The Dragon's Heart

Of all the ways to lose a friend, betrayal undoubtedly hurt the sharpest. With ninety-eight years of experience under his belt, this was something Dorien could say with wizened certainty. Unfortunately, wisdom of years did little to dull the waves of pain washing over him. In comparison to the heaviness in his heart, the bruises, cuts, and scrapes barely registered. The tightening of dried blood on his skin only redoubled the sense of wariness for the world. It wasn't until he heard a soft high noise that he came back to himself. A breath hitched in his throat that suddenly felt so tight, and the man stumbled his way through the brush and debris to a small clearing.

There, sitting on the forest floor, was a small child barely over the age of one. In its thick little fist were green strands of grass, ripped from the earth and making its way to a wide-open mouth. Dorien sighed, the ghost of a smile playing at his lips as he approached the child. "Dalton..." It was a soft warning as he shook his head side to side, approaching the sitting form. Dalton's hand stopped just shy of his mouth, and a wide grin broke across his chubby cheeks. He had teeth, only six, small pearly white nubs that were easily visible with every wide smile he gave everyone, and between them were a few strands of grass.

"Duh! Duh!" Dalton shrieked with excitement, hitting the clenched grass on the forest floor.

Wiping his bloodied hands as clean as he could on his pants, Dorien knelt down in front of Dalton and picked the flailing boy up. The baby leaned back, slapping his hands on Dorien's chest as he grinned widely at the man. He paused to look in wonder at the red splatters on the man's face, leaning forwards with his index pointing to touch the drying blood. At this, Dorien's face crumpled. Guilt tore him to shreds, and he could no longer hold the stinging behind his eyes at bay. A sob broke through him and he pulled the child closer, clutching onto him for dear life.

It felt they stayed like that for days, though in reality it was likely only minutes or an hour at best. Finally, Dorien pulled himself together. His eyes were puffy, nose dripping, but he was all that Dalton had now, and they needed to leave.

The man's figure seemed to blur, enlarging as it did so, to something akin the size of a rhinoceros. Though with wide leathery wings at its sides and a thick tail reminiscent of a crocodile, it could easily appear quadruple the size of one. The dragon Dorien, for there was absolutely no mistaking what he was, gently cradled the child in a hand with claws that were close in size to the small human. Dalton, wide-eyed and innocent, took this transformation in with nothing short of the wondering acceptance of a child.

He had never seen Dorien like this before, and now he required a total reassessment. Screeching at him, though not in fear, he began battering the warm scaled arm of the dragon Dorien. Dorien let out a deep, bellowing breath, lifting the child to face level, where he waited as Dalton took him in with those beautiful dark brown eyes of his. Tottering, the child stood on the outstretched clawed hand, reaching up and grabbing the horn on Dorien's nose. At this, the dragon gave him a heartfelt smile, crinkling the fiery gold eyes, and the child responded with a laugh of his own. Content with this change of appearance, Dalton sat down on the dragon's hand and gave a big yawn, curling up in the warm grasp.

It took less than ten minutes before the babe was breathing softly, sound asleep. Dorien watched him with great affection before he gave a great sigh. Cradling that hand to his chest, he made his way into the woods, to the bodies strewn on the ground. There lay Mary and Roger, Dalton's parents. Next to their bodies lay the crossbows, bolted with a poison to render him unconscious.

He would have given the young family anything. ... But when Mary and Roger learned of his true nature, they turned him in. Both from impoverished lives, he supposed the handsome bounty was what lay behind their motives; wanting a better life for their son and future children. He couldn't bear to think they may have truly hated or feared him. Not after eight years of friendship. Maybe they did. He certainly could never have betrayed them the way they had done to him.

In the end, the ambush for Dorien left no one alive but Dorien and Mary. Tears made white rivulets down her beautiful, dirty face, and Dorien approached her hesitantly. "Why?" He had managed to croak out. But Mary's eyes were glazing over, and she didn't seem to hear or understand him. She died holding her husband's hand and her tongue. Whatever reason they had for betraying him would remain unanswered. Swallowing that acceptance would be hard to do, and it wasn't something he was prepared for just yet. Instead, he had his moment of silence.

Looking down at Dalton, Dorien's heart ached. He never had had ambitions to experience fatherhood, but now there was no one left to tend the little one. Though the thought wracked him with guilt, he couldn't even consider handing the child over to someone else to raise. "I will take care of him, Mary." He said softly to her body. "I won't ever let any sort of harm come to him." Dalton was faultless of his parents' sins, and despite the pain he felt, Dorien still couldn't bare to hate his two best friends. He deeply loved and cared about the child he had watched grow from the moment they had announced the pregnancy.

His throat tightened again, though this time it was to excrete the glands in his throat. Breathing out ignited a multicolored flame that engulfed the two bodies, which turned to specks of sparkling dust faster than any man-made fire could. It burned for only a few moments, before popping and sizzling out, glittering dust left in its wake.

Magick was something all dragons possessed to some degree, and though Dorien was no exception to this, it certainly wasn't one of his strong suits. Still, conjuring two small vials was a simple enough task. He gently scooped the ashes into each, and tucked them into the rough rucksack of Dalton's things. Also inside the bag lay wooden toys, carved by Dorien himself.

His misery redoubled as he mourned the loss of the weekend away, they had meant to take. Mourned the moments of fun and relaxation he had envisioned; of Roger and him fishing; of he and Dalton laughing and playing in the sand, or splashing in the waves; of he and Mary stoking the coals in the early hours of morning to prepare breakfast. He also mourned for the lie that it clearly had been. Not just Mary and Roger died today; corpses of men who wore the crown crest lay strewn between the trees. He mourned their loss of life, too; though admittedly less so than the rest of his loss today.

Wary gold eyes scanned the surroundings. He was certain there was nothing else for him or Dalton here. Taking one last look down at the sleeping babe, Dorien spread his wings and left the cursed forest behind them. They would need to start their lives anew. It was no simple task... but Dorien would give this child the best life he could, in honour of his friends.

Ten years later.

"Dalton?!" A voice called from somewhere in the distance, and somewhere in a remote wood a young boy reacted.

The brown haired youth stood up from the creek-side, grimacing as he tried in vain to wipe the black mud from his clothes. Dorien wasn't going to be impressed with him mucking up his outfit. "Er... coming!" He called back, realizing he'd best just come out and face the music.

"For Gods' sake, child. Were you out catching frogs again?" There was mild amusement in Dorien's voice as he eyed the child, eyes crinkling in the corners.

"Ermm..." Dalton couldn't manage much more than that, and a sheepish grin. "You'd said you were only going to be a moment... not an hour."

"An hour isn't really that long of time to wait, Dalton." Dorien sighed in slight exasperation, though a small smile was playing at his lips now; it widened into a full grin at the struck expression that crossed the boy's face.

"An hour is loads of time!" The child protested. "Practically... practically an eternity, really!"

"Well, you best go and change quick." Dorien already had out his kerchief, wiping what mud he could from the boy's face and arms. "We don't really have time for a proper wash up."

Dalton rushed off into the house, his chagrin quickly wearing off as he hurried to change. He paused a moment while pulling on a fresh pair of slacks, eyes darting to the mantlepiece in the main room, which functioned as living, dining, and kitchen. Resting upon the stone were two glass jars that held brightly glittering dust. He knew it was his mom and dad, Dorien had told him many tales about them, and he wished dearly he would have been able to know them outside of reminiscent stories. He didn't even know what they looked like, though Dorien often told him that he had the same hair as his mom, and his dad's dark brown eyes; that he looked exactly like his dad, until he laughed or smiled - then he was all mom. He thought often of them, though he loved Dorien as the father figure he was.

"Dalton?"

"Coming!" He made his way out, pulling his eyes from the two glass jars reluctantly. Clamoring over to the wagon, he had no idea that in less than twelve hours, his life was going to change drastically for ever.