sharp scales and tall tales (1/1)
warnings: g/t, miscommunication, threats, vague dehumanization/using 'it' as a pronoun, fear, general dumbassery
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The old ruins hadn’t shown a single sign of life as he’d approached, but even so, Janus couldn’t shake the eerie feeling of being watched.
He pulled on his horse’s reins as they finally reached the desiccated front gateway, the old stone arch crumbling and pitted in several places.
The heavy wooden doors that had once stood proudly to grant entrance were now reduced to slabs of half-rotted wood, leaned against either side of the archway like they’d been pulled from their hinges and simply set aside. Or torn from their hinges, Janus reflected as he noted the shallow gouges in the wood, as though something heavy and armored with sharp scales had plowed right past the twin doors as easily as an arrow through flesh.
Yes, this was almost certainly where the dragon was.
The thought sent a panicked thrill down his spine, an instinctual ‘what-are-you-doing’ bolt of adrenaline that he normally heeded quite well, since that swift retreat usually ended up preventing his untimely demise.
Not this time.
He dismounted his horse, well aware that taking even a guard-trained horse into a dragon’s lair was practically requesting that one’s steed get surprise-barbecued.
Also, there was a large, hand painted sign planted in front of the gate with ‘NO HORSES’ written on it in bold, bright red lettering. There was even an accompanying simplistic painting of a horse crossed out underneath it, presumably for the more illiterate knights out there.
With one last pat to his mount’s snout, he turned, double-checked his armor and supplies, and promptly strode through the gates.
The moment his foot landed in dragon territory, he let a thick veil of composure fall down around himself, smoothing out his brow and lightening his pace so that his face and body alike betrayed no sign of apprehension.
He’d truly need to sell it, if he wanted to make it out of this with both himself and his errant charge alive. There was no place for the truth here, and luckily, Janus was far more accomplished than most in the art of lies.
So, when he reached the entrance to the stone tower ahead and immediately heard the low, ground-shaking thump of something extremely heavy landing in the open courtyard behind him, he didn’t jump, or even let his hand slip to the hilt of his sword.
Allowing himself a deep inhale, he turned to face the beast behind him.
The dragon was in its more humanoid form, surprisingly enough, with coiffed hair and an elegant set of clothes. Janus had no idea why; it was hardly an effective disguise. If the leathery wings protruding from its back, curved horns erupting from the crown of its head, and slit, narrow pupils all failed to clue one in to its true nature, the fact that it was as tall as the tower before it certainly did the trick.
The dragon’s lips curled back into a mockery of a smile, and there was another sign— Janus would wager only a dragon could fit that many fangs into one vicious grin.
“Well, well, I see I have yet another little knight, trespassing on my territory,” the dragon rumbled grandly, still holding the crouch it had landed in as though ready to lunge forward at any moment. “To what do I owe the dubious honor, Sir Lancenot?”
Janus resisted the urge to twitch an incredulous eyebrow at the name-calling, reminding himself firmly that there was no space for mockery in this plan. At least, not until he’d successfully pulled the rescue off.
“Oh, marvelous and most keen lord of these lands,” he began, making sure his own expression was shaped into something suitably admiring, “I am Deacon, a member of the Royal Guard, here on behalf of the Kingdom of Tempest, seeking your counsel on a matter most vital.”
The dragon blinked, and Janus couldn’t help but be grateful that it had chosen to wear a more human face— it was far easier to read than a reptilian one, though of course Janus would have managed either way. “My… counsel?”
Janus nodded rapidly, maintaining his faux eagerness.
“Ohoho, how interesting.” An intent glint appeared in its gaze, and it leaned closer, its enormous shadow falling over Janus like an invisible shroud. One clawed hand twitched in a way that made Janus’s heart kick up in tempo. “Strangely, I didn’t get the impression that a friendly chat was the reason the last few knights of Tempest deigned to darken my doorstep.”
The subtle accusation rolled off Janus without a single shudder or pause. He was well-aware that the other knights had gone charging in, swords drawn, prepared to risk a fiery death to retrieve their missing prince. He knew because they had all come back alive, surprisingly enough. It was one of many reasons he’d committed himself to this insane rescue attempt.
“A simple misunderstanding, the lower ranks tend to jump to conclusions so quickly these days,” Janus demurred, waving a hand as though brushing the matter aside. “I was sent to smooth things over, as their superior, and thank you on their behalf for your graciousness in sparing their lives.”
They’d all survived to report back to him, about the ruins layout and the surrounding landscape and the dragon’s alarming penchant for toying with intruders.
“‘Smooth things over,’” the dragon echoed, attention entirely ensnared now. “What an entirely unexpected way for a kingdom’s representative to respond to the heir apparent being stolen away!”
There was something wickedly amused in its voice that made the back of Janus’s neck prickle, but he refused to let the beast see him hesitate.
“You’ll find we’re a rather unique kingdom, and that our heir apparent is perhaps, not as valuable to certain powers there alive as he would be dead.”
The unfortunate thing was, his words weren’t particularly far from the truth. It had taken Janus a mere handful of days in the kingdom’s service to learn that the prince’s aunt was far from happy with the current line of succession, and often demonstrated her displeasure through as many avenues as she feasibly could.
Avenues that included attempted assassinations, he’d discovered after foiling a fair handful of them each passing month. The job had proved far more intensive than the cushy ‘royal guard’ position he’d been promised, especially since every attempt he countered had to be kept quiet. He couldn’t allow the risk of a public uproar, of being replaced as the prince’s primary protector, until he could ensure Lady Arescet was no longer a threat.
And then, right when he’d been about to enact a plan to ensure exactly that, his ward had been plucked up by a dragon, of all creatures. Truly, his idiot prince had no idea how lucky he was that he’d so thoroughly endeared himself to Janus.
“Is that so,” the dragon replied, a victorious chime to its voice. “And to think, I expected a king’s ransom! Why, whoever could have been clever and bold enough to anticipate this turn of events!”
Janus did pause shortly this time, thrown off his rhythm. Most dragons would be fuming by now, enraged by the news that they’d picked an out-of-favor royal to kidnap and thus wouldn’t be receiving their customary ransom for their hostage’s safe return. Here, however, there was absolutely no sign of the irritation Janus had anticipated. The beast didn’t even seem disgruntled.
Before he could say anything else, the dragon leaned forwards, placing two giant hands on either side of the ground where Janus stood. With the slightest motion, its claws dragged deep furrows into the ground. It took everything in him not to twitch and give the game away.
“And I suppose you– or your distinguished employer, more likely– have some meaningful method to make it up to me?” the dragon theorized, as though it had expected this all along.
“I know it must come as a shock,” Janus started anyhow, attempting to drag the current mess back on-script, “but– yes. You suppose correctly. You’ll get nothing of worth from the kingdom, but my superior is willing to pay for you to release him to my custody.”
“Ah, because you wouldn’t want a more fortuitous knight to steal him from my clutches and drag an inconvenient loose end all the way back to power.” The dragon had lost some of its amusement, though there was still a vicious glint to those eyes. “If getting rid of the puny prince is so important, I could simply make him disappear myself. With far more ease than you, I’d imagine.”
“No,” Janus’s mouth uttered without his permission, the reply much too fast to be natural. He made an airy gesture to cover his slip. “Rather, that won’t be necessary. My lady might require… knowledge from the prince, so killing him immediately would be hasty. For your reward, the only service we require of you is turning him over to us.”
“Your lady?” Those hands were sliding closer. The dragon’s voice dipped with faux-shock. “Why, you couldn’t possibly mean your employer is Tempest’s very own Lady Arescet?”
“Not… necessarily,” Janus tried, but the denial sounded weak, even to himself. “The identity of my benefactor is irrelevant, and even if it wasn’t, the kingdom of Tempest would naturally prefer that the squabbles of the royal family remain a secret.”
His heart was racing wildly, the thump of it loud in his ears, and though his mouth ran automatically, a litany of swears occupied his mind. These weren’t the questions he had expected to be asked, nor the emotions he had prepared to counter or placate. How had things spiraled out of control so quickly?
“I do believe they have a saying about secrets and their keepers,” the dragon rumbled theatrically, and then it was moving, a talon-tipped hand catching Janus in a crushing grip that forced all the air from his lungs.
Before it could do worse, though, the wards on his armor sparked, and the dragon dropped him right back onto the ground with a hiss, shaking his hand out.
“What in all the realms was that?” it demanded, sounding deeply offended that Janus had dared to come to it prepared for an attempt on his life, such as the one it had literally just tried. “The other knights didn’t do that!”
The other knights weren’t trying to con a dragon, Janus thought but didn’t say, mostly because he was still struggling to suck air back into his lungs.
“He’s pretty different from the other knights,” a familiar voice drawled, and Janus’s gaze flicked over to where he could see a familiar, eyeshadow-donning face poking out from one of the tower’s windows. “Isn’t that right, Jan?”
“Virgil,” Janus tried to say, not sure whether he would sound relieved or surprised or exasperated or some odd mixture of the three. In the end, it came out like a strangled whisper.
“Jan? His name is Deacon, Prince Pouty,” the dragon was saying, its tone too familiar for a kidnapper speaking to a victim. “You should at least be able to tell members of your personal guard apart!”
“Dea– Janus, seriously?” Virgil was giving him a Look. Janus closed his eyes to avoid it, breathing deeply. “What was Deacon supposed to do when an entire dragon dropped by to exact retribution over whatever stupid scheme you were about to try?”
“Die, probably,” Janus muttered, because his sympathy for that particular fellow guard had withered down to dust by the fourth time he’d ‘accidentally’ let an assassin get way too close to the prince’s chambers for comfort.
The dragon interrupted, brow drawn in confusion. “Wait, you know this malicious malefactor? This treasonous transgressor? This– this slimy scoundrel?!”
“Yup.” Virgil had propped his chin up in one hand. “Can’t say I was expecting him to come all the way out here, though.”
Janus felt his heart sink. Virgil had been listening in, which meant he’d heard Janus pretend to be under the thumb of Lady Arescet, and even if he survived the dragon now, he’d have to flee the kingdom–
The dragon threw its hands up dramatically. “Don’t you get it, Dark and Stormy? This is the one we’ve been waiting for, the one who was setting up your abduction for your vile, villainous aunt!”
Virgil snorted. “Janus isn’t working for my aunt, Roman.”
‘Roman’ stared at Virgil, incredulity and disbelief warring on the dragon’s face. Janus imagined that his own expression wasn’t much different. “He just admitted to it!”
“He was lying, you overgrown lizard,” Virgil climbed up onto the stone sill of the window, his hand anchored to the side of the tower wall to keep his balance. “Janus was the one who handled the last five assassins my aunt sent. If he was working for her, he would’ve just ignored them.”
“You knew?” Janus’s voice jolted up in pitch, unable to conceal his surprise.
“Dear Aunt Cetty has been trying to off me since I was like, eleven,” Virgil replied dryly. “I know an assassination attempt when I see one.”
In rapid succession, Janus recalled several particularly stressful moments that he’d had to deal with because of his prince’s overt, near-obnoxious obliviousness, obliviousness that had apparently been feigned all along.
“I’m going to throttle you,” Janus informed Virgil, “Dragon or no dragon.”
Roman growled, a low, reptilian croak that made every hair on Janus’s body stand up, but Virgil only grinned at him like the asshole he was.
“Nuh-uh, it’s too late. You came to rescue me from a dragon because you care about me, now I know that your threats are all hot air,” he retorted, unbearably smug in his teasing. “Ro, gimme a hand, will you?”
Roman grumbled something indistinct under its– his breath, and Janus watched, disbelieving, as Virgil stepped lightly onto the giant’s hand, dropping into a crouch as the dragon expertly ferried him to the ground below, as though the two of them had done this hundreds of times.
Janus barely managed to avoid gaping, but Virgil laughed at him anyway.
“Roman’s a childhood friend,” he informed Janus, as though that sentence was in any way reasonable. “His mom kidnapped my mom once and they ended up getting along well enough to stay in touch. People think he looks intimidating now, but I’ve seen him fly right into a tree and knock half his baby teeth out.”
“Virgil,” Roman groaned, setting a fingertip against Virgil’s face as though to stall any more embarrassing youthful anecdotes. “I should have left you to get abducted by your aunt’s goons.”
“But you didn’t,” Virgil replied, gleeful and only a little muffled. “Now suffer the consequences.”
“There was another assassination attempt planned?” Janus asked, trying to ignore the brain-breaking concept of a royal toddler and a baby dragon being playmates.
“An abduction,” Roman corrected haughtily. “I heard a rumor about it, some goon bragging about a plan to whisk Virgil away to some secondary location! Naturally, I wasn’t about to let that wicked witch have her way.”
An abduction plan wasn’t Lady Arescet’s style, though. She’d never shied from sending assassins directly into the castle before, why–?
Janus nearly choked on his next breath. “Oh.”
“Oh?” Virgil echoed, blatantly curious.
“Oh?” Roman also echoed, blatantly suspicious.
“It’s possible that, perhaps, just maybe, possibly… that was actually my goon,” Janus elaborated, putting on a show of sheepishness.
“Your goon.” Virgil was slowly raising one eyebrow. “For your abduction plot.”
“Potentially,” Janus replied. “Look, I needed you out of the way so Arescet would get sloppy, and a forceful relocation seemed like the simplest way to do it!”
“You arranged the abduction… of your own prince,” Roman said, voice dripping with too much judgment for someone who had recently kidnapped his childhood friend.
“It made sense at the time!” Janus snapped. “I already had several plots and even more elaborate machinations in place– It’s almost like someone decided not to tell me he knew about all the attempts on his life all along!”
“It was funny,” was Virgil’s remorseless defense. “Worth it.”
“So… I didn’t actually need to sit around by this boring tower waiting for some mystery perpetrator to show up?” Janus’s nod was wary, but Roman only let out a long exhale, wings drooping with relief. “Thank the stars, I was so sick of lazing around.”
“I wasn’t,” contributed Virgil, who had routinely avoided his political duties by handing them off to Janus and finding a dark cellar to lurk in. “This was great. Relaxing. Ten out of ten, would get held hostage again.”
“Oh, stop it!” Roman preened at the unorthodox praise. “Just you wait. I know the perfect place for a field trip, we can finally do something fun!”
“...Fun?” Virgil repeated, dubious.
“We?” Janus repeated, incredulous.
Going by the shark-like smile they got in return, they certainly weren’t going to be returning to the castle any time soon. Janus silently mourned the imminent destruction of his more time-sensitive plots and schemes. (Virgil less-silently mourned the end of his time lounging around in a musty old tower.)
In the end, his rescue attempt had failed just as badly as Roman’s assassination-foiling attempt. Despite their rocky start, the two of them almost immediately found common ground in blaming Virgil for it all.
("Still worth it.")
When he’d walked into the ruins, he’d believed that his plot failing would mean his death.
As it turned out, being abducted by this particular dragon was far less lethal– and far more entertaining– than he could’ve guessed.
