.𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘳𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘢𝘴𝘩.

FENRIR AND ALISTAIR

There was silence in the tunnel, for a time. The darkness seemed to hound their every step, shadows only chased away by the brilliant fire of Fenrir’s torch. He helped a few other members of the company light their own torches, but made sure to keep the number low. They’d need to preserve whatever supplies that had for a long time yet. “It is an eight-hour hike to the first camp site,” he told the group. He stopped to glance about the company for a moment, before he nodded and continued on. The tunnel seemed to gradually slope down, bringing them deeper and deeper into the heart of the mountain. As far as he could tell, it was a least a two-week journey to the location where the dragons were supposedly seen. Once they reached that area, he had no idea what they’d find. He was lost in his thoughts for a time, before Kaiva was suddenly next to him.

He eyed her out of the corner of his vision but said nothing immediately.

“I’m sorry your father was too ill to send us off,” she told him, keeping her voice soft. Fenrir stifled the urge to snort in response to that. Ill? Hardly. Instead, he only flicked his right wing in response. There was a strange rasp in her voice when she mentioned the king, but he ignored it, figuring she had her own reasons to be upset with the king. It didn’t matter – he wasn’t interested in her personal opinions right then. He was more concerned about the fact that she was being sort of nice, and wasn’t taking the time to needle him. Had he missed something? He glanced at her again. Was she ill, unlike the king? Before he could consider the matter further, she began speaking again.

“I had a dream once that I met a dragon,” she told him, chuckling slightly. Fenrir’s brow furrowed in confusion. She wanted to engage in small talk? Why? Didn’t she hate him? “It was a rather strange dream, really. I was in a forest of massive weeping willows. And I happened upon him sleeping at the base of a tree. He was bigger than any creature I’ve seen in life, big enough that his back was higher than my head. And then I approached him, he opened one of his massive eyes. And he growled at me like a cornered wolf... I don’t remember what changed, such is the nature of dreams I suppose, but the last thing I remember is laying down on the grass and seeing his massive black wing enveloping me, like a sudden night descending. But somehow I knew I was safe. It was so vivid I swear I can see him to this day if I close my eyes.”

Fenrir inclined his head in response. “A strange dream indeed,” he told her. He had not had any of the dragon dreams himself, but he vaguely remembered his brother mentioning something about it. Alistair was a gentle soul, however; it was likely he’d read something about the dragons, and that had manifested itself in a dream. He had no answers as to Kaiva’s dream, but that seemed to be their very nature – beyond answer. “I dreamt of the dragons as a child as well.” He did not mention that his dreams of late had been full of nightmares – did not mention that he saw the fall of his kingdom and the death of those he considered friends and family each night in his sleep.

---


Back at the castle, Alistair prepared. He returned to his room to gather his things, pausing to add a few more potions to his stock. They would serve as light sources for a few hours once heated, and could be reused a few times before they become obsolete. He’d have to use them sparingly before he caught up with Fenrir. His brother would be roaring mad, of course, and would demand that Alistair return home. There were many things that the younger prince deferred to his brother for, and many times that he had followed Fenrir’s orders. He would not follow Fenrir’s orders this time. Once he rechecked that he had everything, he went to the war room to wait.

The wait was agonizing, of course; he kept looking out the window to track the movement of the sun. Once two hours had finally passed, Alistair stood and gathered his things. He looked about the war room, studying the things he’d grown up with. This would perhaps be the last time he’d see any of these things. Still, Alistair could not bring himself to regret his decisions. His desire to keep Shayne safe, nor the dreams that had been haunting him of late, wouldn’t allow it.

He reached the passage, and was delighted to see that Kaiva had upheld her end of the deal. There was no one about, but Alistair imbibed his invisibility potion regardless. It would last for a few hours, perhaps until he’d caught up with Fenrir. He took one of his glow potions and held it over a torch until it was activated, and began to glow a soft blue color. He slipped the potion into his pocket, and pulled the hidden door open. The dark tunnel yawned before him, but there was no sign of Fenrir or the company. They’d have made some distance by now, so he’d have to set a swift pace to catch up. He stepped into the mountain, and pulled the door shut behind him.

He took out his glow potion, and held it in one hand. It was a strange sight – a glowing blue orb seemingly floating of its own accord.

Alistair started to whistle a merry tune, and set out after his brother.

KAIVA

“A strange dream indeed,” said Fenrir. It was difficult to read his face in the shifting torchlight, but Kaiva sensed the sincerity in his tone of voice. There was no bitterness or annoyance, and for the first time she felt as though they understood each other.

“I dreamt of the dragons as a child as well,” he stated. This comment was not directed at her, but forward into the dark. She sensed a nostalgia in his tone, the weight of words left unsaid. He had more to say on the subject of dragons and dreams, that much she could tell. Perhaps a more reserved person would have left it at that. But Kaiva rarely left things unspoken, and she was genuinely curious about his answer. Even she knew that dreams gave great insight. What would Fenrir’s reveal about him?

“What do you dream of now?” she asked quietly, not wanting the others to overhear. She glanced over at him, studying the planes of his face. He was a mysterious man indeed. One who held his cards closely to his chest. She wondered again how he had changed from that gangly boy into the man that walked beside her now. She did not feel much different from how she had ever been, even as a child. Though she had grown (though not impressively, she would note), she was much the same. Feisty, outspoken to a fault, determined to create as much trouble for herself as humanly possible. Fenrir was the opposite as she remembered him. Though he had been boyish and awkward in their first encounter, there had been a fire in his eyes as well. They had fought like young lions still unaware of their growing claws. And when she beat him, he seethed with anger.

What fire had burned in him then had soothed or perhaps transformed altogether. Even when she had raged against him on the battlefield, he had handled her with ease. It was puzzling indeed. Perhaps the flame of his soul had eased into a slow-burning type of flame, the type that does not crack and dance but which burns hotter than any other, ready to burst to life if properly provoked. Or perhaps he was not fire at all. Perhaps he was water, cool and deep and dark.

“These days I mostly dream of dying,” she said nonchalantly. Then, with a laugh, “No matter how many times you burn to death, there’s no getting used to it! Sometimes I sit up in bed feeling like my skin is on f–”

Her voice broke off. Something had sounded in the deep. She felt it vibrating under her feet as much as she heard it softly in her eyes, a quiet shaking of the earth. “What was that?” she asked softly. Only then did she take note of their surroundings. They had descended very far now, far enough that she could sense the immense weight of the mountains above them. The once smooth, sculpted walls of the staircase had opened up into an organic, twisting cavern.

“Fenrir,” she whispered, “what awaits us down here?”