He finds her beneath the stone.
Broken, feverish, bound in chains that have bitten so deeply into her that iron seems another part of her body. A child of no brood he recognises, and yet unmistakably draconic. Something old sleeps beneath all that ruined flesh, some ember even ten years of darkness have failed to extinguish. Io sees it too. Sees enough to answer. Enough to ease what pain can still be eased. And Ghaedrath does not ignore the bidding of the ancient god who has chosen him.
What he does not expect is to love her.
Ghaedrath is so old that counting the years has long since become meaningless. He has watched kingdoms rise where forests once stood and watched forests swallow their stones again. He remembers languages no living mouth can speak. He has seen gods born, gods slain, gods return beneath different names. Entire peoples have appeared upon the world since he first spread his wings beneath its sun.
Yet somehow his vast, ancient heart makes room for one furious little girl who refuses her supper and cries only when she believes no one is looking.
Deia hates him in those first years. She hates him for finding her. Hates him for not finding her sooner. Hates him for saving a life she believes has already been ruined beyond repair. Sometimes she clings to him in her sleep and wakes furious for having done it. Sometimes she demands that he leave her alone and panics when he obeys. She is contradiction given flesh.
Ghaedrath gives her patience.
Nothing else can be demanded of her.
One does not drag a child from ten years of torment and expect a woman to emerge whole from the dark. Ten years without sunlight. Ten years of pain made ritual. Ten years of learning that every approaching hand may hurt. Whatever the world expects from her now, Ghaedrath expects only that she remains.
He is a creature capable of terrible things. He has broken armies. He has known the taste of fear in those who look upward and see his shadow passing over them. For most of his existence, power has meant teeth, flame, wings wide enough to eclipse the sun.
Deia teaches him another measure of it.
Sometimes strength is sitting beside a frightened child while supper grows cold between you.
Sometimes it is hearing go away and understanding please do not leave me.
Sometimes the greatest thing a creature of immense power can do is lower his head, make himself gentle, and wait until a small trembling hand finally reaches for him first.
VP by my beloved @faeriiefire
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