Cursed

Ianto held on tightly as the dragon flew towards the Forbidden Forest.  He had an idea where they were headed, but he chose not to question the creature.  He shut his eyes and held on instead, praying he would be back on solid ground soon.  But then something unexpected happened.

He felt the air moving around him and suppressed a shiver even as he felt the sun warming him.  The beating of the dragon’s wings was causing a gentle up-and-down motion that was actually quite soothing.  He felt as though they were floating, and could only discern their speed if he opened his eyes and saw how quickly the land flowed beneath them. 

He was surprised that opening his eyes did not renew his panic.  That was mostly because he was firmly seated on the dragon’s shoulders.  His position did not feel precarious at all.  His arms did not reach all the way around the dragon’s neck, but he was leaned forward against it and did not really need to hold on in order to keep his seat. 

The dragon’s neck was only slightly longer than Ianto’s torso, and he found himself resting his forehead against the back of the creature’s neck, just below his head.  He did have to be careful of the horns, but he noticed that some of the pointy features haloing the dragon’s head were more cartilaginous than bony and were covered in the same smooth skin as the wings. 

Most of the dragon’s skin was pebbly and warm, though it still felt smooth to the touch.  There were no scales; it resembled how he imagined an elephant’s hide would feel.  And wasn’t it all so very Torchwood, that he was now more familiar with what a dragon’s hide felt like than an elephant’s?

He felt a change in the air and opened his eyes again, seeing that they were now flying over the forest, circling around to find the clearing.  He realized that he was high in the air, flying, and yet he was not afraid.  It was… exhilarating.  Perhaps Jack had a point – the mode of flight (and one’s trust in it) made all the difference.  After all, he hadn’t been terrified the night they flew the thestrals to the Ministry.  Or perhaps he had been too preoccupied to be afraid.  Either way, he felt safe now, as well as incredibly grateful. 

He smiled and did his best to enjoy the moment, certain that this was the rarest of opportunities.  A few minutes later, they landed in the clearing surrounded by the stone circle with a rotation of wings and soft feet that made the transition from airborne to earthbound gentle and seamless. 

Despite his enjoyment of those final minutes of flight, Ianto let out a sigh of relief, fully appreciating the reprieve from the terror he had felt earlier, but still glad to be back on the ground.  He continued to hold onto the dragon’s neck until it crouched down and lowered its head so Ianto was only a few feet off the ground and could easily slide from his perch without doing himself harm.

He leaned into the dragon’s neck and closed his eyes, savoring the contact for another moment before letting go and sliding to the ground.  His legs were so shaky that they gave way, so his descent continued until he was sitting on the grass.  Now that the danger was past, his whole body was trembling from the ordeal, and he felt sick with the adrenaline that was still surging through his system.  But there was nothing to fight, and he’d already had a flight, so he decided to just sit on his arse for a few moments and try to catch his breath.

The dragon shifted slightly so he was crouched like a cat facing Ianto at a comfortable distance.  He looked at ease but alert, with his tail wrapped around him, but he did not go as far as to tuck his front feet under himself.  They were crossed in front of where he was lounging; Ianto had no doubt but that the dragon could move from this semi-relaxed pose to alert and attacking or defending in a matter of seconds.

“Thank you,” he said, when he felt he could speak without vomiting.

You are most welcome, Little Brother.

“You know of the blood, then.”

Yes.

“I’m Ianto.  Ianto Jones.”

I am called Gwydyon.

“Ah,” Ianto smiled.  “Magician, or trickster?”

Neither, though I do enjoy arranging things to my own satisfaction.

“Who doesn’t?” Ianto grinned.

Indeed.  The dragon eyed Ianto knowingly, and he detected a hint of mischief in the lovely, ancient face before Gwydyon spoke again.

It is a rare thing, that one of our brethren has such a profound fear of flight.  After all, flying is one of the joys of life.

“Perhaps if you have wings,” Ianto conceded.  “But brooms suck.”

Steam curled from Gwydyon’s nostrils as a chuffing sound emitted from his throat.  Ianto realized that the dragon was chuckling.

Yes, wings are vastly superior to brooms.

“And now I have neither,” Ianto said, vaguely wondering if the demonic broom from hell had fallen back to earth or had flown off to find more of its kind to form an unholy brood of evil brooms.

A time will likely come when you have need of neither.  But for now, perhaps it is best if you keep your feet on the ground. 

“Believe it or not, that would have been my preference today,” Ianto declared, filing that first bit away for much, much later, and Gwydyon chuffed again.  “I didn’t want to fly, and that blasted broom…”

Surely you realize that what happened was not the broom’s fault.

“How can you say that?” Ianto argued.  “From the moment I touched the damned thing it was twitchy and untrustworthy.”

It was simply overwhelmed.

Ianto frowned.  “I don’t understand.”

A broom is a focus for a wizard’s power, but your fear prevented you from tempering the amount of power you fed into the one you were using today.  It was twitchy and untrustworthy because you were twitchy and untrusting.

“Oh,” Ianto felt his face warming with embarrassment.  He had been blaming the broom, when it was his own ineptitude that had been at fault.  In the next moment, he felt as though Gwydyon might be reading his thoughts.

This was not about a dearth of skill.  The intensity of your fear would have overwhelmed even the highest level of ability.  But why was your fear so profound?

Ianto found himself sharing his history with the dragon, from the Blackpool pier to his first flying lesson.  He mentioned the thestral, but that was not enough to help him hide his shame at being unable to master his fear of heights.  Gwydyon saw things differently.

Given such a history, it is admirable that you made the attempt today.

“Really?” Ianto frowned.  “Thanks,” he added, thinking about it.  “I guess I was doing okay until Professor Trelawney attacked us.”

Which presumably triggered an entirely different set of memories and fears.

“You know about that?” Ianto asked.  “I mean, you know about the blood, but do you know why they gave it to me?”

Members of your blessing occasionally visit with me, or members of my thunder.  We were all saddened when their sister Ayla was taken, but it heartened us to hear of her legacy.  We knew at once that the only way for you to do more than survive would be to assimilate a measure of dragon’s blood, as well.

Ianto smiled at the mention of his blessing, and then the rest of the dragon’s words caught up with him.

“It seems like you know about a lot more than just the blood.  How is that?” he asked, curious.

Your story has been told and re-told, far and wide.  It has been a source of curiosity and comfort for many creatures, not just humans. 

“I can’t think why,” Ianto said, baffled.

Can you not?  A story of intense suffering that has been healed…  Victory over the dark forces…  Finding a way to thrive in spite of terrible circumstances…  Your story offers hope, Little Brother.

“It’s not that I’m ungrateful; but I suppose I’ve been too close to it to see it that way,” Ianto admitted.  “I do understand what you’re saying, though.”

Many have been following your recovery, and much has been gleaned from the creatures who help at St. Mungo’s.  I was particularly intrigued by the story of how you anchored your Welsh-ness.

“I can see how you might like that bit in particular,” Ianto smiled.  He could only assume, based on what the centaurs had intimated, that his erudite companion was quite old.  Not only because of how wise and articulate he was, but also because his skin was no longer the vibrant shade of emerald one usually encountered with a Welsh Green.

No, Gwydyon’s skin showed his age, with a bit of grey fading the emerald into a very lovely shade of green that resembled sage – after it’s been picked, but before it’s been dried.  He remembered Hagrid talking about dragons and how they aged in his Care for Magical Creatures class.  Welsh Green hatchlings were a cheerful shade of apple green, and then they matured into the bright emerald green that they were so well known for.  They would hold that color for several hundred years before it would begin to fade into something more muted. 

Each stage was beautiful in its own way.  Apple suited the frolicking youngling, and the beauty of the emerald belied the danger posed by the more mature dragon, which reminded Ianto of the ‘brute’ the unicorns referred to – less articulate and far more temperamental.  It was argued that a dragon did not reach its prime until the bright flash of youth began to fade. 

As the centaurs had indicated, most speculated that sentience was not achieved until a dragon reached a very great age.  Ianto wondered how much of this might be true.  He had seen the wild, mindless menace of a typical Welsh Green at the Triwizard Tournament, and it was nothing like the creature currently holding a conversation with him.  His wandering thoughts were brought back to the conversation as Gwydyon spoke again.

Yes, Wales will always be a part of me, but my home is where my mate is, now.  Through the years, we have moved between this place and a lovely spot in the Brecon Beacons.  When I heard that a dragon’s blood receipt had been requested for you, I made my way back there.

“You make it sound like…” Ianto’s eyes widened.  “You mean the blood is yours?”

The dragon bowed his head in acknowledgement.  It was my honor to make the offering.

“But I don’t understand,” Ianto shook his head, frowning.  “Why would you travel so far, when there were plenty…”

Ah, yes.  Your friend who works with dragons.  He is well respected among my kind.  And you are right, the thunder living in that area is sizable.  But they are all still very young.  Their blood would have stabilized you, but you would have felt the restlessness of their youth.  It would have been unsettling, because there would be no way for a human to fully resolve such restlessness.

“How do dragons resolve it?”

Flying, fighting, and fucking, if you will forgive the bluntness of the expression.  And since you would not be able to fly, the level of energy that would have been devoted to the other two activities would have become unhealthy.  And unsustainable.

“And you no longer have interest in those activities?” Ianto asked, knowing from experience that the blood in his veins called for at least one of those three things.  Quite stridently, at times.

I can see that you already know the answer to that question, but perhaps I should explain that it is a benefit of my years that I am able to choose when to indulge my nature, rather than my nature simply demanding my mindless participation. 

“And your blood will offer me temperance?” Ianto asked, curious.

Yes.  With all of your other struggles, this did not need to be added, as well.  I and several others well past middle age showed up to offer the required measure of blood, but we decided that, given your chosen homeland, I was the natural choice. 

“Of course,” Ianto smiled.

And if I might take this opportunity to add, the way you used Ayla’s blood to anchor your new identity is a great honor to her memory.

“The blessing didn’t tell me her name,” Ianto said, thinking back to that strange conversation where each of the unicorns took turns sharing small bits of information.  “I wonder why.”

Names mean very little to creatures who see themselves more as part of a collective than as individuals.  And they tend to speak in riddles and verse.  They call us brutes, but dragons are the better conversationalists.

Ianto barked out a laugh.  “Yes, I have been enjoying our conversation.”

As have I, Little Brother.

***