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“It has to be somewhere around here,” Tura complained, pulling the jacket closer around him and scowling, his inner fire didn't quite warm him up properly in human form.
Sol, who had grown up in one of the miserable villages here in the mountains and was used to the cold, shook his head in silence, very carefully avoiding to mention that someone had refused to take flight and scout, because his wings might get cold. Dragons hated the winter with ferocity.
“Remind me, why are we trudging along through this miserable weather again?” The snow crunched heavily under his step. In human form Tura could never fully hide what he really was, and right now he wasn't even trying.
“Medicine. Other villages around here had an outbreak of the green fever. They have to be prepared in case it spreads.” Their job wasn't always glamorous, riding into battle, catching robbers and thieves or defending the kingdom. More often than not it was the small services, no one mentioned. Carrying messages or important things. Scouting places no one else could go. Being present to make the peasants feel safe. Dragonriders weren't born to be lazy. Duty always came first.
It was true for Tura too, even when he went on complaining. For a powerful magical being of unmatched power he could be very pathetic, if opportunity arose.
Sol shrugged it off and went on, watching the sky with worry. “It's getting dark soon, we better hurry. If we lose our way, not even your dragon fire might safe us.”
Tura didn't seem too worried, even with all the complaining. If it was necessary, truly necessary he would take flight, not even for his own good, but he would never let his mate come to harm. “Let's move on.”
For a while, as dusk slowly turned into darkness they went on through the snow, sinking in knee-deep with each step and fighting to move on into the next, when finally they reached the next ridge of their journey. Below them, deep and wide, a valley stretched, a little river, bringing water from the mountains down into the plains, and beyond that a small ocean of light. Enchanted lights lit the windows and outlined the serrated roofs. Fire lit up the central place and the perimeter, and what felt like uncountable smaller candles, lanterns and the warm glow of hearths lit the darkness below them.
Sol had never seen the likes, and stopped, startled. “What in the Gods name...”
Now it was Tura's turn to smile. “They know that we are coming. They are waiting for us.” They, the villagers, made sure, the dragonriders would find their way, and were waiting for them, with warm cider, a warm meal and a warm bed too.
It took them another hour to get there, but even in the complete darkness they now didn't feel lost. A light guided them, pulled them onwards. They came to fulfil their duty, and they did. But the reward was so much more than they had expected. Mothers embraced their children and told them to look, grandmothers gratefully smiled at them, and the men of the village fought for the right to house them, feed them, warm them.
Tura had rarely felt so warm, and Sol surely never before. When they sank into sleep, curled into each other like they always did, Tura could see Sol smile. He had come home in a way he had never thought possible when leaving. It was the reason they did it, the reason they served, and not some king, far away.