Januarius

What makes a man a man?

He had heard whispers of Saga far before she had actually come to their clan. As chaplain and the eyes and ears of the king, most news got to him before it even happened. She was a loner before she came here; born in the realm of the shadow flight, flitting from place to place as she saw fit. The king tempted her with a stable meal and home in exchange for her abilities as a hunter and guardian of the lair and, after some convincing, she accepted. Those Januarius spoke to all seemed to have formed opinions on her without even knowing her. She wasn’t fit for clan life, she was too barbaric to be peaceful, she couldn’t settle down for more than a month. Every whispered rumor made him more excited to meet her.

She stormed into his room one day, looking as fierce and determined as everyone had said. “My name is Saga, and I’d like some answers,” she said, sitting before him. He looked at her, stunned and impressed. She was a whirlwind of color and emotion, all violent and red and vibrant.

“Go ahead,” he said at last, swallowing hard. “Ask me anything.”

“What is it exactly that you do?”

“I’m an advisor to the king. I listen to the complaints of the dragons under his rule, and relay the information that would be—”

“Give me the job description without the fluff,” she said, leaning forward. “I know some of it already, but I want to hear it from you. Tell me what you really do.” He swallowed again.

“Technically, it’s confidential,” he said at last.

“It won’t leave this room,” she promised. He had no reason to believe her, and yet… he heard that she was honest, brutally so, and he hadn’t given her any reason to parade around information that could get him exiled. On top of that, something about her just made him… trust her.

“Fine, I’ll tell you.”

She came to his room nearly every evening after that. Each day, they spoke of something different. Saga always had questions, many of them intrusive, all of them apologetic. Januarius tip-toed around his intentions, as subtle and charming as his job always required him to be.
“You don’t need to do that,” Saga said one day.

“Do what?”

“Avoid saying what you want to say. Just…be honest with me.”

Januarius pursed his lips and sighed. “Al…alright. What made you decide to stay here, really? After all that time of travelling?”

“Hm,” Saga said thoughtfully. “Good question.”

“You don’t have to answer if you—”

“No,” she snapped. “You’ve been honest with me, I’ll do the same for you. I suppose I stayed because… I was tired. Tired of fighting for every meal, and of being alone. It might be easier for people who chose that life, but… I was born into it.” Her voice dropped to a near-whisper. “I don’t think it’s something I would have chosen for myself, otherwise.”

She entered and left his room like a whirlwind, stopping his train of thought and spinning it to surround her whenever she was near. Saga was very different from him. She was honest, wild, and brash, and he was kind, domestic, and quietly deceptive. During those conversations in the evening, however, he felt that they were more alike than any other dragons he knew. Their relationship was based solely on those evening talks, for a time. They never spoke outside of them, never held back during them. Over time, Januarius felt himself longing for some outside connection to her. He wanted to be familiar with every aspect of her life, not just the ones they discussed behind closed doors. Secretly, she wished for the same. The tipping point, of course, was inevitable.

She limped into camp, covered in wounds. Januarius politely excused himself from the conversation he was in and ran over to fall into step with her. “Are you alright?” he asked earnestly.

“I’m fine,” she hissed back.

“Well, just to be sure,” Januarius said, “would you mind if I accompanied you to Niklaus’s quarters?” She gave him a curious look. “You know, Niklaus? The healer?”

“I’m not going to the healer,” she said. Januarius looked at her blankly.

“Not going to…? Saga, you have to! You’re covered in—”

“I don’t have to do anything,” she snapped. Januarius paused, choosing his next words carefully. Maybe he could feel it. The tipping point.

“Come back to my room,” he said. “I’ll wrap you up myself.”

It was familiar, yet foreign. He spread healing salve on her wounds and wrapped them in pristine white bandages as she told him of the nasty fight she’d gotten in. He watched her speak, responding in monosyllabic answers only when necessary. When he was done, he drew back and looked at her.

“Thank you,” Saga said, though she hadn’t looked away from him to see the bandages.

“Of course. You’re welcome here whenever you’d like,” he smiled.

“So you’ve said.” She chuckled, then turned to leave.

“Wait!” He stepped forward to stop her, and she gave him glare filled with unspoken warning. “I-I’m sorry, I just didn’t want—I mean—” Januarius struggled for the words. “I… enjoy our time together. You’re honest and brave and many things I’m not, but many things I am, as well. The time you spend with me is… the times when I feel most comfortable, most at home. You’re intelligent and inquisitive and I love… the conversations we have. So, I mean, what I’m trying to say is—please don’t go. At least, not quite yet.” She watched him with one eyebrow raised, body frozen and tense. He felt the words were spilling out of him now, and if he was being honest for once, there was no reason to stop. “I think about… our conversations… even when you’re not here. I-I think about you when you’re not here. I’m sorry, but I—I think I’m trying to say—I love you?”

For a brief, terrifying moment, she didn’t say anything. Then she let out a breathy chuckle and pressed her forehead to his. “Well, then,” she said, “I love you, too.”

Short story by resplendentChaos.