H - 13: Nobody Gets to Pick Their Own Nickname (Patreon)

She was in her larger form, of course.  Kaln couldn’t yet be sure whether they defaulted to that out of personal preference or lingering habit from the years of Atraximos’s demands.  Regardless, it was the only way he could see her directly, now, as even with the cleared paths between the doorways, the main floor of the central chamber was still mired in a mix of priceless Timekeeper artifacts and gnawed bones which drifted higher than he was tall.

Wasting no time, Kaln focused upon her, and felt the power rise in response.  It was very intuitive, now.  He flickered across the space and came to rest at her feet, Tiavathyris having to swivel her head around to peer down at him.  That teleportation required him to have a dragon as a point of reference, but…could he do more than jump to or away from them?  Some experimentation was called for.

Later, though.

Before he had a chance to speak, Tiavathyris shifted.  With his dragon-attuned extra senses, it was fascinating to observe this happening so close to him.  There was a change in her energy, her aura or astral body or whatever it was, that mirrored the physical.  Interestingly, while her visible form compacted massively, the other did not.  A dragon in humanoid shape was still an absolutely massive presence to anyone with these extra senses.

“A convenient trick, husband,” she acknowledged, nodding.  A knowing, mysterious little smile hovered on her face, which he was starting to suspect was her default expression.

“I would not dream of keeping you waiting,” Kaln replied gallantly.

Tiavathyris tilted her head minutely to one side, studying him.  “It is as well that you did.  Some dragons would take great umbrage at being the last of three chosen to spend time with you in private.  Most, in fact.”

“I—”

She held up one clawed hand, still smiling.  “As I said, husband, it is well.  In general, I would advise you to turn to me last whenever such a question of order arises.  I am not interested in playing such games—and more pointedly, Izayaroa and Emeralaphine share a rivalry which frequently impairs their ability to act their age.  It might be wise to alternate which of the two is chosen first.  They will definitely be keeping count.”

“I have the feeling,” he said fervently, “that I have just barely begun to understand how much I should appreciate your calm temper, my lady wife.  Let me assure you that I have at least made an earnest start.”

“You are quick with a turn of phrase,” she said, her smile widening subtly.  “Come, then, let us move to more suitable surroundings.”

Okay, it was back to courtship mode then.  Kaln deliberately schooled his features into a smile—a carefully constructed one, warm and benign, with just a hintof seductive heat.  He held out his hand to her, bowing slightly.

Tiavathyris studied him, inscrutable.  After a second, her smile seemed to warm by just a hair, and she took his hand.  Strange how quickly the feeling of cool scales against his fingers had become familiar.

He reflected, as they strolled down the entry tunnel, that another benefit of leaving her til last was that this seemed likely to be the biggest challenge yet.  Izayaroa and Emeralaphine both had large personalities, and both were keenly interested in intimacy, though Emeralaphine seemed to have an issue about admitting that to herself.  She certainly wouldn’t admit it to him, but her physical response had been far too avid for someone tolerating his advances for ulterior reasons, as their agreement suggested.

Tiavathyris, though…  He had almost no read on her.  She had rather openly expressed interest, and yet was socalm, aloof, contained.  Not understanding what she liked or wanted made this seriously difficult; it would be far too easy to do exactly the wrong thing.  Worse, filling in the gaps in his perception of her would be a long and equally challenging process.  People who held themselves apart were the most difficult to get to know.

But then they emerged into her chambers, and Kaln came to a stop alongside her, taking it all in.

Atraximos had chosen to live in a museum; though he hadn’t yet seen Emeralaphine’s personal lair, the library she had constructed displayed much of her personality.  The chamber of Tiavathyris was just as much a testament to its occupant, yet while nothing he saw surprisedhim, Kaln had the strong feeling it would be some time yet before he understood her well enough to read meaning into all this.

Unlike the others, even Emeralaphine’s library, she had completely remodeled to the extent of installing walls over the ancient Timekeeper stonework.  That also had the effect of covering the Timeglass insets and stifling the chamber’s built-in illumination, so that what he beheld now was dimly lit by hanging lamps.  These flickered a smoky orange like natural fire, but were surely magical, if only because changing the oil in them would be an ongoing, meticulous nightmare and Kaln knew enough about dragons at this point to know they would never bother.

The walls seemed to be enormous panels of patterned silk in a deep green that matched her scales, separated by towering columns of intricately wrought…  That couldn’t be solid gold, surely.  They were at least platedin gold, forming the shapes of dragons twining along each column.  Even if it was a thin veneer, the wealth on display was staggering to the imagination.  She had further altered the shape of the room with elevated sections along the walls, supported by more golden pillars glimmering in the dim firelight.  If he didn’t know the layout of these ancient chambers already, Kaln could believe they were part of the original construction, so apparently solid were they.  He also appreciated the use of space: in addition to the elevated sections providing just as much floor space, the area beneath them would serve nicely for divided rooms for storage, and would be quite spaciously tall even for a dragon in her bipedal form.

Strange how this subdivision of the room made it seem even bigger than the one in which Atraximos had laid out his museum.

“You approve?”

Kaln realized he’d been gaping around like a fool; Tiavathyris was now looking down at him with…that same amused, aloof expression.

“I can’t imagine that my approval matters,” he said, rallying with a similarly coy smile, “but even so, this is…majestic.”

“While I would hardly redecorate to suit you, husband, your opinion is certainly not meaningless to me.  I am pleased that you like it.  Come, this way.”

“I am at your disposal,” Kaln said gallantly as he let her tug him along the central aisle between the elevated sections.  Up ahead, they terminated to leave an open space in roughly the middle of the chamber.  The cleared area they were approaching, he noted, was slightly elevated and made of something…beige?  “Is it too soon to inquire what this is about?”

“We must begin your training,” Tiavathyris stated, “which will necessarily begin with an assessment.”

“Training?  I got the impression from Emeralaphine that not enough is understood about godlings in general for there to be a known training program…”

“I wouldn’t know, though I’m inclined to trust her expertise on the subject of gods and magic.  No, husband, my intentions are more specific.  Tell me, Ar-Kaln, what experience do you have in fighting?”

“Uh…”

Oh.  Of course.

Tiavathyris was a legendary warrior; though she was not even from this continent, records of her exploits were known and told, and they were all of battles fought against mighty foes.  Kaln had the sudden, sinking epiphany that nothing about himself was likely to impress her.

Well, damage control, then.  Best not to dissemble, she definitelywouldn’t respect that.

“None,” he stated.  “Well, I suppose not actually none, I’ve never heard of a child who didn’t get into scuffles now and then.  But…not since I was a child, and that was just…you know, childish flailing.  I suspect it wouldn’t even count as ‘fighting’ to your standards.”

“Anything and everything counts,” she said.  “When a contest of wills extends into the physical, battle is joined.  It is then only a question of how well one fights.  Really, husband, nothing?  A healthy young man like yourself?”

They had arrived at the intersection of paths with its broad cleared space, and she now turned to face him directly, releasing his hand and studying him with…exactly the same expression.  He couldn’t read her at all.

He did, however, note that the light tan surface was elevated because the edges of the many panels of which it was composed were rounded and stitched at their corners, like some sort of upholstery or leather.  Of course; a soft surface sized for a dragon would make a perfect sleeping place for her, and neatly double as a sparring ring for people of human proportions.  How oddly elegant.

“I was a scribe,” he said, shrugging and keeping his own careful smile in place.  “Not just by vocation; orphans in Rhivkabat are often fostered by the Regency as apprentices for public service positions.  I was raised in the Royal Archives, under the very strict understanding that civilized people solved differences with words, not fists.”

“A fine sentiment,” she agreed, nodding, “though one reflecting an unfortunately narrow understanding of the world.  It fails to account for the omnipresence of less civilized people who will not yield to argumentation.”

“Sure, of course.  I’m not trying to belittle the martial arts, it’s just…  Where I was brought up, there were people whose job it was to protect the likes of me from the likes of those less-than-civilized sorts.  Guards, soldiers…”

Who had subsequently thrown him in a prison on the trumped-up say-so of someone better positioned than he had been to sway them with words.  Kaln kept that thought behind his teeth, uncertain whether it supported his argument or hers.

“There is an old proverb of which I am fond,” Tiavathyris said with another mysterious little smile.  “As a scribe, you may have heard it yourself.  ‘The society that separates its warriors from its scholars will have its thinking done by cowards, and its fighting by fools.’”

“I haven’t heard that one,” Kaln admitted, “but I already like it.  Well, consider the point conceded.”

“There are other reasons to value the martial arts,” she continued.  “They teach an awareness of the body, and a mastery of its use, that are not otherwise achievable, and this is of paramount value to anyone who intends to go through life in a physical form.”

“But…  Am I not one of the very few for whom that isn’t a concern anymore?  Emeralaphine gave me the impression that my progress from here on would be mostly toward ascending beyond physical form…”

“She is correct, but the benefits of which I speak come with corresponding spiritual and mental advantages which will be valuable to you regardless, husband.  Besides, as I am sure she told you, the nature of your experience from now on will determine the nature of the god you become.  I have not Emeralaphine’s expertise, but I know that much of godlings.  I will not be party to the creation of a deity who does not know and respect the value of martial mastery.  Do not fear, Kaln, I have no intention of turning you into a creature of violence.  No one knows better than I the repugnance of such.  Rather, the arts in which I mean to train you are a path specifically to maintaining poise and serenity no matter what violence may surround you.  And besides…”

She lifted one hand, gently bringing the claw of her forefinger to rest under his chin, unnecessarily nudging his face up toward hers.  At least she used the side of the claw, not the tip.  Her smile took on more than a hint of a smirk.

“I have accepted you as my husband, Ar-Kaln—as my lord and master.  I require that the male to whom I belong be nothing less than a paragon in all things.  A dragon’s pride demands it.”

“Well,” he said, smiling back with exactly the same hint of smirk and not moving to dislodge her claws, “there’s no arguing with that, is there?  My training is in your hands, then.”

This had not been what he’d had in mind when he followed her in here.  They were going to spar?  Hopefully she was right about those mental benefits of martial arts, or he had a feeling he knew who his least favorite wife was going to be.  Kaln had chatted with guards around the Regency, even seen some of their training.

He was not optimistic.

“Training later,” she corrected.  “First, assessment.  That you have no experience in the craft of combat is noted, but there is a level of physical ability beyond that which must be considered.  I do note, husband, that you do not have the frame of someone who has lived a soft life.”

“The Lord Scribe insisted we get some exercise daily.  Nothing major, just some stretches and light calisthenics.  He always said a truly nimble mind couldn’t exist in a decaying body.”

“A wise man,” she said, nodding with clear approval.  The pang that shot through Kaln truly tested his ability to keep emotions well clear of his face.  The Lord Scribe had been a mentor, really the closest thing to a parent he’d had.  And then he had thrown Kaln to the crocodiles the second it became politically inconvenient to do otherwise.

“Fattest man I’ve ever seen,” Kaln replied, continuing to marshal his expression.  “He likes his food rich and plentiful.  Always joined in with the morning exercises, though.  He could run amazinglyfast, and I never saw him get out of breath no matter how many stairs he climbed…”

“The outward signs of physical fitness can be deceptive,” she agreed.  “But I am far more interested in you than your erstwhile employer, husband.”

“I’m…definitely in better shape now than I would have been in the Archives,” he admitted.  “A year of hiking all over the landscape will do that for a guy.”

“Yes, you do give the impression of a frame whose softness has been burned away.”  Tiavathyris lightly brushed his cheek with the back of her claws, then continued to stroke them gently along his shoulder, and down his upper arm.  Her expression was…an odd mix of gentle and analytical.  He just couldn’t read her.  “The effects of exertion and deprivation do resemble those of training, if only superficially.  Yours looks more like a body shaped by the former than the latter.  However, you also move with care and purpose—not in the manner of a warrior, but…  Do you dance, Ar-Kaln?”

“I do,” he said, raising his eyebrows in surprise.  “Heavens uncounted, you can tell that?”

“I can make educated guesses,” she said, smiling languidly.  “It is apparent from your gait that you have been taught poise—you walk more like a nobleman than a scribe.”

Another pang, which he controlled better.  “Yes, I suppose I have had a rather interesting life, even before meeting you.  I was the beneficiary of some…specific coaching, before I left Rhivkabat.  More in the social than the martial arts, however.”

“These things do interact,” she said, nodding.  “Nothing in isolation.  Very well, you are far from a hopeless student, unless you display a degree of sudden ineptitude that I frankly do not expect.  It beggars my credulity that you could have made it thus far alive, were you excessively clumsy.”

“I did have a golden opportunity to stumble right into Atraximos’s nose recently,” he said gravely.

“I struggle to guess which of you would have found that less amusing.  Now, where is…ah.”

As she spoke, a prickle ran through his senses, alerting him to another draconic presence.  This was still a weird sensation, but one to which he was growing accustomed.

She entered through the main door to the central lair outside, in full-sized form.  Vadaralshi stalked down the aisle, wings folded behind her, green eyes fixed intently on Kaln now.

“You are not late, daughter,” Tiavathyris stated flatly, “but only barely.  I did ask for your timely presence this morning.”

“And I would never dream of keeping you waiting, mother,” the younger dragon simpered, “much less the esteemed Mister Pants, here.”

Tiavathyris blinked her eyes slowly, once.  “Mister Pants.  Really,Vadaralshi?”

“I can live with it.”  Kaln shrugged when both dragons turned to stare at him.  “It’s a universal law that nobody gets to pick their own nickname.  I don’t love that one, but I also don’t hate it, which makes me think I should bear this with good grace lest it get any worse.”

“Well, I gather an archive is not totally unlike a barracks, if you’ve acquired that piece of wisdom so young,” Tiavathyris said, amused.

“And what an accommodating young man he is!” Vadaralshi said sweetly.  She grinned, and Kaln was extremely certain that the expression was not meant to be reassuring.

“How’s your nose?” he asked innocently, causing her smirk to immediately vanish.  “Any spinal damage?  That looked painful.”

“Nothing actually harmful has happened to me within recent memory, thank you for your concern,” the young dragon stated flatly.

“Vadaralshi,” her mother said, even more flatly.  “Did something happen?”

“I had a slight mishap in flight outside,” she said, raising her long neck to stare down at them from a greater height.  Tiavathyris, of course, was not in the least intimidated by this; somewhat to his own surprise, Kaln found that he wasn’t either.  On one level, to be sure, he was witnessing the posturing a fanged and armored monster big enough to snap him in half…but also, the posturing of a teenager who was one careless word from getting in hot water with her mother.

“A mishap,” Tiavathyris repeated, folding her arms.  “You?  I am sure that must be an interesting story.”

“It’s not,” Vadaralshi said quickly.  “Not even an anecdote.”

“Really?” Kaln said, giving her his most benign smile.  “That surprises me.  Do you often plow face-first into solid walls?  I have to say, you seem a lot more graceful than that, generally.”

The young dragon hissed at him.  Kaln found it interesting that she did it like a cat, not like a snake: jaws wide open, producing the rasp of air in the back of her throat rather than at the lips.  It was certainly a more frightening spectacle, but he was growing increasingly secure in his physical safety around rambunctious dragons.

“Vadaralshi,” Tiavathyris snapped, and the younger dragon immediately ceased, and flattened herself to the floor.  Even with her chin resting on the ground her huge eyes were almost level with Kaln’s.

“In fairness,” he said lightly, “it would’ve been hard to evade a solid wall that suddenly appeared right in front of her.”

Tiavathyris closed her eyes, and softly growled.  Well, softly for a dragon, the basso intensity of the sound that emerged from her slender throat was far more terrifying coming from her than any of her daughter’s antics had been.

“I have long since grown weary of admonishing you not to antagonize Emeralaphine, you obstreperous tadpole,” the elder dragon stated, baring her teeth.  “I am perilously close to weariness with allowing her the privilege of correcting your behavior.  If you think she has an excessively firm hand, be assured that mine is not restrained by her desire to avoid stepping on my tail.”

Vadaralshi lay flat on the floor, making huge tragic eyes at them from her predatory reptilian visage.  The spectacle was…surreally adorable.

Tiavathyris glared at her in silence for an uncomfortably long span of seconds, before finally snorting.

“Enough.  I summoned you here for a reason, daughter; I will address your ongoing idiocy later.  If you manage to make yourself sufficiently useful and minimally obnoxious for the duration, I will take it into account.  Shift, now.”

Kaln had just barely managed not to grin with glee at the sight of Vadaralshi’s tail beginning to wag at the promise of potential forgiveness, but at that last command she froze, then raised her head in an expression of confusion.

“Shift?  You mean—”

“You know what I mean.  We are blessedly free of your father’s stubborn preoccupations; I will of course not begrudge your use of the greater form if you favor it, but there will be no more neglecting the lesser, particularly when it has a specific use.  Now,please.”

She obeyed, and in the next second was standing before them, bipedal.

Kaln’s first thought was that there wasn’t much of her father in Vadaralshi’s humanoid face—if anything, she strongly resembled a much younger Tiavathyris.  She had the same bronze skin, angled eyes and sculpted cheekbones; even her hair was the same shade of green, though cut much shorter and messy as if she’d just risen from bed.  Her black horns were also shorter.  She was a bit more conservatively dressed than her mother, in a kilt and fabric binding around her chest that left most of her midsection and shoulders exposed, but still less than Tiavathyris’s outfit.  Kaln had to wonder if that was because she didn’t have as much to show off; the younger dragon was far slimmer than the elder’s hourglass shape.

Between that and her somewhat softer features, she just looked…adolescent.  He had to actively remind himself she was over a century old, and that treating her like the fifteen-year-old she resembled was sure to piss her off.  Something in the set of her eyes when she shifted them to stare at him suggested she was thinking along similar lines.

“Good,” Tiavathyris said briskly.  “Husband, daughter, step toward the middle of the ring, if you would.  Remember, our purpose here is simply to assess; she will attack, and I will carefully observe how you handle it.  There is no need to be concerned with winning, Ar-Kaln.”

“Oooh!”  Vadaralshi’s whole face positively lit up, and she squeezed her own claws as if cracking her knuckles, which they apparently didn’t.  “Don’t worry, Pants, I’ll go easy on you.”

Kaln stared at her for a second, then sighed.  “No, you won’t.”

She cackled.  “No, I won’t!”