Me, when I first got these dragons: "These are not kind dragons and in all likelihood that would show in their personal relationships, so I shouldn't approach the relationship that Valerian and Hemlock have in an overtly romantic way"
Also me: writes whatever this is...
This is embarrassing, which is what I as an aro-spec person call anything that has even a slight hint of romance, but the family ties here my friends... they are delicious.
[POV: Hemlock]
“Hemlock,” Valerian says, as Hemlock stands to go. His voice is calm, matter of fact, as if he is commenting on the weather or the time of day: something inane and normal and true. He says, “You should not go out.”
Hemlock rolls his eyes and heads for the door, and Valerian continues speaking. “The patrols have been growing more frequent, and I suspect they will be in this area within the hour. Our safety relies on you remaining inside.”
“Valerian, darling,” Hemlock says, badly-hidden annoyance in his voice, “that is exactly the reason I want to go out. I’m
so—” he cuts himself off, shaking his head; he’s itchy, underneath his skin. His magic wants out, and he knows exactly where the C-Is will be before much longer. If he could just get out there, sow some discord, ruin some relationships—it would calm him, settle him, make his skin feel like it fits again.
Valerian fixes him with a look, though; a look Hemlock has become both familiar with and, unfortunately, fond of. He meets his partner’s eyes and lets out a long-suffering sigh. Instead of turning toward the exit, he turns to pace the room.
“I know that you enjoy interfering with their work,” says Valerian, and Hemlock tries to find the unchanging cadence of his voice soothing, “but if you do, they will have confirmation that we are in this area. They will retreat for today, but later they will return to search it more thoroughly. They will find this base, and we will be forced to move once again.”
“And we just burned our last hideout,” Hemlock sighs, putting the pieces together. Valerian doesn’t need to say anything more; he knows when Hemlock is beaten, to Hemlock’s own annoyance. “It would be annoying to have to move again, wouldn’t it?”
“Asphodel did not appreciate the last time we left without informing him,” Valerian says, and Hemlock huffs out a laugh.
“No, he did not,” Hemlock says. “Honestly. For a Malice Ichor, he
is a soft one. So attached to places and things. He was so upset that they broke the lamp.” He chuckles, and finds a spot on the floor, sprawling out rather than sitting in a normal, reasonable way. He’s bound to fidget; there is more room on the floor for frequent moving around.
“Put on the fire,” Valerian says, and Hemlock glances at the empty fireplace and realizes it’s a good idea. For nothing else to do, he does as he is told.
“Where is Asphodel, right now?” Hemlock asks, as he sets new firewood in the mouth of it. “Out tormenting the innocent? Making us proud? Having the fun you so
cruelly refuse me, you brute?” He can’t help the smile curling up the corners of his mouth, but he isn’t facing Valerian, so he refuses to fight it back.
“Currently on his way back,” answers Valerian. “I sent him word that the patrols in the area were becoming more frequent, and requested that he investigate the movements of the Carnage-Ichor patrols in the area. He should return with news before very much longer.”
“That’s good,” Hemlock says, starting the fire with a practiced movement and watching the sparks take to tinder. “He’ll come back and say that it’s
perfectly fine for me to go outside, actually, and then it will be two against one. You, my dear, will be outvoted.”
“You are so certain that he will side with you,” Valerian says. Hemlock can hear the smile in his voice. “You know as well as I that he prefers to keep the both of us safe.” A pause, and then: “Besides, everybody knows that I am the only voice of reason you deign to listen to.”
Hemlock snorts. He stretches out on the rug in front of the fire, letting the heat of it warm his fur. “Don’t think about it too hard,” he says, “you might hurt yourself.” A sense of relaxation falls over him; sometimes, he forgets his affinity to fire—he has lived in the Wastes for so long, he nearly forgot it. But it is soothing, calming; it is also comforting to know that, though Hemlock forgets it,
Valerian remembers. Valerian thought of his comfort.
Valerian lets out a light laugh, and Hemlock smiles at the sound. Valerian does not often laugh—typically, when he is amused, it merely sneaks into his tone. He has an impeccable poker face and is remarkably hard to read, and Hemlock marvels, still, that of all dragons in the world to pull a laugh out of stoic and unemotional Valerian, it would be him.
Asphodel uses the word
family when he thinks the two of them can’t hear. It had set Hemlock on edge, at first, the idea that he would be tied to anybody but himself, but he has warmed up to the idea over time. This does feel like a family, the longer he stays here: Valerian, familiar and solid; Asphodel, curious and warm. And Hemlock, who has never needed connection, never wanted it, but still found it, somewhere along the line.
“If someone told me I would end up here,” Hemlock muses, mostly to himself, but he says the words aloud that Valerian might listen to them. “I would have laughed in their face.”
“Here?” Valerian prompts. He knows Hemlock doesn’t mean this location; Hemlock knows he does.
“I’m a
parent,” Hemlock laughs. It feels absurd on his tongue. “I have a
son, who I’ve taught my magic to. Who has grown into a dragon I am proud to know. I have a home, with a fire to lie by, and it brings me comfort to be there. I have—” he halts himself, and looks up at Valerian. He is met with a gaze so soft, so tender, he almost loses his breath.
“You have?” Valerian prompts, a gentle smile on his face. He knows, Hemlock knows. That should make it easier to say it, but it doesn’t. Not at all.
He watches Valerian for a moment; Valerian watches him back. Valerian, who left the C-Is for him; who came seeking him out, who turned against his entire order for the sake of Hemlock. Valerian, who allowed Hemlock to teach him—who
trusted Hemlock to protect him. Who still does.
This is something Hemlock has never had in his life. It’s something precious, and so fragile that putting it to words feels perilous. Not a day goes by that Hemlock doesn’t fear he’ll lose it. Valerian told him, once, that nobody in the C-Is would believe that the fearsome Hemlock could care, genuinely, for anybody but himself. Hemlock had thought that it was true, at one time. And at one time, it had changed.
“I have you,” Hemlock says, quiet. And then, because sometimes there is a seed of doubt in the back of his mind, and he wants to hear the answer: “don’t I?”
“Of course you do,” Valerian says, the care finally creeping into his voice. “As long as you want me.”
That is enough for Hemlock. He gives Valerian a smile, receives one in return, and then rests his head on his forelegs and lets himself drift off into a peaceful half-sleep.
[POV: Asphodel]
When Asphodel returns home, Valerian is at his desk and Hemlock is sprawled across the rug in front of the fireplace, basking in the warmth. The lights are dim—except for over Valerian’s desk—and the flickering of the fire is the only sound—except for the scratch of Valerian’s pen on paper. To Asphodel, it is picturesque, cozy. He enters the room and feels immediately at ease.
His father glances up at him from the desk, acknowledging him with a nod and a small smile. Hemlock opens a single eye, observes Asphodel a moment, and then closes it again. For a moment, Asphodel marvels that Valerian has found a way to get Hemlock to stay still for so long, with what is going on outside. Usually, Hemlock wouldn’t be able to resist the chance to mess with C-Is, no matter the circumstances.
It must show on his face, because Valerian speaks without being asked. “He has agreed to remain inside for the remainder of the day. We spoke about the danger.”
“We
spoke, he says,” Hemlock mutters from the floor where he lies. “More like he
told me, and wouldn’t accept any answer but the one he wanted to hear.”
What Asphodel hears is,
we argued about it, but ultimately Hemlock listened to reason, and he suppresses a smile. He knows, from a life with these two, that Valerian is the only dragon who could convince Hemlock to choose the safer option. Hemlock is outwardly annoyed, but it is only proof of his bond with Valerian.
Asphodel enjoys seeing the dragons who raised him get along. He loves to see just how deeply they care about each other, though perhaps to an outside observer it wouldn’t be so obvious. He feels, to some extent and against his better judgement, like a part of a family. It’s nice, and he lets himself bask in it just a moment before he walks into the room and finds his favorite chair, by the bookshelves.
“Anything interesting out there?” Valerian asks, returning to his writing. Asphodel runs a claw over the spines of his books, picking one out at random.
“No,” he says. He sees Hemlock’s ears swivel toward him, the only sign that he is listening. “For now, the coast is clear. Seems the bulk of their search team will be reaching this area by nightfall, but I double checked the wards around the entrance and made sure the physical obstacles disguising the door were intact. I strongly doubt anyone will find us without first knowing where we are.”
Hemlock hums. Asphodel sees his tail twitch. “So we are stuck inside for another night.”
“There are worse places to be,” Valerian says, sounding faintly amused. “A Carnage-Ichor prison, for example, being tortured and eventually killed.”
“Don’t condescend to me,” Hemlock mutters, casting a look at Valerian. “I’ve been in and out of C-I prisons before, at the height of their security and with their best Tactician organizing the patrols. I know how this works.” Asphodel ****** his ears—their
best Tactician can only be Valerian, because Hemlock would never compliment a C-I. But this is a story that Asphodel has never heard before, and he finds himself hungry for details.
“But you have never been locked inside a cell,” Valerian says, patient and matter-of-fact. He doesn’t even look up from his writing.
“Doesn’t matter if they lock me up or not,” Hemlock says. “I have illusions I’ve been wanting to try. You know I have. I would be out of there in minutes; they couldn’t hold me for a single solitary day.” His voice is somewhere between annoyed and boastful; Asphodel hides his smile in the book he opens to pretend to read.
“Once you are locked up, you would not be able to obtain a key,” Valerian says, straightforward and informational. “And you would not be able to pick the lock from the inside. Every dragon in possession of a key would be accompanied by at least two other guards, on the lookout for your illusions. I do not have to explain why this would be a problem for you.”
Hemlock huffs a short laugh. “Three guards, hm? I don’t suppose they are instructed not to deviate from their patrol route, under any circumstances?”
“They are.”
Asphodel looks up to see the two of them looking at each other—mischief in Hemlock’s eyes, amusement in Valerian’s, like they’re sharing a private joke. He feels a curl of warmth around his heart, like the fire in the fireplace: cozy and comfortable.
“Would they even still trust the instructions you left, in the event that I were to be captured?” Hemlock asks. “You turned. You are no longer their Tactician—you’re mine, now. They may have dismissed every word you said as malicious.”
“My strategies speak for themselves,” says Valerian, simply. He looks back down at his parchment, writing a few more words. Asphodel has always admired this about him, his stoic calm, his certainty. “Perhaps they have revised them, or changed them in case I were to reveal internal secrets. I would not blame them. But they are effective, simple, and smart, even to this day. Whether or not I am with the order, if they are smart, they will recognize that.”
Hemlock hums, and seems to accept that answer well enough. He lets his head fall again, resting it against his forelegs. His eyes fall shut, and Asphodel is left in the comfortable silence.
He finds himself curious, though. He always is. He asks: “What’s this about three guards?”
“Oh, it’s
ancient history,” Hemlock says without opening his eyes, though a smile spreads across his face. “When your father was still with the Carnage-Ichor Order, I would sneak in to see him from time to time. He began trying to devise patrol routes which would keep me out, despite my illusions and the fact that I’m ten times as clever as any C-I.”
Valerian looks up at Asphodel. “He did not sneak in to see me,” he says. “He snuck in to destroy records and learn what information the order had on him.”
“
And to see you,” Hemlock adds. “A dragon can have multiple priorities, darling. Anyway, I found his attempts to keep me out amusing, and I began to give him advice.”
Valerian continues, picking up the story easily: “Taking into account the fact that his illusions can only impact one dragon at a time, I organized the patrol routes so that there would be two dragons at each of several points that I suspected Hemlock could infiltrate through. The thought was that, if he misled one dragon, there would still be one left to spot him skulking around.”
Hemlock sounds delighted. “What he
didn’t realize,” he says, “is that I could simply lead one dragon around a corner, and once they were out of eyeshot I would make myself invisible to the remaining guard.” He chuckles. “It was a clever idea to begin with, and he certainly discovered the route I was sneaking in through. It just wasn’t quite enough, so I gave him some pointers.”
“Three guards,” Valerian says. “One to investigate strange occurrences, and two left to keep an eye out while they were gone. If the first was out of sight too long, the other two would go on high alert until their compatriot returned. They were under very strict orders to never leave their post.”
“Would’ve worked, too,” Hemlock says, smiling to himself and closing his eyes again. “If your father hadn’t defected and searched me out before the next time I came to see him, I would have run into some serious trouble, I suspect.” His voice goes gently mocking. “Just a bit more patience and you would have had me locked up, darling. How does that make you feel?”
“Satisfied,” Valerian says. “My goal was to keep you out. I succeeded. My other failures are of little consequence, and now instead of attempting to trap you, I seek to keep you safe.” He pauses, puts his pen down. Hemlock’s eyes blink open once again, and the two of them watch each other for a while. “It would be easier,” Valerian says, softly, “if you would let me.”
Something passes between them in an instant, and then Hemlock shrugs and sighs, rolling over. “My job has never been to make your life easier, love,” he says, apparently dismissive, but Asphodel can hear the fondness in his voice when he looks for it. He smiles to himself, flipping a few pages in his book.
“I know,” Valerian replies, equally as fond, and they lapse once again into silence.
