Morning Star (The Dragon Prince X Reader)

Interlude I - Evening

1000 years ago

"Excuse me, sir?"

The young man jumps when he hears your voice. He looks you up and down before replying. The five fingers on each hand seem to make up for the hooded cloak and the gilded scabbard at your hip - or perhaps he's just too curious to run. "Yes?"

"Is that the residence of Archmage Aaravos?"

"It is. But, ah - he isn't accepting visitors, even the friendly type." The young man's pointed glance at your sword makes it clear what "type" he thinks you are. "If you're a refugee, we have a council you can talk to. If not, you'll have to do something different."

"Thank you for the information," you respond, and walk toward Aaravos's house. Your vision still holds, then. You thought as much, but there is rarely harm in double-checking.

"Stay a moment, miss; did you not hear me? The Archmage-"

"Please, don't fret," you interrupt. "It's all right. He's expecting me."

The man's brow furrows. Then he shrugs, seeming to realise that as a Startouch elf, Aaravos really will be expecting you, and mumbles something about how "it's your funeral". You barely hear him, already walking the short path to the house.

It's not nearly as opulent as many of the elven palaces you've seen, or even his former abode in Elarion, but the stone walls are polished and the front door is at least two heads taller than most humans need. Upon inspection, it stands out from the other buildings in this labouring village - a house fit for their saviour.

You don't bother knocking. If he's expecting you, there's no point. If he isn't... well, it would just make this less fun.

The place's interior is modest. It's larger than you expected, however. Where is he? you think, surveying the plain wooden furniture. It's not worth using future-sight for - especially when he could be waiting for such an opportunity - so you'll do this the normal way. Namely, snooping around.

There are three doors - one must be a bedroom, one a kitchen, possibly a washroom, and -

At the back, another door. An office? You don't dare expose yourself by checking, but nonetheless you can sense a faint something behind the thin layer of wood.

Yes, Aaravos is at home.

Your illusion isn't quite refined enough to fabricate a heartbeat, but if it did, you're sure it would be racing. It does cover the glowing this time, which is good, since you seem to be doing a lot of it. You take a breath. Subtlety, Y/N. That means you must avoid involuntarily drawing on the Star arcanum. As you creep forward, the humming in the centre of your chest intensifies with both your nerves and your proximity to the most dangerous man in the world.

When you reach the door at the end, you can feel it even more intensely. Aaravos is close by. You hesitate.

Then you knock.

He opens the door a moment later. Your tension somehow both diminishes and increases at the sight of his smile, as fond as ever. "Y/N," Aaravos greets you, stepping back from the doorway. He's wearing a simple open-fronted tunic; for the people of this town, his natural appearance needs no adornment. "I wasn't expecting you for another hour."

You smile. "I know. I decided to take that shortcut after all."

"The dice trick again?" He clears some open letters off a chair and moves it closer to his own, leaving the loose paper on top of the unusually cluttered desk.

You shrug. "It's effective."

"It's genius."

You can feel yourself blush. It's not often one is complimented for their creativity by the most innovative mage of the past five millennia. And no matter how much Aaravos does it, it never gets easier to stop a warm flush from creeping up your cheeks. You sit, shaking your head to disguise your embarrassment. "Thank you. I hope I didn't interrupt anything too important. You seem busy." You nod to his desk.