Exceptions
(Warnings for: Loneliness, mentions of parental death, implied parental abandonment)
(Author's notes: Text (in parentheses) means s)
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In your thousands of years of life, two things have always held true above all else. Mortals have feared you, revered you even, and you've cared little about them in return. And yet, it seems you might have found the singular exception in the "feared and revered" department.
"Do I... what?" You're nothing short of puzzled really; the person you're speaking to? A mortal, a whelp no less; one who should be terrified, fleeing at the very sight of you! And yet...
"Do you know any stories about the islands? I know lots of them, but you must know even more than I do?" The whelp just looks up at you, craning their neck to see your face; you're far taller than most mortals as is, and being perched on a tall stone as you are, their head doesn't even reach your knees. How are they not afraid of you, and excited looking even?
"And why are you asking me, hmm? You have to be aware of who I am." It's plain as day really; there aren't exactly a lot of dragons, humanoid form or not, let alone ones that look like you.
They nod, full of enthusiasm. "I know who you are, that's why I wanna ask you, you're a dragon, so you must know lots of stories!" They sit down on the ground, still looking up at you. Almost expectant looking.
You sigh; why won't they just leave you alone? Do you just have no choice but to comply? They're clearly not afraid of you. "And you think being a dragon means I have... stories? Experiences, yes, but stories?" You scoff quietly, who does this whelp think they are? Asking you for stories, as if you're their... parent or something.
They shrug. "You've been around for so long, you must have some! Right?" They look so damn hopeful, and it's almost sickening. Like they really expect you to just... start telling a story, right here and now.
You mentally shove your face into your hands. "Even if I do, why should I tell you? I don't know you, you're simply some random whelp who's annoying me." You flare your wings out, trying your best to look as intimidating as possible.
Their face immediately falls, like you might as well have told them you hate them or something. "Oh..." They sound like they're about to cry. Shit. Nononono you don't like that, not at all, and now you're internally panicking a bit.
You climb down from the stone you're perched on, going over and sitting next to them on the sand. They turn to you, looking up, looking upset, and confused. Shit, what the hell are you supposed to do now? They wanted a story right? Should you tell them one? Will that help?
"Um... You'd, like to hear a story then...?"
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His name is Mango, and you're all too quickly becoming attached. You're not quite sure why really; you've never had any whelps of your own, never found any appeal in it, never even liked the thought of being around those that aren't your own. But he seems to be an exception.
You're not quite sure what it is about him really. Maybe it's his persistence in coming back for more stories to share, or his inexplicable lack of fear towards you. Or maybe it's because he's just... endearing really. Interested in what you have to say, in talking about every little thing, in the world around him. Happy with even just the simple things in life (you know this well, he has so much to talk about, so many small things he clearly loves).
As the days go on though, you just have a nagging thought; where are his parents? Aren't they worried about where he is? It bothers you really. The fact they just seem not to care, what with him always being out.
"... Mango, where are your parents exactly? They must be worried about you being out alone all the time." He just shrugs, not seeming to put much thought into it. "I don't have any really. My dad and brother don't live here anymore."
Well that's... concerning. "And your other parent...? What about them?" He frowns, just for a brief moment. "My mom is dead."
"... Oh." Oh. That... explains a lot really. "So you just... have no one then...?" You feel... terrible for him honestly. He's a whelp, he shouldn't just be left alone like this all the time.
"I guess. ... But I have you now, right?" Aaaand there's that hopeful look once again, waiting for an answer. And as much as you want to, you just... can't say no to that. Gods you want to, you really do, but you're already thoroughly attached.
You know you shouldn't be. He's well and truly mortal; no matter what you do, he'll die someday, and you'll go back to the relative aloneness you're no longer used to (you hate admitting it, but it really is terribly lonely by yourself). But he's so damn innocent, he deserves someone around to care. And the thought of him being as alone as you've been hurts you, down to your very core.
You nod your head, smiling in a way you hope is comforting. "Of course you do." The happiness you feel when he smiles right back, and holds his arms out for a hug, is uncomfortably parental feeling. But that's all to think about later. For now, you just hug him; because yeah, he's your whelp now, whether you like it or not.
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