Allory Fae and the Dragon's Whiskers

TIME INSIDE THE TUNNEL passed somehow with monotonous slowness yet also, the speed of an unwanted return to the crushingly inevitable. At some point, Allory realised she must have slept because she woke with an undignified snort quite at odds with her new, delicately Elemental self, and realised that she had not dreamed. Not even a smidgen. When last had she dreamed? Where did she go when she dreamed, if not into this strange state that had caused the great Dragoness, Tar-Dar-Tamooral, to call her a Scintillant Traveller?

She woke to find the Prince gazing at her with hope.

No, there was nothing existentially headache-inducing about what she read in his eyes. Allory sparkle-kissed him upon the cheek and did not explode. Useful. Deciding that she much preferred kisses of the uninterrupted, non-exploding sort, Allory tested her scientific hypothesis several more times and had to conclude that, on the balance, she did not appear to be in danger of completely disintegrating at every touch of the royal lips. Useful! Plus, His Shiny Highness appeared not at all unwilling to act as her test subject.

A nectar-sweet counterpoint to the eroding weariness of dread chilling her heart's sap.

"We will soon arrive in Ahm-Ulira," Hansanori told her, easing the Astral Harp that he insisted upon carrying on his back, and his alone. "You slept long."

"I did?"

"Aye, that you did." She smiled at his earnestness, her thoughts drifting to argent behinds and tasteful royal biceps … "Allory, please focus," he said, thankfully mistaking the tenor of her thoughts. "We have flown very far and this storm carrying us has only grown stronger. Our arrival in the city may well be chaotic. Nor do we know what our reception might be. The Elves and Fae of Ahm-Ulira are notoriously hidebound –"

She shuddered.

Hansanori narrowed his eyes. "What? What, Allory Fae?"

"Perhaps … only an ill echo?"

Somewhere, somehow, she remembered creatures like these – yet, she did not. Not clearly. Again, her memories seemed like veils of pollen stirred by the Russet Jungles breezes, always drifting away from her grasp, insubstantial, unclear. If only she remembered more! Or was the past merely a mound of fire termites, better left undisturbed and certainly, no candidate to be stirred by a stick like those Ripper Baboons loved to do … an ill echo indeed.

All she could do was to shiver, and shrug helplessly.

Indicating the tunnel wall, he said, "You see our speed. About six hours ago, we passed from the region of quellsteel into this more standard substrate, which Yaarah calls grey angmordalite, mixed with these fine emerald-green streaks of taras marble in this area. Polished taras is a common construction material in the Deepwoods for species which prefer stone structures –" he coughed lightly "– which is information of little value in the current climate, I appreciate. What I mean to say is that the rulership of this area is fiercely loyal to the king but always keep one eye upon their own interests. We must be on our guard. We will emerge into a series of caverns beneath the city called the Halls of Ashkuldo. In the old days, they served as a last refuge for the people in case of war or siege but, for generations now, have simply been used as storage and even as training grounds. They are extensive and have five separate exits, each of which may be barred by strong doors. We assume those are open."

"Ah, obviously," she said demurely.

"Stick close to me. My name does carry weight here."

She nodded. "I'm sure it does."

"Besides which, we bring a great many powerful allies with us."

Yaarah purred, "A force which will necessarily shift the balance of power."

The Prince gulped audibly. After a second, he muttered, "Away, useless hubris! Scholar Yaarah, I seek instruction."

"Prrr-frrrt?" Yaarah inquired, one of his meaningful Felidragon noises.

"There may have been a certain wilful lack of attention on the part of a young Prince not much enamoured with kingdom politics," Hansanori explained. "While very much in the past, correction is desirable. And urgent."

The scholar drew himself up, checking the length and lay of his whiskers. "Mrrr-frrt, a swift, honest and indelicate education is required. Permission to speak freely, Your Highness?"

Those beautiful silver eyes widened. "Am I going to enjoy this?"

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

Varzune snickered, "Seems unlikely."

"Yaarah is the best," Allory put in stoutly.

She listened in with half an ear as Yaarah and Hansanori fell to discussing the complex and ever-shifting relationships of power and influence between the Fae, Felidragons, Dragons and Elves, and she wondered what a certain General Allory might have made of this, and what she had learned of the ancient powers of the Deepwoods that they did not even mention. It seemed that many of the Elven cities were semi-autonomous, whereas the Fae peoples all came under the rule of King Hanolluri, Hansanori's father. Cooperation was generally good and the alliances and relationships, founded in ancient times based on sharing of mutually beneficial resources and knowledge.

What would her General Allory persona make of this? Oddly, she sensed the sure knowledge within her that under such stress, both the best and the worst of Spheris and its creatures would be laid plain. Allory of the now had little experience but, somewhere within her, there lived an Allory who was a general and a spy, an explorer and a politician, and a partaker of events as early as the very birth of the Shyraiama Dragons. That Allory knew what she could not.

"Allory?"

She blinked. "Zzuriel? Sorry. I was … drifting afar. Once more."

The Diamond Fae blinked back earnestly, the fluttering of her snow-white lashes flicking frost away from her eyes.

"You're scared," Allory realised aloud.

"I … I wish I had courage, and hope," Zzuriel said gently, adjusting a touch to fly alongside. "For the longest time, I had no hope. I could not allow it. I would not. I … crushed it within myself. Froze it. Denied it – yet now … everything has changed."

"How does that make you feel?"

"It hurts."

Her entire cluster of sparkles blinked together, quite the strangest sensation, as Allory found herself staring at her friend. That was the last word she could have expected. "Hurts?" she echoed.

"It's cruel." Twisting her hands together, Zzuriel's breath and then her whole body began to fog the air more and more actively as she wrestled with her emotions. Eventually, she burst out, "See? See? After all you've done for me, this is all I have! All I can ever be! One moment, one difficult situation, and I am right back to being lethally cold. Look, I don't want to sound unkind, Allory, because it's clear even that my Diamond Fae nature and your scintillance share some kind of … some essential properties, shall I say, but the truth is, I can never be what I am not! I can never be with any Fae, let alone Harzune. It's too dangerous. I'll flash-freeze someone, damage them, crack off their limbs or something."

"That's how you saved my life."

"Was your life ever truly in danger?"

Allory frowned. "You just learned to speak Snowflakese with the original builder of Spheris."

"About as useful as blowing bubbles at the Wraith."

"You made friends with a living flame."

"It's cruel."

"I'm trying to help you here!"

The Pixies around them were starting to shy away from Zzuriel's fiercely radiating cold, but Allory refused to. She wracked her sparkles for something to say – something solid, something that would not sound silly and sparkly and trite. If only she could impress upon Zzuriel how truly amazing she really was. How worth loving. How resplendent! Yet, a person needed to see it for themselves, didn't they? Or, how did one grasp the ungraspable? How did truth or hope embed itself into the very living sap or frost or flame of a creature?

Certainly not by being relentlessly sparkly, no. Suggids, no!

After all, it had taken a set of fabulous golden whiskers to pull her out of the cenote of uttermost despair.

On the other branch, it did appear that her serami somehow managed to cling to her Elemental form and had managed to travel with her through all her space-time shenanigans. Better that than making Hansanori's eyebrows really twitch. Hope his vitals had survived the repeated assault of her knees.

Suddenly, a giggle escaped from her lips.

Zzuriel gaped at her in cold fury, icy tears tracking down her cheeks and plinking away like hailstones. "Allory?"

"Sorry."

"Allory, are you laughing at me?" As she struggled for words to explain her unexpected mirth, the Diamond Fae stormed, "What are these stupid, useless tears even worth?"

"I fake it!"

"Eh – eeeeeh?" A snowflake hiccoughed out of her mouth.

Allory said, "I don't have answers, so I fake it. That's why I laughed."

The other huffed a flurry of tiny but perfectly formed snowflakes out of her nose, folding her arms across her chest. "How's that an answer?"

"It isn't. That's the point, Zzuriel. Hope is what I do when I don't have any answers. Remember our discussion – whenever that was? I hope because I don't have the answers. Maybe I'll have it all figured out one day, maybe I won't, and I frankly don't have the first clue why Ehlshinoi and I seem to share this bond and she chooses to shine on me, nor why my family had to die yet I was the useless runt who survived, but I just have to believe that somehow, against all the odds, it will come to mean something. If all life is meant to be is some pointless, ephemeral existence under Middlesun, come and gone in what to eternity is a mere breath, less than a blink, that would be crushing. Soul-crushing. It would be the opposite of living. Then, why should we not all become Wraiths, preying on one another? No, there must more. Much more – and that's why I hope! Because … because to hope is to live!"

To her shock, Allory found her voice suddenly ringing like clarion bells over the rushing sound of their passage. She realised that she had been shouting.

Every creature in the vicinity was staring at her.

"Ah – erm – well, that's it," she spluttered, blushing furiously. "At least, I think?"

Zzuriel snorted a gust of frost that promptly clung to her ethereal sapphire hair like Pixie dust.

Allory ducked her head. "Eep."

"Fust my crust, is that frost-dust?" Garobixi stage-whispered to Chenixipi.

"Hush, my dust-heart."

The Pixie gasped, "But it's so magical!"

Zzuriel sighed long and loud. Then, she sighed again, and it seemed that the frost became less, even though a small fountain of azure-white snowflakes were all the reply she could make. Shrugging as if trying to lift the mantle of all Spheris with her pale shoulders, her lips slowly – and rather awkwardly – formed themselves into a smile.

No Fae could tell what she had said, but Allory knew one thing.

Even glacial ice could warm to hope.