Agni had been feeling restless and anxious, like there was some itch she needed to scratch. She did not like this feeling, as it was rather unusual for her. Her ground state was calm, peace, but she had been increasingly irritated lately. Her bondmate was nearing. That was the only explanation she could think of. Isolating herself more from the other dragons, she was lately finding herself in unusual places. This was just another such time. Following her strange compulsion, she settled herself in a large chamber in the monastery. She lay her head down and closed her eyes, but did not sleep. To her surprise, she heard footsteps approaching. Lifting her head again, she looked at the doorway to see one of the monks entering, followed by a second figure. She had not heard his footsteps.
Silently, she observed him with her creepy white eyes. He was staring at her with what could only be described as surprise. That was not so surprising. He was clearly not one of the monks. Perhaps he was here to bond with one of them. Perhaps he was her bondmate. That thought pleased her and she stood, still watching him silently as he drew warily nearer. Agni knew her impartial gaze made most uncomfortable, but there was little she could do to change that. She was perhaps not so intelligent or knowledgeable as A’untyr, but she was the dragon of pure mana. Mana was grounded in understanding, thought. Long had she perused the memories and wisdom of her ancestors, and quiet observation and thought had always been more important to her than any particular judgment.
The male was curious. He was not large in stature, nor did he look particularly old. He had long, black hair tied back into a ponytail and pale blue eyes that rivaled hers in their disconcerting gaze. Perhaps it was simply their color, as was the case with hers, but there was something about them. Yes, he was her potential bondmate. So as he approached, she rumbled a soft question into his mind. “Who are you?” She asked the question as it was. Not, “what is your name” but “who are you?” What would he reply? Her curiosity was quiet, but genuine. He opened his mouth, but when he locked eyes with her, something seemed to happen between them. Did he know how to answer this question the way she had asked it, this human? She observed his reaction quietly, and could not find the answer to her own question. It seemed he could not either, so she ventured a different one, a simpler one. Going with the concrete seemed like the safer option. “What is that scar?” She asked, referring to the mark under his eye. It was the only one marring his relatively pale face, but it seemed deep. Fate did not make mistakes.
He smiled, but those eyes of his reminded her of the deer she hunted, and the next question she asked almost before she knew why. “Are you going to lie to me?”
The question seemed to startle him, as if no one had asked it before. The fake smile vanished, replaced by a wary look. How strange this human was. But when he finally did speak, she could tell he was speaking the truth. “I received it from a piece of broken glass, during a fight.”
A fight? She met his eyes again. Yes, she was becoming more and more certain of it, he was her bondmate. There was something underneath his simple gaze that drew her closer. “There is another mark on your wrist as well. What is it?” She did not think he would lie to her this time, but it felt important to her that she hear from his lips what that mark meant to him. It was clear it was no ordinary mark from a fight, its shape was too precise for that. Besides, those two things were the only things visible on his skin outside of his clothing. They had to mean something.
It was clear it did mean something to him. “It is a brand – the mark of a slave. It means I belong to someone else. Not myself.” His words were almost spat with anger, and his fingers clenched into a fist. He hadn’t even needed to look at it, he had already known exactly what she was talking about.
“And yet you are here.” She had said calmly. She meant nothing by this, it was simply the way things were. For a slave and one whose face bore just one scar from a fight, he was here in the Lunate Monastery, speaking to her. “So, is that who you are, that scar?” Are you nothing but a slave in your own mind? Even though you are here standing in front of me now, who are you? What are you? Does your past make you who you are?
He hesitated, then said, “I do not know.”
“Good.” She said, with satisfaction. There could be no mistake. He was her bondmate. Raw mana could not exist in the world by itself. As soon as it met an element it changed into an elemental mana of some sort, and yet it was all mana because it was understanding. Only through understanding that you do not understand can you come to the heart of truth. That was the paradox that meant everything. He knew that he did not know what he was, but it was alright that he did not know who he was, for mana itself was nothing and everything. As long as he knew that he did not know, he was the right one. Without any further ceremony, she pushed her nose into his waiting hand.
As her presence spread into him, his exploded into her. What came first were the feelings. A burning fury to rival that of any fire dragon, a dark pit of endless despair, and the pain. It was not physical pain, but a pain of a different kind, a pain much worse. It made her want to thrash with the agony, yet trapped her body into stillness at the same time. What was this human who seemed quiet on the outside, but held this turbulence within? The memories of her ancestors had told her that human emotions would be stronger than hers normally, but even by those standards, could these be called emotions? They roared and raged stronger than she could have even imagined in her wildest dreams.
And then came the memories. Only a few were presented to her, but they held a strange chronology, seeming to start from the most recent.
~~
An old man with a balding head was standing in front of her, speaking. “You are descended from the first of the Arcane dragon tamers, Obrehn Mys’rah. He was a studier of mana, a great man….” More words were spoken and heard, but what was more important was the spite in her head. “Me? I am a child of such a lineage? What worth is such a thing? For what does Fate torture me so with this responsibility I do not want? Her jesting is cruel, as always.” Who cared about an ancient lineage, when the only one of those who had mattered was her mother, and she was gone?
~~
Her calloused hands gripped two ends of a rope tightly. A man was struggling against her body, the rope clearly crossed once over around his neck. A voice that was not hers came from her mouth, low and coarse, whispered into the dying man’s ears. “Stop struggling. It is simply your time to die.” She yanked one last time on the rope crossed around his neck and he fell limp as the harsh hemp cut deep into her palms.
~~
A woman was charging at her and she ducked under the lady’s swing, digging her own knife into the woman’s stomach and yanking upwards, splitting it open. She backed away, breathing hard, and wiped a little sweat away from her brow, leaving blood in its place. The woman had fallen, clearly dying. The dying woman was at fault. She had been the first one to attack without provocation. In the human’s memories, Agni stepped past the woman and went through the bag she had carefully set down after her initial attempt to rob him- her?- had failed. There was almost nothing of any value. No food, no coins, no weapons, useless. But then he… she… found something he did not expect. A baby was hidden in the swaddling of the bag. She-he- turned and walked away as if he had seen nothing, just as the baby began to cry.
~~
He walked into a dank, dark, dilapidated house he called home, only to find someone hanging upside-down from the ceiling, clearly having been caught in one of his many traps. “Help me.” The person croaked, apparently having been stuck there for some time, face red.
He found the correct mechanism to release the trap, as his rope traps were not designed to be simply freed with a simple cut. But as the first man fell to the ground, another one came lunging from the shadows towards him. A few minutes later, both of them were hanging from his ceiling, this time with the rope around their necks instead of a leg.
~~
He held a knife in his hand and flipped it over and over, accidentally cutting himself after dropping it strangely. He’d have to learn how to use it. He had stolen it on a whim, but it had to be useful sometime, right?
~~
He bumped into a woman. “Oh, I’m sorry. Please, do forgive me, please. I really didn’t mean to do that, oh no, let me help you.” The voice coming from his mouth was nasally and obsequious, but it was his voice. Keeping his head ducked, long hair not tied up, but greasily shielding his face, his hand seemed to slip, snatching her purse from where it was secured on her hip.
~~
He was dressed better now, more cleanly. His hands were fairly soft, and there was a girl, around his age. She was beautiful, with light brown eyes and self-confident eyes of gleaming emerald, but her appearance did not inspire love or admiration. It only made him hate her more. “Come here, Narien.” Narien. That was his name.
“Yes, Ms. Mauri. I only live to serve.” This time, his voice was refined and professional, but still obviously young, and held a slightly cheeky note of sarcasm. Mauri. Mauri… As she drew him down into his state of helplessness and fury, he thought again how he would love to have his fingers around her neck, crushing her beneath him instead. The hatred burned unspeakably in his throat, and it was all that seemed to be keeping him alive as he fled the confines of his mind.
~~
He was tied to a chair, an older man was roughly grabbing his hair, face inches from his own. The look on the older man’s face was angry, but that merely satisfied Narien. He had been trying to make this ugly man with the rough skin and the pockmarked face angry. “Do you not know your position, boy?” The man’s festering breath reached his nostrils unpleasantly, but Narien did not flinch. Ah, how the hate boiled inside his head as he looked at this man.
When he spoke, his voice was lighter and higher than it had been in the other memories. Not on purpose this time, but because it had yet to break. He was younger now. The hate was the same, though. Newer, less familiar, but the same.
The scorn dripped from his young voice with vicious glee. “Aye, I know my position. Now, as I ever have, I know, more than those who look on, what my position is. I also know what your position is, Keenin, though I have yet to fathom why you should pick me, of all the rich little young masters to target in Freya. You fools.” Of all the rich little young masters, they should not have chosen him. He would bring them no fruit, no. Not with a father like his.
~~
What was this human of many voices? How could he be her bondmate? She who loved the peace and quiet, who lived in the calm and spoke with honesty. What was this miserable creature of blood and anger and deception? Her ancestors’ tamers had not been thus. All the humans were different, and she had expected hers to be as well, but this…. She could never have expected this.
Agni Lu’ule trembled, but in her heart she made no judgment, for she believed she had yet to see all there was to see, and in that moment a memory hit that was not quite like the others. She sensed it was also out of order.
~~
He was on the ground, hurting everywhere, but none of that mattered, no none of it. A small boy, obviously no relation of his, was being hauled away. He had dark brown hair and dark blue eyes barely visible in the shadows of the alleyway. The child was screaming. Narien wanted to roar in protestation. He wanted to stand up and keep fighting. HE HAD TO STAND UP. HE HAD TO SAVE HIM. His fingernails scratched against the hard cobblestone, as he tried to push himself up. His body would have none of it, and his consciousness was slipping away with his strength. Curse Fate. Curse the gods. Curse Life and Love and all that claimed to be good. If he had to destroy them all to do so, he would get up. He would. He did not matter, only that boy. Only that boy….
Even as the memory itself subsided, the pain of it stayed. There was the hate and the anger, yes, but that was simply what was on top – what made the grief underneath manageable. The other two things threatened to overwhelm the truth, but Agni had always understood the sadness that came from love, if not at this magnitude.
~~
It was night and the girl with the emerald eyes was standing in front of him outside the gates of her property. The guards were sleeping an unnatural sleep beside the two of them. She was smiling at him, as ever, but he was staring at her in a mixture of confusion, horror, and hatred. What was she doing? It was just the two of them out alone at night out by the gates… freedom. But he could not be free as long as he was marked as theirs. She did not seem to care.
The words fell from his mouth, but they held his natural inflection this time, not the refined, mocking fakery he had used with her up til this point. “What had you ever done to deserve this blessed existence of yours?” He whispered hatefully.
She did not flinch at his change in tone. In fact it was as though she had known all along that this was who he was, and had simply been indulging his game. She laughed an entitled laugh and simply told him, “You always ask such strange questions, Narien. Why would I need to do something to deserve to exist however I wish?” And then she took out a knife and made a single cut on her hand, that soft hand of privilege that proved she had never known work or hardship, and with a little of her blood on his mark, she pushed him out into the world to be free of her, free of his life as a slave.
He stumbled back, for she had physically pushed him, but his head was boiling. How dare this bitch do such a thing. How could this be? Guilt roiled around with the regular hate and fury he was used to. After all that she had put him through, how could she now turn around and set him free? How could she show him that this was who she had been all along? Could this selfish kindness be her true nature? In his heart, he had known it all along, he had simply not allowed himself to do anything but hate her.
And worst of all, the horrid thought nagged, “Did I have a choice with you? If I had only spoken, would you have listened? Did I have a choice…?”
~~
He was sitting in a large, but empty hall, beside a larger man whose face was turned away from him. It was just the two of them, no servants or anyone else of that nature, and the ornate wooden table seemed to echo this loneliness, one of the few furniture pieces left in the house. The older man pushed a box towards him with a single earring, explaining that it had always been his mother’s intent to give it to him. It was his eleventh birthday, there was no sense in wasting time now that she was passed.
Narien opened his mouth to thank the man, but words as torturous as poison cut him off. He was leaving again, and he made no promises as to the date of his return. The boy tried to look the man in the face as he asked cruelly, “Will you only be back when mother comes back?” The man met his eyes in broken alarm and gave a quiet, ambiguous response Narien took to be a yes. Yes, he would only return when the dead did. Yes, his son, who was alive, did not mean any more to him than that.
Later that night, alone again in his bedroom, he threaded the expensive piece of jewelry into the hole in his ear he had received as a child. He had always worn a stud in one ear, a proud symbol of their wealth, for earrings were rare items. For a moment, he stared into the mirror, his mother’s memory in place of that pride, and then he stood up abruptly. He crushed the hard little box in his hand and dashed it against the floor, turning his face away from the reflective surface so as not to watch as the angry tears spilled forth shamefully to run into the dip by his nose and mix with the mucus.
~~
He wasn’t awake. Was he? Everything was dark, and there was little to be heard. He had fallen asleep by his mother’s side again, grasping her warm, comforting hand in his as he lay his head on her bed. But he could not be awake, because even if his eyes were still closed, he could always hear the rattling, weak breath of his sick mother. In and out, in and out, unpleasant, but constant, unwavering. Indubitable.
He opened his eyes to see the moonlight slanting in through her bedroom window. A large figure lay sprawled in a large armchair by the dying fireplace, and he could see the man’s chest moving up and down as he breathed softly: the breath of a healthy man. He looked back at the bed. There she was as always, but she was not breathing. Her hand was there, but he could feel its warmth fleeing and she was still as stone and white as the moon itself. What did all of that mean?
As if in a dream, he stepped away from the alien form prone on his mother’s bed, and went to tell the man that his mother had been stolen in the night.
~~
Agni returned to herself, and discovered that she was sad. Through the hate and the cruelty and the anger in those memories, she mostly only felt the sad. It was not pity, as an outsider might feel, but the sadness as he felt it, because it had somehow become her sadness, too. Within that sadness just one more, one very last little memory presented itself.
~~
Unlike all the other memories it was full daylight and he was standing outside in the sun on the grass. The older man was there, though much taller, and short little Narien was running away from him, laughing incoherently. He grabbed Narien and scooped him off the ground, spinning him a short ways before throwing him once up into the air. “Again, daddy, again!” The child, insisted, turning to look at his father.
Looking him in the face, in the shining sunlight, it was clear after all that the shape and color of his eyes was the same as Narien’s, but they were so full of light and joy that there was nothing that could be considered creepy about them. “Alright, up you go again!” And Narien’s father hurled him way high up, so he felt like he was flying.
He laughed and flapped his arms fearlessly, unaware of even the possibility that his father wouldn’t catch him. “Mason!” A woman’s voice was heightened in an attempt to be admonishing, but was failing slightly as she, too, was laughing.
Mason caught Narien and swung him around to face the woman, a slender lady with long, silky brown hair pinned up at the back of her head. The angle of her features were strongly reminiscent of the boy’s own, but they were also alight with a simple joy. She looked delicate, but her skin seemed to glow with health. “Don’t worry, Saefi.” The man’s voice seemed to reverberate in the memory, as the child himself felt the vibrations of his father’s chest. “Narien is fearless. He’ll be a fighter for sure, stronger than I ever was.”
~~
The glow faded and the bonding ended just as it had started: with an emotion – an emotion she did not quite understand in this form, but recognized anyways. Only this time it was not anger, but love – excruciatingly pure. The love was for her; for her peace and quiet thought and honesty and impartiality and grace. She loved her siblings, but this was quite a different thing, and as she took in the sadness and the hate and the despair, she felt also this deep love for her seep into every corner of her being and become part of her with it.
A strange human, one she could never have imagined bonding with, but in all of his darkness there was his love, and it made her feel… complete. She breathed out a long breath and opened her eyes. The bond had been made.
(Original date written unknown as it is saved from a blog post now deleted.)