The clothes landing on him where he lay wasn't too odd. Sometimes Arnold got fed up with him too. But that nasal tone didn't belong to Arnold and neither did that threat.
Maurice sat bolt upright and his shoulder bumped one of the shelves, nearly upsetting a couple of those fire bottles. In the night he'd gravitated towards what looked warmest. His eyes were wide and he pulled his hair from his face as he looked around. This wasn't his room! This was...this was...
For a moment it looked like his heart might break all over again. He stared up at the bespectacled dragon and rubbed his eyes with his bare hand, hoping he could smear away Hanna's image. He stayed. Maurice deflated and looked down at the clothes that he'd been supplied with. He wasn't a prince. He wasn't a fit to strut around in a prince's clothes. With a resigned sigh, he lifted up the shirt Hanna gave him.
He made a face. It was so...plain. There was no gold thread along the cuffs and the buttons looked like they were made of wood. Or maybe bone? No, that was wood.
The shirt was what Hanna could find in simple fashion. It at least was new, and not some rag he had found, since he wasn't too learned on human wear. "Perhaps it was the fire, it can have a mind of its own," He offered, nodding to the bottles above him. "They protect who they will and burn in the same fashion. Fire is always an unpredictable element."
He settled back on his haunches and considered Maurice, covered still in furs and looking so deflated and done already. No fight left in him. Kind of sad really. "You sleep a lot, did you know?"
He eyed the fires for a moment before heaving another long sigh and undoing his vest. He yanked his filthy silk shirt off over his head and flung it unceremoniously across the room where some pots sat. This dragon had already stripped him of everything he had. What was a little more dignity?
The family crest, a cockerel in profile, stood proudly at the base of his collarbone in deep blue ink.
He tugged the shirt on and when his head reappeared he fixed his ponytail.
"Sleep is necessary for proper brain development." His nurse had told him that a thousand times trying to corral a wild young Maurice into bed.
Hanna didn't see much point in modesty, not even looking away when Maurice changed his shirt. He looks curiously at the crest on his chest though, leaning forward a little more to give it a closer examination before Maurice puts on his shirt. "Is that your family's mark? I wasn't aware you humans tattooed them on yourselves."
And while his answer seems such bullshit, Hanna laughing, he shrugs his wings and turns, nodding to the back of the room, "In any case, I have a task for you. You know how to alphabetize, yes?"
"I see. What sort of method do you use? Is it magic or just ink?" He wants to stare longer, but shortly after Maurice finishes buttoning up his shirt, Hanna pulling back and figuring he didn't like his inquisitive nature.
"Not everyone can read, my lord." He returns, cheeky, and points to a horribly unorganized shelf full of scrolls and some tomes. "I have a meal ready for you when you finish alphabetizing that."
Maurice followed the dragon's gesture and gaped at the mess. Then the prince groaned and sagged where he stood. That would take HOURS! And who knew if they even had titles on the ribbons! UUUUUGH.
But then his stomach growled and reminded him that he hadn't eaten since breakfast yesterday--before all the riding and the fighting and the losing everything. The faster he worked, the sooner he got to eat...whatever Godawful thing the dragon had dragged in. What if it was some half mangled sheep carcass? His guts growled a second time. They didn't care.
"Fine, whatever, sir." He kicked his bedding aside and set himself to work. It didn't go quite as quickly as he'd convinced himself it would. He was dizzy and thirsty and Hanna's handwriting was not great. Maurice was used to neat blocky print that the scribes had been practicing for generations.
He was sort of tempted to eat one of the scrolls by the time he finally put the last one in its spot. It was almost evening.
Hanna had looked a little disapproving when Maurice mistreated the furs, but they were now Maurice's, so if he abused them, at least he would know not to give him any more. They were nice, and if he mistreated his things, then he deserved something less nice, like a scratchy blanket.
He had taken to his own work after leaving Maurice to his own, half expecting him to come out of the store room whining after an hour of work, but, after quite a few successful spells and potions, he had been pleasantly surprised to not seeing the prince all day.
He was getting quite hungry himself though, having not eaten either, and around midday he had disappeared from the cavern, figuring that hard work should be rewarded. It didn't take quite so long, bringing back a rather large buck that not only afforded him a meal, but useful ingredients that he might need later on. He took no break as he worked to prepare it, the smell of roasted meat starting to fill the cavern as he worked, wine set out that he had been saving after a rather unfortunate merchant had tried to spend the night in his home. And while the meat had a good layer of char on it, Hanna had cooked it to perfection, never needing spices when his breath and flame provided such good flavor.
Unsteady footsteps announced the prince as he entered what was now the dining room. He'd lost a little color from his face during the whole organizing ordeal. In the low light, it took a moment for supper to even register.
When it did, Maurice was at the table in a flash, gloves off. He wasn't sure what kind of animal the meat had come from, but it didn't seem to have any hair on it and while every inch of his upbringing demanded that he have rolls and pudding and hot vegetables to go with it, that was just going to have to do right now. He eyed it like a coyote eyes a lone hen. But he didn't dare touch it.
Hanna had even taken the opportunity to pour Maurice a goblet of wine when the man had sat down, obviously ravenous, and he sat, confused when his new helper just sat there, like he was frozen.
"I didn't poison it, if that's what's giving you pause..."
The silence stretched, like they were in a standstill, but when Maurice's reasoning came to light, the dragon couldn't help but laugh aloud.
"I don't pray to your gods, my lord." He snorts, wiping a tear from under his glasses, "Or any for that matter. If you wish, I won't stop you from praying, but don't expect me to join you."
Maurice startled when the dragon roared with laughter and for a moment he was afraid he'd said something wrong...but then the color came back to his face. Ugh! Horrible, feral thing! He brought his hands together and muttered something quickly, pleading, even squeezed his eyes shut.
"Amen!" He pounced. The young man hesitated, but only for a breath, looking at the crumbly char that covered the haunch that had been set aside for him, but then he tore into it. The ash bit his tongue, but then there was a taste--like the smell of Hanna's breath. Cinnamon. Bite after bite, like a drowning man gasping for air, he gobbled it down. Eventually, all he had left was the bone which he licked and gnawed on before giving up. If only he had a dog's teeth! Then he could get at the marrow. God only knew when the dragon would allow him at the table again.
"I'm sure that was a masterful prayer," He teased, enjoying the moments hesitation before Maurice dug in. His manners weren't appauling to him, he was a rather large beast after all, and while he preferred cooking things before eating them, he had been known to eat things whole, and raw before.
He ate with a steady pace, bites much larger than Maurice's ever could hope, and when they had both gotten to the bones, he raised a brow at the human. "Do you need help with that? I won't let you waste the best part." Crunching open a bone with his teeth, Hanna enjoyed his portions till the very last sliver of bone. He would have Maurice do the same if he wanted to be rewarded with food ever again.
The prince looked up from turning the bone over and over in his hands as if somehow he'd find a way to open it without one of the little table hammers. He hesitated, warring with his pride. He felt his strength returning to him. Suddenly he felt very wild and clever and rugged and if letting this monster crack open a bone would allow him to survive like his ancestors did in these horrible mountains, then he'd do it! He could be feral!
As a kindness, Hanna didn't break the bone open with his teeth, taking it in his claws against the table and breaking it open with the pressure of a sharp claw. It didn't take much, but he handed it back easily and nodded towards the storage, finally deciding it was a good time for discussion since they were both fed.
"You worked hard today. I would be lying if I said I wasn't surprised."
Once the bone was handed over, that desperate grabbyness came right back. He ran his teeth along the insides of the bone along with his fingers. Every last morsel. He couldn't waste it! HE WAS GOING TO DIE OUT HERE OH GOD HELP HIM. But then that was gone too. And suddenly he didn't feel wild or smart or clever at all. He sagged and massaged his stomach, frowning at the memory of the storage room.
"Well you didn't make it easy. Your handwriting is atrocious."
"If you're not going to finish that, I will." Hanna says, eyeing what was left of the bone, rather enjoying the crunch of it. He looked rather affronted at the insult though, frowning, his claws resting on the table as if to present his issue, "You come and tell me how good your handwriting is when you have claws like these." Writing with three fingers was rather difficult, and using his tail wasn't possible when writing on parchment. It tore it very easily in two.
"I can write much better with my tail, but no one uses stone any more, and paper is so much easier and more efficient to store."
Maurice didn't look convinced. Surely there was a way...an idea came to him suddenly and an expression of realization crossed his face. There was. But he decided to keep it to himself as he flicked the uneaten bones Hanna's way.
"Anyway, I put them in order, A to Z. The ones that looked like they were in a set might be mixed in, I did the best I could. Some of the scroll spindles were broken though." He counted off on his fingers the various issues with Hanna's storage methods. "And there were three that had something spilled on them and I'm not sure there's anything your magic can do to save them."
Hanna seems to have the same idea that Maurice does and his smile starts to reflect that as he nods, 'Mmhmm'ing along as Maurice explains what he did.
"Well, starting tomorrow, you can start making new copies of those, starting with the ones with the most damage." He licks his claws once he's done with the bones he'd been given, not wanting to be rude and leave the table with dirty talons. "Will you have trouble with the ones that had been spilled on?"
The prince's face blanched. That was not the idea he had. "New copies...new copies! One of those scrolls was as big around as a man's arm!" He brought his elbow down on the table and gestured feebly to it.
A WHOLE ARM.
He didn't even remember what it was about. What if it was in some weird dragon-scratch language? This was awful!
Hanna's laughter booms in the cavern, nodding. "Well, I figure it will keep you busy and quiet enough that I can send your search party packing. I think I know the one you're talking about, anyways."
Hanna's tail swishes from side to side, considering the glass of wine that Maurice hasn't touched yet, taking it from out of in front of him and sipping. "If you start early I'm sure you can finish a fourth of it by dinner tomorrow."
Somehow, in all his hunger, he'd missed the wine entirely. Probably because it wasn't in a rooster-encrusted goblet. He could only watch as Hanna claimed it as his own. Nobody was making him stay here. he could get up and leave at any time, go untie Sally and take off for the Bog to meet with the wolves.
With a huff, he stood. He'd show the overgrown newt. He'd finish half of it. "I guess I should go to bed then. Surely you don't mean to work me all night too."
He actually regretted giving Hanna the idea, knowing full well the beast could cow him into it if he tried. Maurice excused himself to the table and trudged back to the sorry nest of furs he'd made for himself. However, before he shut his eyes he looked over the scrolls on the far wall in their perfect lines with satisfaction. Maybe he'd eventually stop feeling like he lived in someone's garden shed.
Again, sleep was dreamless.
The prince awoke just before noon with a start and had the same minute panic attack he'd had the previous morning. This wasn't his room. These weren't his silk sheets. He took a private moment to listen for the dragon rustling anywhere nearby and have a little cry about it before getting to work.
It did not go nearly as swiftly as the determined Maurice in his daydream convinced him it would. Ink and a fresh scroll had been supplied but copying...
Since leaving his most basic lessons behind, the only thing the prince had any real practice writing was his name. It was easy. He could do it with his eyes shut, his wrist and fingers knew all the swoops and curves and how to make the M stand out. This was just awful. He propped his chin on a gloved hand and slowly started printing. After having to disturb the dragon twice and have him read a word he couldn't make out, Maurice decided that he'd make better time if he just fell into a trance and stopped reading words all together. Letter after letter, well printed but somewhat oddly spaced, fell out of his quill.
An enormous dark stain blotted the current section he was on as he snored loudly against it. And this time he did dream. He dreamed that he was riding home, triumphant on his father's prize horse. Hanna's head hung at the side of his saddle, tongue lolling, glasses shattered. The castle gates opened and there in the entrance stood his mother the Queen, all six and then some feet of her. She spread her arms wide and Maurice dismounted. But before she could embrace her son and tell him what a wonderful job he'd done, the decapitated head hanging from the saddle spoke.
"Don't let him fool you," the dream Hanna sneered. His neck began to spurt ink and flop around like a banked fish. "He couldn't do it! He had the chance! I had to behead MYSELF, I felt so sorry for him!" Ink oozed and gushed and bubbled and soon an enormous black dragon with a pink head stood on the drawbridge.
"That's not true!" Maurice roared back but the barbed tail was already swinging toward him. His sword had vanished. So had the castle and the horse and his mother. The prince braced himself for the impact.
"Hhbllhh..." Maurice opened his eyes and grimaced. "Oh, ugh!" He leaned away from the desk and spat ink. "Forget this, stick a fork in me!" He threw his hands in the air and left the desk, tromping away in search of the dragon and of dinner. He was oblivious to the inky handprint on his face.
Hanna, who had a rather uneventful afternoon, had gone out after Maurice had stopped coming to ask him clarification. Another trip to the village had awarded him with more scrolls, quite certain that if Maurice was going to finish his task, he would need them. Ink and quills had followed, even if the man had asked him why, for such a small man, did he need such big quills. He only responded with a closed mouth smile and a wink.
Returning had found no sign of any search party just yet, and dropping off his things in an orderly pile, he had twitched an ear, still hearing Maurice's breathing and not thinking anything of it, having assumed he was working just as he had the day before. Dinner was a similar affair as the previous day, not a lot of variety in the dragon's diet of meat, and while he could eat veggies and other things, it did nothing for him really.
Having already eaten, since Maurice still hadn't returned, he kept the man's portion over fire, not over cooking it, but keeping it warm, and set back to his own writing, puzzling over a list of ingredients that didn't seem to get the desired effect when combined.
He had just about given up, when he heard Maurice come down the long hall from the storage room, blinking as he set blue eyes on him, and stared.
The smell of the main chamber set his mouth watering, but he had some complaining to do so it was going to have to wait. He wasn't desperate and ravenous as he'd been the previous night.
"Dragon, what in hell is it you do with all these scrolls anyway?" He started tugging his gloves off and tucking them into his belt.
It had taken him two days to observe that Hanna simply hunted and slept and puttered around in his kitchen.
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theattic2014-11-09 08:06 pm
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Maurice sat bolt upright and his shoulder bumped one of the shelves, nearly upsetting a couple of those fire bottles. In the night he'd gravitated towards what looked warmest. His eyes were wide and he pulled his hair from his face as he looked around. This wasn't his room! This was...this was...
For a moment it looked like his heart might break all over again. He stared up at the bespectacled dragon and rubbed his eyes with his bare hand, hoping he could smear away Hanna's image. He stayed. Maurice deflated and looked down at the clothes that he'd been supplied with. He wasn't a prince. He wasn't a fit to strut around in a prince's clothes. With a resigned sigh, he lifted up the shirt Hanna gave him.
He made a face. It was so...plain. There was no gold thread along the cuffs and the buttons looked like they were made of wood. Or maybe bone? No, that was wood.
"I forgot where I was...I don't know how."
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He settled back on his haunches and considered Maurice, covered still in furs and looking so deflated and done already. No fight left in him. Kind of sad really. "You sleep a lot, did you know?"
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The family crest, a cockerel in profile, stood proudly at the base of his collarbone in deep blue ink.
He tugged the shirt on and when his head reappeared he fixed his ponytail.
"Sleep is necessary for proper brain development." His nurse had told him that a thousand times trying to corral a wild young Maurice into bed.
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And while his answer seems such bullshit, Hanna laughing, he shrugs his wings and turns, nodding to the back of the room, "In any case, I have a task for you. You know how to alphabetize, yes?"
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"It's tradition. Every royal family member who makes it to their tenth birthday receives the crest."
He climbs out of the pile of furs and pulls on his new pants, tugging his gloves back on afterward.
"I know my alphabet," he said hotly. "I know a lot of things!"
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"Not everyone can read, my lord." He returns, cheeky, and points to a horribly unorganized shelf full of scrolls and some tomes. "I have a meal ready for you when you finish alphabetizing that."
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But then his stomach growled and reminded him that he hadn't eaten since breakfast yesterday--before all the riding and the fighting and the losing everything. The faster he worked, the sooner he got to eat...whatever Godawful thing the dragon had dragged in. What if it was some half mangled sheep carcass? His guts growled a second time. They didn't care.
"Fine, whatever, sir." He kicked his bedding aside and set himself to work. It didn't go quite as quickly as he'd convinced himself it would. He was dizzy and thirsty and Hanna's handwriting was not great. Maurice was used to neat blocky print that the scribes had been practicing for generations.
He was sort of tempted to eat one of the scrolls by the time he finally put the last one in its spot. It was almost evening.
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He had taken to his own work after leaving Maurice to his own, half expecting him to come out of the store room whining after an hour of work, but, after quite a few successful spells and potions, he had been pleasantly surprised to not seeing the prince all day.
He was getting quite hungry himself though, having not eaten either, and around midday he had disappeared from the cavern, figuring that hard work should be rewarded. It didn't take quite so long, bringing back a rather large buck that not only afforded him a meal, but useful ingredients that he might need later on. He took no break as he worked to prepare it, the smell of roasted meat starting to fill the cavern as he worked, wine set out that he had been saving after a rather unfortunate merchant had tried to spend the night in his home. And while the meat had a good layer of char on it, Hanna had cooked it to perfection, never needing spices when his breath and flame provided such good flavor.
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When it did, Maurice was at the table in a flash, gloves off. He wasn't sure what kind of animal the meat had come from, but it didn't seem to have any hair on it and while every inch of his upbringing demanded that he have rolls and pudding and hot vegetables to go with it, that was just going to have to do right now. He eyed it like a coyote eyes a lone hen. But he didn't dare touch it.
Not before they said grace.
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"I didn't poison it, if that's what's giving you pause..."
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"We have...to bless...the food."
He'd been whipped too many times for sneaking blueberries during prayer and he wasn't about to try it with a dragon.
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"I don't pray to your gods, my lord." He snorts, wiping a tear from under his glasses, "Or any for that matter. If you wish, I won't stop you from praying, but don't expect me to join you."
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"Amen!" He pounced. The young man hesitated, but only for a breath, looking at the crumbly char that covered the haunch that had been set aside for him, but then he tore into it. The ash bit his tongue, but then there was a taste--like the smell of Hanna's breath. Cinnamon. Bite after bite, like a drowning man gasping for air, he gobbled it down. Eventually, all he had left was the bone which he licked and gnawed on before giving up. If only he had a dog's teeth! Then he could get at the marrow. God only knew when the dragon would allow him at the table again.
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He ate with a steady pace, bites much larger than Maurice's ever could hope, and when they had both gotten to the bones, he raised a brow at the human. "Do you need help with that? I won't let you waste the best part." Crunching open a bone with his teeth, Hanna enjoyed his portions till the very last sliver of bone. He would have Maurice do the same if he wanted to be rewarded with food ever again.
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"Please and thank you." He handed the bone over.
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"You worked hard today. I would be lying if I said I wasn't surprised."
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"Well you didn't make it easy. Your handwriting is atrocious."
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"I can write much better with my tail, but no one uses stone any more, and paper is so much easier and more efficient to store."
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"Anyway, I put them in order, A to Z. The ones that looked like they were in a set might be mixed in, I did the best I could. Some of the scroll spindles were broken though." He counted off on his fingers the various issues with Hanna's storage methods. "And there were three that had something spilled on them and I'm not sure there's anything your magic can do to save them."
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"Well, starting tomorrow, you can start making new copies of those, starting with the ones with the most damage." He licks his claws once he's done with the bones he'd been given, not wanting to be rude and leave the table with dirty talons. "Will you have trouble with the ones that had been spilled on?"
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A WHOLE ARM.
He didn't even remember what it was about. What if it was in some weird dragon-scratch language? This was awful!
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Hanna's tail swishes from side to side, considering the glass of wine that Maurice hasn't touched yet, taking it from out of in front of him and sipping. "If you start early I'm sure you can finish a fourth of it by dinner tomorrow."
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With a huff, he stood. He'd show the overgrown newt. He'd finish half of it. "I guess I should go to bed then. Surely you don't mean to work me all night too."
He actually regretted giving Hanna the idea, knowing full well the beast could cow him into it if he tried. Maurice excused himself to the table and trudged back to the sorry nest of furs he'd made for himself. However, before he shut his eyes he looked over the scrolls on the far wall in their perfect lines with satisfaction. Maybe he'd eventually stop feeling like he lived in someone's garden shed.
Again, sleep was dreamless.
The prince awoke just before noon with a start and had the same minute panic attack he'd had the previous morning. This wasn't his room. These weren't his silk sheets. He took a private moment to listen for the dragon rustling anywhere nearby and have a little cry about it before getting to work.
It did not go nearly as swiftly as the determined Maurice in his daydream convinced him it would. Ink and a fresh scroll had been supplied but copying...
Since leaving his most basic lessons behind, the only thing the prince had any real practice writing was his name. It was easy. He could do it with his eyes shut, his wrist and fingers knew all the swoops and curves and how to make the M stand out. This was just awful. He propped his chin on a gloved hand and slowly started printing. After having to disturb the dragon twice and have him read a word he couldn't make out, Maurice decided that he'd make better time if he just fell into a trance and stopped reading words all together. Letter after letter, well printed but somewhat oddly spaced, fell out of his quill.
An enormous dark stain blotted the current section he was on as he snored loudly against it. And this time he did dream. He dreamed that he was riding home, triumphant on his father's prize horse. Hanna's head hung at the side of his saddle, tongue lolling, glasses shattered. The castle gates opened and there in the entrance stood his mother the Queen, all six and then some feet of her. She spread her arms wide and Maurice dismounted. But before she could embrace her son and tell him what a wonderful job he'd done, the decapitated head hanging from the saddle spoke.
"Don't let him fool you," the dream Hanna sneered. His neck began to spurt ink and flop around like a banked fish. "He couldn't do it! He had the chance! I had to behead MYSELF, I felt so sorry for him!" Ink oozed and gushed and bubbled and soon an enormous black dragon with a pink head stood on the drawbridge.
"That's not true!" Maurice roared back but the barbed tail was already swinging toward him. His sword had vanished. So had the castle and the horse and his mother. The prince braced himself for the impact.
"Hhbllhh..." Maurice opened his eyes and grimaced. "Oh, ugh!" He leaned away from the desk and spat ink. "Forget this, stick a fork in me!" He threw his hands in the air and left the desk, tromping away in search of the dragon and of dinner. He was oblivious to the inky handprint on his face.
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Returning had found no sign of any search party just yet, and dropping off his things in an orderly pile, he had twitched an ear, still hearing Maurice's breathing and not thinking anything of it, having assumed he was working just as he had the day before. Dinner was a similar affair as the previous day, not a lot of variety in the dragon's diet of meat, and while he could eat veggies and other things, it did nothing for him really.
Having already eaten, since Maurice still hadn't returned, he kept the man's portion over fire, not over cooking it, but keeping it warm, and set back to his own writing, puzzling over a list of ingredients that didn't seem to get the desired effect when combined.
He had just about given up, when he heard Maurice come down the long hall from the storage room, blinking as he set blue eyes on him, and stared.
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"Dragon, what in hell is it you do with all these scrolls anyway?" He started tugging his gloves off and tucking them into his belt.
It had taken him two days to observe that Hanna simply hunted and slept and puttered around in his kitchen.
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