Rumination

He stood outside the cave, its entrance draped in curtains of ivy. Lichen painted the surrounding stone in shades of green and yellow, the heady aroma of earth at its most potent here. Pink crystals jutted out from the cave mouth like sharp teeth, a reminder of its draconic occupant.

He sighed. Sounds of merriment drifted down to him from the cliffs above; they were getting ready to celebrate, and without him, at that. The nerve, he thought; then, as the fierce odour of smoking meat soon followed; The bloody nerve!

He straightened up, his red cape catching the sea breeze and billowing behind him like a warning flag. He had words for his dragonmen, but for now, duty called him, and he was nothing if not honour-bound.

That did not stop the slight tremble of his claws as he parted the ivy and called out, "Your Highness?"

A melodic voice answered, soft like the chime of a tiny bell. "Come in."

The ivy fell away upon his entrance, engulfing him in the warm rose glow of the den. A weathered statue of a dragon, each crack telling of a different time, greeted his arrival. It stood four-legged, tall and proud, a reminder of his ancestry.

He walked a little further in, and the pink gave way to amber, torches perched on the cave walls crackling with dragons' firelight. Paintings hung from the smooth stone walls, a recent addition, and one of the Queen's quirks. He'd never understood the need for decadence, but he supposed paintings of landscapes were preferable to self-portraits. Even if there's a perfectly good view of the sea right outside.

He caught himself before he could let that thought drift. Who was he to criticise the Queen? He shook his head and carried on down the stone hallway.

The Queen's cave was a mix of traditional throne room and dragon sleeping quarters; a plush, golden throne sat at the end of the hallway, and off to the side was a circular bed much too big for its owner. And there, perched upon the throne and barely taking up half of it, was the Queen herself, in all her subtle grace.

She was a small, pink dragon, probably the smallest adult he'd seen. Her limbs were much too thin and her body too lean, as if she had never seen a sword in her life. Her eyes, a calm light blue, were narrowed and gentle. The only things big about her were her horns, and indeed, they were magnificent; one large, curved horn sprouted past her cerise hair, and the other was broken to barely more than a stub, but was just as beautiful, arguably even more so; and both of them glinted gold in the firelight in a way that commanded attention.

"Haru!" she said cheerfully, leaning forward on her throne. "How lovely to see you."

She missed my rank. Again. He bowed low, his tail dusting the ground. "You sent for me, Your Highness?"

"Please, Haru, raise your head. And call me Kira."

Haru could only fulfil one of those requests, and so he looked up at the Queen with barely restrained surprise. "No, I couldn't possibly--"

“That’s an order."

He blinked. "W-what?"

She smiled playfully, her eyes shining. "I'm just joking! But it would put us both at ease, I think."

"Very well… Queen Kira."

She sighed. "I suppose that will do for now. But isn't it weird calling me that? I'm younger than you."

Haru shook his head. "Age has nothing to do with rank."

Queen Kira regarded him with equal parts mirth and frustration. "You're too formal." She let the words steep in the quiet air, looking up to the top of the throne that towered over her. Her voice lowered. "Everyone's too formal."

Haru wondered if he was supposed to catch that. Perhaps Queen Kira was right, but formality was all he knew. The previous Queen, Kira’s mother, had been a strict disciplinarian, and a perfectionist to boot. He’d not served long under her, but he’d grown up expecting to for a long time, and could not shed old behaviours simply because someone else asked. Even if that someone was the new Queen.

“So what can I do for you?” he asked, eager to steer them both back to business.

“Oh! I just wanted to congratulate you on your victory.” The Queen smiled. “From what I understand, it was a tough fight.”

“Not more so than usual…” Haru trailed off as he caught the slight slump of Queen Kira’s shoulders.

She was quick to right herself, but she only ended up shuffling awkwardly on her throne, and suddenly she was not the Queen, but a child on her first day of training, sitting on a chair built for someone else. Her ears fell, and her smile was quick to follow. “May I ask you something?” she asked, her voice barely carrying over the crackling of the torches.

“Of course, Queen Kira.”

“The scars on your waist; what do you think of them?”

Haru’s hand instinctively flew over the marred scales above his hip, where his cloak normally fell. He paused, his tail dragging over the stone floor as it flicked back and forth. Then he removed his hand and looked up at Queen Kira. “They’re a badge of honour.”

“Truly?”

“Yes.”

Queen Kira looked away, her horns shimmering in the amber light. “I’m not so sure.”

Haru blinked. “I’m sorry?”

She trailed a finger over her damaged horn. “We walk the earth with missing limbs and disfigured scales, and we treasure them like medals awarded from on high. We lose our sight, and we say we deserved it for not being more careful. We lose our family, and we send them to the sea, with our enemies’ quick to follow.”

Haru’s arm hovered over his waist.

“Look at this, Haru.” Queen Kira gestured to the closest painting, a lush landscape of flowers and fields. “Is this not beautiful?”

“Um.” He fought back a frown. It was a nice painting, but there wasn’t anything particularly special about it. “It is,” he said.

“If we were to paint over it with red, would it lose its beauty, or become something more?”

If he’d known she was going to get philosophical, he would have at least steeled himself in advance. “I’m not sure I follow.”

“Are our wounds no prettier than this painting?”

Silence fell over them, filled only by the crackling fire.

Haru put a hand over his arm, his fingers running over smooth, hard scales built for armour. His claws, long and sharp for slicing, traced over each indent like a painter’s brush. His jaws clenched over razor teeth, and heat blossomed in his throat, sputtering out instantly upon its acknowledgement.

What was he built for, if not this?

“I…” Haru clenched his arm. “I’m no artist. I can’t say for certain.”

Where he had expected a bitter smile, there was only a small nod. “Fair enough. I’m sorry if I bothered you with this.” Queen Kira dipped her head. “Thank you for indulging me.”

“I wouldn’t say….” Haru caught himself; shook his head. “Of course. If you ever need an ear, I’m always willing.”

“Thank you. I appreciate that.” Queen Kira smiled warmly. “I won’t keep you. I’m sure you’re starving by now.”

Haru wasn’t exactly enticed by the prospect of overcooked meat, but it didn’t much matter what filled him, so long as something did. “Thank you. Then…”

“Dismissed.”

He took his leave, eager to get back outside. He had a busy day left, with much planning to do and little time to fill his stomach.

Nevertheless, he stopped at the edge of the cliff outside the cave, his eyes falling on the sea view. The sun caught the waves in a way that sparkled like Queen Kira’s horns, as if daring to blind him. A seagull flew overhead, its cry filling the air. The breeze carried over a salty scent Haru had smelled many times, but never noticed.

Drawing his cloak over himself, he made the ascent back to the others.