The Tales of Two Seers

by R. Cooper

  He could choose to be happy, too.

  A Lord for the Bear-Prince

  ARTHUR DROPPED the armful of sticks he’d managed to gather into the remnants of the firepit just as the rain began. He turned toward the mouth of the cave to consider the gray twilight sky through the sheets of falling water, then sighed and stood up.

  He’d been grateful to spot this cave after he’d seen the approaching black clouds of a storm, but he was not looking forward to another night of damp and cold. His fire would not last long. He had little food and… Arthur was trying not to dwell on his misfortunes, but he was surrounded by them.

  He should have been near a village, one of the centers for the farmers and the lords under the Duke’s command to meet and trade and share news. He should have been able to spend his remaining coin on a room, or at least on something to eat. But he had lingered in the last village because of another storm, and listened with worry to the villagers’ stories about the dragon at the heart of this weather.

  Arthur had not known the beasts had power over rain, but they flew among the clouds, so perhaps he should have guessed. The villagers had called this sort of rain Dragon’s Tears, and debated whether the Duke had failed to please one of the great creatures, and what it meant for their honorable lord if a dragon was unhappy.

  In the province of Arthur’s birth, there were no dragons. They had fled or been slain, so it was said, ages ago, at the time when the King had left the Baron and his descendants to govern.

  The villagers of this province had offered no solutions to their dragon problem, if it was a problem; only clucked their tongues and spoken of marriages, and the harvest, and other things farmers had on their minds. Arthur had been told the Duke’s people were suffering, that the dragons, and the great dragon in the mountains in particular, terrorized them, but, by this point, he was no longer surprised to find this was not true.

  His lord had lied to him, or had bad information, but Arthur was inclined to think the first, and not only because his mood was bleak.

  Nonetheless, Arthur made himself go back out into the rain, using the last of the daylight to gather still more sticks, which he left by the firepit when he returned to the cave, hoping that they might dry in time to be useful. He lit a fire with the flint from his bag and blew on it to bring it to life, his eyes darting up to the dark walls of the cave, which occasionally seemed to glitter. Many minerals could shine in the light, so he tried not to think of those lights as eyes.

  There was no one in the cave with him. If there were, they’d had plenty of time to hear Arthur and make themselves known.

  Yet Arthur hesitated before removing his helmet. The bronze had been cast with tortoises, which flickered and moved in the light of the flames. Arthur was getting fanciful, and blamed the sparkles in the cave wall and his rising despair. He took off his coat next, and spread it out to help it dry, so he might use it as a blanket. He laid out his small bedroll before unlacing his breastplate and the rest of his armor, leaving him in his long shirt, sash, and trousers. He put the knife in his belt down next to him, and sat on one of the larger rocks that someone had dragged to the firepit and arranged in a circle around it.

  The entrance to this cave was high into the foothills, requiring a steep climb, but visible from the road. Arthur assumed many travelers must have used it for shelter over the years.

  Arthur’s helmet had kept his hair dry, but he unwound his hair from its knot and combed it before securing it once again at the back of his head. Then he reached for his bag and the dried fruit that was all he had remaining for food.

  His hands shook as he unwrapped the cloth around the fruit, which he set down without eating. He was cold, tired, and wet. He might have been lost. He had little food or coin left. Going on seemed futile.

  Maybe he could run away. Abandon all honor and become a bandit. He could not return home, not like this. He could press on, find the Duke and beg his forgiveness—or be killed on the spot. Even if Arthur got the great lord to listen to him, the Duke would likely not believe him. Arthur’s chariot was broken and abandoned. He had sent his horses home. His clothes were travel-stained and dirty. He hardly looked like the son of a lord, even a younger son of a third and foreign wife.

  Giving in to his despair, Arthur slumped forward to put his face in his hands.

  The sound of a footstep came from the depths of the shadows.

  Arthur was instantly on his feet, his axe-dagger in his hand as he tried to peer into the darkness. He saw motion first, heard another footstep, soft on the stone, and then, at the edge of the small circle of light, glimpsed the shape of a man.

  A tall man, or at least, taller than Arthur. His clothing was dark except for the glimmers of golden and silver threads in the embroidery at the cuffs of his long sleeves and the white sash that separated his top from the folds of his skirt. His black hair was in a neat bundle at the top of his head, uncovered, but held in place with several decorative pins.

  He was not formally dressed but did not look disheveled, although Arthur could not make out much at this distance.

  “Were you trapped by the rain as well?” Arthur asked. His accent would mark him as a stranger to this province but he could not hide it.

  The man tipped his head to the side curiously and came closer. The colors of the thread in his garments indicated he was wealthy, very wealthy, although he had to be as chilled as Arthur. His eyes were dark but gleaming in his handsome face.

  Arthur quickly looked away before he could be caught staring, but the man, who was at least a decade older than him, perhaps older, had beautiful warm gold skin and a mouth to make Arthur dizzy.

  A man like that was probably used to receiving stares. Nonetheless, he kept his eyes on Arthur as if fascinated. “How did you come to be in here?”

  His elegant, cultured voice made Arthur shiver.

  “I saw the clouds beginning to darken and looked around for shelter,” Arthur answered, hoping he seemed composed. “Is that not why you are here?”

  At that, the man blinked lazily, then looked beyond Arthur to the cave entrance, and the rain, before focusing again on Arthur. He gestured gracefully. “This is only the first in a series of deep caves. People often visit this one, which is why there is a place for your fire. But, oh dear, I see it is in danger of going out. Excuse me.”

  Without another word, the calm, strange, beautiful man disappeared back into the shadows. Arthur did not have time to wonder or be lonely, because the man returned in moments, his arms full of firewood. With no particular urgency, he came forward to place the stack next to Arthur, and idly brushed splinters from his fine clothes while Arthur tried not to gawk at him.

  “Thank you,” Arthur managed at last before waving vaguely at one of the large seating stones. The man smiled and sat, so Arthur followed him with much less grace. He laid down his weapon at his feet, then looked over. A small sound escaped him. The man was even more handsome in firelight.

  “I was down there, studying, and fell asleep,” the man said, his gaze sweeping over Arthur’s face, which had youth and a certain sweetness to it, according to some, but hardly merited such a thorough examination. “I dreamed of rain. When I woke, you were here.”

  Arthur felt heat returning to his cheeks and the tip of his nose. “Studying?” he asked, hoping he did not seem as inexperienced as he was, flustered at having the attention of someone like this.

  The man cleared his throat. “These caves are very old, you see.” He said it as if this was an answer, and Arthur glanced around, although if there was writing or drawings on the walls of the cave, it was much too dark now for him to see them.

  “Are you a scholar?” he wondered aloud anyway, shifting forward with interest.

  The man blinked again, more startled than lazy, then straightened up. “Yes,” he said, almost preening, before looking around at Arthur’s armor and his weapons. “You are not.”

  Arthur imagined those words held a question. “I… have often wis
hed to be. To be given more time to study. But the Baron… the new Baron… has matters of war on his mind.”

  “Baron?” the man inquired with a hint of regal disdain. “Matters that send you all the way to the realm of the Duke? Are you a messenger?”

  Arthur felt grubby again, like a farmer unexpectedly seated across from a king. He swallowed. “I am supposed to… but that does not matter now. Are you hungry?” He reached for the discarded cloth full of fruit and offered it to the wealthy stranger.

  The man took a piece, his eyes wide with some emotion Arthur could not name, but then gently handed the piece back to Arthur. His hands were hot and dry where they brushed Arthur’s cold, damp fingers. “Thank you, pearl,” the man told him with that same gentleness, “but you have more need than I.”

  Arthur’s skin stung with his blushes, first for his hunger being so plain, and then for being called pearl.

  “My name is Arthur,” he pointed out, silly and young, no doubt, to someone like this. Especially with such a name. Arthur. As if there were anything bear-like about him.

  The man smiled. “So, the bear-prince has journeyed to this land as an act of war?”

  Arthur went still. “I never said I was a prince.”

  “Tsk.” The man wriggled in his seat, pleased or smug or just trying to get comfortable. “It’s in your bearing, precious one. Whoever named you for a bear had visions of your future. You’re the son of a lord?”

  “Yes,” Arthur admitted tightly. “Younger son, foreign mother, a common enough tale. So, I am here.”

  “Far from home,” the man finished softly for him. “Alone. Without even a horse or proper food. Almost as though you were not meant to succeed on your mission, whatever it is.”

  Arthur darted a look to the man’s handsome face, felt hotter still to find the man’s attention steady on him. “You’re quick.” Arthur’s stomach turned with shame but he nodded and made himself speak. “I believe I was sent here for that reason. To fail. As a supposed honor, which no one asked for, and when I die, as I probably will, it will be reason enough for my brother—for the Baron to move his army toward this place.”

  “Attack a powerful duke, and one protected by a dragon?” The man shook his head. “This lord is either bold or incredibly foolish. I think foolish, if he would waste you in this way. Does he not know you?”

  Arthur lowered his gaze to his lap, the fruit he did not wish to eat. The implied compliment in those words was difficult to ignore, but he tried. “May I ask, if you do not mind, is it true that the Duke commands the dragon to attack his own people? That they live in fear of the beast?”

  The answering silence felt heavy. Arthur lifted his head.

  The man appeared astonished, and not well-pleased.

  “Have I offended you?” Arthur went on hurriedly. “My sense from traveling through these lands is that, while some fear the dragon, they fear it in the same way they fear meeting the Duke. They do not worry about harm, but they are wary, perhaps awed. I did not sense terror as I had expected to. Only a population like any other, content to live their lives without encountering the powerful.” The powerful were often troublesome, and avoiding them was an urge Arthur could understand. “I’ve always been told that the dragons were a scourge to the countryside. A weapon controlled by the Duke, perhaps even by the King.”

  The man leaned forward to take a piece of firewood and place it on the fire. “A dragon cannot be controlled by anyone unless they desire to be.” He watched Arthur through the smoke. “Are you warm enough, pearl?”

  Arthur could not think at those words, in that combination, said by a handsome stranger. “I’m not a p—” It was rude to decline gifts, even teasing ones, as surely these must be. “Why should a dragon desire to be controlled?” he wondered instead.

  The man seemed delighted to be asked. “How else would they honor their treasure?”

  Arthur packed up the fruit and set it aside while he tried to make sense of that answer. The only conclusion was that treasure must not mean what he thought it did. “Is it not riches?”

  “You are quick,” the man returned Arthur’s earlier compliment. His tone was warm. “Treasure is whatever, or whoever, a dragon decides it is.” He puts his hands in his sleeves and watched Arthur with a cat’s smile and a gleam of approval in his eyes.

  Arthur licked his lips, which seemed suddenly very dry, and wished desperately he had more experience with matters of flirtation and romance because it would not do for him to make a fool of himself in front of high-ranking, wealthy men, even if they looked at him so hotly. “So—” He had to try again because his throat was also dry. “So, they do not fear it? The people,” he clarified, “are not afraid of this dragon?”

  “There is sometimes a fine line between awe and fear,” the man replied with a truth Arthur felt all the way down his spine. “Or lust,” the man added, to set Arthur’s skin aflame. “But no, none here should fear dragons as long as the dragons are respected and honored.”

  “I have never seen a dragon outside of drawings or in carvings,” Arthur revealed, a bit wistful. “I am supposed to kill this one.” He could not face the man at this admission, and shifted his gaze to the side, though he could see the man go still. “To protect the people, my lord said, but if that were so, the Duke would have done it, or my lord would send his army and not simply me. My real mission is to offer the Duke insult with this gesture, or to die so my brother can blame him for my death. I’m to be the excuse for war. My lord thinks he is clever, choosing this for my duty.”

  “Will you do it?”

  Arthur let out a small, sad laugh. “It is my duty, but the dragon is not my enemy. I’ve no desire to hurt something that has committed no wrongs. The dragon has only been a dragon, even if its lonely tears have brought me here tonight.”

  The man released a long, slow breath. “A truly honorable pearl,” he said at last. “If you will not fight the dragon, what will you do?”

  “I cannot return home without some explanation, or false tale of adventure.” Arthur held out his hands and met the man’s dark gaze. “In all honesty, I feel the people here might resent me if I tried to hurt their dragon—and it is theirs, in a way. Not as the Duke or the King might wear a dragon’s image, but similar. Is it very powerful, this dragon?”

  “Yes.” The man was almost breathless. “And it only grows more so when it has claimed more treasure to guard.”

  Arthur’s heart was heavy, although he had no intention of fighting the beast. “And strong?”

  “Yes,” the man said again, no less intense. “You would never have reason to doubt its strength.”

  Arthur dropped his shoulders and gave the man a small, only slightly despairing smile. “And it is beloved. So… I do not know what to do.”

  “What if it was harming people?” The question was startling. Arthur frowned, but the man appeared to be serious. “What would you do then?”

  Arthur continued to frown, but now it was thoughtful. “I’d wonder why the Duke did not try to stop it,” he answered first, honestly. “He is supposed to be a great man. But if he did nothing, or failed, I would find it. I am not the greatest warrior,” he added. “Or the strongest. But I would try to stop it, if I could. But if the dragon is as powerful as you say, I would do more good with the help of the Duke, or the Duke’s army.” Arthur sighed. “If he wants my help. He is not the Baron, but I think, and please do not believe me ungrateful or dishonorable, but I would gladly swear allegiance to a lord who…”

  “Valued you?” the man finished for him. “Knew you for what you are and what you might be?”

  Arthur did not deny it, though the words sent a pang through him and made him feel the way a weeping, lonely dragon might. “Though, again, there is nothing I have that he would want.”

  “I doubt that.” The man did not lean back despite the rising, sparking flames. “As I do not doubt that you would try to give people aid against a beast, though you might fail. This is true braver
y, to journey to a strange land alone and face unfamiliar dangers. Exceptional bravery to defy your lord and your duty to him in order to do what is just. For you and for others.”

  Arthur studied the man in disbelief. “You are teasing me.”

  “Am I?” With a small shake of his head, and the addition of another piece of wood to the fire, the man made Arthur warm again. He had grown closer, somehow, when he had stretched for the firewood. His eyes did not leave Arthur. “You gave me aid, with no reason to trust me. And you look as if you know how to use your weapons.”

  Arthur’s chest was too tight for laughter, but he attempted a light smile. “I would have to get close to do any good.”

  “You think the dragon would not let you close?” the man wondered. Arthur had been wrong to compare him to a cat before, when he was nearly purring now. “Or the Duke, for that matter?” the man added, fiercer. “With a face and soul such as yours?”

  Turning toward him was a mistake, though it did not feel like one with Arthur flushed and dizzy. The man put a hand to Arthur’s cheek, careful and reverent, and watched Arthur blush and wet his lips and stare back at him with what Arthur knew was open hunger.

  “You’re very beautiful,” Arthur whispered, distantly embarrassed at his daring.

  But the man had approached him first, and his voice was pleased when he answered, “Little bear-prince, you are still cold. Will you allow me to warm you?”

  Arthur could think of many reasons not to, but not one was worth anything compared to that question. He nodded, certain but clumsy, and was swept into a kiss that left him gasping, his face buried against the man’s throat as he was pulled onto his lap. Arthur was little, but had never felt so until this, with hot hands at his back and then beneath his chin to tip it up again for more kisses. Arthur was scalding hot and prickling with it, unable to control his shivers when those roving hands untied his sash and touched his bare skin. He thought he should do something in return, he could feel what his eager movements were doing to the man underneath him, but his hands had slipped into the man’s sleek hair would not be parted from it.