Dragon Fire

“Indifference and neglect often do more damage than outright dislike.” —JK Rowling, Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix

Belle woke to silence. Perhaps it was the silence itself that had woken her—the steady breathing that had soothed her through the night had put her to sleep better than any lullaby, and the lack of it now had finished the waking that the dragon’s leaving had started. The fire in the grate had gone out, but she was warm from the blankets that surrounded her, pulled up to her chin. The wind still howled outside with demonic glee at the prospect of catching another unsuspecting traveler. She shuddered at the sound, aware that but for her host, she’d have died in the fiendish wind. The thought of dressing and breaking her fast was enough, though, to drive her out of the warm nest on the floor of the Great Hall.

She jumped when the magic that flooded this place answered her vague summons extravagantly, providing clothes, food, and even a bath. A full-length gown of emerald green silk, embedded with various jewels appeared, hanging on a dress stand. Emerald and diamond jewelry to match it sat on a small table that also bore a steaming pot of tea (which had a green pattern on its white porcelain) and several covered platters (the plates had the same pattern as the tea pot). A matching chair popped into existence alongside it, in plush emerald velvet. And to make the ensemble complete, a gigantic (green) claw-footed tub materialized, with steaming water inside, scented with rosemary and lavender oils so that the fresh smell permeated the air, (just as her baths at home, years before her family had been forced from the city).

Belle blinked at all the green, disbelieving both magic and the matching.

After her bath and breakfast, she spent several minutes of arguing to the air that there was no need to be wearing such a dress so early in the morning, not when the only other inhabitant of the castle was a dragon who probably wouldn’t care anyway. She spent a while pleading with the magic for a dress that was less…less everything. Grudgingly, she received one, in dark forest-green linen, with paler green embroidery sketching over it in intricate whirls and swoops. It was obvious by the way that the jewelry seemed to creep closer that she was to wear it, and that she wouldn’t be able to argue her way out of it, regardless of the fact that it was a veritable fortune in emeralds.

Belle turned, thinking that she should do something with the multitude of pillows and blankets that had made their bed the night before, but she saw nothing. All of the cushions and covers were gone, though they’d been there mere seconds before. She blanched at the power of the magic that swirled around her, seeming so less friendly than the spell she’d argued with for upwards of ten minutes. The girl turned, resolved not to think of it again, and left the Great Hall with a flourish of her long skirt. Immediately, small doubts stuck again—how would she get back to her own room, or the library? Even the dragon, with his dubious motives and temper, would be a welcome sight at the moment. Taking a deep breath to quell the little insecurities, she turned to the left of the hall, and began walking.

Fifteen minutes later, though, she was still walking, and beginning to feel very lost within the giant stone prison. She came to another fork in the hall, and quickly turned right, putting faith in blind luck.

Belle came to a door at the end of this passage, and a thoughtful frown creased her brow for a moment as she considered it. She didn’t recognize it from the day before, so she doubted it would get her to the library, her current goal. With a shrug, she decided against turning back, and turned the handle.

Inside there was a hall similar to the one she and the dragon had slept in the night before, but smaller and without the fireplaces or the long table. Instead, frames hung on the walls, their occupants lit by huge white candles in brass brackets. A family stared down at her, haughty and aristocratic. The women were beautiful and grand-looking, young and old. The men shared the dragon-man’s high cheek-boned angularity. All of them had the same eyes, though. Not color or shape, she mused, but the expression in each of their eyes was cold. Even the dragon-man, who painting she found down at the end of the hall, had a cold, guarded light in his grey eyes. His hair in the painting was dark, and his clothes had been in fashion nearly a hundred years ago, Belle noted with some interest. Below the painting, as with all of the paintings, a discreet gold plaque read his name: Julian DesRosiers. Strange, the girl thought, why hadn’t he introduced himself?

Still thinking about it, she moved in front of the last painting in the hall, and looked up. It was a woman, far different in coloring and bearing than all of the other women in the hall. Pale, white-blond hair was left free to hang around her like a cloak. Laughing green eyes sparkled, even on canvas. She wore a wispy dress of virginal white, simple earrings and a girdle of worked gold. A delicately worked pendant on a slim gold chain rested on her chest—a tree bearing the sign of a pentagram and one of the goddess. The woman in the painting was a witch. The plaque beneath only confirmed her suspicion as to her identity…the woman in the painting was her Grand-mère.

Belle hadn’t known her Grand-mère well—the lady had died when she was eight years old, and visits with her had been brief and relatively infrequent. She remembered her as a grandly beautiful woman who often took a moment to tell her she was special, that she always had been, and had gifts others did not. Belle had never known how her Grand-mère had understood that she was different until after she had died. Then Belle had started to hear rumors about her; that she’d been a powerful enchantress in her youth, and that when she’d married, she’d given magic up forever.

Why would the dragon have a painting of Grand-mere in her youth?

With plenty to think about now, she walked out, closing the door behind her and moved back down the hall to the intersection where she’d gone wrong. The dragon stood there, waiting patiently, watching her like a large silver shadow. Waiting for what, she wondered. She had his word that she was safe—and there was something about him that told her she could trust his word, backed up by his daring (or if not daring, then certainly helpful) rescue the evening before. With the exception of a very small, rather instinctive distrust of prey for predator that continued to cling, her fears of him were banished. Beside, what could he do to her without breaking his oath not to harm her? Usher her to the dungeons? Toss her back out into the snow? The girl chuckled quietly to herself, amused with her own foolishness. He was too honorable, and, by all observations, too kind even to contemplate such things. With a small smile of greeting, she moved forward to meet the dragon, her companion for however long she was to remain here.

He watched her, warily, wondering. Wondering what she might be thinking, with that smile playing on her lips. Was she remembering a beau from her village? Or was she thinking of another way to leave? He doubted she realized he wouldn’t try to keep her trapped there with him, in the castle.

Did she realize that her mere presence in the castle was soothing away years of his loneliness and despair?

She stopped beside him; that slight smile still flitting around her lips.

“Hello.”

The dragon nodded in return, still eyeing her.

“I hope you’ve come to rescue me—I got quite lost this morning,” her tone was light, as though she planned to ignore her companion’s taciturnity.

He blinked, startled—he hadn’t even considered that she might get lost. He’d gone looking for her simply because his need from company, human company, had blocked out everything else.

“Where would you like to go, then?” He rumbled, nearly purring when she brushed against him. The wonder of contact with another was a heady sensation.

“I don’t know—I went exploring yesterday, but I can’t remember what I saw—all the rooms seem to have blended together in my mind. It’s a very large house, you know.”

It was said with a smile, no detectable bitterness showing, but still the dragon watched, the knot in his belly twisting just a little tighter with nervousness.

There was a moment of silence as they both considered.

“Would you like—?”

“I don’t suppose—”

They both broke off, the dragon embarrassed, the girl intrigued.

“Please, what were you going to say?” She asked when he showed no sign of continuing.

“There is an observatory in the west wing. There are trees there—tropical ones, which have run wild since…for a very long time,” he corrected himself. He wasn’t allowed to speak of the curse to anyone—a clause that had, until recently, seemed unnecessary. Now, he cursed it with renewed vigor. How could she understand, much less give, what she had no knowledge he might need?

“It’s nicer at night, though,” he added, not sure if he wanted to put off the tour or simply get it over with.

“Perhaps we should wait until tonight, then, to visit it?” She suggested gently, as though to an elderly relative who wasn’t known for lucidity.

He nodded. The feeling that swept through him—as though she’d just slapped him—made his gut twist at his own fragility. What kind of man was so delicate that he couldn’t take the least bit of criticism? Inwardly, he clamped down on the hurt, the self-directed anger. He refused to spend the rest of his life—even if it would be as a dragon—feeling that way, fragile and hurt at nothing. That anger and the disappointment that twined along it made his words slightly stiff.

“Of course. Fortunately for us, dark comes early this time of year. And you have not yet had your mid-day meal. I shall take you back to the library—there is a fire lit there.”

Belle’s eyebrows rose at the sudden coolness of the dragon’s words, startled by it. He turned away, ending the conversation, and padded toward the library, leaving her to scramble behind him.

Had she…had she offended him somehow? His eyes had gone dark silver, his voice stiff, and his head had risen several inches. But what? What could he have taken offense to? He had said that the observatory was nicer at night, so why would they go during the day? Baffled, she followed after him, nearly at a jog to keep up with his longer stride, hoping that she hadn’t unknowingly injured the tentative friendship that had been formed the night before. If she was to spend any amount of time here, it was imperative that they get along.
There was nothing more awkward than living with someone one disliked, especially when one no longer feared the other.

The dragon paused at the library door, waiting for the girl to catch up to him and disappear into the book-filled haven. He could almost resent her, merely for coming and taking it over…but how could he? She had been torn from her home, thrust into a dingy castle miles from her village, with naught for company but an irritable dragon—her kidnapper. He knew that he should simply send her home, the sooner the better.

Could he, though? Could he send her away, knowing that she was his last chance, his only chance at regaining humanity? The dragon’s stomach clenched unpleasantly again. By his standards, and sense of honor, he didn’t have a choice.

“Belle—”

She stopped, looked over from where she stood, hand on the door handle, seconds away from vanishing inside. Her head cocked slightly to the side inquiringly, sending her wave of hair rippling in the light that streamed in the stained glass windows.

Oh, God, he couldn’t do it. The knot his heart made in his throat wouldn’t let him spit out the damning words that would set her free.

“Ah…never mind. I will see you later.”

Hating his cowardice, the dragon fled into the shadows. He glanced back, but she’d gone inside, leaving him alone in the dusty hall, the door of the library slamming closed behind him like a blow. Heart heavy, the dragon continued on his way, winding through the passages that led to his chamber.