Private Tales Of Sand & Dragonfire

A private roleplay only for those invited by the first writer
Seteta nodded as he spoke, then rested her head against Chaceledon's chest.

"We'll get him out of there," she said quietly. "Somehow."

She hadn't forgotten Chaceledon's request that she take stewardship of the Well. And while she still wanted some time to think, to speak with Nestor at the least and know fully what she was taking on and to ask Rheinhard's permission, if it was the only way to save Rheinhard...

Their food arrived then, and she snitched a couple of the chicken hearts, but mostly ate just the fruits. She watched as Chaceledon finished bathing himself, saw the hesitant unease in his movements, and laid a comforting hand on his forearm when he finished.

"You can't take care of Rheinhard without taking care of yourself," she said softly. "You haven't been lazy or neglectful, and Rheinhard will understand."

Seteta was fairly certain that if Rheinhard learned of his mother's collapse, and then his shed, that the man would think Chaceledon hadn't spent enough time recuperating. But... Rheinhard didn't necessarily need to know. Not right away.

She followed Chaceldon out of the bath, smiling when he shifted back to human form. She stretched up onto her toes, wrapping her hands around his neck to tug him down, planting a slow, affectionate kiss on his mouth.

"I love you, whether as a dragon or a man," she whispered, "but I can't really kiss you in dragon form."

Back up in their room, tucking each other into the changed, clean bedding, she yawned, and snuggled into his side.

"When the time comes, if there's no other way," she whispered just before they drifted off to sleep, "I'll take the Well. But I still want to know more before I do it."

Chaceledon
 
Chaceledon settled an arm over her side, closing his eyes. If Seteta gained the Well...she would be in charge of Rheinhard. She would know every boy in the Well, and be responsible for changing Rheinhard into a new host when the time came. He kissed her cheek. “Thank you.” he said earnestly. She may need more knowledge from Nestor, but just the offer meant a lot to him. Even if something awful happened...she would try.

He let himself drift away, curled up close to Seteta, his arm around her.

Chaceledon woke up to a soft chiming of bells. The Sphinx cats were singing, holding silver bells in their tails and walking the halls. “Hour of the Hare, rising and smelling the new dawn!” They called. Chaceledon blinked and rubbed his eyes, listening to the intoning call of the staff to begin. He smiled and looked down at Seteta, reaching over to play with her hair a little. Their clothing was ready, if a little paper placard left on their nightstand was anything to go by.

“Come, my love. They have our things ready for us, and your jerky was delivered.” he smirked. “I may have been a bit obvious about getting my old jewelry materials.”

Seteta
 
Seteta groaned at the sound of cat-song and chiming bells, burying her face deeper into his chest.

"Just another hour," she mumbled, not quite yet ready to part with the soft bed. The pile of cushions and blankets in Supti's tent had been welcome after each set of hours spent traveling in the cramped howdah on the camel's back, but it was nothing like a real bed.

Chaceledon started playing with her hair, though, and as he spoke, she heaved a dramatic sigh and flopped onto her back.

Which was a mistake.

Every muscle in her body revolted.

"I need a howdah for you. Or a saddle," she groaned, carefully stretching, and wincing. "Can we just tie me to your back?"

Chaceledon
 
Chaceledon frowned. They’d had a bit of a rough time last night. It was understandable if she couldn’t rise, especially after what she’d taken. He kissed her, his face a mask of disgust. “Surely you wouldn’t.” he muttered. A saddle on a dragon? Maybe those poor dumb fat beasts in the west. Never on an Amol Kaliti dragon. He grinned and kissed her. “I think that’s the sign of a good time. If I were home? You’d not have to lift a finger. You’d have servants to bathe you, a cook to cook for you, me rubbing your back. Alas, we have a very grumpy serial killer to save.”

He wrapped his arms around her and lifted her, warmth and magic flowing through his fingers. He wanted to ease her pain and tightness. He looked down at her fondly, and settled her down on a chair. He threw back his hair with a flourish and walked over to the coffee table, picking up her travel clothes. “Good, good. I asked them to get an array of things. Here; three sets of good breeches, two new abayas, and a decent pair of sandals.” Chaceledon smirked and shook out one of the abayas, examining the stitch work. The staff here knew that dragons demanded quality and he wasn’t disappointed. It was a gentle purple that would fit well with her eyes. Nothing ostentatious or bright, but rather earthy. Like a ripe plum or rich wine. He offered it to her, along with a set of well-made cotton breeches and the sandals. The sandals were leather, and lined in suede.

Chaceledon got more...unusual wear. Trousers, black leather boots, a cotton shirt, and a finely tailored white, black and gold corset vest. It suited his rather slender figure well, and he cinched it tight to keep his posture.
Seteta
 
Seteta scowled, though her eyes were playful. "You'll just have to carry me in your paws, then. I think straddling you is going to be... a bit more than my legs can accommodate right now."

As Chaceledon lifted her from the bed and sent gentle, soothing warmth through her body his with magic, she laughed. "Being bathed by servants sounds... awkward. If you're rubbing my back already, you can do that part too."

She watched quietly, smiling, as he sorted through the clothes, accepting each piece as he handed it to her. She carefully donned them, except for the sandals, and watched as Chaceledon dressed himself, humming in appreciation. Leaning that far over was... an impossible feat, at the moment.

"If you weren't a reptile," she murmured, "and you were in my caravan, I'd make you take that corset off and burn it. It's too hot for travel in the desert."

Then she frowned, recalling that he was always disrobing before shifting to his dragon form. "Don't you have to remove all of that to fly?" she asked, gesturing at his clothes.

Chaceledon
 
“Good thing I’m not bound by mammalian silliness.” Chaceledon winked at her, and knelt in his new clothing to slide the sandals on her feet. He smiled up at her, and stood straight. He looked at himself, turning in a circle. “And of course, I had to make sure it fit. Fashion’s changed quite a bit from what it was in my day. No wonder I looked so old fashioned.” He adjusted his jacket, then disrobed. He folded his clothing up neatly and put it in the packs they’d gotten. Water canteens, dried rations, jerky, bouillon cubes, and a first aid kit. He smiled in satisfaction. “The Indica strives to impress. Shall we?”

A little tea and breakfast, and Chaceledon walked out of the room naked and proud as a jay. He transformed on his way down the stairs, as though he were a royal entering a party. He waited for her in the lobby, chin high and tail round his small legs. Nica was perched reading a book, and looked...sad. Lost. The look was there and gone the second he noticed Chaceledon was watching him. Chaceledon started toward him, with the intention of apologizing, but Nica got up and vanished down a hallway. Chaceledon sighed and shook his head; he’d make it up to him with an invitation to the estate.

For now, they were headed to Annuakat.

Seteta
 
"Ah," Seteta murmured with a nod. The world of fashion was something she'd... never bothered with. With her tribe's isolation, they had developed their own style of dress, and while there were certain occasions that called for more festive wear, day-to-day clothing was about function. And not overheating.

If they were going to be walking through the desert, she would have quickly sent the sandals back to have them replaced with close-toed moccasins. But riding on Chaceledon's back... she supposed it didn't matter as much.

Breakfast was quickly consumed, and she was finishing wrapping her headscarf in place as Chaceledon walked out the door. She was quickly following behind, and laughed softly as she saw him shift to his dragon form mid-walking.

Seteta observed the... interaction with Nica quietly, without coming right up on Chaceledon's heels. She knew that Nica wasn't upset with her necessarily, but more what she represented in Chaceledon's life. When Nica exited the lobby, she came up and settled a hand on Chaceledon's shoulder.

"You know where to find him now, at least," she said. "You'll get another chance to speak with him."

Then she sighed and eyed his back. "We should go. Annuakat isn't getting any younger, and I can't think of a thing I can do to make this ride easier on me. Let's get it over with."

Chaceledon
 
Chaceledon nodded. Nica still had his pride as a dragon. Still, it couldn’t have been easy. Both parents lost and likely fished out of the water for armor and trophies. His estate likely fallen to ruin with a single man attempting to run a business. Dragons usually didn’t turn their businesses over to their children; they expected them to found their own in time. Nica had been likely too inexperienced, too young, and too impatient to manage on his own. Thus the move to Ragash. If anyone understood what watching your life fall to pieces around oneself, it was Chaceledon.

He let sleeping dogs lie, and settled to let her onto his back. He had a hesitated thought of rigging a saddle or some form of platform, but bile rose in his throat. He wasn’t a horse! He tried to make mounting as painless as possible, and undulated out of the Indica Majika with their bags curled firmly in his tail. He rose into the sky above the city, trying not to twist and curl as much as he so sorely desired. He turned toward Annuakat, and made for the city with all haste.

He was strong, his scales were healthy, rear claws long and sharp. He was the picture of draconian health, even if heavily scarred and declawed. He glanced at his fore paws with a sigh. What a delight long, curved claws were.

No doubt hanging on a string in Oor’s bedroom.

Chaceledon looked back at Seteta. You’re going to be alright? he asked. He’d never had a rider before. He was overly concerned with her comfort, but he still had to shimmy his body through the air like a serpent if he was going to make any sort of altitude. They flew over the scorched and sandblasted remains of the Battle of Ninagal. The sands had reclaimed much of it, but it glittered to the naked eye. Dragonfire. Turned the bodies to ash and glass. Best not disturb it. he muttered.

Chaceledon did stop to rest in late evening, setting Seteta down carefully and going to roll in the sands. He buried himself in the warmth, heaving a great sigh. Flying at night and sundown was exhausting. He was healthier, but he still wasn’t out of the woods yet. He shimmied under the warm sands, burying himself with little shuffles of his short legs and wiggles of his tail. Soon all that was apparent was his head and neck. Let me warm up a bit before we continue. It’s getting cold.

He cast a glance toward Annuakat. It wasn’t far now. Just too cold, and getting colder. He smirked at Seteta with a mouth of glittering fangs. Reminds me of a certain fantasy that fell from your lips.

Seteta
 
"I'll survive, as long as you don't drop me," Seteta reassured him, though she tried to hide her winces as she climbed onto his back.

They flew for hours, and though she could tell that Chaceledon was trying to keep his movements as smooth as possible, she was still sore, and at times she found herself desperately clinging to his mane just to give her legs a break from keeping herself mounted on his back.

She spotted Ninegal when he muttered about it, and wondered how much he'd heard of Gerra's rise to power. Her tribe had stayed out of that fiasco so far, but she was beginning to suspect that she'd have to find out more. Perhaps even make alliances of her own. Especially if they were going to go to head against Oor, and possibly Persian.

When Chaceledon landed near sundown, Seteta slid off his back rather ungracefully, flopping onto her own back on the sand. She twisted her face over to watch him, giggling as he scuttled his way under the sand. When he was done, she grabbed a water canteen and the bag of food, and came over to settle beside him. She stuck her fingers in the sand and raised a dome over them, much like she had their first night in the desert, and shoved the canteen at him.

"Can you heat this up? I'll make some bouillon."

She dug out some jerky and began to gnaw at it herself. "Will you be okay to fly through the night, with as cool as it gets? We can always wait till sunrise to continue."

Seteta laughed when he grinned and mentioned one of the things she'd teased him with the night before, reaching over to trace her fingers up his muzzle. "Someday, sehejib. We don't have to do everything all at once."

Or while she still ached from the night before. And from flying the whole day.

Chaceledon
 
Chaceledon happily heated the canteen for her, curling his neck into an S like a bird to rest. I don’t think I ought to. As much as I want to, it’s cold. he said regretfully, and leaned into her scratches on his muzzle. As much as dragons were prideful creatures even they couldnt deny how good and lovely a scratch felt. Not that he would ever let anyone see him groaning and leaning into Seteta’s hand like a cart horse with an itch.

He blew warm air into her sand dome to keep her warm, and lifted sections of his body around her in a C shape. She could recline against the handmade sand dune, and the dragon inside would keep her warm. Chaceledon dozed, still keeping watch. The only time he lifted his head high was when a certain familiar horse crossed close to the camp. A gray stallion who swayed drunkenly on the sands, puffing saliva flecked with pink.

Gaal leaned over the saddle to peer at him. You did make it. I was curious what happened to you, Mother of Murderers. The wraith sounded amused.

Chaceledon eyed him, tilting his head to one side like a bird eyeing a bauble. I did. Seteta as well. What do you want? There aren’t any settlements to plunder.

Gaal nodded to Seteta. I want an Abtati of my own. There was a caravan, not long from Maraan. They stopped in Ragash. I am thinking of how to approach them.

Bad luck. Rosebury’s claimed them. You’d do better to search further East, and stay out of the mountains. My kind don’t like yours.

Disappointing. Good evening then, Seteta, Mother. Gaal squeezed his knees and the stallion moved on, lumbering over the late evening sand. Chaceledon watched him until he disappeared over a dune, and subconsciously pulled Seteta closer. He laid his chin down on the sand, and sighed.
Seteta
 
"I'm honestly not sure I could stay on your back all night," Seteta sighed, her body relaxing as Chaceledon warmed the air inside the dome and curled himself around her. "Resting till dawn would be best for us both."

She mixed up a batch of broth in the canteen for them to share, sipping at it between carefully pouring some into Chaceledon's mouth. When they'd both finished, she set the canteen aside and nestled into Chaceledon. She dozed as the sun drifted low on the horizon.

She roused when she heard voices speaking, stiffening when she heard I want an Abtati of my own and realized she recognized the voice. Gaal. Rage coursed through as the wraith mentioned Supti's caravan, but she paid no special attention to the wraith. She didn't want him to fixate on it if he knew her kin were amongst the caravan.

It irked her that the Lord of Luck's interest in them was a deterrent, but she let Chaceledon handle the matter, only bothering to speak up when Gaal had ridden away.

"Why do you all think the Abtati are toys to be collected?" she snarled, kicking at the sand in frustration. "I hope he meets someone who makes him think twice about messing with the Abtati ever again."

Chaceledon
 
Chaceledon watched her kick the sand angrily, and shook his head a bit. It’s been the game of the Fae ever since they came here. Play with the lives of those who live shorter than they. It’s like…a child doesn’t feel guilty playing with a mouse, because the mouse only has two years to live. He said quietly. He’d been guilty of that mode of thinking, a long time ago. What did it matter toying with the life of a human who barely lived to seventy years? Or an elf who wouldn’t crest a thousand? Did their love mean any less because others would view it as a phase..? No. Chaceledon had, through the Volkers, long since cast away the thought that a short life was an expendable one.

The dragon leaned over and licked her cheek. But I’ve found the flames that burn bright and short are some of the most precious to me. He settled his head back down on the sand. Ignore Gaal. He collects things and people, like most wraiths. It’s…searching for meaning. If he maintains the collection it gives him a purpose.

In the morning, Chaceledon rose and sleepily slithered out to soak up the morning sun. He yawned, and looked over at Seteta. There had to be something he could do for her. He gathered sand in his paws and blew flame over it. Slowly, the sand melted into glass. He pulled and twisted it like taffy, blowing more flame onto areas he needed to be more mobile. He made a large dish, comfortable enough to lay down on and nearly six inches thick, with long twisted handles. It would look as though he were carrying a cloth hammock in midair, though the hammock was glass. He took great care in burning out impurities, and flew a short distance through the air to cool and solidify the glass.

Chaceledon settled the bowl in front of her, seated proudly on the sand. Until you get used to dragonback, darling koiros.

Seteta
 
"It's a game they do not have a right to play," Seteta huffed. "And I don't think I will be able to simply... ignore Gaal. What if he sets his sights on another of my cousins? One of my parents? My grandmother?"

She sighed again, and leaned back against Chaceledon once more. It took longer for her to fall back asleep, but eventually she did.


Seteta yawned and groaned as Chaceledon slithered out from behind her, through the open side of the sand dome. Between his heat and the dome, she hadn't needed so much as a blanket even with the air chilled in the hours before dawn. She laid back against the sand, carefully stretching, then rolled onto her stomach to watch as he started making something from glass.

It took him enough time that she eventually retrieved breakfast from their packs, and set some aside for him then ate her own. When he finished, she eyed the glass bowl curiously.

Chaceledon said:
Chaceledon settled the bowl in front of her, seated proudly on the sand. Until you get used to dragonback, darling koiros.
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"I thought we'd come to an agreement," Seteta said with an arched brow and mischievous gleam in her eye. "That there was only one way you were going to be eating me these days."

She stood up, though, brushing the crumbs of breakfast from her clothes, and came over to inspect the bowl.

"To be fair," she murmured, "even riding a horse would be unpleasant right now, and you have... a bit more girth than that."

She bit her lip, debating the easiest way to actually get in the bowl, then carefully lifted a leg over the lip, testing the glass bottom to make sure it wasn't slicker than she expected. Seteta carefully hopped the rest of the way in, then sat cross-legged on the bottom, testing it out. There was plenty of room, and they could probably put the packs in here as well, so she could lean on them.

"It's... not bad," she said at last. "Though some handholds would be nice... and maybe we should do a test flight. At a low altitude."

Chaceledon
 
Chaceledon gave her a look at the joke. My koiros you are one of the few snacks I will eat all day without guilt. he said sweetly. At her next words, he wilted a bit. His eyes cast down at his serpentine form self-consciously. Dear gods, was he letting it go that much? Would his mother even recognize him? He cleared his throat uncomfortably and swept her into the bowl with his paw.

A test flight? He could accommodate that. He lifted into the air, with the bowl clasped near his chest. He smirked and clasped it to his chest firmly, then corkscrewed in the air. That was for the fat comment. He lowered his head underneath himself, twisting his head like a bird to look at her. Couldn’t help myself. It seems to be holding at any rate. Shall we get our things?

He smiled, and circled around a bit more. He wanted her to be sure she could test it. To be fair, his glasswork had bubbles in it and was a bit warped, which was exceedingly embarrassing. It was just as strong as any glass forged by dragonfire, however. Not so much as a crack when he landed again.

Seteta
 
"HEY!" Seteta hollered when Chaceledon clutched the bowl to his chest, knocking her down to the glass floor, then yelped as Chaceledon corkscrewed through the air. Her elbows whacked against the sides of it as she threw her hands up to keep her head from getting knocked around. A moment later, thankfully, it calmed down, and when Chaceledon twisted his head down to check on her, she scowled and kicked at his ribs.

Chaceledon said:
Couldn’t help myself. It seems to be holding at any rate. Shall we get our things?
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"Hmph," she sniffed, turning away and crossing her arms. The rest of the ride was gentler, and while it seemed sturdy enough and would hopefully be easier for the hours of flying still ahead... it was odd.

When they landed, she pointedly ignored him, though, climbing out of the bowl and settling cross-legged on the sand as she waited for him to load up the baggage.

Chaceledon
 
Chaceledon knew he’d made a mistake the second she shouted. He winced to himself, and watched her lift her chin and refuse to look at him. He watched her for a moment, poised in her bowl like a very put out fish, nose in the air. She climbed out regally and sat on the sand as though waiting for servants. She was positively draconian, and dear gods if it wasn’t the most attractive thing he’d seen on Arethil. He ached to swath her in an evening gown and polished sandstone, looking down her eyelashes at him like a bored lion.

Chaceledon put their luggage in the bowl, and snaked his tail around her, tickling her with the fan-like fluff of fur at the end of it. He drew close to her, nuzzling her. You had better get in the bowl before I knot you again, my koiros. He swept her up in his tail, coiling around her carefully and depositing her in the bowl again. He grasped the handles, gently tucked her against his breastbone, and began their flight.

Annuakat was a beautiful city. The closer he drew near to it, the more he could smell the sea and life. There were palm trees, ferns, tropical plants and flowers clustered close to the shadows of the blue walls and warm wet air. Ships bringing slaves from Cerak At’Thul were most likely the reason Persian was here. He liked to snatch up unpolished gems. Likewise Oor treated it as a sort of meat market, though he rarely found anything if interest and it never kept his attention long. Slaves aside, it was a beautiful place.

Chaceledon flew low over the city so she could see it properly through the glass walls of her bowl, his eyes scanning for a spot to land. He flew in a wide, lazy circle, enjoying the warm thermals rising from the sea. He wasn’t surprised to see another dragon there, a long creature of purest white. A female, if his eyes weren’t failing him. She twisted through the air, and passed close to him to examine Seteta with an amused laugh. Chaceledon eyed her, but she meant no harm, and spiraled away into the annals of the city. His heart lurched a bit. Other dragons. Other dahns. Seeing Nica had been rough enough but a young female dragon? It just made him feel old and out of place. Like a hedahn would feel.

He shook the feeling and flew a bit lower. Rheinhard will be in an arena, day in, day out. See anything?

Seteta
 
It didn't take long for Chaceledon to pack up their stuff... a matter of seconds, really, but when he tickled her with his tail fluff, she flinched and sneezed.

Chaceledon said:
He drew close to her, nuzzling her. You had better get in the bowl before I knot you again, my koiros.
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Seteta scooted away from him, lifting her chin a little higher and still refusing to look at him. She wasn't really mad but she was annoyed. She'd sensed a little ire behind Chaceledon's actions, and couldn't think of what she'd done or said to invoke it.

She yelped again, though, when he scooped her up with his tail and settled her in the bowl. Then they were off, headed toward Annuakat, and she carefully arranged the luggage and herself in her bowl so that if Chaceledon decided to take any sudden twists and turns again she wouldn't get crushed. Once settled, she amused herself by poking or petting his ribs from time to time to see how he reacted before she dozed off.

As much as one could doze off when carried in a glass bowl by a dragon, thousands of feet in the air.

She roused when the smell of the sea teased its way into the glass bowl. The blue walls of Annuakat gleamed brightly, even through the distorted glass around her, but she was most surprised at the sight of another dragon. There was little interaction, though Seteta met the white dragon's gaze unflinchingly, offering just a nod of greeting before the other flew off.

Chaceledon said:
Rheinhard will be in an arena, day in, day out. See anything?
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Seteta looked over the city again, what she could see of it. "Maybe near the docks?" she suggested. "It looks like there might be a small arena there."

Chaceledon
 
Chaceledon’s skin rippled when she poked it, not so when it was stroked. His scutes would bunch up and rise, like a bird fluffing feathers, then settle again. He felt a bit guilty for playing around with her like that. It was a weird, almost predatory urge to scare her. Whatever it was, he didn’t like it. She was smaller than he, but that didn’t mean she deserved something like that when flying already had her sore. He resolved to apologize to her later. Right now they had to find Rheinhard.

He nodded at her suggestion of the docks, and headed in that direction. She was right. There was a small oval arena near the rocks, presumeably to keep the sailors happy and allow those purchasing fighting slaves to see them in action. He flew over it, trying to get a good look. He couldn’t see much at this height, and if he flew any lower he risked getting the attention of those in the arena. He’d have to land.

He headed for the larger, broad platforms of the docks meant for cargo, and landed there. He carefully set the bowl down, and landed rear legs first with Seteta nestled safely between his fore paws. From there it was an easy shift back to becoming something a little less conspicuous. He settled his arms on the side of the bowl and offered her a hand. “Let’s see what we can see. And…I’m sorry for earlier. I’m not sure what came over me.” he said quietly.

___________________

Rheinhard had dealt with punishments before, but this was one of the worst. He was covered in bruises from head to toe, and one eye was swollen shut. His right ear had been torn to shreds by something, and he was nursing a significant slice along his ribs. Oor glared at him. He’d been in the arena for two days straight, with barely enough time to sleep, and still hadn’t folded. He threw a towel over him. There’s a water spigot on the first floor of the hotel. Clean yourself up. You had better be more amenable when the sun goes down. Persian’s not going to keep throwing girls at me. Oor snarled.

Rheinhard slowly sat up, holding the wound in his side and grasping the towel with the other. He walked downstairs, using the wall to hold him up more than anything else. Oor gave a nasty look at the blood smears along the wall, and collapsed into a chair. They were in a tea room in one of the hotels near the docks.

Persian shook his head a bit. “Last one, Oor. My patience is wearing thin.” He said coldly, and toyed with the rim of a glass. He hadn’t heard a reply from Seteta either. Perhaps she’d reconsidered their alliance? He studied Oor. Stressed, angry. If he aligned with the sand elf and the dragon…it might prove more fruitful than the wraith losing control over his own pit dog.

Seteta
 
There was an arena nearby, but the thought as to why was certainly chilling, but there wasn't long to think on it. The landing was a little jarring, but Chaceledon set her... carriage down carefully, and Seteta climbed over the luggage and took his hand.

Chaceledon said:
“Let’s see what we can see. And…I’m sorry for earlier. I’m not sure what came over me.” he said quietly.
Click to expand...

She used his hand to steady herself as she climbed up the luggage toward the edge. Carefully slinging her legs over the side, she paused there, reaching over to touch his face softly.

"If I say or do something that upsets you, you need to tell me," she said. "I can't change or help what I don't know about."

Seteta leaned down and pressed her forehead to his, even though it meant she was bent nearly double on the edge of the bowl. "I love you," she whispered. "But in some ways, we barely know each other yet, so you have to talk to me."

She pulled back, her eyes soft, and cupped his face, then leaned back down and kissed him.

Chaceledon
 
“You didn’t upset me. At all.” Chaceledon leaned into her touch. He hadn’t known why he’d done it, but he knew it was common. Sometimes a dragon just…lifted a servant up and snapped her spine like a twig. It was a weird compulsion to hurt something smaller than you were, and he really hated it. He’d have to avoid being himself for a bit. At least, the scaly version of himself. “I love you too.” he told her, closing his eyes and leaning against her for a moment.

However he was keenly aware of being stared at by a group of sailors. He kissed her cheek, and wrapped an arm around her waist. He helped her out and retrieved their luggage. There had to be a halfway decent inn somewhere nearby. He frowned and looked around, seeing a sandstone building jutting out over the water. Someone had curved the wooden docks around it, giving it a small seating area. Stairs below led to pleasure craft boats, and large windows above helped display the views of the sea.

“What about over there?” he suggested, nodding to it.

Seteta
 
The moment was broken by a catcall, and Seteta scowled at the sailors as Chaceledon helped her down the rest of the way. She took a couple of the lighter luggage bags, though, and looked over at the inn Chaceledon pointed out as she arranged her headscarf to keep her ears covered.

Annuakat was not necessarily friendly to Abtati. Better to be mistaken for a human at first glance.

"We might as well check it out," she nodded, and reached over to clasp his hand in hers. As they left the wooden cargo dock, the instant their feet hit the sandy road, Seteta pointed the toes of one foot and dug them into the ground, reaching out into the earth with her magic. She sent a small tremor through the earth to where the nosy group of sailors stood, and smirked to herself when she heard them tumble and shriek.

"The sandstone building is helpful," she spoke up as if she hadn't just pulled a prank. "It'll be friendly with my magic if I need it."

Chaceledon
 
Chaceledon took his hand in hers and kissed the skin, smiling down at her. He heard the loud cries and swearing from the sailors, and he glowed with pride. “Are you sure you’re not hiding a dahn somewhere?” he whispered conspiratorially as they walked toward the inn. He checked them in to the best room they could afford, and gave the front desk a tip to keep them quiet.

Once he had the rest of their cash in the inn’s safe and their things upstairs, he felt better. “The Arena’s likely going to bar us entry. Any ideas?” he asked as he put their clothing away. “Rheinhard might need medical help, as well. Oor’s angry if he’s been killing girls he’s meant to be knocking up.”

He couldn’t keep the worry out of his voice. Rheinhard was a strong man, but Oor knew him. If he truly wanted to…if Rheinhard pushed him…there were so many other ways to hurt his son. Chaceledon was chewing his lip to ribbons. He hoped it wasn’t too late. He fixed his clothing and put up his hair. “We’ve been lounging too long. Come with me. We have to get to that Arena, and think on the way.”

He barely looked at her as they walked the streets, eyes filled with worry. Rheinhard couldn’t hold out forever.

____________________

Rheinhard felt a little better after stitching his wound and bathing. Water and coldness on his bruises had done him a world of good, but before he knew it…they weren’t resting. They were headed back to the Arena. This time, without Persian. The slaver gave them both a strange look as they left, but he said little. Rheinhard’s heart sank as Oor led him back inside the building and took his muzzle off.

In the pit. You’ve got four opponents. You want men so badly? You’ll have them, you stupid wretched thing. First man to put you on your back gets a free ride between your legs. Fight back, and I blind you. I’ll keep you staring into eternity until you go fucking feral. Oor’s voice was ice as he shoved him toward the gate. Rheinhard paused, for only a moment. His chest hurt, exhaustion was fuzzing his brain and every muscle ached.
He’d known this threat was coming, and it still didn’t stop him from wanting to fling himself to the ground and beg for a beating instead.

Move.

It wasn’t a suggestion. Oor was giving him a direct command, and he couldn’t disobey. He stepped into the arena, and took a deep breath. There weren’t four men.

There were fourteen.

Seteta
 
Seteta laughed as Chaceledon kissed her hand. "Who knows?" she murmured quietly. "Maybe, once upon a time, there was another dragon and Abtati that fell in love..."

It didn't take them long to get situated at the inn, but Chaceledon was rambling and nearly vibrating with worry, and Seteta was barely able to tug his lip out from between his teeth before he was hurrying her out the door and toward the arena.

"Whatever help he needs when we find him, we'll get it taken care of," she said as they walked. "But keep an eye out for a doctor's sign as we walk, so we know where to take him."

She bit her own lip then for a moment, as they dodged other pedestrians and wove around stalls. "As for getting into the arena... as long as there's sand around, I should be able to handle that--watch out!"

Seteta tugged at Chaceledon's robes just as an angry camel careened around a corner, pulling him out of the way.

"We need to get there in one piece," she muttered, then looked up and realized that they were almost at the arena.

"Persian and Oor might have instructed them to bar entry to a man with copper hair and the Abtati woman with him... but what if I approached the gate alone? Most Abtati have dark hair, bronzed skin, and amber eyes. And neither of them saw me wearing a headscarf, so they don't know about that habit of mine. So far as anyone at the gate will know, I'm just another woman of Annuakat."

Chaceledon
 
Chaceledon barely saw the animal coming, and blinked when he was tugged sharply out of the way. He rubbed his face; he needed to focus. He was terrified of facing Oor again, especially with the wraith in a pissed off mood. More scared still about what was being done to his boys. Men like Klaus could handle anything but…Rheinhard was still hiding a bit of softness he hadn’t let anyone touch. If Oor managed to drag that out and tarnish it, he’d burn Annuakat to the ground.

“For the gods’ sake be careful.” Chaceledon told her. She was right. If Oor he only seen her with her hair uncovered, and a covered face was common here…it just might work. He folded his arms and hung back a bit. “I can’t risk him seeing me. If it were up to me I’d burn the entire thing to ashes, but he would kill Rheinhard if that happened. I’m sure of it. If that spell goes, Nestor thinks it would take a significant amount with it. Like a sinkhole of magic. Whatever happens, keep Rheinhard alive, and come back to me safely.”

Chaceledon grabbed her and pressed his lips to hers. He kissed her for all she was worth; his eyes closed and his arms about her waist. He couldn’t let her walk into that lion’s den without letting her know how much he loved her. He let her go, his eyes going to the Arena. A loud cry had risen from the late evening crowd, along with an answering roar that made him want to vomit. That was Rheinhard’s bellow.

________________

Oor watched coldly. Rheinhard was fighting like a polecat. He’d managed to take two down, and a third was struggling to bind a fatal wound on his thigh. After two days with no sleep, barely any food, and one side stitched together, Rheinhard was flagging. He didn’t so much charge as stumble, keeping them at bay with snaps of his teeth and wild lunges with a blade.

“Oor. You can’t possibly mean to go through with this.” Persian entered the box, arms folded and his mouth in a hard line. Oor didn’t flinch.

Came to watch? The late night crowd has less compunctions about paying off guards to break the rules.

“I came to ask you to stop.” Persian settled next to him. “Rheinhard is a strong man but he’s still only human. Letting those men rape him won’t make him any more likely to-“

That’s no longer the point. He said no to me. He doesn’t get to say no to me. I’ve tolerated his…purity in that department long enough. Now I’m taking it away. Just like punishing a child. Oor snorted. As if I need your advice on taming slaves.

“I can’t have any part of this. When he goes mad and slits his own throat you’ll take half of Annuakat with you.”

Then I take half of Annuakat with me. I believe we’re done here, De Soto.

Persian’s eyes were on the sands. Rheinhard stumbled onto one knee. Two men drew close. One caught a wild lunge to the hip and the other shouldered Rheinhard over. The victory was short lived the minute he tried to position himself over the other man and caught a bite to the face. “Yes, I believe we are.” Persian muttered.

Seteta
 
"I will," Seteta promised as Chaceledon swept her into his arms. "I will be fine, and I will bring Rheinhard out of there. Give me ten minutes to get in and assess the situation, then take your dragon form and watch from the air. At some point, I'm certain we'll need your help."

She sighed into his kiss, wrapping her arms around his waist, simply because he was too tall for her to wrap them around his neck. She had to gasp for breath by the time they parted, and she took just a moment to lean her head against his chest.

Then she pulled away, but not out of his embrace yet, nimbly draping her scarf around her face and over her head, tucking it in so it stayed in place.

Chaceledon's arms fell away as a cheer rose from the arena crowd, so loud as to be heard even from where they stood, followed by an angry bellow.

She gave Chaceledon's hand one last squeeze. "Ten minutes, sehejib," she said. "And don't tarry."

Then she was off, weaving through the crowd with a speed and nimbleness that only an Abtati possessed. With a quiet murmur of apology, she snitched a wineskin from an untended camel, and then a few minutes later she found herself at the gated entry to the arena.

This late in the match, there wasn't a line to get in, but what she looked for was a smaller, lesser-guarded servant's entrance, smiling beneath her scarf when she spotted it a little ways off. There was only one guard, and he barely glanced at her, waving her through when she held up the wineskin.

The arena's seating would have given her a better vantage of what was happening, but she doubted she could get close enough with the amount of people who seemed to be there. It wasn't a large arena, after all. Oor had probably been fighting Rheinhard here for days, and word had spread through the docks.

She smiled again when she caught sight of the gates that led into the fighting pit, and the sand that spilled through it at the base. Glancing around, she approached the gate cautiously. No guards were posted, so it was apparently a lesser used one, but that didn't mean someone wouldn't patrol.

Seteta crouched down, and cautiously extended her magic through the sand. Not enough to be noticed by anyone, but just enough that she could sense what was happening on the sand.

Her stomach wrenched.

She recognized Rheinhard by the same feel he'd exuded when she used the earth to locate him the first time outside of Fal'Addas: the sense of utter wrongness, caused by the spell which rejected everything that was right and natural about death.

But there were... so many other feet, and while she sensed at least four or five incapacitated fighters, there was at least double that still remaining.

Rheinhard was greatly outnumbered.

Seteta glanced up at the stands, but her view of them was mostly blocked. She didn't, though, see the boxes that the slave owners and nobility tended to sequester themselves in, so hopefully that meant she was under them.

There was little she could do from here with a gate between her and Rheinhard, though.

A glance around once more to be sure she was still alone, and Seteta pushed her magic through the sand. Tendrils of it began to weave upward through the lattice of the gate at the edges, and then push it open. She made sure to stay back in the shadows, so those in the stands wouldn't see her, just that the gate was rising. They would, hopefully, just assume that something knew was being added to the fight. Something planned.

She could hear the fight from where she was, but it was closer to the wall, to the left of the gate, and she couldn't directly lay her eyes on it. The roar of the crowd had grown louder once the gate was up, and if she delayed much longer, they would grow suspicious. With a deep breath, Seteta dropped the wineskin, and stepped into the arena.

She called the sand to her aid, and she knew Oor would be aware of her presence within seconds, but it shouldn't be much longer before Chaceledon arrived. Three or four minutes, perhaps, and she hoped that between her and Rheinhard, they could hold off the fighters and the guards until he was there.

The sand around Rheinhard's attackers exploded, shooting tendrils into the air to surround them, subduing limbs, and Seteta darted across the field to Rheinhard's side.

"It's me," she hissed, taking up position at his back, her stomach plummeting as she caught the briefest glimpse of his condition. "Seteta. Chaceledon will be here soon. Do you have a weapon I can use to help you hold these people off? Oor will likely be sending more now that he's seen me."

She hoped, when Chaceledon arrived, that he'd be able to swoop down and carry them out. She wasn't sure what their plan would need to be if he couldn't.

Though she did still have that favor to call in with Persian, and her eyes quickly scanned the arena stands, eyes narrowing as she finally caught sight of Oor and Persian within the private box.

Chaceledon
 
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