A couple more meeting-the-ancestor moments for draconic sorcerers, to go with A Question of Lineage (human sorcerer with green dragon ancestry realises that the old ‘family advisor’ to her crime boss family is said utterly-amoral-but-also-quite-loving green dragoness)
AKA two more tiny mortal/dragon romance stories:
Tiefling Sorcerer with Gold Dragon Ancestry
The tired ‘elven’ spymaster curled his hand gently closed around the locket.
“In so many ways, she was the bravest person I’ve ever met. There were … several cults growing in the capital at the time. In particular, a cult of Asmodeus. I used her. Her features, her heritage. I sent her knowing she would be more easily believed by the cult. And more suspected by her own allies. She knew how I used her. But the job needed to be done, and she … allowed it. She went, at my order. Every time. She forgave me so many times, for sending her to what could have been her death. I couldn’t … It needed to be done. But after a while, it became … hard. She got so hurt. So often. We did what needed to be done. But she was so tired. So used to being used. So used to my using her. And after a while I couldn’t anymore. I am immortal. So hard to hurt by comparison. I had a job to do. But I couldn’t let her be hurt for it any longer.”
He paused. Smiled. His eyes flashed a strange, reptilian gold, for just an instant. He brought the locket to his lips and kissed it gently, before slipping it over his head and tucking it into the high collar of his robe. He looked up, and smiled softly.
“She forgave me many things, your great-grandmother. And taught me … a great many others. In all my years, no one has ever showed me the things she did. Remember that. No matter what anyone says about you and your heritage. Remember that, once upon a time, a tiefling spy showed one of the most respected men in the world what courage and sacrifice meant. And when he finally understood how much it cost her, she found it in her heart to forgive and love him regardless.”
(AKA an adult gold dragon masquerading as an elven spymaster, who fell in love with the tiefling rogue he used as an operative against infernal cults)
Firbolg Sorcerer with White Dragon Ancestry
The great white head loomed closer, scenting the air ominously. She huddled back against the ice of the overhang, barely daring to breathe. Oh, this was turning out to be such a lovely day …
“… I know that scent,” a vast voice rumbled abruptly. “I know …”
The dragon flowed down from the top of the overhand, a fluid fall of scale and muscle, landing with perfect grace on the ice and stone twenty feet below. Despite herself, despite the terror, Snow had to admire the natural beauty of the creature. One of the most awe-inspiring in creation.
The white dragon turned, swinging his head around to glare at the shadows beneath the overhang. Snow swallowed sharply. The great creature, radiating cold and fury, loomed close.
“You’re not her,” he growled furiously. “You smell of her, but you’re not her. Who are you?”
Um. But there was no point refusing to answer. And Snow suddenly … had an inkling …
“Do … Do you mean my mother?” she asked, unable to keep a note of sorrow and maybe longing from her voice. “She looked like me. She was a druid. She looked after the ice, the glaciers. I know she … She loved these mountains. Is that … who you mean?”
The dragon was silent for a long moment. Dangerously quiet. And then, slowly, he said:
“Mother. What … happened to your mother?”
Snow laughed brokenly. It was that or sob. It had been such a lovely day. “The … The same thing that almost happened to me,” she said. She closed her eyes, and tipped her head back against the ice. “Ogres have moved into the lower valleys. They … didn’t like company. They drove us out. And killed—”
The dragon reared back. Violently. The icicles on the ceiling rattled dangerously at the motion. Nostrils and icy blue eyes flared savagely. Spines flared along the dragon’s crest. He didn’t roar. He hissed.
“In my mountains?!” he snarled. “They dare?!”
He swung away, a furious clatter of claws and ice. Heading for the entrance to the cave. Then he paused. Froze, rage and hatred coiling through his body. He swung his head back over his shoulder. Glared at her once more.
“Stay here,” he growled. “If you leave I will hunt you down. There is nowhere I cannot find that scent. Stay. I will return when I have shown your ogres whose mountains they trespass in!”
Then he was gone, an avalanche of ice and scale flowing down the mountainside, and Snow … sagged back against the icy wall. Closed her eyes and slid down into a puddle on the floor.
Well. At least a dragon was a more interesting death?
(AKA a firbolg druid glaciologist who bullied/persuaded a white dragon to help her look after his mountains better, and later on persuaded him to a few things more, and murdering the bright and daring mother of his child is most definitely not a good survival plan)
I REALLY LOVE DRAGONS. Also, white dragons particularly, also green and gold, need so much more love.