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It started out small at first. Freshly cut flowers arrived on Lance’s doorstep despite him having no clue as to their origin. The blooms weren’t even from this side of the mountain. Lance had seen them once before. When he had accidentally saved a dragon from a bear trap.
The occurrence was just as strange as one would assume. Lance had been travelling to the opposite side of the mountain to gather new ingredients to experiment with when he had come across a fully grown dragon laying prone in the forest. The bridge of the dragon’s large snout was marred with a jagged scar, and his front right arm was missing entirely. It was his left leg that was caught in the trap.
Dragons, as far as Lance could remember, were large and imposing creatures feared by anyone with any sort of sense. He was raised in terror of their looming shadows, flying with the rise and falls of seasons. This dragon was just as large as Lance had envisioned them as. Its deep, purple iridescent scales shimmered under the midday sun and its wings billowed like tumbling winds around its massive body.
And yet the small, iron trap pinned it in place. Grasping at its ankle, the metal bit into the dragon’s scales. Lance’s eyes widened at the sight. Fear grasped at his lungs as the dragon swiveled its head to face him. Reaching, the dragon’s nose fell just short of Lance’s face. It sniffed, for that was the only word Lance could associate with it, and huffed in his face before curling in on itself.
Lance blinked in confusion at the retreat of the dragon. He had expected to be eaten, or perhaps even burned. Instead he found himself watching the dragon lick its wounds like a cowering animal. Blinking curiously, Lance took a cautious step forward. His mother had warned him and raised him better, but he was so fallible to the gorgeous scales of the dragon and its pitiful looking face.
“Do you need help?” Lance whispered gently. The dragon turned his head again. If dragons had eyebrows, Lance was certain it was raised in question.
Lance took another step forward with raised hands. “Let me unset it.” He spoke gently as he continued closer to the creature’s hind leg. His breath quickened and his pulse raced to his throat as he stood at the dragon’s back talons. Its razor like claws were far more sharp than the metal teeth of the trap.
Cringing to himself, and perhaps outwardly given the dragon’s hot huff of breath, Lance pried at the teeth. Inhaling sharply as he forced the trap open, Lance’s forehead beaded with sweat that salted his eyes as he snapped the angry jaw of the trap. It released the dragon’s foot with a thundering clang of metal. The dragon snatched its foot away hastily, as if fearing the trap would clamp against its scales again.
The dragon spared Lance one last glance before soaring high into the sky, until it was not but a distant dot against a sea of blue. Lance’s jaw dropped as he looked back down to the trap. It was surrounded by wild blooms to hide it from the eyes of animals.
Those same blooms had been showing up on his doorstep for nearly a fortnight. He wasn’t certain how the dragon had found him. Obviously it must have followed him. Whatever the case, it hadn’t intended to hunt him or snatch him away from his small village. Instead, the dragon had left the freshly cut flowers. Perhaps it was some thank you. Lance knew nothing of dragon culture, only the myths that human folk had passed down for ages.
The flowers were nice. They were lovely, in fact. Lance looked forward to waking up to the smell of their fresh blooms. He would always replace the ones from the morning prior on his sill in hopes that the dragon saw how much they were appreciated. It wasn’t a large disruption from his usual routine and soon it just became a normal occurrence enough that Lance hadn’t thought about the dragon saying thank you or anything of the like.
The thought that perhaps the dragon’s gesture was more of the like hadn’t occupied Lance’s thinking until it started to get bigger.
On one particular morning, beside the freshly cut bouquet was a small trinket. It was nothing fancy. Lance had seen the jewels the nobles wore as they passed through the town, but the chain that laid wrapped around the stems of his bouquet was beautiful. Its chain was glittering like the dragon’s scales, and Lance wondered if the dragon had smelted his own scales to make the chain.
Lance felt a flush rise to his cheeks as he searched to see if the dragon had loitered this time in his gifting. He never had before, and Lance knew this. He had stopped looking for the dragon in the first week of his gifting. He chewed at his lip thoughtfully before slipping the cool metal over his head. It fell into place perfectly. The simple chain made the rest of his attire look as if he had taken leaves from the forest and sewn them to his person, but it nonetheless earned a bright smile out of him. He would blush to admit, but he hid his smile amidst the blooms.
The next day following the chain came a pendant. Lance hadn’t placed it onto the chain until much later, when he investigated it by candlelight in the evening. The glimmering jewel was far too much. This was no longer gratitude. This was something else entirely. The implications filled Lance’s head, causing his cheeks to redden at the thought. He knew what all the girls in the village were getting from their handsome young suitors. Even some of the strapping, young men had gotten the same.
Lance had never found himself to be one of them. One of those who were showered with pretty things for the intent of wooing . The pendant felt heavy in his palm. The sapphire, he was certain that deep blue meant sapphire, shimmered even under the dim candlelight. It caused his heart to fill with something heavy.
The young people in the village had admirers they could speak to, they could know. His admirer soared high above the tree tops and he didn’t even know his name. His dragon admirer quite possibly didn’t even know Lance’s name. It almost seemed tragic, and Lance wished he would stop sending things altogether.
But then he thought of never seeing fresh blooms in his sill and he buried the thought. He had to know more about his dragon, and he was going to start now. Placing the pendant on the chain, the sapphire gleamed in unison with the iridescent chain and it made something in Lance’s chest bloom brighter than the flowers that swayed in his sill.
That night, Lance had posted a small piece of parchment to his door. In smudged ink, his simple words scrawled across the page. It was a simple request. Lance thought, perhaps, his dragon would be more willing to take small steps toward whatever he had intended with his flowers and gifts. He had only asked for his dragon’s name. Lance had refrained from calling the dragon his in the letter.
With his heart leaping into his throat, Lance almost ripped the door off its hinges as he blinked away the restless sleep from his eyes. His eyes did not fall to the ground where his flowers, and quite recently gifts, were always laid, but to the door. The door still held its parchment. Lance quickly read over the written words before his hopeful eyes filled with disappointment. There was nothing else added to his parchment. No name. No anything.
Lance looked to the flowers. It was just flowers today. Something sour rose from his chest to his throat, burying where his heart once was. Blinking away the hot tears of embarrassment, Lance shut his door without retrieving the flowers. His sill remained empty from when he had thrown out the wilted flowers of the day prior, and he hadn’t found it in himself to even remove the wilting blooms from his doorstep.
The following days were flowerless. His sill remained empty. A few of his neighbors had commented on the lack of flowers, but he had just shaken his head. His throat clenched of its own accord and he couldn’t speak. Lance felt the hours trudge along like sand through an hourglass. Feeling as if the sands were his shattered heart, Lance hid away the chain and pendant.
Suddenly, on one shining midsummer day, Lance opened his door to find flowers. These flowers grew on his side of the mountain. His throat tightened at the prospect of some admirer taking notice of him, and taking what was once his dragon’s place. His ears caught the sound of a knock on his opened door. Lance raised an eyebrow as he looked to his door and his eyes widened.
A small wooden statue tied to string rested against a nail driven into Lance’s door. He would have been livid had the nail not pierced a piece of parchment to his door. The simple piece of parchment was decorated with fanciful loops. Swooping letters formed one name: Shiro.
Lance’s heart stilled for a moment. His smile widened and for the first time in two fortnights, Lance laughed. He greedily took the parchment and the statue. Later that night, he replaced the pendant around his neck, And while the statue of a fish from far off oceans was beautifully crafted, his true treasure was the piece of parchment with his dragon’s name. Shiro. He whispered it to himself as he fell asleep.
As the gifts returned, the flowers always from this side of the mountain, a handsome stranger knocked on Lance’s door one day. Lance raised a peculiar eyebrow when the stranger fumbled over his words. The stranger was handsome, and the scar at the bridge of his nose reminded him of his dragon, as did the stranger’s missing limb. Lance was certain it was wishful thinking, and remained steady in the thought that this stranger must have been a soldier in his earlier years in life.
“I was wondering if you would take pity on a traveller. I’ll pay for lodging.” The stranger reassured.
Lance pursed his lips. “There’s an inn not far from here.” He gestured with the point of his chin. “My friend’s family owns it. They can take you.”
The stranger’s face did something rather strange, but Lance could hardly spot it in the moonlight. Lance’s grip tightened on the doorframe. The stranger’s eyes almost glowed iridescent and Lance fought to not clench at his necklace in comfort.
“Of course. Thank you.” The stranger said finally. “Thank you…?” He repeated again, and this time Lance could tell it was a question.
“Lance.” He replied with a courteous bow of his head. “Have a nice night…?” Lance mimicked the stranger’s gesture as he indirectly asked the same silent question.
The stranger’s eyes widened, as if he hadn’t thought about giving his own name in kind. “S-Sven.” He coughed into his closed fist to clear his throat. “My name is Sven. Thank you, Lance.” He smiled, and something felt oddly warm in the expression.
And while Lance was certain he should have felt strange at the almost familiar bearing, he instead felt warmed by it in a way that made red crawl up to his cheeks. “Good night, Sven.” He bowed his head again and closed his door.
Resting himself against its wooden support, Lance closed his eyes and grasped at his pendant. Shiro’s gift to him was a source of comfort. It felt odd to seemingly fall in love with a dragon based off the gifts that he had been bestowed, but they were always chosen with such kindness, even the recently gifted vase to place his bouquets in. Despite the original gifting being unprecedented, it had always felt personal and intimate to Lance.
Over the next few moons, Sven had made himself known throughout the village, and to Lance. He always seemed to circle around Lance’s comings and goings. Lance enjoyed his company. Sven was wonderful to talk to and had a pleasant smile, but it was always the thoughts of his dragon that kept Lance smiling into a dream filled sleep.
As Sven and Lance grew closer, slowly, the flowers stopped coming. Lance feared that his dragon had seen his familiarity with Sven and garnered the wrong idea. Or perhaps he hadn’t. Sven had seemed interested, and while not directly wooing Lance as Shiro had, his flirtations were transparent. Lance always felt guilt reach its claws into his heart along with the thought of betraying his dragon.
As the days passed, Lance created space between himself and Sven. He hoped if his dragon had seen he had no interest in Sven, he would continue to come. Sven was wonderful, and if Lance could imagine himself happy with some human it would be Sven without question. He hated how his heart seemed to be drawn to Sven in such a way, but his heart truly belonged to his dragon. Perhaps even at first sight. Even if his dragon spurned him, and accepted Sven’s unofficial courtship, his heart would always belong to Shiro. And it would undoubtedly be unfair to Sven, too. Perhaps it would be best to live his days a hermit if he could not win back his dragon, despite his growing affection for Sven.
It was in the coming of winter that Sven knocked timidly on Lance’s door. Cradled in his arms was a small bouquet of flowers. They should not have been blooming this time of the year, but somehow their petals glowed with life in Sven’s arms. He smiled shyly at Lance.
Lance felt his stomach fill with dread. If his dragon saw him accept Sven’s flowers, there would be no chance of him ever coming back. He would never fill Lance’s heart and mind with beautiful dreams of iridescent wings and comforting heat. Shaking his head, Lance took a step back.
“Thank you, but I can’t accept.” He said firmly before Sven could say anything.
Sven’s eyes widened in shock. Blinking slowly, Sven’s features dropped into something that reminded Lance of Shiro when he had been caught in that trap. “W-May I ask why?” He said breathlessly. “I was under the assumption-”
“You assumed wrong.” Lance cut through his words like the cold winter around them. He shook himself of the thoughts that clutched to his heart. “I’m sorry, Sven, but my heart has long since belonged to another.” Lance smiled sadly. “You’re sweet and were this another world, I could imagine myself happy in your arms.”
Confusion and desperation decorated Sven’s face like the lights strung about the village for the winter festival. “Who?” Sven asked simply.
Despite his reservations, Lance felt Sven did deserve a name. His growing affections for the handsome once stranger still beat guiltily against his chest. Sven did not need to know of his dragon though, or of Lance’s total devotion to Shiro. That was for Lance and Lance alone. He chewed at the inside of his cheek before looking up at Sven through snow kissed eyelashes. “His name is Shiro. He gives the loveliest of gifts, and I am as devoted to him as I hope he is devoted to me.”
“Shiro.” Sven echoed and his frame stiffened. His expression closed off. Lance supposed it was selfish to imagine that Sven would stay in his life after rebutting his advance. It was entirely selfish to ask for both Sven as his friend, and Shiro to warm his heart. However, if given the choice, Lance would choose Shiro every time.
“Yes.” Lance admitted breathlessly. “Yes, I love Shiro. With all my heart.” He confessed to Sven. It wasn’t who Lance wanted to whisper those words to, but Sven deserved to hear them just as much as Shiro. He deserved to know it was a certainty, a totality of devotion that left Lance’s heart with Shiro, and not anything that Sven himself may have been lacking.
Sven’s lips spread into a smile that reminded Lance’ of the ice. It split across his face and spread like his dragon’s wings. It was just as breathtaking and beautiful. “Lance.” He breathed carefully, taking a step forward.
Lance could not bring himself to move from Sven’s slow steps. “The sapphire suits you.” He whispered, smiling just as bright.
Heart thundering in his chest like the mighty flapping wings of the beast that had snatched his heart, Lance swallowed thickly. “Shiro chose well.”
“I’m sure he takes pride in your devotion .” Sven almost beamed and Lance felt the snow around them melting from it. He blinked when suddenly a droplet of water kissed the bridge of his nose. Lance gaped his mouth in surprise at the fact that it was the snow melting, and it was actual warmth radiating from Sven’s body.
“Sven?” Lance’s voice was barely a whisper. He slowly raised his hand to caressing the outline of Sven’s nose, tracing the scar by memory as his eyes fell closed. Inhaling deeply, Lance slowly opened his eyes with a flutter to stare into a familiar, bright gaze. “ Shiro? ”
Large hands found purchase on Lance’s hips, and he instinctually leaned into Sven- Shiro’s firm grasp. A surprised laugh bubbled out of him as he grinned at his dragon. “Yes, Lance.” Shiro’s eyes raked over Lance’s form before settling on Lance’s face. “I… when you asked for my name, I knew I-”
Shiro cut himself off with a shake of his head, “I wanted for you to know me. I thought maybe if I looked like this you might… well, you might…”
“Fall in love with you?” Lance laughed brightly. He leaned forward, resting his forehead against Shiro’s own. “I already did that.”
“You did.” Shiro nearly preened beneath Lance’s gentle touches. Slowly, but ever so certainly, Shiro kissed Lance. It was every bit as gentle and warm as he had dreamed for seasons. Enraptured by his dragon, Lance leaned into the flame until it consumed him.