The three armored men stopped in front of the gate, and Kurt inhaled quickly when he looked between the slit in their leaders helmet and saw the white of his eyes gleaming out from surrounding darkness.

It was not that he had never seen a man with dark skin, one of their dragon pursuers had dark skin he remembered, it was just that he had never seen such a shade on a fellow man- human man that is. The Corbeau, or the crow people as they were called amongst Kurt’s people, did not often venture outside of their own territories. The exotic warrior tribes were nomads, and they were feared by more civilized men.

“What business brings you to the regent lord?” The tall muscular man at the gate asked in surprisingly flawless standard and Kurt looked to Blaine who looked to the old man.

“We seek a word with his daughter, lady Rachelle if it wouldn’t be a bother to ye.” The old man answered with a gall that Kurt couldn’t help but find impressive. He might be a country bumpkin but even he knew a man didn’t just waltz up to a titled lord’s gate and demand to see his daughter.

The man, whom Kurt could only assume was some sort of bailiff, narrowed his dark eyes at them and Kurt tensed. The bailiff’s eyes roved over them one by one, falling last on Blaine, whom he stared at the longest. His intense stare unsettled Kurt. So much so that he almost reached for Blaine to pull him back, and then he remembered he was supposed to be a slave and he let his hand fall.

“I am Tumelo, bailiff of Vagru.Who can I tell my lord, calls?” The bailiff finally asked, looking back to the old man and Kurt felt an inexplicable rush of relief.

“Just an old peddler good bailiff” the old man bowed his head humbly. “An old man from the low hills and a weary traveler looking fer some information.”

Tumelo regarded them intensely a moment more and then nodded shortly to one of the men beside him, who promptly turned and gestured to someone out of their line of vision. The small party stepped back as the heavy gates swung outward and open.

“Wonderful. On then I should think” the peddler beamed, stepping through the gates with a bounce in his step.

‘Stay close to me,’ Kurt couldn’t speak to Blaine without being spoken to but he could whisper between their minds. ‘I don’t like the way he looked at you. He brings us to his lord for you, no other reason.’

Blaine did not look back at Kurt but he didn’t need to. Kurt felt it the moment he understood.

The home of Vagru’s regent lord was unlike anything Kurt had ever seen. The longhouse was two stories high for one thing, and surrounded by smaller more traditional one roomed buildings- a few which appeared to be soldiers barracks if the amount of armored men milling around them were anything to go by.

The bailiff led them past the barracks and up the stone steps and into the longhouse, it’s giant carved doors held open wide by two liveried servants.

The hall was long and wide, lit by beams of light coming in from a row of tiny windows high overhead, the stone floor covered in rushes. The walls were decorated in dark animal skins and the heads of animals large and small, some Kurt didn’t even have a name for. There were strange wooden faces on the walls as well, faces with boring holes for eyes and grimacing mouths that chilled Kurt to look at them. Blaine slowed his walk, regarding the strange decorations with open fascination.

“They are masks. They have many uses amongst my people. These are to ward off dark spirits” Tumelo explained, and Kurt widened his eyes in surprise. He opened his mouth to ask if the regent lord was crow as well, but remembered himself at the last moment and bit his tongue.

“My people have things like this. Only we carve them from stone,” Blaine shared and Tumelo nodded without making any sort of reply. He gestured to get them moving again and they walked swiftly past the long tables and benches that filled the hall and approached the high chair.

The regent lord- he had to be the regent lord if he was sitting in the high chair- was not at all what Kurt had expected. He didn’t know what exactly he had expected, but the slight man pouring over an unrolled scroll was definitely not it. Jonathan Vonberie was definitely not a crow- he was pale skinned, thin, mousy haired, with a nose was slightly too large for his face. His richly appointed robes were well fitted but still somehow managed to look ill suiting, as if they would rather be worn by anyone else and he would rather be wearing anything else.

The scroll he was reading had dropped over his lap and fallen to the floor, the other end having rolled somewhere behind his chair. He was muttering to himself as he read, the signet ring on his right hand flashing as he periodically swept his hand through his full head of hair.

“My lord?” Tumelo prompted with a slight clearing of his throat and the man in the chair looked up
from his reading and then down slightly to see who had addressed him. Curious green eyes swept past the old peddler, widened at Kurt and stopped on Blaine, narrowing with sudden intensity. For a moment no one spoke, the sudden tension in the air obvious to all.

The regents eyes then slid to Tumelo’s and Kurt did not have a name for what he saw in them.

“D'o� ils sont venus?” The regent asked in a tongue that Kurt did not understand. It was smooth and flowed well off the mans tongue. The regent’s voice was surprisingly deep for such a slight man.

“Je ne sais pas, Mon ma�tre” Tumelo promptly replied in the same strange tongue. “Ils demandent une audience avec Rachelle.”

“Leur demande d'audience peut attendre!” The regent waved his hand impatiently, “Ils sont seuls?”

“Oui, Mon ma�tre” Tumelo nodded and the r�gent turned his gaze back to Blaine and his two companions.

“Do ye always speak in strange tongues around yer guests milord?” The peddler asked brazenly, drawing the regents eyes to him. The man looked startled to be addressed so by a mere peasant, but despite Kurt’s instant apprehension he did not appear overtly offended.

“Only when I wish to speak of things I want only Tumelo to hear” the regent replied with an amused if tight smile. “It is the language of his people. A beautiful tongue is it not?”

Kurt thought so, but being unable to understand what was going on around him ruined his enjoyment of it.

“Rude is what I think, keeping secrets from honest travelers ‘come seekin yer aid” the old man snorted and Kurt cringed, thinking that surely this time the old mans wayward tongue would land them locked in irons.

“And what is it that an old man, a dragon and a slave would see from me?” The regent asked, green eyes getting brighter with amusement that Kurt couldn’t for the life of him understand. Though he bristled at being addressed as a slave he kept his peace, shocked at their good fortune. Every noble he’d ever met would have had the old man whipped or worse for his effrontery.

The old man clapped Blaine on the back, pushing him forward, and Kurt tensed again. When no one else moved he relaxed the tiniest bit. Blaine flushed, but bowed so effortlessly despite his nerves that Kurt knew without having to ask that he had spent time amongst nobility. His bow was short and graceful, a symbol of respect- the bow of an equal. Kurt frowned, wondering at what that could mean, or if Blaine even knew what he had done.

“Lord regent. I am BlaeTazianoei, Blaine in the common tongue, and I come to you in the spirit of peace.”

Kurt knew dragons rarely used their full names, even amongst each other. Blaine spoke it like it was a lyric in a bards tale, voice going soft and breathy over the vowels, so that they almost had to hiss past his lips. Kurt didn’t think he could ever imitate it (hence the use of common names) but he suddenly thought that was rather tragic as he would have liked to have been able to say something so beautiful.

The pendant around Blaine’s neck glowed softly, as if it were pleased. The regents eyes latched onto it and rounded. The old peddler chuckled gleefully.

“Well met” the regent replied after a moment. “You are welcome here son of War.”

Kurt felt Blaine’s sudden surprise in tandem with his own increasing alarm.

‘He knows who you are?’ He asked between their minds.

‘Likely he guessed.’ Blaine replied without looking back at him or giving the slightest indication that they were communicating. ‘The ink on my skin, it’s particular to my bloodline. Families share similar scale patterns.’

‘And you didn’t mention that before we decided to let you walk around without a glamour?!’

“You wonder how I know you are a son of War?” The regent asked even as Kurt was yelling at him, “Vagru is the capital city of trade and I its lord. Think you I am not intimate with the seven lords of the dragan by now?”

“Of course” Blaine nodded graciously, “but I am afraid I do not come to discuss matters of trade. I have need to speak to your daughter. This kind man here assures me that she would have word of a ship by the name of Bright Star. It is a matter of some urgency.”

Kurt bit his lip, waiting anxiously to see if the regent would allow them an audience with his daughter. Months of travel and finally someone who knew where he could find Finn was near.
The regent did not speak for a long moment, his green eyes sharp and intense as they bore into Blaine.

“I am afraid that will be impossible” he finally said, and Kurt immediately protested, anger and disappointment swelling inside him.

“No. Please my lord y-” Blaine grabbed the collar of his tunic as he stepped forward and pulled him back, hard enough to bruise his throat and send him stumbling to the floor.

He hit the cold stones, unable to properly brace himself, and grit his teeth against the stinging pain in his jarred limbs. Fury rolled inside of him as every natural instinct he had told him to get up and fight back.

‘God’s teeth Kurt, stay down!’ The sharp warning was enough to lock Kurt in place, though he seethed. He’d forgotten he was a slave and had spoken out of turn. Blaine was only doing what any master would do. That didn’t make Kurt hate it less.

“Forgive me lord regent, I am afraid my slave is not yet broken in” Blaine apologized to the regent and Kurt didn’t bother to hide his loathing glare because it seemed to be pretty in character of an ‘unbroken’ slave.

“He is not bound yet?” Tumelo asked with a speculative frown and Kurt felt a shiver dance down his spine. Blaine hesitated and the old peddler who had thus far been content to watch the proceedings interrupted with a delighted cackle.

“Bound as a lost soul in Hell milord. I expect the little lordling here just likes the pleasure o’ breaking him in.”

Blaine smiled weakly at the old peddler and Kurt wasn’t as gratified by the revulsion he felt in Blaine as he should have been. He didn’t really want to like Blaine just then.

“Of course. He is War’s son.” The regent said, his voice laced with something Kurt couldn’t name but still struck him as subtly scathing. Blaine must have heard it too because Kurt felt his responding shame and a quieter anger.

“Your daughter, good regent?” Blaine asked stiffly, getting the conversation back to the matter at hand. “If I could implore you-”

“It is impossible, lord dragon” the regent cut him off. “Because my daughter is not here. She has been collected.”

Kurt did not need to see the armored men closing in around them to know they were in trouble, the anguish and the fury in the regents eyes was enough.

# # # # # # # # # # # # # # #

Jonathan Vonberie stood in the center of his chambers and stared sightlessly at the painting that covered most of the north wall. The heavy tapestries that normally hid the painting from view were pulled back, held by thin gold ties.

He could remember sneaking into these rooms as a boy, hiding in the gaurdrobe and spying on his father as he and grandfather met with strange men and whispered of even stranger things. The painting had always fascinated him as a child, the ferocious beast pictured within filling him with the same awe and terror that a god might.

Long ago men had worshiped dragons as gods. The white dragon within the painting always seemed in danger of stretching beyond its frame, filling the room. Sometimes Jonathan believed that such a creature could burst the seams of the world if it so desired.

The ring he wore depicted another dragon, silver as the metal from which it was crafted, it’s jaws open wide as it swallowed its own tail. It had been his fathers, and his father before him, and his before him down a very long line. An ancient line, one that Jonathan had to bear the shame of knowing would stop with him. His father had certainly never let him forget that shame.

Jonathan heard the creek of the gaurdrobe door but he did not turn, nor was he alarmed that someone had entered the lords chambers through the secret passage in the gaurdrobe.
He knew who it was long before he heard the mans soft greeting.

“Mon amour?”

“Have you settled our guests Tumelo?” He asked, using Tumelo’s native tongue. He remembered the long hours Tumelo had spent, patiently teaching the curious young boy he had once been to speak the tongue of the desert people, despite being little more than a boy himself.

How pleased Jonathan had been to master such a beautiful language, and to have private conversations with his fathers exotic slave that none of the adults could understand.

“Aye, though they aren’t exactly happy to be our guests.” Tumelo replied, stepping up beside him. “I have set a man at their door.”

“Good” Jonathan finally looked to him, his gaze coming back to this world and out of the realm of shadows and mist where legends lay. Tumelo still wore his breastplate and his sword strapped to his side but he had removed his helmet and stripped the rest of his armor. Jonathan smiled quietly, pleased at just the sight of him. “Have cook prepare a meal. No sense in not seeing to their comforts while they remain with us.”

“And how long will they remain with us Jon?” Tumelo asked and the lord regent sighed.

“As long as it takes for me to decide what to do with them.” He turned back to the painting on the wall and his smile bled away. He thought of his daughter, his beautiful Rachelle, whom he had sired out of duty but loved fiercely. Was there anyone who could understand the wound to his spirit, knowing that his daughter was stolen from him, taken by thieves that the laws protected?

“I am afraid all my search was for naught old friend” he admitted, clenching his hands behind his back. “The laws are clear and they are binding. Rachelle belongs to them now.”

“There is time Jon, worry not for her in the meanwhile” Tumelo laid a warm heavy hand against the back of his neck, his fingers brushing the soft strands of hair at his nape. It was an intimate gesture familiar to them both, as ordinary as every breath they took but coveted as treasure, for it was a gesture Tumelo could only make within the privacy of the lords chambers. “Our Rachelle is not the ordinary miss. She may yet even return to us without our aide.”

That brought a smile to Jonathan's face. His daughter was truly extraordinary, sometimes exasperatingly so. She would be frightened, but he had no doubt that she could hold her own until rescue came.

“Be that as it may Tumelo, she is one girl against dragons. We must bring her back.”

“You think War will have her contract broken in trade for his son.” Tumelo knew him well, it was the very reason he had brought Blaine to him in the first place.

“You don’t think so?” He asked, turning to search his lovers eyes. To some empty headed fools they seemed soulless and dark, a devils eyes, but Jonathan had never feared them. He saw behind their cold mask, every last drop of pain and worry his warriors gaze hid from the world.

“I think he would pretend while it suited him” Tumelo responded softly, fingers curling deeper into Jonathan’s hair. “I think his constant thirst for blood would turn to us if we dared to threaten what is his.”

“And what of what is mine!” He seethed, furious against truths he already knew. “Tumelo, what am I to do?”

He was lord here, it was his responsibility to safeguard his people, most especially his daughter, and time and time again he had failed- this was the worst failure of them all. As arms wrapped around him Jonathan closed his eyes, fighting for calm and blocking out the voice of his father that reminded him of his weakness, of the shame of his trembling frame.

Grandfather had always said his fathers biggest failing was that he insisted on standing alone, that no man ruled alone, and to keep those true to him close.

No one was truer or did more for him than Tumelo.

“Ours” he amended quietly, stroking the coarse hair of Tumelo’s arms where they wrapped around him, “I know you love her as if she were of your own flesh.”

“You are regent lord of the Shael’s trade city. Kind Citric will not take kindly to any harm that might become you or Vagru. War can not strike you openly without risking war with all men. He will be forced to meet your demands or suffer shame amongst his horde for a son in captivity.”

“Ah but what of the greater shame of giving in to my demands?” Jonathan asked with a dry laugh, for he already knew the answer. “He would find his revenge. We would always have to sleep with one eye open.”

“You must speak to the old man before you decide.”

“That loose tongued peddler?” Jonathan stepped away from his lovers arms and turned to stare at him aghast. “Whatever for?”

“He is not what he seems, and neither is this dragon and his elf.” Tumelo insisted. “You wish to ignore it, so that you may also ignore your oaths to the white temple.”

Sometimes Jonathan cursed Tumelo and his sixth sense when it came to deception, it made it really hard to lie to oneself.

“Aye I noticed their strangeness.” He admitted stiffly, “but that is not to say that we are required to give them aide. He said the elf was bound.”

“He lies then. The Sidhe have flame in their spirits. This elfs flame is not banked.”

“You truly believe so?” Jonathan asked, a trickle of hope working its way inside him despite himself. “If it were true we would not have to get War involved at all, an unbound sidhe is worth ten mortal men and War would not concern himself over the loss of one slave.”

“And what if they are l'�me li�e?” Tumelo insisted on asking the one thing Jonathan wished he wouldn’t. The power to bring his daughter back was within his hands, perhaps twice fold, and he would be damned if whispers and legends would bar his way!

“The �mes li�s are little more than myth, just like the white dragons who created them Tumelo.” He turned angrily on the painting that had over shadowed his life and the lives of countless men before him. “Perhaps they destroyed themselves as the legends say, or perhaps they never existed. Iregardless, dragons do not bind their souls with the Sidhe any longer and they have not for as long as anyone can remember! What are the �mes li�s to me?!”

This was such folly! How long were the men in his family going to be bound by the creed to chase after dreams? What proof did they even have that the dragons had ever taken riders? And even if they had, only a fool would believe that they ever would again. The dragan would never allow it, the existence of a dragon with a rider would only bring more war and they would be crushed.

No the dragan were content in their quest for complete enslavement of the Sidhe, he thought bitterly to himself, and the Sidhe in turn were determined to destroy the dragan before they themselves were destroyed.

To dream of a return of the �mes li�s was madness! So why should he be bound by an oath he had made in the earnestness of youth, before he truly understood the bitterness of the world? Before he had been forced to watch them drag his Rachelle from her bed, while he stood idly by bound by his honer to respect the laws of King Citric?

Tumelo knew not to attempt to comfort him when there was such darkness in his eyes. He stayed behind his lord as he stared up at the white dragon, allowed his eyes to heap their accusations and ask their questions.

Finally when the silence had stretched long between them he said what most needed to be said.

“If you are a man of your word as I know you are, then they are everything to you Jon, everything.”

“Oh Tumelo,” Jonathan chuckled bitterly feeling his anger release in a great wave. It left him with nothing but sadness. “I fear I shall die a fool.”

“Honer is never the action of a fool” Tumelo set his hand against the back of Jonathan’s neck, and once again there was peace between them.

“We shall see” he sighed, he truly hoped he was wrong. “Bring me the old man.”

# # # # # # # # # #

“Let us out!” Kurt was still banging against the door to their prison, a richly appointed prison but a prison no less, despite Blaine having told him many times that the guard outside their door would neither heed them or unlock the door to talk to them.

“Stubborn one yer elf” the old peddler grunted from where he lay on the bed and Blaine did not respond. He stood against the far wall, letting it keep him up right. It hid the shaking of his legs and likewise his crossed arms did much to conceal the trembling of his hands.

He wasn’t really seeing anything around him. His gaze was fixed on the gold band around his arm. When the regents soldiers had surrounded them three had jumped on him, wrestled him to the ground and fastened a gold armlet around his left arm. He’d been terrified, truly in a state of terror ever since, and it had only been made worse by how loudly Kurt screamed his name, how hard the other man fought to get to him.

He’d promised Kurt he’d take care of them, get them out of whatever waited for them within the regents walls, but he couldn’t. For as soon as the armlet was fastened the soldiers had retreated and hard as Blaine tried he could not take his natural form, he was as weak as any man so long as it was fastened to him.

He had heard of these things, in whispers and stories nurse mothers told hatchlings in order to scare them into behaving.

He was stuck, they were stuck, and it was all because he was a dragon- a son of War. If it was true the regents daughter had been collected then Blaine had no trouble figuring out why they were being held there.

With a last frustrated kick at the door Kurt turned to glare at the old peddler, his face white with fear and his eyes streaked with punishing tears that it grieved Blaine to look upon.

“How dare you?! This is your fault,” Kurt accused the old man marching towards where he lay on the bed. “We trusted you!”

“Bit stupid that aye? Ye don’t know me from a sea witch.” When Kurt closed his eyes and turned away with an anguished cry the old man sighed and continued on, “seems like all ye can do now is to trust me some more aye? And while yer at it, ye might wish to see to yer dragon. He’s in a bit of shock methinks.”

That got Kurt’s attention. His eyes snapped open and suddenly he was elated. He rushed to where Blaine stood against the wall and grabbed him by the shoulders.

“Blaine! You’re a dragon” he exclaimed as if he had forgotten, perhaps in the madness he had. “You can get us out of here.”

Blaine shook his head, unable to speak.

“Yes you can!” Kurt was angry now, and with his anger came the urge to soothe, to obey, to do everything he could to make that horrible desperation in his voice go away. “Blaine the roof is made of wood, you’re strong enough to break the bricks even. Dammnit Blaine, yes you can!”

Kurt jerked around when a pillow flew from the bed and collided with the back of his head.

“What is your problem?!” He demanded of the old man on the bed and the peddler glowered, pointing a gnarled finger at him.

“First rule of riders little elf. Never, ignore yer dragon. I’ll see that ye remember it as long as I’m around.”

“I’m not his damn rider!” Kurt hollered back and the old man rolled his eyes.

“Then why is he wearing yer rtanchree? Answer me that.”

“You’re mad. I have no idea what you’re on about.” Kurt looked to Blaine and Blaine stared back, watching the argument unfold from a distance, holding himself tightly together. Kurt’s eyes fell to Igraine’s pendant laying against his heart. “That’s not mine.”

“Was it yer fathers?”

“My fathers human!”

“Ah then it were yer mothers then.”

“My mother is dead you crazy old-”

“Well o’ course she is, it wouldn’t be yers if she were alive now would it.”

Blaine dropped his head so he did not see Kurt press his fingers to his temples and suck in a harsh breath. His head was spinning and he just wanted to close his eyes and fall into the darkness encroaching the edges of his vision. Why did everything have to hurt?

“What was I thinking?” Kurt muttered to himself. “I followed a fool whose name I don’t even know right into a trap with a dragon who seems to think he can’t burn down wood. This is my fault, I’ve no one to blame but myself.”

Another pillow flew off the bed to smack him in the face. If glares could kill the old man would have dropped dead where he lay but unfortunately they could not, so the old man lived to speak again.

“Me name’s Craigen now that ye care to know. And if ye’d shut yer gums and see to yer dragon we might keep him from dying on us.”

Blaine wasn’t sure what happened after that, he closed his eyes, just for a moment and when he opened them next, it seemed like the span of a blink, he was on the floor- wait no, the bed, otherwise the floor was uncommonly soft for stone- and Kurt was leaning over him his eyes dry but wide with worry as they regarded him.

Blaine knew without having to ask that Kurt was leeching him again, feeling the tiredness that had overcome him and the disparaging terror that had such a tight hold of him that all he could do was shake beneath it. He opened his lips to speak, but still no sound would come and he bit his lip, closing his eyes again as another wave of tiredness washed over him. Kurt made a shushing sound, his thumb soothingly stroking his cheek.

“Don’t be scared. I’m with you” he said, and Blaine heard the underlining ‘I’m sorry’ behind it.

“What’s happening to him? Why is he so tired?” Kurt asked the old man and Craigen’s face appeared above his, beside Kurt’s.

“That fancy piece he’s wearing is dwarvin made.” Craigen nudged the armlet Blaine wore with a knobby finger. “Magic it is, and it can only be removed by a dwarf who knows the craft. It’s a dragon killer.”

Terror spiked anew and Kurt made that soft sound again wiping away the moisture that gathered beneath Blaine’s long lashes.

“H-how?” He asked.

“It’s like...like a cloth in water. Whatever energy the dragon puts out it soaks in, and it don’t give back.” Craigen explained and Blaine felt Kurt tense beneath him.

“It’s sucking him? Like...like a leech?”

“Aye, but only when he gives it something to leech. And that...” Craigen prodded Kurt in the chest sharply. His gaze was fierce and bottomless-so that even Blaine felt himself sinking into them when they were solely fixed upon Kurt, “...is why you never ignore your dragon Kurt of the house of gray. Trying to meet your needs is only killing him faster. Go on now young one. Put him at ease.”

Blaine stared at the old man, some part of his brain recognizing surprise at his sudden change in domineer, the sudden change in his voice and his grasp of the standard tongue. But it was all too far away, the lethargy taking hold of his body was only worsening the more he wanted to break out of it- the more he struggled to keep his promise.

‘I’m sorry, Blaine.’ Kurt’s voice came to him even as the man’s hand settled over the place where Igraine’s pendant lay against his chest. ‘I’m scared. I don’t- I don’t know what to do. I need you.”

He didn’t want Kurt to be frightened or scared, and there would never be a time when Kurt needed him that Blaine would not give every last bit of himself to meet that need. He knew that the way he knew the feel of his own heartbeat. Perhaps when he wasn’t so tired that would terrify him but now there was no room for it. He closed his eyes and tried again to change, and this time it hurt so badly that it tore a cry from his lips.

“No! Stop!” Kurt cried, pulling Blaine tighter to him, bending to close the space between them.

‘I meant as a man. I need you to be with me right now, just as you are.That’s all I need of you, ever. Just be with me.’

Blaine opened his eyes and everything inside of him eased, as if the tension had never been, as if the pressing need to change had never assailed him. He was left with a hungry ache in his body but it meant nothing to him as he stared up into eyes the color and turbulence of the sea.

‘I’m with you, Kurt.’

That appeared to be all he wanted.

Beside them Craigen chuckled.

“And they say the young can’t be taught.”

TBC