If dragons had professors, Endymion would be one of them. A natural philosopher, curious, thoughtful and keen to hunt knowledge with the passion most dragons reserve for prey, he is always investigating something. This has brought him into association with Hephaestus, the lair's mathematician, and the two of them have formed the sort of friendship one expects of absent-minded intellectuals. He also often aids Leander, the clan tinker, with his experiments.

He has a fondness for Cheimon, and made several nests with her; now that she no longer needs his help quite so much, he is glad to let her shine as one of the clan's luminaries. But her absence has left him unexpected prey for a new dragon. Xanthien is lovely. Male, but lovely.

So why can't Endymion stop looking at him?

It is enough to drive a dragon back to his books.

***

Xanthien gave him tail bangles. Such a strange gift. They shine, match the gleam off Endymion's feathers when he flexes his wings in the sun. Was Xanthien watching him fly in the brightness of the day?

Was he admiring him?

Endymion tries not to find the idea moving, but he is flattered. And maybe a little fascinated.

He's not sure why he's wearing the bangles, but he is.

***

Endymion has watched from afar how Xanthien helped Volari through her fear and pain--protected her, sheltered her until she was ready to stand alone. And now that Volari has found both a lover and a drake she trusts to make children to enrich the clan, Xanthien is often alone... and Endymion has much more time to admire him, the neatness of his conformation, the strength of his shoulders, his wings, his haunches... (oh, those distracting haunches)... the patience of his regard as he sits alone in the evenings and looks out over the rippling grasses. Even the kink in his tail, hidden almost completely by the tail ornament, is somehow endearing, because it's part of who he is: Xanthien, who has seen so much and survived so much and still come out of it gentle and strong and dutiful.

It seems wrong that such a drake should walk alone. So one evening, Endymion slipped through the grasses and whispered, hesitant, 'If you'd rather not be disturbed...'

The look Xanthien flashed him in the dark then: shock, and fleetingly, hope....

'No,' Xanthien said, moving over on the rock. 'Please, join me.'

Just that. But Endymion remained achingly aware of the warmth of that body, ribs rising and falling with each breath, so close to his own.

***

Endymion is no longer a youth but a drake in his middle-aged prime, a respected and beloved fixture of the Lair by the Sea. He has watched many dragons answer the call to Heavenly or terrestrial service, and yet he is content to tarry. Xanthien is all the companion he needs, though he obliges the clan by breeding to pass on his autumnal coloring and genes; and Liriope, whom he feared would soon lose interest in the clan and find adventure elsewhere, has remained, and even shyly found a beau in Toku.

Endymion has love, and family, and he is glad. Few could ask for greater blessings.

He remains a scholar, however, and as time has passed and dragons have come and gone, he has realized he is one of the few who recalls the history and genealogy of the clan and has the leisure to record it. He's turned his meticulous and inquisitive nature to writing the histories, thus, and is training his daughter as his apprentice since she's shown interest.

'Once upon a time,' he tells her, 'We had a permanent clan historian, Iphigenia. She sang the histories to the hatchlings, and marked them on the walls of our old abode.'

'Singing!' Liriope said, crest sagging. 'I hope I shall not be called upon to do that!'

Endymion chuckled. 'Between thee and me, daughter, I don't wish to be either. Writing will have to do.'