Erethor

Erethor's parents joined the Lair by the Sea's daughter clan in Dragonhome many years ago. They have since gone on to serve the gods; Erethor became a doughty warrior, a young mother, and a spirit tuned to the barren wastes of her country, which she found good. The Shattered Plain made strong dragons, and far-sighted ones, and there was something in the dry wind that blew back her mane that made her feel clean, and calm.

Still, when the letter came with the courier, calling for members to rejoin the mother clan, she found herself curious. She knew of the wandering Lair that had started them, of course. She'd never seriously considered herself joining them. And yet...

"Go on," said her clan leader. "I'd be grateful for someone to help us manage the trade between us and the mother lair. We're getting bigger, Erethor, and it's useful to have more regular congress outside Dragonhome." She stopped alongside a small plot of land, painstakingly maintained so that it flowers in the arid climate. "And they gave us this, and our history, and our success. It's meet we should give back."

"I'll go," Erethor said. "But I may come back if it's too strange."

That provoked a laugh. "You? Cavil at the strange? Nothing fazes you, Erethor. You'll do fine. Go speak for us. It's time we looked out as well as in."

***

The day the skydancer arrived from the mother clan, Erethor was waiting for him.

She was also taken aback, because he was beautiful. Enough so that when he sat back on his haunches and brought forth a small book from his pack, she almost didn't hear him ask for her name.

"What? Oh. Yes! Erethor."

"Erethor." His viridescent eyes flicked up to meet hers. "That's an unusual name."

What did one say to such a comment? "I... yes, I guess so?"

Perhaps he realized it, too, because the delicate skin near his eyes flushed and his crest feathers sagged. "I mean, it's beautiful. A powerful name. Like the stones..." He gestured toward the rocky plain of Dragonhome. "I... should stop before I get myself into any more trouble, shouldn't I."

She blushed too. "No, no, it's all right." Lifting her chin, she said, "I'm Erethor, and I'd like to come with you."

"Well, Erethor... we're glad to have you."

***

His name was Eleatis, she discovered later on the flight to the Viridian Labyrinth. She nodded and made appropriate noises as he explained the clan's history, discussed their current living arrangements in Nature, detailed the types of work available that she might be interested in. She didn't really hear any of it.

The way the sun gleamed off his flanks, and the muscles that lengthened and tensed as his wings beat...

He asked her to the nest when they were both ready. She almost tripped over herself agreeing. But more importantly, afterwards... he came back. Erethor hadn't expected that--she knew nesting was mostly an economic arrangement. Or at least, it had been in her old clan, and remained so in most of Sornieth. But Eleatis, in her nest or out of it, still came by to chat with her, exchange news, ask her to fly with him to visit other clans. "You're a warrior," he'd said. "I could use someone to guard my side."

Just like that. So easy.

Oh, she loved him.

He even apologized the day he went to nest with someone else... she just nudged him and said, "Eggs are a duty. This, though..."

"Yes," he agreed, resting his cheek against hers. "This is a choice. And I choose you. Erethor with the name like the strong bones of Dragonhome."

She licked him and murmured, "Eleatis, with wings that shine in the sun."

***

Once she'd decided to become part of his escort, she wanted to brush up on her fighting skills. She knew herself to be a strong warrior, cunning and quick. She'd painstakingly honed her little tundra claws and filed her sharpest teeth so they pierced keener than truth. In her former clan, she'd been among the best of the fighters, and she remained proud of that honor... but not proud enough to dismiss the opportunity to become better.

"Where can I go for a little extra training?" she'd asked Eleatis. "Just to make sure I'm at my best."

He'd glanced through the clan and nodded toward two enormous imperials. "I think Thelo and Hephaestus have been scavenging in the Golem Workshop. You might try with them."

Like the other dragons she'd met at the mother clan, the imperials welcomed her. She thought nothing of it--she knew her value. She'd proven it enough times at home.

The first robotic spider they saw knocked her unconscious.

The armored mith smashed her and left her bleeding.

The delver...

She groaned, remembering the delver.

The two imperials writhed through the cramped halls of the workshop, their movements as coordinated as dancers': Thelo's powerful magics ionizing the air, swirling away in clouds of runesmoke; Hephaestus's oil-stained claws flinging enemies into the walls or grinding them against the floor until they popped, spilling gears and broken cords. They were devastating, and all she could do was throw herself at the enemies they hadn't yet destroyed, scraping her claws against their metal sides until her claws blunted, biting them until her jaws ached.

When they camped in one of the echoing halls, Hephaestus licked her bloody fur, resting one giant hand on her back. "Don't fret," he said, voice a deep rumble. "You'll learn."

Thelo breathed healing over her, closing up the worst of the rents, his gaze impassive. Neither imperial talked much, but Thelo was particularly enigmatic, parsimonious with words and oddly interested in collecting their spoils, particularly the mechanical bits. She didn't realize why until they returned and she saw him delivering them to Orphne, who liked to tinker, build little robots.

It was discouraging, realizing that she'd been complacent. That she'd stopped learning because she'd already been the best among her peers in her birthclan. But she was not too proud to change. And with each outing, she grew more confident. Her resistance to wounds increased as her muscles hardened and her hide toughened under her coat. She learned precision, aiming her blows for the weakest points of her opponents' bodies. And soon she was killing as easily as the others, darting from beneath Hephaestus's forelegs to pull down a sentry squawker for his powerful blows and climbing over Thelo's back to lunge for the steelhound intent on the mage's throat.

She even learned to recognize the bits and pieces Orphne might find useful, and sorted them from the detritus meant for melting. She earned one of Thelo's rare sentences then: "Your smaller hands are better for this."

She'd smiled, looking up at him, and answered, "You can handle the big chunks."

The mage had chuckled, quiet, and touched her head with the tip of his nose, and she knew--felt--she'd earned her place at last.

"You see?" Hephaestus said, flying back with her on a luminous evening.

"I do," Erethor had answered. "I'm glad I came."