leaning forward, and his foot slips even further. His eyes widen in panic and suddenly, everything seems to happen at once, in slow motion, in an instant.
Cass lunges forward, blade spearing straight at the dragon's back.
The dragon's own eyes widen as it realizes Jared is slipping over the edge. It drops its sword and reaches out with reflexes faster than any human's. Hands grab Jared's shoulders and pull him back from the edge.
He collides with the creature's chest. It lets out a startled grunt and the two of them stagger back under the force of its pull and of Jared's weight. Jared has only the briefest instant to wonder why the dragon saved him, before he feels the shock of collision.
They have run directly back onto the sword.
Cassandra's thrust, and their combined momentum, drive the blade right through the dragon. Jared sees its mouth open and head fall back in shock, and then he feels his own sword slice through skin and muscle, slide between his ribs, and pierce his heart.
There is screaming, desperate and fearful, all around. It's fading, though, along with his peripheral vision.
I'm dying, he thinks. I thought it would hurt more. I'm sorry, my princess. You shouldn't have to live with this. At least the beast dies with me. I hope you have another champion, next month.
He can't see Cass. Can't see the stars. He's pressed chest to chest with the dragon man, the two of them impaled on the same sword, locked in a mockery of an embrace, and all he can see is the unearthly beauty of his face. Lips that look so human, and green, green eyes.
Warmth is spreading down his body - blood, he thinks, I hope it's enough blood. He's so cold. He shouldn't be this cold, not with the new green of spring filling his world.
Green fades to black.
He wakes up in a soft bed.
For a moment, he wonders if he's dead, but then he tries to roll over. The various aches and twinges in his muscles and joints suggest strongly that he's still alive, just rather beaten up.
Furthermore, he's breathing and it doesn't hurt. The room is silent enough that he can hear a very faint pulse in his ears. Also, he's sporting morning wood, which suggests his blood's still circulating as it normally does.
Why isn't he dead?
He sits up, quilts and blankets puddling at his waist. His first glance out at the room shows that it's not his own; it's much more luxuriously appointed, with a thick woollen rug covering slate flagstones, and tapestries covering walls which are much farther apart than he's used to. There's real leaded glass in the tall window across the room. A couple of large, carved chairs stand to either side of a tiled fireplace, and an ornately inlaid wooden chest sits at the foot of the very large bed.
The chairs are empty. Nobody's watching over him, as he might have expected following a fatal injury. He is, however, naked.
He steels himself and looks down at his bare chest.
There is no gaping wound, no blood, no angry red scar. All that marks him is a faint, silvered pucker, maybe six inches below his left clavicle.
He shivers, and not just from the cool air prickling his skin.
How long has he been asleep - or unconscious? The light spilling into the room suggests it's late morning, but the morning of what day?
He's a little hungry, but not enough to suggest he's been comatose for days or weeks. In fact, while he wouldn't mind some breakfast soon enough, his stomach isn't the part of him making the most pressing demands.
He's alone, and apparently nobody expects him to be awake yet. He isn't sure yet what's going on, but there are probably going to be some difficult questions and explanations. Relieving a little tension before getting up and facing that sounds good.
He sinks back down against the pillow - best eiderdown, from the feel of it - and slides one hand under the quilts, lazily stroking his dick. He wriggles a little, enjoying the rare feeling of fine linen against his naked ass, and spreads his legs further. He starts working up more of a rhythm and reaches down with his other hand to play with his balls, letting out a small groan.
There's an answering groan from under the pile of quilts beside him.
Jared shrieks, lets go of his genitals, flails about and rolls over, inadvertently dragging most of the bedclothes with him and off the body of the stunningly gorgeous, equally naked man lying on the far side of the mattress.
He hadn't thought to look in the bed for another person.
Not that it is another person. Exactly.
The dragon is stretched out next to him, skin almost glowing in the morning sunlight, bearing a matching silvered scar on his chest.
He also has an impressive erection, and the eyes that meet Jared's are darkened with lust.
He licks his lips, and Jared almost whimpers at the sight. The embarrassment of being caught masturbating evaporates under an onslaught of heated desire. His cock swells even further, so hard it's almost painful. All his nerve endings are sensitized; the mere brush of fabric against his skin sends a tidal wave of need surging over him. He can barely think through the fog of pure want.
“Hey there,” the dragon - Jensen - says, perfect lips curling into a grin.
“Guh,” Jared says intelligently.
Jensen laughs.
“Don't stop,” he says. His own hand trails over his chest and begins teasing a nipple, and Jared gasps as the sensation is reflected in his own body. His nipples stiffen under the phantom touch, and his cock twitches, bumping against his belly.
He returns his hand to it, gripping and stroking, and Jensen moans, back arching and hips writhing. Jared looks down at Jensen's groin and licks his lips at the sight of Jensen's erection, head purpled and shiny. He swipes his thumb over the head of his own cock, which is beginning to leak; Jensen growls and thrashes, and his cock in turn blurts out precome. Jared's mouth waters, and he sees Jensen swallow.
Jensen wraps a hand around hiself, and Jared's eyes nearly roll back under the dual sensations. He's pumping hard and fast, racing towards orgasm, and somehow he's also feeling Jensen's pleasure as he jerks himself off, one hand sliding back to press on his perineum and tease lightly around the rim of his hole. Jared's hole quivers and flutters in sympathy.
“Kiss me,” Jensen murmurs.
Jared rolls towards him and pushes himself up on his left elbow, leaning in over Jensen. He lowers his mouth to Jensen's and plunges his tongue in, kissing him deep and hungry. His knuckles bump against Jensen's hip as he keeps working himself, and he can feel Jensen's cock nudging his side.
He comes explosively, messily, spraying jets all over Jensen's belly and groin. Through their link, he can feel how much Jensen enjoys the sensation, and that in turn amplifies and prolongs his ecstasy; he gasps out Jensen's name as his balls drain themselves completely. Just as he's beginning to come down from the peak, Jensen yells and comes in turn, painting their chests with still more semen, and Jared loses his mind as his nerve endings overload.
Minutes or hours later, when Jared's brain slowly starts working again, it puts forth the question, what the hell? He can't really find it in himself to worry, with the delicious warmth of afterglow still washing through him. Still, it was definitely weird.
“Not that that wasn't awesome,” he says, “but what just happened?”
Jensen raises a eyebrow. “Sex?”
“Awesome sex,” Jared agrees. “But I mean the bit where I could, uh, feel you. What's up with that? Also, why aren't we dead?”
“The bond, of course,” Jensen says, blinking.
“The what?”
“The soul bond.”
Jared feels that should not be the sort of thing one says matter of factly, as if commenting on breakfast or the color of the curtains.
“Soul bond,” he says cautiously. “Like...us? Mystically bound together?”
“Uh huh,” Jensen says, “that's kinda what it means.”
“How? Why?” Jared frowns. “For how long?”
Jensen shrugs. “Your guess is as good as mine, but I think the previous bond lasted several hundred years.”
“Several hundred?” Jared squeaks. His breath is fast and shallow. He's definitely freaking out now, afterglow vanishing.
“Something like that.” Jensen stretches. “I'm starting to remember lots more, but it's coming in bits and pieces.”
“I don't understand.” Jared rolls away. “How old are you? What are you? What are you remembering? And, how did we bond?”
“Do you want them in order?” Jensen eyes the mess on his front with distaste, and pulls up the sheet to wipe at it. “I was the dragon. Am the dragon. I'm... I guess you'd say I'm the personification of this country's magic. We bonded, last night, when your friend stabbed us. My heart's blood and yours mingled. I'm from the magic, you're from the land. Our bond is theirs. The magic has begun to return.”
He turns onto his stomach, propping himself up on his elbows. “There used to be a ritual, I think. When a bond was broken, by the death of one of the partners, another bond was deliberately forged. But the last bond was destroyed unexpectedly: both died. There was nobody left who remembered the ritual, and so no new bond was created. The magic very gradually began to separate from the land.”
“But it didn't disappear.” Jared remembers the soothsayer's words.
“No. The land and the magic want to be joined. The magic floated around, built up and gradually began to coalesce into... me. Not at first,” he adds hastily. “At first, I was still mostly a blind force, but I gained more shape and further ability to think as time went on. Now that we've bonded, the magic is stabilizing even more. I think I'm remembering stuff from, well, past lives I guess.
Before, I just sensed there needed to be blood - heart's blood - shed from the land. I didn't know mine had to be involved as well. It's pure luck that it happened: the sword carried some of my blood into yours.”
“That is very freaky,” Jared says with total honesty. “I guess the old scrolls weren't exactly wrong. They said you needed a blood sacrifice. But it said the blood of the kingdom. We thought it had to be one of the royal family.” He shivers. “And we thought they'd have to die.”
“You're part of the kingdom. You come from a line of strong magic; I can feel it.” Jensen smiles at him. “And I'm glad you didn't die.”
Jared snorts. “I think you're feeling your own magic there. I've got no talent.”
“Yes, you do.” Jensen squints at him. “Pretty sure that's how we healed so fast.”
“What?” Jared frowns. “That was you. Or, part of the ritual. Wasn't it?”
“I don't think so,” Jensen says. “Does anything still hurt?”
“My knee's kind of sore.”
“Focus on it.”
Jared gives Jensen a sceptical look, but dutifully looks down at his right knee and thinks about it, what hurts and where. A cool sensation pulses inside him, and suddenly, the knee doesn't hurt at all.
“Healer,” Jensen says in satisfaction.
“Like Great-gramma,” Jared says, awed.
“You got the talent from her. There just wasn't any magic for it to use.”
“Wow,” Jared breathes. “Can I do it to other people?”
Jensen smiles. “I'm sure you can learn.”
There's a knock at the door, and Jared startles.
“It's a page,” Jensen murmurs. “With a washbasin.”
“Sir Jared?” The voice is timid. “I've brought water. The King has requested that you and Sir Jensen join him for breakfast as soon as you are able.”
“Uh, just leave it outside the door,” Jared calls. “Thanks.”
He turns to Jensen as the boy's footsteps recede. “How'd you know?”
“I heard him,” Jensen says. “And smelled him. They've put lavender in the water.”
Jared cracks the door just enough to grab the large basin of steaming hot water - with, yes, a sprig of lavender floating in it - and accompanying towels. They clean themselves, and look around for clothing.
“There's stuff in here.” Jensen's opened the chest and is pulling out various articles, holding them up against himself. “Nope, looks like this one's for you.”
“I guess they took ours for washing.” Jared catches the trousers Jensen tosses him.
Jensen snorts. “More likely for rags, with all that blood. And the holes.”
“Right.” Jared mentally slaps himself. “So, uh, smelling the page. Does that mean you still have dragon senses? In this body, I mean?”
“No, they're muted. Eyesight in particular, that's the one I notice the most change in... Normally, dragons have excellent vision. We can spot things from very high up, when flying.” Jensen pulls a tunic over his head and smoothes it down. “Hearing and smell aren't as strong in this body either, but they're better than human.”
“Flying,” says Jared, awed. He hadn't really thought about that yet. “That must have been... wow.”
“I can change back, you know,” Jensen says, and Jared's eyes widen; he hadn't really thought about that either. “Hope you're not scared of heights.”
“You know I'm not,” Jared says, and Jensen grins and nods; Jared knows they're both feeling the rush of excitement that rose in him at the thought.
“I'll take you later,” Jensen promises. “But first, breakfast. I'm starving.”
Jared's own stomach chooses that moment to growl - whether of its own accord, or in sympathy with Jensen's, he's not sure - and he agrees, ushering Jensen out the door.
He recognizes the hallway they're in as soon as he exits; he's stood guard outside these chambers in the past, but never saw them from the inside.
“This way,” he says, and Jensen follows.
There is a larger group at breakfast than he'd imagined. The King and Queen head the table, of course, and Cassandra is on the Queen's left. Two seats at the King's right are empty. Further down the table, Jared recognizes several of the academics, the Captain of the Guard, and various high-ranking nobles. He's surprised not to see the soothsayer.
Cassandra colors as they are announced.
Jared goes down on one knee and bows his head in obeisance. “My King.”
“I'm told that you went up there to slay the creature,” the King says mildly. “And that instead you've ended up soul-bound to it.”
“Sir,” Jared says, because while it's manifestly obvious that things have worked out for the best, he did fail to obey the Princess's orders.
“We are grateful for your good sense and sacrifice,” the King says, and Jared muffles a snort, because it's not like his good sense had anything to do with it. “Thanks to you, our daughter is safe. And magic has returned to our land.”
“It will grow stronger,” Jensen says, speaking for the first time. Jared shoots him a panicked glance, realizing that not only has Jensen spoken without being invited to do so by the King, but he hasn't knelt either. He tries to mentally signal him, but can't tell if anything's happening.
The King raises his eyebrows. “If that's so, we may need a new soothsayer. Mine spent half the night curled up in a ball under his bed, and then came staggering into our chambers this morning with his shirt on backwards, ranting about a soul bond. I must say, I didn't understand a lot of it. He was barely coherent. Apparently, whatever you two unleashed last night was rather overwhelming.”
Jensen winks at the King. “He's not the only one who was overwhelmed.”
Jared thinks he may actually die of mortification. Cass is turning bright pink with suppressed laughter.
“I am sorry,” Jensen says, and now he does bow his head, although he still doesn't kneel. “It's been too long since the last bonding took place. The magic had lost its coherence, its shape. I'm its embodiment, now, but at the beginning I didn't really exist.” He looks up. “The magic was more of a shapeless thing, a force without intellect or understanding. As the need of the land grew, the dragon formed to respond to it. It - I knew, instinctively, that the bonding required blood from a mortal wound, but at first, I was little more than a dumb beast. I didn't remember anything from the old days, I couldn't think it through and I didn't know what was required. I didn't mean for the others to die.”
There is silence for a moment.
“We are grateful that you tried,” the King says, finally, “and that you continued to try, even when it risked your life. Our land has suffered, without the bond to its magic.”
Jensen shrugs. “The magic couldn't not try.”
“What happens now?”
“I don't know much more than you,” Jensen says, “although I'm - I don't know, seeing or remembering more things all the time. The balance of energy will take a little while to settle, but I think your soothsayer - and the rest of your subjects with magical tendencies - will be fine. There was a big surge when the connection between the land and its magic was reestablished. From what I can feel, I'm pretty sure it will stabilize soon.”
“Good news.” The King looks at Jared, still kneeling. “Get up, Jared, for goodness' sake. You're the most important man in the land, now. I'm not sure you should be kneeling to me.”
Jared begins to stammer out a flustered denial, and the King laughs. “Besides, I feel I owe you an apology for my daughter stabbing you last night.”
“It was an accident!” Cass squawks, and the King winks at Jared.
“Thank you,” he says with deep sincerity. “Thank you for saving my daughter. Rise, Sir Jared.”
Jared gets up, and is surprised to feel Jensen's hand sneaking into his. The touch brings another wave of reassurance, and he's smiling as they take their seats. Throughout breakfast, as Jensen and the King discuss the history of magic, and Jared fills his mouth with pancake to avoid answering Cassandra's embarrassing questions, he can feel warmth and happiness singing back and forth across the bond.
Jensen takes his hand again as they walk back to their room afterwards.
“When do you have to meet the professors?” Jared inquires. Jensen's promised to let the country's smartest people ask him a bunch of questions he probably doesn't know the answers to.
“Not for a few hours,” Jensen says.
“Excellent,” Jared says, tugging his dragon into the room and latching the door behind them. He gently bites the back of Jensen's neck, and lets out a happy grunt as his own nape tingles. “Wouldn't you say it's important to reinforce the bond? You know, in these early days.”
“Definitely,” Jensen agrees, already tugging at his clothes. “Only without the impaling.”
“Oh, there'll be impaling,” Jared says happily, and Jensen rolls his eyes before tackling him to the bed.
Happy Twelfth Day of Christmas!
Heart of the Matter
The magic began fading long before Jared was born.
It began even before his grandfather's time. Jared used to sit by the fire of an evening, listening to his grandfather's stories of how his grandfather could charm rabbits, keep the vegetable garden free from cabbage moths, or speed the ripening of grain.
“In the old days, the people had a bond with the land.” His grandfather would shake his head sadly, patting Jared's head. “Magic was there for the taking, for those who could feel it. Our family always had the gift.”
“Tell us about Great-gramma,” Megan would pipe up, and the old man would smile.
“Your great-grandmother - my mother - now she was strong in the healing magic. Herbs, waters, sunlight or starlight, fire or spiderweb: she could look at a wound, or an ailing baby, and know what was called for. This one time, old Pearson's cow got stuck...”
Her powers had dwindled, very slowly. She had put it down to aging, as did others who were losing their skills, but gradually it became clear that there was something wrong with magic in general. Fewer children were showing the ability, and those that did had weaker talents than expected. It was as if the magic were withdrawing, or the connection broken.
By the time Jared was grown, there had not been a child in thirty years who could feel or use magic.
Still, people managed. Most of Jared's generation didn't pay much heed to stories of old times. Old people always say things were better before, back when they were young and times were more innocent, and people respected their elders, not like today's young hooligans.
And then, the dragon came.
Winter had arrived early last year, frost striking quick and hard, freezing the fruit yet on the trees and withering the squash vines. With nobody to encourage ripening, or foretell the weather, much of the harvest was lost when the first storm came tearing out of the mountains.
Behind it came a creature of legend.
It was the night of the solstice, and a dark moon. It should have been the longest, darkest night for years. But the sky to the north was lit with a weird glow, curtains of colored light writhing against the black.
“Is it magic?” the young ones asked, and the elders shook their heads.
“There is no magic,” they said sadly. “Though this is strange weather, to be sure. It bodes ill for us.”
Most people were sleeping, but a few were still awake, worrying or working or watching the sky, when a dark shape came flying out of the heart of the light. It arrowed straight towards the castle, and engulfed the top of the north tower in a wave of flame.
That night, the two guards there were father and son, and they had a few moments only to give warning. The father urged his son to go below, to sound the alarm and summon others, but the son refused, pushing his father towards the stairs and drawing his sword against the monster.
He died instantly in the burst of dragonfire. His father, returning with a few other hastily assembled soldiers, loosed arrow after arrow at the beast as it hovered above the tower, but all fell short. It did not descend to attack again, although it circled, as if waiting for something more to happen.
Nothing did. Just before the first hint of false dawn, it left, flying back into the north.
It did not return the next night. Nor the next, nor the next. People gradually relaxed, thinking that maybe it had been scared away, or that the volleys of arrows had wounded it after all and it had retreated to die.
At the dark of the moon, the following month, it came again. There was a double guard of elite knights on the tower that night, but this time, the beast gave no warning, nor were there lights in the sky to show its passage. Instead of flames, there was a dark shape that swept in silently and snatched up Sir Manfred. His body, bitten almost in half, fell into the central courtyard. More arrows were sent into the dark, but the only effect was discovered the following day when a few people complained about holes in the washing they'd left on the line.
In the third month, the north tower had no guard. None of the towers did: the night guards spent their shift on the lower levels, keeping a watchful eye on the sky. In the darkest part of the night, they heard claws scrabble on stone, and stormed up the stairs with torches and swords in hand, but the dragon was gone before they reached the top. A young man sneaking home from an illicit rendezvous on the outskirts of the city was found, gutted, the next morning.
“What does it want?” Grief, anger and fear warred with puzzlement. What beast comes one night a month, to kill without eating? No sheep went missing; no buildings were set on fire.
In the fourth month, the King sent an entire squadron to spend the night at the top of the north tower. The dragon veered away just before it came within range of arrows, and instead flew southeast. A woodcutter's daughter, walking home late, was killed that night, chest carved open by long, razor-sharp claws. Her heart, bearing a puncture wound, was lying eight feet from her body.
In the fifth month, the tower was manned by two guards, and a new device created by the country's foremost inventor. A sort of modified catapult, it could launch a large metal ball at tremendous speed. It was tricky to aim, and took a long time to prepare, but they knew when and from what direction the dragon would arrive, and spent two days setting it up and adjusting it.
The shot was perfect.
The projectile struck the dragon full in the chest. It fell backwards, tumbling head over tail through the air, wings fluttering uselessly. Gouts of blood splashed the streets it flew over. It crashed in a meadow on the edge of the city, and its body burst into flames.
By morning, it was gone, incinerated, leaving a huge charred circle in the meadow and people dancing and rejoicing in the streets. The inventor was fêted and awarded a barony.
And the next month, another dragon came, and another corpse was the result.
Its mate? Its child? Nobody knew, but an identical dark, deadly shape streaked out of the night, and another young woman, this time a castle maid, was found with her heart exposed and pierced. In the seventh month, it was a young man from the castle kitchens, but the result was the same.
The thinkers of the kingdom had not been idle. The inventor was working overtime, the former cattle shed on his estate converted into a laboratory (which frequently needed re-roofing after explosions gone awry.) Zoologists, priests, historians - all were reading, researching, offering advice that proved useless.
Until, in the eighth month, a small council was summoned to hear a report from the King's soothsayer.
The soothsayer was an old man, last of his line in a time of fading magic. He couldn't see clearly or often, but he was the only one left in the land who got even blurred glimpses of the future. He was good with omens, sometimes, and he could read a lot of languages. For months, he had been ensconced in the castle library, poring over dusty scrolls and crabbed writing in ancient tomes, seeking information on a beast that had not been sighted for centuries.
(That was not, as it happened, something he'd foreseen.)
Jared doesn't think he really belongs at this council. As far as he can tell, he's there mainly to demonstrate that Princess Cassandra has a will of her own and is prepared to enforce it.
“I don't know anything about dragons.”
“You're my bodyguard.”
“You're going to a meeting with your parents.”
“And some other people.” Cass glares. “That's not the point. I am the Princess and if I want my personal knight to accompany me, then he will do so.”
Cass has been on edge lately. She's eighteen, and various missives seeking her hand in marriage have arrived over the past year. Some have been intercepted and burned before their Majesties received them - Jared knows this because Cass had ordered him to do it - but a few have unfortunately made their way through and the Queen has been hinting, not so subtly, that Cass might consider inviting a couple of the letter-writers over to help deal with the country's dragon problem.
Jared's actually surprised that more princes, knights and heroes haven't been beating a path to their castle gates. Cassandra is stunning. He'd been appointed to her service when he was seventeen and she was eleven; she was beautiful and vivacious then, and only got more so as she grew up. If he liked women, he'd be trying to work out how to win her hand for himself.
On the other hand, if he liked women, there's probably no way the Queen would have appointed him as her young daughter's personal guard. And he loves his job - and Cassandra.
“Yes, milady,” Jared says.
“Thanks,” Cass says, quieter. “I have a bad feeling about this.”
The meeting isn't particularly bad at first, simply confusing. Jared's glad to note he's not the only one to look puzzled by the soothsayer's big announcement; everyone there, including the baron inventor and the King, look baffled.
“It is the same dragon.”
“It can't be,” the King says. “We killed it. It burned.”
“And returned. It is the same.” The soothsayer spreads his hands. “Sire, I know how it sounds. But that is what I've been able to find in the scrolls. This is not a mere beast. It has a purpose, and it will return until that purpose is fulfilled. The dragon is part of the old magic, and is reborn from it.”
“The land has lost its magic,” the Queen says harshly.
The soothsayer bows low. “Yes, my Queen. But...where did it go?”
“Away?” Cass says. It's flippant, but Jared can see her hands, clenched so tightly her nails must be cutting half-circles into her palms. “Didn't it just disappear?”
“Nothing simply disappears. It is not here, but it is - somewhere. And now we have the dragon, which is a part of the magic, somehow. It is born out of the build-up of magic, maybe? Born may not be the right word. But the legends say it will come when we need it, and its coming will bring the magic back to the world.”
“Are the legends any more specific on how this miracle happens?” The King shakes his head. “It is harassing us and killing our people. I fail to see how this is magical.”
The soothsayer doesn't answer immediately; Jared looks over and sees him twisting his hands in the sleeves of his robes. He takes a deep breath.
“It is looking for a sacrifice,” the soothsayer says, words dropping like stones in the silence. “It needs 'the blood of the kingdom.'”
“It has had blood. Six times so far! How much more blood must be shed?” The King slams a fist on the table.
“I don't know.”
“How very helpful,” the Queen says bitterly. “Why are mystical legends always vague and cryptic?”
“Your Majesty, the scrolls that speak of this are very old,” the man says, shrugging helplessly. “Bits may be missing. Or it may be they didn't bother writing down things that everybody knew - things that have since been lost to history.”
Cass stands abruptly, knocking over her chair. Everyone startles in surprise.
“It wants the blood of the kingdom,” she says. “Royal blood. It wants me.”
The stunned silence is broken by the King, also leaping to his feet. “Cassie! Nonsense.”
“It keeps coming back. It's not getting what it wants - what it needs, if the scrolls are correct.” She turns to the soothsayer. “If it gets it. Blood. My blood. That will bring the magic back? Stop the dragon?”
“I... er...” the soothsayer stammers, looking back and forth between Cassandra and her father, who now looks thunderous. “I think so. Yes.”
“You can't know this,” the King snarls at the old man. “All you have is some half-baked gibberish and crazy speculations.”
“And a dragon!” Cass yells.
“You're not doing this, Cassie.” The King rounds on her in apparent anger, but it is fear that looks out from his eyes. “If it needs royal blood, it can have mine. It doesn't have to be you!”
“Of course it has to be me,” Cassandra snaps. “When is it ever not the tasty young virgin princess?”
Jared manages, with great effort, to keep a poker face while the King turns several shades of red. Most of the Council is suddenly intently absorbed in their notes, or examining the cuffs of their robes.
“You know I'm right.” Cass bites her lip and meets her father's eyes. “I know you want to do it for me, but you can't.”
There is a long silence.
“You will not go alone,” the King says grimly. “I will come with you.”
“Then it will kill us both.”
“No.” The Queen also stands, looking back and forth between her husband and daughter. “The price is not worth it! There has to be another way.”
“The price of what?” Cass answers. “Our country? Our people? Our magic?” She draws herself up tall; she has never looked more royal. “All those are my responsibility. If there is a way to save our people from the dragon's predations - more than that, if there is a way to bring magic back to the land? I will pay the price. I will be the sacrifice. I will go alone to the tower, and I will meet the dragon.”
She doesn't go alone, however. Not that she knows that.
The King had tried to send a troop of guards with her; the Queen had urged her to bring her sword. Cass had dismissed the guards, and left her sword behind. “The sacrifice is the point. Killing it will solve nothing, only bring its return and more deaths!” She has ordered Jared not to interfere - she knows him well.
Jared, however, cannot let his charge, his princess, his friend, be alone in this.
He sneaks up the stairs behind her. He's left his armour behind - too noisy - and his sword is sheathed for now. If it weren't the dark of the moon, he would have been discovered. At the top of the tower, there is almost nowhere to hide: it's almost flat, with only a bare lip of stone gutter at the edges, and crenellated corners. There is still the cannon mount, however, and he crouches in the slightly darker pool of shadow behind it, trusting to the general lack of light - and lack of reflection off his nonexistent armour - to keep him undetected.
It's still August and the air is warm, but Cass shivers. She's wearing a green dress whose full skirt brushes the stones. It has long sleeves, a low back and barely any shoulders. Jared thinks it's the dress she wore to last year's winter ball, only a few days before the dragon came. Less than a year, and it feels so distant.
Maybe that's why she chose it. Not that the dragon is likely to pay much attention to what its sacrifice is wearing.
The dragon takes its time. Jared is nodding off, beginning to wonder if it's actually going to come to the castle tonight, when he hears the rush of air signalling its approach.
He grips the hilt of his sword, loosening it in the scabbard, and prepares to leap out. He half-expects it simply to grab Cass in mid-flight; he needs to be ready.
The wingbeats slow, however, and there is a loud grating sound as claws strike stone.
Then there is an odd sussuration, and a muffled shriek from Cass. That's his cue.
Jared springs to his feet, drawing his sword.
He stops short and staggers back in astonishment, very nearly falling off the tower.
There is no dragon.
A man is standing in front of Cassandra. He's almost as tall as Jared, and carries himself like nobility. He wears no armour, but a sword hangs at his hip.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” Cassandra shrieks, as Jared yells “Where's the dragon?”
“I came to rescue you!”
“I ordered you not to!”
“What the hell's going on? Where's the dragon?”
“That's the dragon!” Cass says. “It turned into...that! Him!”
Jared hasn't taken his eyes off the man during their shocked exchange. The man hasn't made a move towards his sword; he's watching the two of them calmly.
“Don't interfere,” says Cass. “I'm ready to do this.”
“I'm not ready to let you.”
Cass stamps her foot. “I can't stand by and let others die in my place! It won't end otherwise. People will keep dying.”
“Not if I kill it every time,” Jared says. “It only comes the one night each moon. The time we killed it? Nobody died.”
“You're clever.” The dragon man speaks for the first time. His voice is human, and pleasant, but the amusement in his tone infuriates Jared even more. “But that's not a viable long term solution.”
“Why not?!” Jared grips his sword more tightly, readying himself to swing.
“Because you won't be able to? And because you need what I'm offering.”
“We don't need anything from you,” Jared spits.
“The land is struggling to balance itself.” He looks away from Jared for a moment. “Can't you feel it? I am part of that. Your country is dying without magic.”
“People are dying because you keep cutting out their hearts!”
“I am compelled to. Heart's blood is needed.”
“Then take mine,” Cass says.
“Fuck that,” Jared says, stepping in front of her and swinging his sword directly at the dragon's neck.
He's blocked, impossibly.
The dragon man has drawn his own sword. He handles it extremely well. Especially for a dragon.
Jared parries, slashes, and considers. He needs to kill the creature, but he also needs to keep it away from Cass and her stupid, heroic, self-sacrificial intent. He keeps between it and her.
“Jared, no!” She tugs at his left elbow.
The dragon takes advantage of the moment to press hard on Jared's defences. Jared tears his arm out of Cass's grip so he can employ a two-handed grip. She's thrown off balance and stumbles. There's a ripping sound as she steps on her long, full skirt, and she falls.
“Cass, get back!”
He feints left. The bastard goes for it; Jared immediately blocks, lunges forward and brings down a swing that should disconnect the monster's arm from its body. Except it's ready for him, blocking his attack and launching a counterattack of its own that Jared actually struggles to keep up with.
“You're good,” it comments, amusement silver in its voice, and then it turns its blade and presses forward.
Jared knows this move, knows what comes next, and knows in that second that he can't stop it. Its sword is sliding up his own and it has the advantage.
He's about to be disarmed.
The point of the dragon's blade engages the guard, and twists. Jared's sword is yanked from his hand and flung aside. It clatters on the stones, sliding toward the edge of the tower, but then the hilt snags on a roughened point in the rock.
Jared locks his gaze with the dragon's. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Cass very slowly creeping towards his sword. He doesn't dare let his eyes flicker for even the briefest moment. He doesn't know why she's changed her mind about attacking the dragon - he hopes it isn't in order to save him; he would gladly give his life if it spared hers - but he can't let the dragon notice her.
It stalks towards him, and he instinctively backs up a few steps. The eyes that hold his are beautiful and compelling. Green as emeralds, green as new barley sprouts in the spring earth. Suddenly Jared finds it hard to breathe, bands constricting his rib cage.
“What's your name?”
Its voice is warm. Friendly. Not the way a monster should sound.
Jared takes another step backward, and feels his heel brush the edge of the tower. There is another clatter as a few pebbles are dislodged, tumbling down. Cass takes advantage of that moment to snatch up the sword; any noise she might have made is likely hidden, but Jared clears his throat for added measure.
“Jared,” he says.
“Just Jared?” The dragon tilts its head to one side, and swings its sword in a lazy circle. Jared doesn't understand why it isn't going immediately for the kill, but anything that keeps him alive is fine by him. Cass is struggling to rise to her feet quietly, without tripping on her torn gown or letting the heavy broadsword hit anything.
“Sir Jared,” he says.
“Ah!” says the dragon, delighted. “Sir Jared. Does my defeating you mean I get to be sir as well?”
“Sir Dragon?” Jared snorts. “Not likely.”
“I do have a name, actually,” the dragon says. “It's Jensen. Sir Jensen. I like the sound of that.”
“Sounds great,” Jared says flatly. Cass has his sword in two hands now. “You're still a murderer.”
“It wasn't me, exactly.” The dragon man sighs. “With each month that passes, the magic crystallizes further and becomes more aware. I didn't understand, at first.”
“Understand what?”
“What must be done.”
“Killing? Is that what the magic wants?”
“Wild magic always demands blood.”
“It's had it! How much more is needed?”
“This will be the last,” the dragon says, “if I get it right.”
Jared shifts his weight slightly, and his foot slips on the stone. He tries to correct, leaning forward, and his foot slips even further. His eyes widen in panic and suddenly, everything seems to happen at once, in slow motion, in an instant.
Cass lunges forward, blade spearing straight at the dragon's back.
The dragon's own eyes widen as it realizes Jared is slipping over the edge. It drops its sword and reaches out with reflexes faster than any human's. Hands grab Jared's shoulders and pull him back from the edge.
He collides with the creature's chest. It lets out a startled grunt and the two of them stagger back under the force of its pull and of Jared's weight. Jared has only the briefest instant to wonder why the dragon saved him, before he feels the shock of collision.
They have run directly back onto the sword.
Cassandra's thrust, and their combined momentum, drive the blade right through the dragon. Jared sees its mouth open and head fall back in shock, and then he feels his own sword slice through skin and muscle, slide between his ribs, and pierce his heart.
There is screaming, desperate and fearful, all around. It's fading, though, along with his peripheral vision.
I'm dying, he thinks. I thought it would hurt more. I'm sorry, my princess. You shouldn't have to live with this. At least the beast dies with me. I hope you have another champion, next month.
He can't see Cass. Can't see the stars. He's pressed chest to chest with the dragon man, the two of them impaled on the same sword, locked in a mockery of an embrace, and all he can see is the unearthly beauty of his face. Lips that look so human, and green, green eyes.
Warmth is spreading down his body - blood, he thinks, I hope it's enough blood. He's so cold. He shouldn't be this cold, not with the new green of spring filling his world.
Green fades to black.
He wakes up in a soft bed.
For a moment, he wonders if he's dead, but then he tries to roll over. The various aches and twinges in his muscles and joints suggest strongly that he's still alive, just rather beaten up.
Furthermore, he's breathing and it doesn't hurt. The room is silent enough that he can hear a very faint pulse in his ears. Also, he's sporting morning wood, which suggests his blood's still circulating as it normally does.
Why isn't he dead?
He sits up, quilts and blankets puddling at his waist. His first glance out at the room shows that it's not his own; it's much more luxuriously appointed, with a thick woollen rug covering slate flagstones, and tapestries covering walls which are much farther apart than he's used to. There's real leaded glass in the tall window across the room. A couple of large, carved chairs stand to either side of a tiled fireplace, and an ornately inlaid wooden chest sits at the foot of the very large bed.
The chairs are empty. Nobody's watching over him, as he might have expected following a fatal injury. He is, however, naked.
He steels himself and looks down at his bare chest.
There is no gaping wound, no blood, no angry red scar. All that marks him is a faint, silvered pucker, maybe six inches below his left clavicle.
He shivers, and not just from the cool air prickling his skin.
How long has he been asleep - or unconscious? The light spilling into the room suggests it's late morning, but the morning of what day?
He's a little hungry, but not enough to suggest he's been comatose for days or weeks. In fact, while he wouldn't mind some breakfast soon enough, his stomach isn't the part of him making the most pressing demands.
He's alone, and apparently nobody expects him to be awake yet. He isn't sure yet what's going on, but there are probably going to be some difficult questions and explanations. Relieving a little tension before getting up and facing that sounds good.
He sinks back down against the pillow - best eiderdown, from the feel of it - and slides one hand under the quilts, lazily stroking his dick. He wriggles a little, enjoying the rare feeling of fine linen against his naked ass, and spreads his legs further. He starts working up more of a rhythm and reaches down with his other hand to play with his balls, letting out a small groan.
There's an answering groan from under the pile of quilts beside him.
Jared shrieks, lets go of his genitals, flails about and rolls over, inadvertently dragging most of the bedclothes with him and off the body of the stunningly gorgeous, equally naked man lying on the far side of the mattress.
He hadn't thought to look in the bed for another person.
Not that it is another person. Exactly.
The dragon is stretched out next to him, skin almost glowing in the morning sunlight, bearing a matching silvered scar on his chest.
He also has an impressive erection, and the eyes that meet Jared's are darkened with lust.
He licks his lips, and Jared almost whimpers at the sight. The embarrassment of being caught masturbating evaporates under an onslaught of heated desire. His cock swells even further, so hard it's almost painful. All his nerve endings are sensitized; the mere brush of fabric against his skin sends a tidal wave of need surging over him. He can barely think through the fog of pure want.
“Hey there,” the dragon - Jensen - says, perfect lips curling into a grin.
“Guh,” Jared says intelligently.
Jensen laughs.
“Don't stop,” he says. His own hand trails over his chest and begins teasing a nipple, and Jared gasps as the sensation is reflected in his own body. His nipples stiffen under the phantom touch, and his cock twitches, bumping against his belly.
He returns his hand to it, gripping and stroking, and Jensen moans, back arching and hips writhing. Jared looks down at Jensen's groin and licks his lips at the sight of Jensen's erection, head purpled and shiny. He swipes his thumb over the head of his own cock, which is beginning to leak; Jensen growls and thrashes, and his cock in turn blurts out precome. Jared's mouth waters, and he sees Jensen swallow.
Jensen wraps a hand around hiself, and Jared's eyes nearly roll back under the dual sensations. He's pumping hard and fast, racing towards orgasm, and somehow he's also feeling Jensen's pleasure as he jerks himself off, one hand sliding back to press on his perineum and tease lightly around the rim of his hole. Jared's hole quivers and flutters in sympathy.
“Kiss me,” Jensen murmurs.
Jared rolls towards him and pushes himself up on his left elbow, leaning in over Jensen. He lowers his mouth to Jensen's and plunges his tongue in, kissing him deep and hungry. His knuckles bump against Jensen's hip as he keeps working himself, and he can feel Jensen's cock nudging his side.
He comes explosively, messily, spraying jets all over Jensen's belly and groin. Through their link, he can feel how much Jensen enjoys the sensation, and that in turn amplifies and prolongs his ecstasy; he gasps out Jensen's name as his balls drain themselves completely. Just as he's beginning to come down from the peak, Jensen yells and comes in turn, painting their chests with still more semen, and Jared loses his mind as his nerve endings overload.
Minutes or hours later, when Jared's brain slowly starts working again, it puts forth the question, what the hell? He can't really find it in himself to worry, with the delicious warmth of afterglow still washing through him. Still, it was definitely weird.
“Not that that wasn't awesome,” he says, “but what just happened?”
Jensen raises a eyebrow. “Sex?”
“Awesome sex,” Jared agrees. “But I mean the bit where I could, uh, feel you. What's up with that? Also, why aren't we dead?”
“The bond, of course,” Jensen says, blinking.
“The what?”
“The soul bond.”
Jared feels that should not be the sort of thing one says matter of factly, as if commenting on breakfast or the color of the curtains.
“Soul bond,” he says cautiously. “Like...us? Mystically bound together?”
“Uh huh,” Jensen says, “that's kinda what it means.”
“How? Why?” Jared frowns. “For how long?”
Jensen shrugs. “Your guess is as good as mine, but I think the previous bond lasted several hundred years.”
“Several hundred?” Jared squeaks. His breath is fast and shallow. He's definitely freaking out now, afterglow vanishing.
“Something like that.” Jensen stretches. “I'm starting to remember lots more, but it's coming in bits and pieces.”
“I don't understand.” Jared rolls away. “How old are you? What are you? What are you remembering? And, how did we bond?”
“Do you want them in order?” Jensen eyes the mess on his front with distaste, and pulls up the sheet to wipe at it. “I was the dragon. Am the dragon. I'm... I guess you'd say I'm the personification of this country's magic. We bonded, last night, when your friend stabbed us. My heart's blood and yours mingled. I'm from the magic, you're from the land. Our bond is theirs. The magic has begun to return.”
He turns onto his stomach, propping himself up on his elbows. “There used to be a ritual, I think. When a bond was broken, by the death of one of the partners, another bond was deliberately forged. But the last bond was destroyed unexpectedly: both died. There was nobody left who remembered the ritual, and so no new bond was created. The magic very gradually began to separate from the land.”
“But it didn't disappear.” Jared remembers the soothsayer's words.
“No. The land and the magic want to be joined. The magic floated around, built up and gradually began to coalesce into... me. Not at first,” he adds hastily. “At first, I was still mostly a blind force, but I gained more shape and further ability to think as time went on. Now that we've bonded, the magic is stabilizing even more. I think I'm remembering stuff from, well, past lives I guess.
Before, I just sensed there needed to be blood - heart's blood - shed from the land. I didn't know mine had to be involved as well. It's pure luck that it happened: the sword carried some of my blood into yours.”
“That is very freaky,” Jared says with total honesty. “I guess the old scrolls weren't exactly wrong. They said you needed a blood sacrifice. But it said the blood of the kingdom. We thought it had to be one of the royal family.” He shivers. “And we thought they'd have to die.”
“You're part of the kingdom. You come from a line of strong magic; I can feel it.” Jensen smiles at him. “And I'm glad you didn't die.”
Jared snorts. “I think you're feeling your own magic there. I've got no talent.”
“Yes, you do.” Jensen squints at him. “Pretty sure that's how we healed so fast.”
“What?” Jared frowns. “That was you. Or, part of the ritual. Wasn't it?”
“I don't think so,” Jensen says. “Does anything still hurt?”
“My knee's kind of sore.”
“Focus on it.”
Jared gives Jensen a sceptical look, but dutifully looks down at his right knee and thinks about it, what hurts and where. A cool sensation pulses inside him, and suddenly, the knee doesn't hurt at all.
“Healer,” Jensen says in satisfaction.
“Like Great-gramma,” Jared says, awed.
“You got the talent from her. There just wasn't any magic for it to use.”
“Wow,” Jared breathes. “Can I do it to other people?”
Jensen smiles. “I'm sure you can learn.”
There's a knock at the door, and Jared startles.
“It's a page,” Jensen murmurs. “With a washbasin.”
“Sir Jared?” The voice is timid. “I've brought water. The King has requested that you and Sir Jensen join him for breakfast as soon as you are able.”
“Uh, just leave it outside the door,” Jared calls. “Thanks.”
He turns to Jensen as the boy's footsteps recede. “How'd you know?”
“I heard him,” Jensen says. “And smelled him. They've put lavender in the water.”
Jared cracks the door just enough to grab the large basin of steaming hot water - with, yes, a sprig of lavender floating in it - and accompanying towels. They clean themselves, and look around for clothing.
“There's stuff in here.” Jensen's opened the chest and is pulling out various articles, holding them up against himself. “Nope, looks like this one's for you.”
“I guess they took ours for washing.” Jared catches the trousers Jensen tosses him.
Jensen snorts. “More likely for rags, with all that blood. And the holes.”
“Right.” Jared mentally slaps himself. “So, uh, smelling the page. Does that mean you still have dragon senses? In this body, I mean?”
“No, they're muted. Eyesight in particular, that's the one I notice the most change in... Normally, dragons have excellent vision. We can spot things from very high up, when flying.” Jensen pulls a tunic over his head and smoothes it down. “Hearing and smell aren't as strong in this body either, but they're better than human.”
“Flying,” says Jared, awed. He hadn't really thought about that yet. “That must have been... wow.”
“I can change back, you know,” Jensen says, and Jared's eyes widen; he hadn't really thought about that either. “Hope you're not scared of heights.”
“You know I'm not,” Jared says, and Jensen grins and nods; Jared knows they're both feeling the rush of excitement that rose in him at the thought.
“I'll take you later,” Jensen promises. “But first, breakfast. I'm starving.”
Jared's own stomach chooses that moment to growl - whether of its own accord, or in sympathy with Jensen's, he's not sure - and he agrees, ushering Jensen out the door.
He recognizes the hallway they're in as soon as he exits; he's stood guard outside these chambers in the past, but never saw them from the inside.
“This way,” he says, and Jensen follows.
There is a larger group at breakfast than he'd imagined. The King and Queen head the table, of course, and Cassandra is on the Queen's left. Two seats at the King's right are empty. Further down the table, Jared recognizes several of the academics, the Captain of the Guard, and various high-ranking nobles. He's surprised not to see the soothsayer.
Cassandra colors as they are announced.
Jared goes down on one knee and bows his head in obeisance. “My King.”
“I'm told that you went up there to slay the creature,” the King says mildly. “And that instead you've ended up soul-bound to it.”
“Sir,” Jared says, because while it's manifestly obvious that things have worked out for the best, he did fail to obey the Princess's orders.
“We are grateful for your good sense and sacrifice,” the King says, and Jared muffles a snort, because it's not like his good sense had anything to do with it. “Thanks to you, our daughter is safe. And magic has returned to our land.”
“It will grow stronger,” Jensen says, speaking for the first time. Jared shoots him a panicked glance, realizing that not only has Jensen spoken without being invited to do so by the King, but he hasn't knelt either. He tries to mentally signal him, but can't tell if anything's happening.
The King raises his eyebrows. “If that's so, we may need a new soothsayer. Mine spent half the night curled up in a ball under his bed, and then came staggering into our chambers this morning with his shirt on backwards, ranting about a soul bond. I must say, I didn't understand a lot of it. He was barely coherent. Apparently, whatever you two unleashed last night was rather overwhelming.”
Jensen winks at the King. “He's not the only one who was overwhelmed.”
Jared thinks he may actually die of mortification. Cass is turning bright pink with suppressed laughter.
“I am sorry,” Jensen says, and now he does bow his head, although he still doesn't kneel. “It's been too long since the last bonding took place. The magic had lost its coherence, its shape. I'm its embodiment, now, but at the beginning I didn't really exist.” He looks up. “The magic was more of a shapeless thing, a force without intellect or understanding. As the need of the land grew, the dragon formed to respond to it. It - I knew, instinctively, that the bonding required blood from a mortal wound, but at first, I was little more than a dumb beast. I didn't remember anything from the old days, I couldn't think it through and I didn't know what was required. I didn't mean for the others to die.”
There is silence for a moment.
“We are grateful that you tried,” the King says, finally, “and that you continued to try, even when it risked your life. Our land has suffered, without the bond to its magic.”
Jensen shrugs. “The magic couldn't not try.”
“What happens now?”
“I don't know much more than you,” Jensen says, “although I'm - I don't know, seeing or remembering more things all the time. The balance of energy will take a little while to settle, but I think your soothsayer - and the rest of your subjects with magical tendencies - will be fine. There was a big surge when the connection between the land and its magic was reestablished. From what I can feel, I'm pretty sure it will stabilize soon.”
“Good news.” The King looks at Jared, still kneeling. “Get up, Jared, for goodness' sake. You're the most important man in the land, now. I'm not sure you should be kneeling to me.”
Jared begins to stammer out a flustered denial, and the King laughs. “Besides, I feel I owe you an apology for my daughter stabbing you last night.”
“It was an accident!” Cass squawks, and the King winks at Jared.
“Thank you,” he says with deep sincerity. “Thank you for saving my daughter. Rise, Sir Jared.”
Jared gets up, and is surprised to feel Jensen's hand sneaking into his. The touch brings another wave of reassurance, and he's smiling as they take their seats. Throughout breakfast, as Jensen and the King discuss the history of magic, and Jared fills his mouth with pancake to avoid answering Cassandra's embarrassing questions, he can feel warmth and happiness singing back and forth across the bond.
Jensen takes his hand again as they walk back to their room afterwards.
“When do you have to meet the professors?” Jared inquires. Jensen's promised to let the country's smartest people ask him a bunch of questions he probably doesn't know the answers to.
“Not for a few hours,” Jensen says.
“Excellent,” Jared says, tugging his dragon into the room and latching the door behind them. He gently bites the back of Jensen's neck, and lets out a happy grunt as his own nape tingles. “Wouldn't you say it's important to reinforce the bond? You know, in these early days.”
“Definitely,” Jensen agrees, already tugging at his clothes. “Only without the impaling.”
“Oh, there'll be impaling,” Jared says happily, and Jensen rolls his eyes before tackling him to the bed.
Happy Twelfth Day of Christmas!