#Lordly Dragon writes comfort | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

jiubilant · 4 years

Note

15, trembling hands if it hasn't been done already?

15. trembling hands

It’s still dark, still quiet, when the Archmage of Winterhold steps out for a walk.

He’s grown accustomed, in recent years, to rising before the sun—or, to be more honest, before the prentices. There’s a certain peace in it. The College courtyard, bare and moonlit, is a pleasant place to think; it’s pleasant when the students are out, of course, laughing and bickering and flagging him down to ask questions, but the lonely hours before dawn are comforting in their simplicity. The air is cold. The drifting stars are bright.

And the icicles hanging from the dormitory sills, the Archmage notes with a frown, are fixing to fall and spear someone.

“Glorified groundskeeper, is what I am,” he mutters, using the Staff of Magnus—star-dowser, sun-kindler, et cetera—to knock down a few lethal spars of ice. Behind him, the statue of Shalidor in the middle of the courtyard watches with lordly distaste.

Strange, the Archmage thinks, glancing back at it. He must be half-asleep. He’d thought for a moment, drowsily, that Shalidor had wings—

The courtyard walls shudder, as if in terror, as the dragon perched on the statue’s shoulders clambers to the ground.

It’s not a large dragon, as dragons go. The World-Eater, if there is truth in the Dragonborn’s tales, had darkened cities with a spreading wing; this dragon, mantling its wings like a hungry hawk, only darkens the courtyard. It tilts its head. It fixes the Archmage with one bright, burning eye.

“You,” it rumbles, “are thur of the clever-men?”

The Archmage, his throat dry, says, “Um.”

“It is not very clever of you,” says the dragon, “to sit in the snow.”

And it smiles, slow and wide, with all its wicked teeth.

“Er,” says the Archmage weakly, and doesn’t move. There is something gripping in the dragon’s eyes, something that keeps him from reaching for his staff; this, he supposes with calm terror, is why the hare freezes in the shadow of the hound. “Then it must be someone else you’re looking for.”

The dragon blinks. Then, to the Archmage’s surprise, it laughs.

“I mean you no harm, malkro,” it says, its breath steaming in the chill air. “Krosis. I am Yahvahod, inqolaas of the couriers’ guild.”

“Of the, the—”

“Couriers’ guild.” The dragon, with surprising grace, lowers its great head. “I bear a message. Your hands only.”

And indeed, a parcel wrapped in oilcloth is bound to the dragon’s horn.

The Archmage stares. He almost laughs. He takes up his staff, levers himself stiffly off the ground—when had he fallen?—and, with trembling hands, retrieves his mail.

“You are not a brave man,” says the dragon, watching him with one gleaming eye. It’s a dispassionate observation, like that of a mage with a specimen under his lens. “You are weak and sick. How does one like you become thur of a great citadel?”

It means his school, the Archmage realizes. Parcel in hand, he stares at the dragon. The dragon stares back, patient and still, awaiting an explanation.

It’s a student, the Archmage thinks, watching it. A student struggling with a new and strange philosophy.

“The same way a dovah becomes a courier, I imagine,” he says. His smile is faint, but steady. “He is asked.”

The dragon Yahvahod considers this. Then it snorts. “This is a strange age.”

“Very,” the Archmage agrees, smiling ruefully. “O tempora, o mores. Would, ah—would you like a hot drink before you go?”

* * *

In his study, after Yahvahod has gone, the Archmage of Winterhold sorts his mail.

The first letter, he notes with amusement, is a scripted explanation—and apology—from the couriers’ guild. The second is a bill. He breaks the seal of the third, then smiles at the familiar penmanship. The Dragonborn always smudges the ink.

Old friend, the first line reads in a hurried, happy scrawl. It may take some getting used to, but I think I’ve found my dragons something to do...

[send me a number, and i’ll write a microfic using the word or phrase!]

#skyrim #microfic #oc tag #ravi #ayo

70 notes · View notes