The tension and fear fled from Lindír at once, his surprise so intense as to forbid all other emotions. “How did you know?”
Yrsel blinked bashfully, retreating a step from Lindír. “An educated guess. You’re trembling like a neglected hatchling, Lindír.”
“It was difficult to tell you. I’ve been keeping it a secret for so long that it had become a habit.”
“A secret, yes,” Yrsel said. “But you said you needed guidance? Tell me precisely what you need.”
Yrsel retreated a ways, to one end of her lair, and there reclined languidly against a pile of boulders, her tail draped around a stalagmite. Lindír could not have sat down if he’d been ordered to at spearpoint, and so instead began to pace back and forth, struggling to shape his desires into words.
“I simply do not know what to do about it. I’m afraid that I might love her, and so fiercely that it pains me, but I do not know what to do. I cannot live as I have been living, with my heart suspended in glass.”
“So you wish to know how to…approach her?”
Lindír whipped around, striking his tail against the ground and kicking up sparks from his hind claws. “Are you mad? I should sooner rend her with my teeth than inflict myself upon her! I want to stifle it, I want it to die and go away and not trouble me any longer.”
Yrsel tensed, as though she thought that Lindír might actually attack her where she lay. “You aren’t serious, are you? You don’t actually believe that this love you have would, if revealed, be worse than physically attempting to murder her?”
Hearing it said aloud in another’s voice made it sound ridiculous, but Lindír refused to be mocked. “Maybe not, but it would be a terrible insult. I am a stray, that much remains clear and obvious. It’s likely I’ll never stop being a stray. And Biorra is…”
Lindír flared his wings as wide as he could, briefly rising up onto his hind legs in an attempt to articulate what exactly Biorra was. When he fell back down to earth and folded his wings once more, he felt profoundly foolish. But Yrsel, strangely, understood.
“You underestimate yourself,” Yrsel said. “I have known Biorra for decades now, and she is not so judgmental as to consider you an infliction, no matter how much of a stray you may be.”
“It is unbecoming of a man to direct his attentions at a lady who does not feel the same towards him,” Lindír recited. “Oh, but I’m not even a man, I’m a dragoness! Whatever is causing this, whatever perverse madness has taken hold of me, it has to be stamped out.”
“If that is truly what you wish, Lindír, then I am afraid to say that I cannot help you with that,” Yrsel said. “I’ve had my share of embarrassing bouts of affection towards some drakkar or another, and I have no more power to control my own feelings than I do the weather, let alone any control I might have over you.”
“Yes, but a dragoness holding affections for a drakkar, that’s… natural, isn’t it? Biorra is a dragoness, and…”
Yrsel narrowed her eyes at Lindír, even extending her neck forward in order to get a closer look at him. “I don’t know how humans do it, but that sort of thing is perfectly natural for dragons. If you being a dragoness bothers you so much, you can become a drakkar, though you’ll have to ask Camreth about the particulars there.”
In the silence that followed, Lindír did actually consider the proposal. It was odd, considering how long he’d spent believing himself to be a man, but he had relatively few thoughts about the concept of becoming a drakkar, aside from the sort of vague distaste he felt towards any serious disruption. It was a strange thought to consider, complex and bittersweet. Eventually Yrsel broke him out of his own mind with a long, heavy sigh.
“I’m very sorry, Lindír. You frustrated me. I do not like to have to argue, but you were saying things about my good friend that I could not stand to see go unchallenged. You wanted my guidance, didn’t you?”
“Yes,” said Lindír.
Yrsel paused, running her tongue along her teeth. “It truly pains you, this love? Too much to hold it in any longer, and without any sign of fading.”
“It only grows stronger, the more I come to know Biorra.”
“Then there is something you could do. Something which would… make your feelings known, and give you a greater opportunity to express your feelings toward Biorra without as much risk. You could initiate a courtship with her.”
This was a term with which Lindír considered himself at least somewhat familiar. Courtship was the subject of many of the stories and poems he had been taught as a child, and the greatest fraction of Ámnistr’s songs seemed to at least mention it. Still, he thought it best not to assume, especially with his love for Biorra on the line.
“What would being in courtship mean?”
“Well, as the initiator, traditionally the drakkar’s role—one which suits you quite a bit—it would be your duty to prove yourself suitable to Biorra. That would mean gifts, as extravagant as you could acquire, and never letting her struggle without at least offering assistance, even if she rejects it. And you would be expected to spend a good deal of time in each other’s company, be that going on adventure together, or merely sharing meals and sunbathing in one another’s proximity.”
The thought of sunbathing in Biorra’s proximity sent an unwholesome but deeply satisfying shiver down Lindír’s spine. It was all that he had ever wanted, really: to be able to sunbathe in her presence, to speak without fear of rejection, to be unburdened by the barriers of communication.
“I could do that,” he said softly.
“I will warn you, this isn’t something to be entered into casually. You can back out if the need arises, but not at least putting some effort in might actually offend Biorra; I don’t claim to know her exact actions. The end goal, theoretically, is marriage. Two hoards becoming one, two dragons sharing the same lair.”
That did give Lindír brief pause; he quite valued the solitude of his lair, and the hoard he had accumulated within it. The thought of having another dragon to share those things with rankled. But then he thought about Biorra being that dragon; and he remembered that there would no doubt be times when he could remain behind when she went out on some duty or another; and he decided that it was not so bad.
“I think—” Lindír trailed off, a rattle rising up from the back of his throat, “I think that I do want to court her. If you think that that is the best outlet for what I feel. If her presence will grant me succor from this yearning, then I think I would do almost anything. And you are sure that she will not hate me for it?”
“That I am sure. Though, you should know: you cannot enter into a courtship without her consent. There is a chance that she will reject you outright, and if she does then that will be the end of it.”
“Of course,” said Lindír. “How do I offer to court her?”
Yrsel explained.
…
It was a little ways after noon, three days later, when Lindír finally gathered together the courage necessary for the terrifying endeavor. She flew over to the mountain where the Sea-cliffs made their home, circling around until she could see the place where Yrsel had indicated that Biorra made her lair.
It was distinctly unlike Lindír’s own lair, in that the cave opening was situated much lower on the mountain, nearby to other caves, and at the foot of it was a large flat expanse. A large, flat expanse in which there were several other dragons lounging about. They were not particularly interested in Biorra, being occupied with sunbathing and playing and eating, but the extra pairs of eyes made Lindír’s throat seize. She did not give up. Instead, she slowly drifted to the ground, ignoring the odd looks, and placed herself in front of the opening of Biorra’s lair.
Normally, Lindír would not intentionally draw Biorra’s attention for any reason. But if she had desired to call upon the object of her affections, the typical way for it would be to use her voice. The issue was that at that moment, her mouth was entirely occupied with the task of holding a large stone statue of a bird with golden eyes and a brilliant crest upon its head.
Yrsel had been very clear about that. Lindír had to carry the first gift with her mouth for the message to be clear. If she used her hands even once, it would muddy the intention, make it possible for Biorra to assume that there was a mistake. Clarity was important.
After several long, frustrated seconds, her heart beating frantically and her jaw growing tired, Lindír struck her tail against the stone of the mountainside. The violence stung, but the impact was heavy enough to produce a bright, clear whip’s crack. Biorra failed to appear, so Lindír did it again. And then again. It was only after the fourth sound that Biorra emerged, beautiful even in her bleary and confused state. She lumbered out of her lair, looking for the source of the sound until her gaze fell upon Lindír.
Biorra stopped, utterly still, her body low to the ground, and stared at her long enough that Lindír felt the urge to drop the bird and beg for her to respond. Before that embarrassment, Biorra broke from her trance and padded forward as though she were trying to avoid waking someone. Lindír lowered her neck to the ground and carefully placed the bird down.
“Do you know what that means?” Biorra said.
“I do,” Lindír said, forcing herself to stand high. “Yrsel told me.”
By this point the eyes of every dragon in the area were on Lindír and Biorra, the sight of the stray aiming to court Camreth’s dilettante youngest daughter too melodramatic to resist. Lindír was only unconsciously aware of how much attention she had drawn. For once, her perfect focus on Biorra proved to be a boon rather than a curse.
Biorra had been rendered speechless. She continued to approach Lindír until they were standing face-to-face, until Lindír could feel her breath on her scales. Then Biorra lowered her wings to the ground, resting on her wing-claws with her wing-fingers folded back like the sides of a great cape, and picked up the bird with her hands.
That was promising, as was the way that she reared her neck back like a swan’s and carefully examined the bird, turning it over and over in her claws. But nothing was certain. Until she took the offering back to her hoard, she had not assented to the courtship.
It became apparent that Biorra was quite concerned with the quality of that stone bird, for she examined it so long that Lindír lost track of time. There were no thoughts, there were no fears, only the momentary movements of eye and claw and chest, the rising and falling tides of trepidation and glee at every sign one way or the other about Biorra’s intentions. For all that Lindír was concerned the world could end in a minute, and she would not have cared.
In this hypnotic daze, Lindír nearly missed Biorra slowly extending her arms. She was giving the statue back. She’d been prepared for this, and in her mind, rejection had been the most likely option of all of them. Even still, the pain came on hard and heavy and dense as a belly full of lead, heavy enough to make her claw refuse to follow her commands. Lindír had to rip her claw from the ground in order to raise it up and take the rejected gift.
Biorra promptly retracted the bird to her breast, holding it jealously while her eyes flickered across Lindír’s form. Lindír was confused, trilling a wordless question, but now it was Biorra who had lost touch with her surroundings.
She stared at a patch of ground between her feet and Lindír’s, the muscles across her brow twitching in quiet contemplation. She was thinking, hard, and was quite evidently conflicted from the way she would occasionally twitch, offering the bird back to Lindír before instantly retracting it. Lindír began to wonder if she’d done something wrong after all. The thought flickered through her mind that perhaps she should just take the bird, rescind the courtship entirely, apologize for the mistake that this had clearly been. And yet she could not bring herself to interrupt whatever drama was playing out behind Biorra’s eyes.
After what could have been a minute of silence or an hour, Lindír realized that Biorra’s eyes had fallen upon hers. Reluctantly, she returned that gaze. The slits of Biorra’s pupils narrowed, demurely hiding the black behind, and the translucent membrane swept across the golden expanse of her irises, wiping them clean of delusion. Lindír felt as though she were on a precipice, and became aware that Biorra was on that very same precipice next to her, companions preparing to fall.
Biorra was not so perfect as Lindír had assumed; and yet she held no apprehensions.
Just as she had made it, Biorra broke the locked gaze. With her whole body she turned, curving around herself in a fluid motion as she marched away from Lindír. The bird was still in her arms, but her wings served well to let her glide serpentine over the stone and earth back to her lair. She moved in a hurry, not once looking back at Lindír even as she watched the impossible happen before her. The courtship was not sealed until the gift took its place within Biorra’s hoard; but although Lindír felt that at any moment her eyes might open and the dream end, the rapidity of Biorra’s movement made it very clear that she had made her choice.
When Biorra vanished into the depths of her lair, she left behind a tableau of perfect awe. Every dragon in the field now stared at Lindír, who herself could not break her gaze upon the entrance to Biorra’s cave, nor move any other muscle for some time. Something had been gouged out of her stomach and replaced with fire, something in her brain had been wound around itself until it snapped, and all of her limbs were embedded in iron.
When, eventually, Lindír returned to her own lair, the first thing she did was scream. It was a horrible sound, not one she had had reason to produce since her rampaging days after losing Ámnistr: an awful screech that ripped at her throat and, in the confines of her cave, produced a deafening thunderous echo. Then her jaws were forced open from within and she bellowed forth flame. She spun about, racing in circles on four limbs and six and two, chasing her tail as she spat streams of yellow fire until the stones cracked and her hoard-metal went soft.
When her flames were out, Lindír vomited on the floor.
Yrsel arrived a short while later, asking incredulously if the rumors which were already spreading across the colony were true. Lindír instead asked if she could help clean her lair. Yrsel agreed, and before long the two of them were flying off to fetch a pair of large pots from Shuvun, the one drakkar who had taken the time to learn how to make them. Neither of them spoke; Lindír because her throat was sore and she had hardly the energy to speak, and Yrsel because she could tell that something had happened to Lindír, if not what.
This mutual silence persisted as they asked Shuvun for the pots, as he helped them to slip the heavy woven ropes over their shoulders, as they flew from his den down to the lake. It was not until Lindír was laden with water, and Yrsel kneeling down to let hers fill, that Lindír could speak.
“It’s true,” she said. “Biorra accepted.”
Yrsel stood up too quickly, splashing lake-water across herself as she spun about to look at Lindír. Her eyes bulged and her jaw fell open. “By the stars, I… I do not even know what to say.”
“You did not expect that this would happen?”
Yrsel cringed away from Lindír. “I thought it best not to set my expectations too high. But this is good! This is very good. I’m afraid I have precious little experience with courtship, but… Now is your chance to show her every charm which you possess. If she accepted, that means that she must wish to see you in your entirety before making a decision either way.”
Lindír knew that she possessed few charms, and the entirety of her being was a far cry from anything that Biorra had seen so far. But the expression written across Yrsel’s face was simply too kind to strike it with a pessimistic word.
“Best to head back quickly, then,” she said. “My charms are few enough as they are with a lair which does not stink of rotting carrion.”
…
Choosing the second gift for Biorra was not quite as difficult as choosing the first. Lindír fretted about it for a short while, but in the end merely filled a pouch with gold and a few choice aquamarines, enough to inform Biorra of her continued commitment to the courtship. She set off much earlier in the morning, hoping to catch Biorra before she left her lair.
That was, perhaps, a mistake. When Lindír arrived at Biorra’s lair, there were no other dragons playing or lounging on the field, only two dragons standing face to face much where she and Biorra had stood the day prior. One of them was Biorra; the other was a drakkar, banded in yellow, orange, red, and black. At first Lindír thought them to be merely talking. It was not until she skidded to a halt on the hard soil slightly downhill from the pair that Lindír recognized what had happened.
Before Lindír could speak a word, Biorra turned about and slowly paced back to her lair, again walking on her wings. This time, clutched in her hands was an opal, the size of a ripe apple, suspended from a golden chain, its face carved into the image of a dragon. Lindír knew immediately that this opal was worth far more than the petty stone and gold of the bird statue; and the way Biorra moved, slow and delicate, implied how much value she placed in that crystal. Lindír’s heart raced, her breath came quick and shallow. Something had happened, something she could not understand at first. But then the other one, the drakkar, turned away from Biorra and strutted down the hillside to pass Lindír; and when he recognized the drakkar’s face, Lindír realized exactly what had happened.
“Ulkred, why?”
“Because, stray, you think that you are playing a game, that what you do is unimportant,” said Ulkred, speaking in the native tongue of Solseyja and enunciating every word with a mix of fury and childish straightforwardness. “But the game ends now. Retract your courtship: if you do so soon there will be no shame in it, for a mistake is merely a mistake.”
“And why would I do that?” Lindír said, his wings involuntarily spreading wide.
“Because I am about to remind Biorra of what an actual drakkar can do for her. And when she is reminded of that, she will forget you, just as she has forgotten every one of her little fads.”
Also, I do wonder slightly if Yrsel was upset because she wanted Lindir to like her? Would that be permitted within a clan(?) Mysteries upon mysteries.
This is a shocking revelation, it's interesting that dragon society permits paralell courtship. Do they permit polyamory also, or is it an idiosyncrasy? Or is the parallel nature itself unusual?
Well, shoot. But does Ulkred actually love her, or is he just being an asshole? If it's the latter, I believe Biorra will be able to make the right decision.