History (Dragon Isles drabble)
Because alice_montrose made me. :P
Prequel-type drabble for Silver Dragon, from the Dragon Isles 'verse. Mild spoilers?
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The hard stone floors were cool beneath his bare feet, though here and there were bits of decaying rugs that provided some scant insulation. He didn't really mind, as it was a sensation he seldom indulged in. The old castle saw fewer and fewer visitors as the years went by, the younger dragons seeing little interest in the past, and the elder being more than willing to forget.
Aeynanyi could hardly blame them. It was a painful thing to be surrounded by the ruin of what once was and picture it as it had once been, as it should still be. If he closed his eyes he could sometimes still see it, humans and dragons moving amongst the gaily decorated rooms, conversing easily. Not like it was now. Nothing like it was now.
Although in his darker moments he had to admit that perhaps his recollection was colored by his own inexperience. He'd been so very young, and a child saw the world with different eyes than one that was grown. Perhaps the fear and anger that had destroyed that world had always been there, and he simply hadn't seen it.
He preferred to believe it hadn't, and that there was hope that someday humans and dragons could be friends once again. Perhaps not any time soon, perhaps not even in his lifetime, but some day.
Aeynanyi came to a stop, reaching out and gently pushing on the worn wooden door before him. Like everything else it had fallen into disrepair, its age making it brittle and fragile, small parts of it crumbling away every time he touched it. Yet he could not resist coming, even as it pained him to watch yet more of his people's past turn to dust beneath his hands. This was the last place still untouched by the changes, forever untouched by all that had transpired. Here, in the great library, he could remember, and hope.
It was perhaps the greatest gift the humans had ever given them, for dragons on their own had no written language. Their claws were not suited to such intricate endeavors, and they'd made do for centuries with only oral tales between them. But when human and dragon had first met, so very long before his time, when dragons learned to adopt a more human-like shape to better accommodate their small friends, humans had in turn gifted them with the ability to preserve all their knowledge in a form that could not die, or forget.
He moved along the great bookcases easily, as at home here as he was in the sky, though he was the last of them to feel such a kinship for 'human things'. Perhaps because he was who he was, he could not find it in himself to hate the humans for what they'd done, like the elder dragons and those his own age did. Those who still remembered, if they wished to. Neither could he scorn them in smug dragon superiority like the young ones, never having known that life could be any different. Forever caught between two worlds, with only lifeless tomes to share his views.
Aeynanyi found the place where he'd left off and slid the carefully-tended volume off the shelf, lowering himself down to the floor where he could spread the book open in his lap.
It would change, some day. He didn't know when, or how, but it would change. And until then, he would read, and remember.
And hope.
Prequel-type drabble for Silver Dragon, from the Dragon Isles 'verse. Mild spoilers?
---
The hard stone floors were cool beneath his bare feet, though here and there were bits of decaying rugs that provided some scant insulation. He didn't really mind, as it was a sensation he seldom indulged in. The old castle saw fewer and fewer visitors as the years went by, the younger dragons seeing little interest in the past, and the elder being more than willing to forget.
Aeynanyi could hardly blame them. It was a painful thing to be surrounded by the ruin of what once was and picture it as it had once been, as it should still be. If he closed his eyes he could sometimes still see it, humans and dragons moving amongst the gaily decorated rooms, conversing easily. Not like it was now. Nothing like it was now.
Although in his darker moments he had to admit that perhaps his recollection was colored by his own inexperience. He'd been so very young, and a child saw the world with different eyes than one that was grown. Perhaps the fear and anger that had destroyed that world had always been there, and he simply hadn't seen it.
He preferred to believe it hadn't, and that there was hope that someday humans and dragons could be friends once again. Perhaps not any time soon, perhaps not even in his lifetime, but some day.
Aeynanyi came to a stop, reaching out and gently pushing on the worn wooden door before him. Like everything else it had fallen into disrepair, its age making it brittle and fragile, small parts of it crumbling away every time he touched it. Yet he could not resist coming, even as it pained him to watch yet more of his people's past turn to dust beneath his hands. This was the last place still untouched by the changes, forever untouched by all that had transpired. Here, in the great library, he could remember, and hope.
It was perhaps the greatest gift the humans had ever given them, for dragons on their own had no written language. Their claws were not suited to such intricate endeavors, and they'd made do for centuries with only oral tales between them. But when human and dragon had first met, so very long before his time, when dragons learned to adopt a more human-like shape to better accommodate their small friends, humans had in turn gifted them with the ability to preserve all their knowledge in a form that could not die, or forget.
He moved along the great bookcases easily, as at home here as he was in the sky, though he was the last of them to feel such a kinship for 'human things'. Perhaps because he was who he was, he could not find it in himself to hate the humans for what they'd done, like the elder dragons and those his own age did. Those who still remembered, if they wished to. Neither could he scorn them in smug dragon superiority like the young ones, never having known that life could be any different. Forever caught between two worlds, with only lifeless tomes to share his views.
Aeynanyi found the place where he'd left off and slid the carefully-tended volume off the shelf, lowering himself down to the floor where he could spread the book open in his lap.
It would change, some day. He didn't know when, or how, but it would change. And until then, he would read, and remember.
And hope.