There was an awkward silence as the two men looked at each other.

“Sit. I’m done anyway.” George got up to leave.

“No! I- I mean you don’t look like you’re done… we can eat together…”Ciel’s voice trailed off, his face flushed. He was going to kill the twins when he saw them! They clearly knew George was inside when he passed them but they had not said a word, besides greeting him and wishing goodnight when they left. But considering Noire’s actions the night before, Ciel knew that they were hoping that he and George could let bygones be bygones. Ciel looked into his timid heart and knew that the first step had to come from him.

The man at the table looked at him, his face unreadable. Finally, George gave a small smile. “All right.” He said and sat back down.

Ciel went stiffly to the serving counter. Looking at the spice rich food there, he was both hungry but without an appetite. However, if he didn’t eat, it would be tantamount to telling George that he was afraid of him after all. So he spooned his favourite butter chicken onto a plate with some rice and a serving of salad and sat in front of George.

George had been playing with his food, lost in thought when Ciel sat down. “Not hungry?” he asked, looking at Ciel’s tiny portion.

“I had a late lunch but they told me to get my meals first.” Ciel said, his spoon moving around the plate.

“Don’t like spicy food?”

“Not if it’s too intense. This is okay.” He scooped some rice and chicken and took a bite. The creamy rich flavour assailed his tongue. It was just the right amount of spices and seasoning and he couldn’t hide his look of enjoyment.

George smiled when he looked at him and looked back at his own plate, before he continued eating. He tore the naan apart before deftly using it to scoop some curry and popped it into his mouth.

“You’re good with eating with your hands.” Ciel noticed.

“I’ve been around to so many places. You learn to adapt to the local customs” his answer was nonchalant.

Ciel realized that George had never really spoken about his past. If he recalled, George didn’t really interact the first few years when he came. He just silently did his job, like a machine. Not that he could really remember. He himself was recuperating at home and had to learn how to reform his body again. This was what he had gathered from his mother and the twins. He was also curious as to why his father had never killed George; anyone else would not have a corpse left.

“Your travels must have been interesting” he said hesitantly.

George looked at him again before continuing “It was fun when I first started, it was a way to see the world. But after the curse and all I saw were battlefields, I suppose I slowly went mad…” he trailed off into silence

There was a darkness in his eyes that Ciel thought he would never see again. He closed his eyes, willing himself not to flinch. After a while George spoke again. “I wanted to die so many times. This was that dragon’s final gift to me…” George smiled sardonically. “The worst part of this whole fiasco was that the people were so grateful to me, they called me a hero and even canonized me… I’m not a saint. Not with the amount of blood I have on my hands.” George got up abruptly. He placed his dishes in the prepared bin with a clatter and walked out of the dining hall without another word.

Ciel was shocked by this sudden outburst by George. He never expected that the normally calm George held in so much pain. Compared to him, Ciel really was a delicate flower raised within the safe confines of his family. But when he recalled that man’s lonely back and broken eyes as he walked out of the room, he wondered: actually just who was the more fragile of the two?

*           *           *           *           *

George never meant to say what he did, for his emotions to get the better of him; but it seemed like today just wasn’t his day. Without noticing, his mind had drifted off into the past.

He had stumbled upon the sacrifice by accident. A wandering mercenary would always go where battles were the thickest, in order to try his luck. So when he came upon the maiden, he had only been curious as to why she was there. Before they could converse, the dragon had appeared. So he released her and told her to run before going in the opposite direction, hoping to increase his chances of survival.

Who knew why the dragon decided to chase him instead? Left with no choice, he drew his sword and fought it. With thunderous roars, the dragon had slashed with its poisonous claws and swung its massive tail. When all else failed, it reared on its hind legs, hoping to step on him and crush him. The battle was fierce but George got lucky. Dodging here and there, he managed to get under the dragon and pierce its softer underbelly. Using all of his strength, he pushed his sword, slashing downwards and slicing the dragon’s belly open; and in the process bathing himself in the dragon’s blood. But the dragon wasn’t done. With its dying breath, it spewed a breath of poisonous acid, injuring George on the right side of his face, including his eye. Its serpentine eyes gleamed in intelligent malice and as if it were laughing, the dragon died in satisfaction, its evil eyes never leaving George’s face.

George was in so much pain that he had passed out. When he came to, he was lying on a bed in a room he didn’t recognize. It turned out that the maiden he had saved was the princess of a kingdom and she had seen his calculating move as an act of bravery instead of cowardice. He was scarred and blinded in his right eye but it did not matter to the people who had suffered under the tyranny of the dragon. They honoured him and celebrated his heroic deed. And he let them. He was tired of wandering from place to place, putting his life on the line every single time to get a bite to eat. He was knighted and made chief of guard, allowing him to live a better life than he had before. For a year, it could be said that he lived what was to him, a life of luxury. Since the stories about his battle with the dragon had spread far and wide, he became a local hero and with the head of the dragon mounted at the gates of the kingdom, other kingdoms paid tribute to them instead of demanding it.

The king couldn’t be any happier. He proposed a union between George and his daughter, the princess that he had rescued but George declined. He was not sure why but something in him was restless, and the scar had been throbbing on and off for the last six months. A week later, he understood why.

Another dragon had appeared. It seemed like a youngling, much smaller than the first dragon and its colouring was much lighter. It had been chased away from its former territory and had come here when it found that the previous lord of the land was gone. Because of its size, it didn’t need to hunt so often and would have lived there unnoticed for a while if it weren’t for George. The aching scar led George right to its cave and when he saw the sleeping dragon, bloodlust he did not know he had surged. With a single swing of his sword, he beheaded this dragon too, again bathing himself in its blood. And when the dragon died, the pain in his scar died with it.

Perhaps guessing the meaning of the pain, George requested that the king allow him to leave, citing his quest to rid the lands of dragons as the reason. His request was generously granted and his noble quest revered. He left with great fanfare on a sturdy steed and his own coat of arms; a gift from the king. And wherever he went, as long as the people saw his coat of arms, he was warmly welcomed, treated as a hero before he even did anything. Sometimes he would be asked by lords of the kingdom he was passing through to help with a war instead. And if he felt the cause was just, he would agree, leading the army to battle; he was perhaps too enamoured by the hero worship he had been receiving and had let it go to his head. Soldiers on the other side would normally lose heart when they heard that it was George the Dragon Slayer at the helm of the enemy lines and the skirmishes never lasted long.

And this was how he lived, never staying at a place for long, always moving when the scar called. He lost track of time and did not seem to notice the passing of the seasons; until one day, he came back to the first kingdom again. He hadn’t recognized the city at first; a soldier at the gate had stopped him and asked him why he was using his coat of arms. George told him that it was gifted to him by the king of the kingdom. The soldier had scoffed and called him a charlatan. He told George that while it was true that this coat of arms had been gifted to a knight that saved the kingdom and princess, that was more than sixty years ago. When no word of Sir George had returned, the king had decreed that the coat of arms would no longer be recognized unless the user could prove that he was George’s descendant. The king himself had died some forty years ago and the princess had abdicated fifteen years ago for her son, the current king.

George was thunderstruck. He left in a daze while the soldier looked at him suspiciously, wondering if he should report the matter to the captain of the city guards. That man had looked so noble and brave though, who would have thought that he was trying to fraud people with false tales of bravado.

George wandered around until he came to the dragonling’s cave. It was empty now, the poison from the dragon corpse had stained the ground, making it unliveable since then. He sat alone in the cave for who knows how long, his thoughts unable to process what had happened to him. A dragon was immortal but killing a dragon wouldn’t make you one. However, if you continuously bathed in the blood of countless dragons, who knows what would happen? And that was exactly what happened to George; he had killed dragon after dragon, constantly been bathed in their blood. Not only had he become an immortal, he had gained unmeasurable strength and vitality. No one noticed because he did not stay anywhere for long and George didn’t notice that with one strike, he could cleave a man and his horse in two. He thought that it was because he had been fighting dragons for so long, his strength had increased. In a way he wasn’t wrong but it could not explain away his youthful countenance or that he did not feel like he was approaching ninety.

With a laugh that was akin to madness, George cast away his shield, with his coat of arms still beautifully engraved on the surface. He lost count of how many shields he had worn through, how many swords, how many horses. He was too into the moment of battle that he lived in the now, too afraid of death to comprehend that he couldn’t die. He truly never realized for the bloodlust had left him numb. So he sat in the cave, after discarding all his burdens, wondering if the poisoned air would kill him. Finally, when he could not bear the loneliness anymore, he exited the cave. His horse had long disappeared, his armour had rusted and the shield that he had been so proud of had corroded, leaving no trace of the once noble coat of arms.

George himself was haggard; with wild hair and a beard that reached his waist. His linen clothes were tattered and he was barefoot. He staggered to the kingdom gates and looked at the city walls, tall and gleaming. There seemed to be a celebration going on, so George went to the gates to look. The guard at the entrance turned him away, explaining that after a year of mourning for her late grandmother, the former queen, the princess of the kingdom was finally getting married. Vagrants and beggars that would ruin the wedding procession have been forced out of the city but in a show of compassion and celebration, some food would be served to them, in the woods a distance from the kingdom gates. He pointed at a direction and told him to go there at sunset for the revelry. Before he left, George asked who the princess was marrying and was stunned to be told that it was the grandson of St. George.