the seas are alive,
and they are raging with monsters, old sport.
| based on the voyage of the dawn treader |
| BOOK TWO OF THE KING IN DISTRESS DUOLOGY |
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2831 BGA, The Dark Ages
"DON'T SHOOT IT!"
"Nobody move!"
"Shut up!"
"No you shut up!"
"All of you, shut the fuck up, goddammit!" Jamie looked up at the dragon in horror, fear whispering up her spine. The cave had been large enough for it to spread its wings, as it screeched a piercing loudness at them. The group had drawn their swords, with Jamie at the front, her own sword in hand. Every fiber in her body screamed at her to plunge her sword in its eye, but instead, she laid her weapon down, and calmly shushed it so it knew she didn't mean it no harm.
"Your majesty, a dragon cannot be tamed." Ser Weyck warned, concern evident in his voice. But he was only ignored by Jamie, who continued to inch towards the dragon. To her right, Zhev had been about to stop her, but Jamie signaled for him to stay put, where he had no choice but to obey the queen's command.
The dragon didn't cease from emitting noises, only seemed to calm down when Jamie got close enough to reach out to pet it on its nose. The young queen held her hand out, careful that it wouldn't tremble, for dragons often attacked when you feared them. A thin sheet of tears veiled her eyes, as she stared the dragon down, and it wasn't long before the creature inched closer to nuzzle into her gentle touch.
Now that she was closer, Jamie could see its onyx scales more clearly, with the color of molten ember subtly lining its hide. The dragon made a purring noise, its reaction to Jamie welcoming, which elicited a relieved exhale from the queen.
"What did you say about dragons being impossible to tame, Ser Weyck?"
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Leo Sandell has always been fond of apple pies. It started when the farmer Mr. Ganid came to their small but humble abode and brought a crate of apples fresh from his orchard. The young boy was but five years old, so he had not known of the business between Mr. Ganid and his father, Daio Sandell. He could still remember the freshness of the cinnamon and honey crisp apples that wafted through the air, sweet and rich, the taste even more so.
Now at seventeen, Leo had started to help his father out at their shop, blacksmithing.
The sound of the hammer against steel echoed a dull pound, as sparks wisped in the air from the flames used to cook the metal. The scent of grime and iron was a stench that clung to the walls, clung to Leo's skin as he oversaw his dad's work. Finishing up a package for a client, Leo tied the box nicely with a ribbon, as it was to be gifted to some Lord or other. "Leo!" At his father's call, he came rushing, leaving the package by the counter outside.
