the inn at the crossroads

So instead, Caldarus crossed the room to the shelf where the instrument laid, painstakingly cared for. The anticipation was overwhelming. At least that’s what he thought it was; this restless sense of disorientation and discomfort. He’d found so much joy being mortal but, occasionally, the quiet of his now very small world closed in on him and he desperately needed to fill it. Which is why he’d return to the lute, day after day.

With great care, he lifted it from its home, his claws unintentionally plucking the strings sending discordant chords into the air. But even discordance was better than the silence when he felt like this. Shifting it into position, he stood to the side of his home, nearby the statue that bore his likeness. The petals on the wreath falling occasionally, begging for him to breathe into them new life. Those magics did not come easily when he was like this though. It’d have to wait.

For now, he shifted the instrument in his arms and summoned experience from a time he did not recall to tune the strings. The pegs turned easily and precisely. His ears and fingers worked in harmony to ease the instrument to where he needed it. He strummed once. Then again, listening to it echo off the walls, evaluating it. He hummed satisfied. That’ll do.

The song he summoned forth was one from ages past. One he heard once while on the wing, flying over a town whose solstice celebration was at its peak. He remembered the dancing and cheering. The vibrancy and life. Music tangled through the air among the laughter and joy. Caldarus wondered if such traditions still existed today. He hoped to experience them if they did.

Pausing, he let the song fade out. Perhaps this would be more suitable for outdoors. A celebration of changing seasons surely deserved to have nature as its audience. The thought seemed to quell that ache in his chest at least a little. Deciding that was a good sign, he acted on the impulse.

The sun beat down from directly above, the hours having passed since he awoke. Cicadas sang their midday song, a tenor thrum that he took a moment to enjoy. He could adapt and match their pitch. Together, they could perform.

And so, shifting down a couple tones, he began the song again. This time he sang along, his tongue tripping over the words of a language he hadn’t heard in so long. He feared it could be lost to time. Although, perhaps Eiland would know more. The farmer so frequently gave enthusiastic highlights of the work she and the young lord achieved for the museum—not to mention their discovery of parts of the Dragonsworn armor set. One day, he hoped to meet the young man.

As he mused and sang and strummed, his eyes closed. The music filled the air and he let his power thrum through it, carrying with it the memory of those halcyon days. The maw in his chest closed just a little bit and the thought crossed his mind that perhaps he felt some amount of grief for all of the time he lost. Perhaps bringing the memory to life helped to fill it, not simply the act of playing the music.

With this revelation, he leaned further into it. The magic poured from his heart and into the notes. He sang a little louder, with a little more hope. He could remember the past as well as find meaning in the future. In the present, he could find peace. In some ways, he suspected he already had. In at least one person, he might have found solace.

And as if he summoned them, he heard another’s voice humming along nearby.

When he opened his eyes, ever so slowly, as if he snapped them wide he’d find that his ears had misled him, there she was sitting in the grass. Her hands plucked at the blades, her eyes lidded as she looked down and hummed without a care. Her knees were dirty and her hair slightly tangled and it was so perfectly her that he felt that void in his chest recede yet again. The ache easing away, just enough to be bearable.

Resisting the urge to abruptly stop his performance, he allowed it to end naturally on one final chorus, his gaze trained on her the entire time.

“I didn’t know you played.” Her smile was soft. Just the gentlest of curves across her cupid’s bow.

His heart lept treacherously and he cleared his throat. “It seems it is a skill I have retained despite the ages that have passed.”

“Did dragons often learn to play musical instruments?”

The fog in his mind was heavy though, and he shook his head. “I do not know.”

Her smile took an apologetic tilt but did not press it. “Regardless, you’re very good. I’d love to hear more sometime.”

Tilting his chin, he fought the urge to grin too widely, to bare his fangs in a goofy grin he worried would look threatening to mortals. What he couldn’t do was stop the heat that flared in his face at her attention. The one that seemed to always appear in her presence. He’d been meaning to ask her what that meant but never found the right time. So for now he was plagued by the mystery of it.

So instead of bringing it up now, he sat beside her in the grass, setting the lute in his lap, and simply said. “I am glad you enjoyed it.”

“Of course, I did. I enjoy most things with you, Caldarus.”

The way his name slipped over her tongue so easily always made these symptoms worse and this was no exception. His breath hitched for just a second and he hoped it escaped her attention. “Regardless, I am glad.”

Happily, she hummed with a nod. “Were you casting a spell as you sung? I could feel something but wasn’t sure what.”

He glanced around his garden. There were no lasting effects left behind but, yes, he could feel the heaviness of essence in the air. He had expended more than he had intended while distracted by the music. “I summoned the memory of when I last heard that song. Occasionally,” He gripped a clawed hand to his chest, feeling the pounding of his heart beneath his robes. “Occasionally, it helps me when I realize what has been lost.”

She granted him another apologetic smile. “I’m sorry.”

His hand itched to reach out to hers, instead he let it fall into his lap. “Do not mistake this feeling for regret. I am sure there is reason for all of this and, given whatever I do not yet recall, that the choices I made that led me here were justified and necessary. Besides,” He chanced a look in her direction, taking in the way she looked up at him with so much care. “I have found reasons to be happy here as well. Remembering the past, even grieving it, does not mean I do not value the present as it is.”

The simple confession seemed to even further close that maw in his chest, it now becoming the slightest sliver of discomfort. Perhaps he was a little lonely. Perhaps he did miss the days where the world felt so full, but for now at least, he had her at his side and that has made all the difference.

She surprised him then by placing a hand on his knee, right where his scales began. She did not flinch. She did not seem repulsed by the difference in their forms and that did something to him, changed the ache. Shifted it into something else he could not identify either. Mortal emotion was so confusing and he hoped to one day better master them. To no longer fumble in the dark like this.

But for now he took in the way the pads of her fingers squeezed his knee ever so gently. The way the soft flesh of her palm slid across his scales.

“I’m here for you, whenever you need it. However you need it. You know that, right?”

This time he allowed himself to smile, perhaps too widely but he found he cared less at the moment. “I know and appreciate it greatly. I could not have asked for a better Dragonsworn.”

“Even if I wasn’t your Dragonsworn, I’d do it.” She did not shy from his amber gaze, holding it firmly as she spoke. “We’re friends, too.”

Friends. He supposed that was true. Perhaps that is part of this feeling that haunted him whenever she was near. Maybe soon he’d gather the courage to ask her more directly for her thoughts on the matter. This cowardice did not become a dragon after all. But he feared the subject for now and instead shifted it back to more comfortable topics.

“Would you like to hear another song?”

It was with immense pleasure that she agreed. Her head bobbed eagerly as her hand left his flesh, leaving an uncomfortable chill in its wake.

Unwilling to disappoint, he ignored the feeling and brought the lute back into his arms, his fingers finding their home positions. One deep breath and an even longer exhale, he let himself relax. Then, he began. This time he conjured memory of companionship. The one between him and Dragonsworn of back then. Of a person so achingly familiar to the one at his side now—one he dared think may have found him again.

As he performed, he watched the farmer and considered the way his feelings had shifted.