Page 25 of The Last Dragon

The elf seemed to hesitate, but continued, “I don’t think I’m going to try to kill it. I mean… the dragon.”

Tariel

A long sigh escaped his lips as a weight lifted from his chest. Saying that out loud made him feel better. Admitting that he wouldn’t kill the dragon—not because he wasn’t capable of it, but because it seemed profoundly unfair to him—brought him relief. He wanted to hear the other side of the story, to know.

Distracted by his own relief, a shiver ran down his spine when the mercenary’s fingers brushed against his silver hair. Cassian must really have his head in the clouds to allow himself such a gesture… but Tariel didn’t dare comment on it. Better a gentle man than an insulting, brutal captor.

He was so out of it that he didn’t even comment on Tariel’s admission, which… he had mixed feelings about. However, as the man kept dazedly inspecting him, Tariel couldn’t help but smile slightly as he reassured him. “I’m fine. I have a few bruises on my wrists, and I think I have a cracked rib, but it’s nothing another potion won’t cure. I gave you one to drink, too… I’m trying to ration them, but another one wouldn’t hurt.”

Brynjar, busy as he was, finally produced another vial. The little golem handed the potion to the mercenary with a suspicious look.

“Here’s another healing potion for your companion, my master. It’s stronger. That way, you should be able to stop using your own energy to heal him.”

“Hum… I know they don’t taste very good, but this should help you regain your strength, along with a good night’s sleep,” added the elf, handing the vial to the wounded man.

Cassian swallowed the second potion, grimacing.

“This is disgusting… by the gods…” he groaned, coughing.

Tariel chuckled softly; the potion might be revolting, but it worked, and that was enough.

“I need you in one piece, Cassian. But don’t think I’m forgiving you, you’ll pay me back for every second spent in that cage, every insult, you filthy brute!”

To emphasize his words, he poked the mercenary’s sore shoulder with his index finger, just as he had done when they first met, then ran his hand over his skin as if to apologize, all the while chuckling softly.

A light, comfortable silence fell, until Cassian’s expression turned pensive in a way that Tariel couldn’t immediately interpret. Cassian remained silent for a moment, his clear eyes lost in an almost tender contemplation of Tariel’s face. Then, with a hint of bitterness and concern mixed together, he finally addressed the elf’s earlier confession. “If you’re not going to try to kill the dragon… then what are you going to do? After all, you’re the one who was sent to extinguish the Drakensyl.”

Tariel felt his gaze harden for a moment, but he held his ground.

“Caelendor’s Council presented the matter to me this way: a dragon is terrorizing the countryside and threatening the city; it must be eliminated. I never really took part in those old elf-dragon feuds; I thought that a victorious return would earn me the Council’s favor—and my father’s approval. These last weeks, I realized that the conflict is older and more complex. Perhaps I don’t know all the reasons behind my people’s actions, but I believe that letting the dragon have his say—if he truly is the last of his kind—would be fairer. I am no murderer. If it—if he doesn’t attack me on sight, I want to speak with him first.”

His view of the world was probably too idealized. Tariel was oblivious to the darker side of life—that much was obvious. While his moral compass for what was “good” was flawed, it failed entirely when it came to detecting what was fundamentally “evil,” and one only had to listen to him to realize this.

His intellect was immense when it came to magic and its secrets, but when it came to relationships, interactions, war… He lived in a perfectly idyllic world.

Cassian listened to Tariel with a different kind of attention. Tariel saw him thinking, looking away, and then, slowly, letting out a pained sigh. Finally, Cassian spoke, in a deep, almost resigned voice. “I’m not sure you want to understand the ins and outs of the massacre between Drakensyl and the Alliance of Four. This beast is the last of its kind, yes, and I don’t believe mere words will be enough to appease it. You’ve seen Morgraves. You’ve seen that wasteland of ash. You represent the species that cowardly slaughtered its own kind during Drakensyl’s Downfall. This dragon is impossible to track, and if it crosses your path, it will take great pleasure in attacking you. It takes months to flush out a creature like this. They move three to four times faster than we do, and they roam the skies.”

Tariel felt the weight of those words, but he stood by his decision. He tried to explain his position one last time, not out of stubbornness, but because it was his truth.

“Maybe I’m too idealistic. Maybe I’m ignorant. But I want to try something other than death. I want to talk. If you help me, we can at least try to understand.”

Cassian closed his eyes for a moment before sighing and running a hand over his face. After a brief silence, he replied, “Could I ask you to draw a circle around the tent?”

Somewhat frustrated by the mercenary, who had simply ignored his invitation, Tariel frowned before sighing. However, without asking any more questions for the moment, Tariel went outside to supervise Brynjar as he drew the symbols—he knew that their safety rested temporarily on his shoulders.

Soon, he returned to sit beside his wounded companion, who gestured for him to come closer.

“Can I do something? Or at least, try?”

Following a nod from Tariel, he raised a hand toward the elf’s chest, and a wave of warmth surged through him upon their bodies touching. Energy coursed through him as if a thread had been stretched between their hearts. Tariel brought his hand to his chest, incredulous; he sensed—more than he understood—a flow coming from Cassian, attuning itself to his heart and activating the barrier Brynjar had just cast. The protection took shape, fueled by a source of energy and healing that coursed through them both.

“It’s within you, Tariel…” Cassian murmured, his voice faint as his hand fell to the floor.

Tariel remained motionless for a moment, his gaze fixed on the man who had spoken those words. What did he know about him that even he himself didn’t know? A whisper escaped him, almost forbidden. “What do you know about me that I don’t know myself, Cassian?”

The question hung between them. Fatigue was playing tricks on him, but something was shifting. Tariel was starting to wonder if his companion was something more than just a simple mercenary. Cassian looked at him, a sad smile brushing his lips. Finally, he answered the elf’s question.

“I know nothing about you, Tariel, but I know your heart.”