Callie/Arthur First Meeting
Het rights or whatever. they've Gripped me.
Arthur woke up, completely nonsensically, in a four-poster bed.
With a canopy.
This was nonsensical mostly because, ten seconds ago, he had been fighting a dragon. He’d been in beds before, and some of them were even a bit fancy, that wasn’t the nonsensical part. The nonsensical part was how ten seconds ago, he’d been fighting a dragon, and then there was a middle part, and now he was in a four-poster bed, and he wasn’t sure how the middle part would connect those two things.
His head kind of hurt, which would have been a clue if not for the face that swimmed into his vision almost the second he blinked his eyes very hard trying to focus, and then the entire middle part, and to that point most of Arthur’s entire life, suddenly made sense.
“Gods damn it,” Arthur said, and then winced, because it probably was quite the wrong thing to say to an angel.
He at least had the good sense to follow it up with, “Sorry. I’m just unhappy I’m dead.”
“Dead?” the angel said, and she blinked, and then frowned, which was quite the expression and had the immediate and lasting effect on Arthur of making him want to make her smile, and preferably ensure she never need frown again. “I just healed you, sir, you’re quite alive.”
“Ah, I hope so,” Arthur said, continuing the nonsensicality, except for the fact that if he was alive then so was she, and he desperately wanted that to be true. He groped for his own chest, and the unmistakable sound of gauntlet-on-breastplate clanged throughout the room, reassuring him of that ‘living’ fact, only slightly muffled by the bedcurtains.
The healing had continued working as he’d spoken, and the concussion must have cleared up, too, because he was suddenly seeing clearly. Angelic features slotted into his head alongside the portraits he’d seen, and suddenly the angel had a name, which was really quite excellent.
“Wait, you’re—” He didn’t get the chance to finish the sentence—Arthur would have introduced himself in turn, especially considering the whole being-in-her-bed, except that was interrupted, and quite rudely, by the bellow of a dragon.
The same dragon which he had just been attempting to kill, which was a bad sign for the actual efficacy of that plan.
Arthur swore, and then kind of flushed because it still felt rude to do in front of his angel— and rolled himself off the bed. “Thank you for the healing, miss, I just need to—”
“I’m hardly of a mind to delay you,” his angel told him, and she shoved his sword over the bedsheets at him.
He took it with a grateful smile, and made a mental note as he whirled around to apologize later for staining said bedsheets with blood and debris.
Luckily, the dragon was still clinging to the side of the tower—apparently all the better a position to fling Arthur bodily through a stone wall into a lady’s bedroom—which made it quite a bit easier to put himself in between his angel and the dragon. With only a quick look backwards, Arthur stabbed through the hole his body had made in the wall, and into the meat of the dragon’s neck that was hanging right around there.
He also announced loudly, “Still alive!” because that was the kind of thing his friends liked to know when Arthur did stupid things like get flung off a dragon’s neck and apparently through a wall.
In his defense, Kez’s flight spell only worked for a few at a time and, just like the paladins, Arthur really needed to be close to be effective.
“Oh, good!” came Thorn’s beleaguered voice. He could hear Day and Break and Kez, too, but couldn’t figure out exactly what they were saying. They’d split up to try and cut down on the chance of all of them getting killed at once by dragon’s breath, but it did make communication harder.
Hopefully the communication he was missing wasn’t something like “don’t stab the dragon”, though, because Arthur very much was still doing that.
Though the dragon was distracted by multiple targets, that didn’t make the times it hit those targets any less painful, and Arthur’s armor could only take so much of the hit for him when its claws came back up to try and rake across him again. He hissed, braced, but didn’t quite stumble, and though he could feel his own hot blood dripping down his face and pooling into the dip of his neck, at least it hadn’t got his neck.
He was gearing up for his next pass when from behind him, he heard, “Excuse me, sir.”
His angel was already ducking under his arm and doing a short, complicated thing with her fingers that Arthur recognized as a spell without recognizing the words she was using to cast it.
He threw an arm over his face just in case this was one of those spells Kez tried their best not to catch him in, but instead it was just— a touch, on his cheek. Presumably, his angel needed to touch him for it, rather than his armor, but it was so gentle, was the thing, and so warm. So unlike Kez’s spells, where even the protective ones strained against feeling antiseptic, and so unlike the paladins’, too, which always felt a little dead at the roots. This was just—warm. Uncomplicated, perfect, and all-encompassing, which was probably the magic and could have just as easily been the angel herself, and her perfect hands and the touch, soft as it was, against his cheek.
“I can’t hurt the dragon, but I can help you,” she told him, urgently.
“You’re perfect,” Arthur told her, and then continued, “Try not to be within the dragon’s reach, he’ll be breathing again soon— behind a wall?”
She pursed her lips—an action so distracting that Arthur could be convinced she was secretly working with the dragon, if she weren’t goodness and light incarnate, so far as he could feel—and nodded, and ducked back under his arm.
Arthur was very strong and didn’t look back to watch her go. The dragon hadn’t stopped moving, and now he had someone to protect instead of just rescue, and from behind him he heard, “Try not to get thrown through this one,” which actually got him laughing through his next swing of his sword.
The fight went… not as bad as it could have. Arthur in the tower clearly wasn’t the best choice of a target, which was lucky for him but less lucky for Day and Break and Thorn who were, except for the fact that the two times Thorn and Day went sprawling and didn’t get up again, Arthur must have made a noise or given some indication, as his angel ducked under his arm again, said a few words, and the two of them stirred again, which was very good considering the dragon still hadn’t tried to breathe on them again, and may have been waiting to get multiple people in the same place, which would have had to happen if one of the paladins had to heal.
So no one died! The dragon started looking bad, and then worse, and Arthur did his best to tear away sizeable chunks of its neck, which was bleeding heavily by the time its head ducked down to the hole Arthur’s body had made.
Arthur barely had time to register the large, golden, slitted eye peering through to him, and contracting to focus on him, before the dragon’s head whipped around and suddenly Arthur was staring down the open pink mouth of a dragon, of all things, and there were a couple clicks that Arthur knew to be dragon’s breath being forced through the rings of muscle that separated it most of the time from the lungs.
Arthur had just enough time to realize how badly dying (for real this time) was going to hurt before he was hit by a wave of force so strong it ripped every single one of his already-existing wounds wider and did its level best to pulverize the brain in his skull, too.
And then he didn’t.
The last point of warmth his angel had left him with winked out of his chest, and he didn’t die.
Arthur stood in the middle of the bedroom, miraculously, insanely, alive.
He would have to thank his angel later.
The dragon’s eye returned to look through the hole it had made, which was an incredible mistake on its part.
Arthur didn’t waste time being surprised he was still standing, because that would have been very stupid when presented with the opening he’d just been given.
He was still standing, which meant he was still holding his sword, which meant he was strong enough to wield it, and Arthur told his protesting muscles this very firmly as he flipped his grip to better stab it, up to the hilt, straight through the eye of the dragon. He felt the point go through the jelly of it, catch against something hard—the bone of the socket—and shoved, through to whatever lay beneath.
There was a visceral squishing that Arthur had to ignore as he forced the sword in as deep as it would go—then deeper, getting his gauntlets bloody in the process.
The dragon made a noise. To call it a roar would be giving it too much credit—it was more like death throes, a choking noise from a mouth that suddenly didn’t have enough brain left to work.
Arthur pulled his sword out, and out of the wound spilled mixed-up viscera. He heard Break’s booming voice order, “Move!” to someone outside, as the dragon started to collapse. It almost felt like slow motion, like the body didn’t believe that it was dead yet, but gravity wasn’t choosy and there was a horrible scrape as it wrenched the dragon’s claws away from the stones of the tower and Arthur stumbled when the bulk of the body hitting the ground sent a tremor throughout the entire structure.
All four of his friends were still standing, though, so Arthur turned back to his angel.
“You’re completely covered in blood. How much is your own?”
Truthfully, Arthur wasn’t sure the answer. Many of his wounds were still bleeding—he’d start getting woozy soon if he didn’t bandage them—but he’d been hacking at the dragon for a while before that, so there was very little way to tell whose blood it is after it left his body and got on his armor.
“...Half?” he guessed.
“Not encouraging,” she said, but she drew close anyway, and flipped Arthur’s arm, exposing the buckles of his armor and the large bleeding gash on his forearm.
She clicked her tongue, and murmured something, and the wound started closing, radiating that perfect warmth up to Arthur’s chest again.
He focused on breathing through it, so he had enough breath to lose when she looked back up at him and smiled.
“Arthur,” he finally said, because it seemed like the time where she might want his name. Especially considering she’d healed him… three times, now?
“Arthur,” she repeated, and the way her voice bent around the syllables made Arthur suddenly have a fierce love for his own name that he’d never had up until now. “My name is Caeleana-Itylara Edlynne.”
“Yes, Miss Edlynne,” Arthur said, and then took a couple steps back so he could bow, even if it was clumsy. “Uh, sorry for the introduction. I’ve never met a princess before— and I thought, the dragon—”
“Certainly more important than formality,” Caeleana-Itylara (it seemed inappropriate, now, to think of her as ‘angel’ now that she’d introduced herself) interrupted, but her voice had a laughing lilt to it that put Arthur immediately at ease about being out of depth. “Thank you, Sir Arthur, that dragon was…” A stormcloud passed over her face. “I’m glad he’s dead.”
“So am I,” Arthur said, and closed the gap between them again, unsure how to provide her comfort otherwise. “Though I’m sure your joy outranks mine by bushels. I’m glad I could give it to you.”
Caeleana smiled at him again. “Well, Sir Arthur, I could regale you with the tragedy of events that put me here, but I’d much rather focus on that joy. The people outside— your companions, I assume? Can I count on you for an introduction?”
“Oh! Yes. Well, it won’t be very… formal.” Arthur scrubbed over the hair at the back of his neck. “They’re great, they’re just… well. Not formal. And I’m hardly trained in introductions, Miss Edlynne. You may be better off introducing yourself.”
“Oh, there’s no need to be formal,” Caeleana says. “Trust me, you have earned yourself more than enough informality with me. Just Caeleana is fine.”
Arthur blinked. “Of course, Miss Edlynne. I can— I’ll introduce you. Do you happen to know the way out? Beyond—?” he gestured to the large hole in the tower’s wall.
“Yes, of course,” Caeleana said.
“Wonderful. Lead the way.” And before Arthur could talk himself out of it, he offered Caeleana his arm—the less bloody one.
She took it. She then—and Arthur wasn’t sure if this was an elf thing?—twined their fingers together, so they went down the tower steps together, holding hands.