Ryuu no Hikou, Prologue/Chapter 1

[Goldilocks]

This is the fic project that has literally taken over my life. ^^;;; It started out as an idle daydream about what it would be like if the G-boys rode dragons...and the rest is history. It's my current project, and I'll be slowly getting the chapters posted here until I am caught up with the most recent chapter. I really do apologize for the length of this chapter; it's a bit long, but I couldn't get it any shorter. Hopefully it doesn't try to truncate it. ^^;;

One point that will become apparent as soon as the dragons are introduced is the fact that they all have two names. This may get confusing, so I'll explain it here. Each dragon that has a rider also has two names: a head name, and a heart name. The head name is the name that everybody knows. The heart name is the name that only the dragon and their rider know. Think of it as sort of like a first name and a middle name, with the middle name being a secret to almost everyone. So if you see a pilot refer to his dragon by one name, and the dragon be called something entirely different in the next paragraph, don't get confused. I meant to write it that way. ^^ It should become easier to understand the farther into the story I get.

Anyway, enjoy, and C&C is always loved and appreciated. ^_^

~~~

In the land of Sanq, before time immemorial, there was the legend of a pact. A pact, between the outlying duchies of the land, and the castle that housed the king that ruled over them all. In the time of need, when the land's darkest hour was upon them, the duchies would be called upon to present their finest and strongest, their most stout of heart and devout of honor...the dragon-riders. They would rise to protect the kingdom at any cost, and repel whatever evil would rise to meet them.

This was the pact passed down from generation to generation, since the final Great Uprising in the Year of Novus Llestri, nearly 7,500 years in the past. When the Pact was created, Arsan, the king of Sanq, was given an Oracle. Whenever the Oracle spoke, the time had come to enact the Pact, and call upon the dragon-riders once more. This Oracle was guarded by Aratar, the ageless gold dragon, and her rider Varya who, for their unswerving devotion and courage, both to the kingdom and to one another, had been granted eternal life as long as the Pact remained in effect. The Oracle was monitored closely by scholars and wise-men, who watched it anxiously for any sign of Speaking.

But the Oracle had not Spoken for many, many years. The kingdom had become complacent, and the outerlying duchies prosperous in the time of safety and plenty. The Pact was all but forgotten; only upheld by scholars and elders, who told the tales around the fire-side to younglings. The dragon-riders became fewer and fewer, and dragons began to be held in suspicion and fear, and suffered because of it. The scholars became complacent. Most duchies began to forget the old tales.

And then, after 347 years, when it was largely thought that the Oracle had forever gone silent, and the Pact had been all but forgotten, the Oracle suddenly Spoke....

Ryuu no Hikou
a Gundam Wing fic by Sara
Pairings: 1+R, 2+H, 3+4, 5+S, 6x9, 11x13
Warnings: AU, het, shounen-ai
Disclaimer: I do not own any part of Gundam Wing, nor do I claim ownership of the respective influences to this fic. Gundam Wing is owned by Bandai/Sotsu/Sunrise. All of the dragons, as well as the original characters herein, are property of me.
Archive/Illustrations: http://www.bearilou.com/ryuu/Ryuu.htm

Chapter 1

Esteroth generally believed that Oracle-watching had to be about the most boring activity one could possibly be assigned.

The youth had hardly been there for a month, and while he had been excited beyond words to have been granted the opportunity to travel to the castle, Calon Gaer, to be a part of the group that studied and maintained the Oracle, a lot of the novelty had worn off, and the Oracle was now exactly what it appeared to be: a flat, dull grey stone. Boring, boring, boring.

To make matters worse, when he had questioned his master on the logistics of watching a rock that had not Spoken in nearly 350 years, his master had decided that the best punishment for his insubordination would be to watch that "dull, flat, boring rock", as he had been quoted back as saying, until he realized the true importance of watching the Oracle, and gained an understanding for the solemnity that must be approached when dealing with an entity as powerful and mysterious as the great Oracle.

So far, all Esteroth had gained was an appreciation for holding one's tongue when one would rather complain, and an extraordinarily annoying crick in his neck.

He walked across one of the many stone bridges that spanned across to the dais that housed the pedestal where the Oracle sat. He glanced down, below the bridge, and could make out the coils of Aratar. Her scales sparkled brightly in the well-lit, airy hall. Esteroth shuddered for a moment, though he was not cold, and wondered if it was true what he heard about what happened to errant scholars who accidentally fell off the dais into Aratar's pit.

Esteroth reached the dais, and stared at the Oracle dispassionately. The stone stared back, cold and unmoving. Esteroth sighed, and his stomach suddenly grumbled in the large silence of the hall. Great, he thought sourly. Not only do I have to baby-sit this dumb rock, but I have to miss midday meal, as well! It just isn't fair....

Another louder, more insistent grumbling met his ears, and at first he poked at his stomach angrily. But then he realized that the sound had not come from his rebellious digestive system.

It had come from the Oracle.

Esteroth's head snapped up, his eyes fixing on the Oracle, and he tried his best not to step backward involuntarily, or run panicked from the room. The cold, flat face of the stone seemed to morph, twisting and churning, until it formed a caricature of a face. Blind eyes opened, boring into Esteroth's soul. He felt himself blanching, and suddenly was glad he had not eaten. Had there been food in his belly, he would be upchucking it into Aratar's pit at that moment.

He wanted to run, but the stone eyes of the Oracle seemed to capture Esteroth and freeze him in place. He wanted desperately to tear his vision away from the Oracle, but he realized with a horrified fascination that he could not. The Oracle's stone facade formed lips, and began to speak; its voice the harsh grating of stone against stone, deep in the earth.

"Ish'ri sarhan delizan kanali...Ish'ri sarhan delizan kanali...."

Esteroth was galvanized into action. He bolted from the dais, completely forgetting all of those painful hours being taught decorum and etiquette and how a proper scholar should conduct oneself, and ran pell-mell toward the atria, where the other scholars had gathered for midday meal. He singled out one scholar, a wizened, angry-looking man, and prostrated himself at the older man's feet, ignoring the disapproving looks from his elders.

"M-master!" he panted. "The Oracle!"

The entire atria fell dead silent for a grand total of five seconds. Then utter pandemonium broke loose, as scholars bolted from their seats and stampeded into the Oracle's Hall. Their frantic voices ricocheted off the ceiling, but when the Oracle spoke again, all voices were silenced.

"Delizan...."

Morathes, who was one of the senior scholars and Esteroth's master, stepped forward. "The Watcher is away," he said in a deep, formal voice. "Can you Speak to those assembled?"

"Ish'ri sarhan delizan kanali...." Gravelly eyes seemed to scour the assemblage.

"Ish'ri sarhan delizan kanali...Ish'ri sarhan delizan kanali...." The stone face smoothed out, facial features melting back into the stone, and it was as it had been before.

The scholars all looked at one another, uncertain of what had just happened. The hall was filled with their murmurings, nervous and uncertain. They began to file out of the Hall and back to their meals.

Morathes remained standing on the dais, rubbing his bearded chin thoughtfully. Esteroth slunk up to stand behind him. "Master," he said uncertainly, "what do we do now?"

Morathes turned slightly. His expression was not as harsh as it had been that morning, as though Esteroth had done something right. "We must find the Watcher, and bring him back here," he said meditatively. "Only the Watcher will be able to understand the Oracle. Messenger hawks must also be sent out at once. The dragon-riders must be assembled, as quickly as possible. And we must inform the princess, immediately."

* * *

Quatre stood in the courtyard of the manor-estate. He felt the strong, comforting presence of Parth directly behind him, and the reassuring touch of Parth's mind against his own. He took a deep breath. He could smell the sea faintly, overlaid with the stronger scent of sand baking in the early-morning sun. He squared his shoulders, and turned to face his father.

The Duke of Qa'nirvenye stared back at his youngest child and only son. He let the barest of breaths escape. "So. You are ready to depart?"

Quatre nodded, with a great deal more bravery than he felt. The Duke's eyes narrowed ever-so-slightly.

"You know I disagree with this...display of aggression and force. But the Pact is not to be denied nor taken lightly. I will send you to Calon Gaer, with my blessings. I also trust that you will present a respectful image of our duchy to the princess?" Quatre nodded, trying not to let his exasperation show. He knew his father meant well, but really....

Quatre cleared his throat, banishing all rebellious thoughts from his mind. "I am prepared to go, and to serve my role in the Pact as is my destiny, Father." Behind him, Parth arched his neck proudly, his scales glowing in the early-morning sun.

The Duke eyed his son with something very near respect, and nodded curtly. "Good. And that is why I am sending a legion of the Maguanac Corps with you."

"What?!" But already Quatre could faintly hear the raucous calls and laughter of the brass dragons from the direction of the dragon rookery, where all of the many brass rider-dragons of Qa'nirvenye were housed, with the shouts of their riders twined between the sounds. Quatre groaned. "But Father..."

"Don't 'but Father' me, boy. You are very important to the future of the duchy, and to the nation. We can't have you getting your fool self killed in some flight-of-fancy errand for the Princess. That's why I'm sending the Maguanacs with you. Their main interest is to make sure you remain safe." He lowered his voice slightly. "Besides...you know your mother would have wanted it this way, too."

This caused Quatre to pull up short. His mother...He had such a faint memory of his mother. Some of his sisters' mothers were still living, so he had never wanted for parental love in his short life. But he had often wondered about his own mother...who she had been...what she must have been like....

As if on cue, his sisters suddenly descended upon him...all 29 of them. He was surrounded in a squealing, twinkling, giggling, perfume-scented cloud.

"Our baby brother! Going off to join the Riders!" "You'd best behave yourself, Quatre! No seducing the princess!" "Or any princes, for that matter!"

Quatre blushed furiously at the attention, and struggled to extricate himself from the crowd of women, fleeing to Parth's side. "I'll be fine, I swear!" He shrugged into his heavy flight jacket, since the morning air was still chilly, and swung himself into place just above Parth's shoulders just as Rasid's dragon, Forth, landed in courtyard next to Quatre and Parth.

"Master Quatre!" he called, his booming voice echoing off the buildings, "We are ready to depart whenever you are!" Forth hissed, baring his teeth and flattening his crests along the back of his neck. Forth disliked delays that did not pertain directly to him.

Quatre waved at Rasid, and adjusted his flight goggles to cover his eyes. Parth chuckled, a deep rumbling in his chest that could have easily been mistaken for a growl, and raised his head high, scenting the air.

Quatre smiled at his lifelong friend. "Are you ready for this?" he said softly, in a voice that only his dragon could hear.

The corners of Parth's mouth twitched slightly. "I have lived my entire life for this moment," he said, his eyes pinning with anticipatory excitement. The great bronze dragon turned, stretching his wings, sensing for an air current.

The armada of brass-riding Maguanacs finally winged over the courtyard. The morning sun glinted brightly against brass-colored scales, causing the air to sparkle around them. The dragons' voices filled the air, as they shouted jeers and good-natured insults to their companions as they flew. Rasid gave his signal to Quatre, and Forth launched himself into the air, winging after his companions.

Quatre's sisters waved frantically from a safe distance, shouting encouragement, admonishments, and promises to visit as soon as they could. Quatre waved, feeling the first pangs of homesickness set in, but then Parth gave a powerful push and was airborne. Quatre swiveled to catch a last glance at his home, a sparkling alabaster-walled jewel set on the edge of a desert sea, then turned to face forward, to whatever the future brought to him.

~*~

Wufei stood next to his dragon in the central gardens of his family's home. He stood in solid, unflinching attention, his eyes not wavering. His dragon also stood unflinching, though occasionally, the tip of her tail would flick in the slightest annoyance. Wufei knew she hated these rituals and ceremonies, and much rather preferred battles and flying to pomp and circumstance.

Patience, Lun...just be patient for a little bit longer, and we shall be on the wing.

As if hearing and understanding his thoughts, the dragon rumbled deep in her chest and shifted her weight from foot to foot.

Wufei's father snapped an irritated look at the dragon, but even he dared not challenge her fidgeting. There had been more than one time where his father had had to face medical attention from the family's physician because he had tested Lun's temper, and had ended up with a face-full of her breath weapon.

Behind his father, Meiran glared at Wufei with sulky rage. His twin sister never had forgiven him for bonding with a dragon. In her mind, it should have been her who had been granted the egg, not he. She was the warrior of the family. She was the one with battle prowess, and was proficient at every form of hand-to-hand combat known to the duchy. And he? He was a mere scholar, was he not? What use was a scholar in battle?

The only thing that had kept her from attempting to wrest the egg from her brother when the dragon queen had granted it upon him was the fact that the only person in the entire duchy who could defeat her in combat was he himself. Still, he preferred pursuits of the mind to hunting for trouble, and it had taken quite some adjusting for him to realize that the great emerald dragon and he were destined to be one of the greatest warrior pairs in the land.

It had been a fact that had severely angered his sister, and had caused the bond between them to become quite strained...although, he had to admit, they never had been as close as twins should be to begin with.

His father drew himself up to his full height, and Wufei banished all mental chatter. "You are ready to depart," the older man stated. It was not a question as much as it was a declaration. Wufei nodded, feeling an uncharacteristic surge of adrenaline flow through his system. He had never before been called upon, and it was an exciting prospect. He knew he would prove his family proud, and be considered worthy of the family name and title.

"Then do not waste time standing here," his father said gruffly. "You have battles to fight. Make our forefathers proud. Show them that this duchy still produces great warriors, worthy of the title of King's Chosen Protectors!"

Lun hissed, arching her neck back, and fanned her wings. Wufei knew she didn't deem his family worthy enough to speak to them, but he could sense what she wanted to say. She wanted to go, to fly away from the silliness of image and prestige that seemed to push his family along.

For once, Wufei's father did not seem disdainful of the great dragon's insubordination, and he almost smiled. "Very well," he muttered quietly. "I send you with my blessings, and may the strength of our ancestors guide you. May the winds carry you far, and may your journey be swift."

Meiran made a disgusted sound, whirling and stalking from the gardens. His father heard her, and spun on his heel to scold her. It was the moment Wufei was waiting for. Lun dipped her shoulder, and he jumped into place on her back. Her muscles rippled in her shoulders as she turned, spreading her wings, preparing for flight. She flapped her wings experimentally before casting off into the sky, leaving a swirling cloud of leaves and blossoms in her wake. The gardeners, who had until that point been unobtrusively bustling about, fled in terror.

Wufei silently said a prayer to his ancestors as Lun winged her way silently west. He knew he would not fail...as long as he and Lun had strength, he would not fail.

~*~

Cathrine hunched down next to the campfire, drawing her cloak more tightly around her shoulders and scowling. She knew that Master had chosen this desolate area so that he could more easily demonstrate to her the techniques for clearing her mind that she would most need in the future, but did it have to be so blasted cold? Her breath fogged in the chill air as she huffed in frustration. At this rate, she would never reach the level of serenity necessary to become a Watcher.

One hand snuck out from within the warm confines of her cloak to stir at the pot resting over the cookfire. Cathrine knew she wasn't the best cook in the world--after all, why bother learning how to cook, if your family had a full kitchen staff to cook for you?--but once she had begun her apprenticeship to become a Watcher, it was either learn to cook, or don't eat. It had been a trial by fire, literally. There had been more than one night where they had had to settle for burnt food because of her inattentiveness to the cooking.

Still, soup was one thing she could usually make with little difficulty, and in this climate, it was an easy way to warm oneself up. She sampled the soup, blowing on the spoon to cool it, then ladled some into a rough-hewn bowl and carried the bowl over to where her master sat.

Watcher Noventa was aging, but his eyes remained as sharp as his mind. He took the bowl his young apprentice offered with a nod of thanks, then indicated for her to take a seat next to him. She gathered up her own bowl of soup, and arranged herself next to the small fire that the Watcher had made to warm himself.

Noventa chuckled as he sipped at his soup. "Cathrine, even if I don't make a Watcher out of you, I may make you a decent cook yet."

Cathrine looked up hopefully. "Do you think I will ever attain that level, Master?" she queried. "Of Watcher, I mean. Not cook."

Noventa chuckled again patiently. "Only time will tell, my dear; only time will tell." Noventa was a good master to his apprentices, giving them just enough encouragement to make them want to strive to their utmost to meet his approval, but not so much encouragement that they became complacent and arrogant in their skills. To Cathrine, his words were heady encouragement, indeed.

They sat in silence for a while, watching the gathering dusk. Nearby, the horses snorted patiently as they foraged. Cathrine was growing sleepy, the combined effects of warm food and a long day on the trail finally catching up with her. But before she could doze off, Noventa's voice cut through her reverie.

"Cathrine," he said quietly, "look at the sunset, and tell me what you see."

Cathrine peered at the horizon for a moment. "I see...the end of the day," she said contemplatively. "I see the way the sun changes the sky's colors from day to night. I see falling dusk, and the rising of the stars."

Noventa nodded. "Yes, all those things are true," he conceded. "But you must also learn to look deeper. For some, this sunset means their day's toils have ended. For others, it means that they have survived to see another sunset, and may begin counting their hours until they see another sunrise. For some it is an ending; others, a beginning. The sunset means many things other than the transition from dark to light."

Cathrine peered again at the horizon, trying to see those things. "I...believe I see what you mean, Master."

Noventa sighed slightly. "I brought you up here so that you could better understand the importance of inner tranquillity," he said. "It is far easier to become one with knowledge and understanding if the normal clamor of daily life is missing. Once you can learn to turn to your within and gain inner peace, you shall never need to worry about being disturbed by anyone, ever again."

Cathrine nodded, and opened her mouth to speak. Before she could, however, she heard the faint cry of a hawk, carried on the brisk wind that blew down the side of the mountain. Her eyes narrowed slightly as she frowned, and she scanned the gathering darkness for the hawk's form.

Noventa had heard it, too, and he was already on his feet. He reached into his pack, knowing exactly where to look, and pulled out a heavy leather gauntlet, tugging it onto his left arm.

No sooner had he secured the gauntlet in place than the hawk appeared. Noventa held his arm outstretched, and the bird alighted gratefully, its talons sinking into the scored leather.

"Well well, my friend," said Noventa with amusement, "it looks as though you have traveled quite some distance to find us." Indeed, the bird was nearly shaking with exhaustion, its beak agape as it panted from the exertion of flying in such a thin atmosphere.

Noventa strode closer to the fire and reclaimed his seat. The bird ruffled its feathers softly as it felt the heat from the fire. In the meager light of the fire, Cathrine could now make out features. It was a white hawk--perhaps a gyrfalcon--and it had some sort of mantle on its breast with a house crest upon it.

"That's a messenger hawk," she commented thoughtfully.

"Not just any messenger hawk," replied Noventa. "This is one of the king's own falcons, and it carries the crest of the king's scholars." He stroked the bird's breast affectionately. "You've traveled a long way to deliver this message, little one. May I have it?"

The bird mewled lightly, and offered a talon. Wrapped around its leg securely was a folded piece of parchment. Noventa removed the parchment, and hefted the bird into the air to give it lift. The falcon flapped its wings, gliding over to a tree, where it perched, ruffled its feathers, and promptly dropped into slumber.

Noventa unfurled the paper and held it over the fire, studying the parchment carefully.

"What is it, Master?" asked Cathrine curiously.

Noventa's brow furrowed, and he appraised the gathering gloom. "We'll have to wait until morning," he said cryptically. "Time is of the utmost, but it's too dangerous to ride at night. We will just have to set out in the morning."

"Set out for where in the morning?"

Noventa looked up at her, his expression grave. "We must return to Calon Gaer," he explained. "The Oracle has spoken."

~*~

The Duchess Maxwell hurried through the halls of the estate, her skirts rustling. Her face was pinched into a disgruntled expression.

"Where is that sneaky little...Duo! DUO! Where in damnation's name are you?! If you don't leave now, you're going to be late!"

Duo stuck his head out of a doorway. His hair was tousled, and he yawned hugely. "I'm right here, Mother," he said, his voice muzzy from sleep. "What's all the commotion?"

The Duchess made a disgusted noise, and reached behind her son, grabbing his long, rich brown braid and giving it a hard tug. "Have you completely forgotten, you lazy clod? You have to fly to Calon Gaer! The welcoming ceremony is today!"

Duo blinked once, twice, and then his eyes grew very wide with consertation. "The ceremony! I completely forgot!" He ran a hand through his heavy fringe of bangs, and stomped one foot to keep from pacing. "Aw crap, I haven't even had time to pack. What am I gonna do?"

His mother gave him a stern expression. "Lucky for you, your dear, sweet mother remembers these things better than you do. It's all been taken care of, Duo. I had the servants pack a traveling trunk for you, and it was sent ahead to the palace several days ago. At least one of us knows enough to plan ahead!"

Duo gave her a sheepish smile, which was rewarded with another stern glare. "Now, the only thing left to do is to find that big, shiny, worthless winged--" She was interrupted by a blinding flash of blurred metallic scales, as Faohr whipped past the window. Over the noise of his passage, they could hear his voice. "I'mhereI'mhereI'mhereI'mreadyI'vebeenreadyfordayslet'sgolet'sgolet'sgogogo!"

Duo laughed quietly, but quickly swallowed his amusement as he noticed his mother's glare. "I...uhm...thank you, Mother. Thanks for...for everything." He tugged on his boots, and rummaged around for his flight jacket.

The Duchess sighed heavily. "I would have preferred to give you a proper send-off, Duo," she said ruefully. "But with your father and brothers gone...it would only be you, me, and the servants. We'll just have to wait until they get back."

Duo sighed, and pretended to be very absorbed in his search for his goggles. He swallowed back bitter disappointment. He knew that even if his father and brothers had been home, there would have been no send-off. He knew that not only was his father too immersed in his businesses to think of Duo, but he also thought of Duo as unimportant, expendable, and his brothers were far too busy trying to impress their father to worry about Duo. But now was not the time to think of such things. He jammed his goggles over his head, letting them dangle around his neck, and turned to hug his mother. "I'll...miss you, Mother," he said, his voice muffled.

The Duchess hugged her youngest son tightly. "Now don't you go getting yourself killed out there, Duo Maxwell," she said sternly, blinking back tears. "You're more important than you think." She stepped back, holding her son at arms' length. "After all, none of your brothers managed to imprint a dragon hatchling. That makes you very special, and we're all very proud of you. Never forget that."

Duo nodded, managing a smile that didn't seem as hard as he thought it would be to make. "I'll make you all proud, Mother." With that, he turned and walked to the roof patio, where Faohr waited.

The mercury dragon's long tail was lashing impatiently when Duo finally arrived. "Wherehaveyoubeen? I was almostreadytoleavewithoutyou!"

"Cut that out and calm down. We have a long flight ahead of us, and we have to hurry." Duo reached up to scratch at the soft skin underneath the dragon's chin. Faohr mewled with pleasure, butting his head against Duo's chest, and almost knocking the youth over. "Hey, careful there, ol' buddy!" he said, laughing. He wasn't too worried about time any more. He knew that there were few creatures alive that could match his dragon for speed, once they were airborne. He reached up and tugged his goggles over his eyes, then slapped Faohr's shoulder lightly. The dragon obliged and crouched down, allowing Duo to hop onto his back.

Faohr hopped lightly as he turned to face the east. Duo turned and looked back toward the door to the patio, and saw his mother standing in the doorway, her face tense and nervous, and yet...proud. She was proud of him. Duo could see it. Suddenly, his heart felt lighter than it had in years, and he almost whooped for joy.

Faohr caught his rider's elation, and shouted a war cry to the morning sun. His wings clapped open noisily, revealing the bright green undersides. Duo waved to his mother, who waved back, a small, encouraging smile on her lips. Faohr launched himself off of the patio gracefully, and in a flash, they were on their way.

~*~

Trowa sat on the bank of the wide, lazy river that ran through his parents' lands. He was trying to read a book while his dragon bathed. His dragon, however, had other plans. Just as he was turning a page, he glanced up...just in time to see Ryl's long, copper-colored tail slap the water at just the right angle to send a wave cascading over the bank where he sat. Trowa managed to duck and cover quickly enough to protect the book, but not fast enough to miss a soaking himself.

He looked dispassionately at Ryl, his wet hair hanging in his eyes. Ryl's sides heaved with laughter, and the water churned as she slapped the surface with her tail. "If only you could've seen the look on your face!" she wheezed.

"Very funny," he replied, sluicing water off of his arms. "You do realize that my parents would not have been impressed, had this book been ruined?"

Ryl huffed, her warm breath rolling over her lifelong friend. "You are no fun at all, do you know that?" she grumbled. She half-heaved herself on the bank, fanning her wings to soak up the morning's sun.

Trowa stood up, stripping off his shirt. "If you're through playing, let's bathe you." He tugged off his boots and trousers, leaving his underclothes on. "Mother wanted me to run some errands before the day gets too hot. We don't have too much time for playing." Ryl slipped back into the water, folding her wings carefully and rearing up on her hind legs obligingly. Trowa jumped into the water, scooped up a handful of sand and began to scrub at the soft skin of her underbelly. Ryl grunted in pleasure. She loved bathtime.

"What did your...oooh, a little to the left, got an itch...your mother...ehee, that tickles!...want you to do?"

Trowa scooped up another handful of sand. The river here was wide but not particularly deep, and had a flat, sandy bottom, perfect for Ryl's bathtimes. "She needs some things. More writing pigment and parchment. Candles. Father's melloharp from the person re-stringing it. Just errands. Other side."

Ryl shifted obediently, leaning down so Trowa could reach her upper body. "Oh. That's so boring. Can't we do anything fun?"

"Perhaps. After we've finished the errands, there should be time for play."

"That's not what I mean, and you know it." One eye rolled to orient on the top of Trowa's head. "We never do anything exciting. Never fight, never rescue anyone. It's all, 'go fetch this' and 'go do that'. Boring!"

Trowa chuckled good-naturedly. "There are some who would be grateful for the peace we have enjoyed, you know."

"Well, then they're boring, too." Ryl suddenly froze, her eyes focusing on something very high in the sky. "What's that?"

Trowa stepped back, shading his eyes from the sun. "What's what?" High above the pair, he could very faintly see a bird circling. "It's just an eagle, Ryl. Nothing to be concerned about."

Ryl's tail lashed. "That's no ordinary bird. It's getting closer." She climbed out of the river and shook, sending water flying everywhere. Trowa groaned. The book had gotten wet anyway.

The cry of a hunting falcon jarred him from his ruminations on how he was going to explain the case of the ruined book to his parents, and now Trowa could clearly see the King's crest upon the mantle the bird wore. "A messenger falcon," he murmured. "Here?"

The bird did not stop, but instead dropped a parchment wrapped around a delivery baton near Ryl before circling once and heading back in the direction it had came. Trowa stooped to retrieve it, unfurling the parchment carefully and reading it.

"What does it say, what does it say?" Ryl jostled at Trowa's shoulder, eyeing the parchment with first one eye, then the other, trying not to nick his shoulders with her brow horns. "I can't read it...it's too small..."

Trowa folded the paper, tucking it into his knapsack along with the sodden book. "It says that you will get your wish for action and adventure granted, Ryl." He tugged his shirt back over his head.

"What do you mean?"

"That was a royal summons. We're to appear at the castle in one week's time. The Oracle has summoned the dragon-riders."

~*~

Princess Relena sat at her dressing-table, in front of a mirror. The smooth, clouded silver surface reflected back her own image: a young woman, barely past girlhood, yet old enough to control the fate of an entire kingdom. Behind her stood one of her maids; the older woman was brushing her long, blonde hair with practiced ease. Relena held her head as still as possible, not wanting to disturb the other woman's work.

From all outside appearances, Relena was quite comfortable with her new role as heir apparent to the throne. Though she was still not quite yet of an age to rule, when her father had died suddenly and tragically, the weight of the nation came to rest upon her shoulders. For the most part, it had not been too difficult. She made decisions as best she could, and when she came up against something that she was not prepared to deal with, she would turn to Weyridge, who had taken the throne as regent for her until she became old enough to be crowned. Weyridge's role was more that of advisor than regent, however; Relena was the one who sat upon the throne and was the figurehead for Sanq. Weyridge had been one of her father's most trusted advisors, and she trusted his judgment as much as her father had.

Thus far, ruling the kingdom had not been nearly as difficult as she had feared. You simply presented a front of cool collectedness, and the people followed in happy adulation. However, the challenge that now faced her was greater than anything she--or her father, for that matter--had ever had to deal with.

After all, the Oracle had not spoken in her father's lifetime.

Father...I don't know if I'm ready for this....

Her maid, Meryth, began to tuck Relena's hair up into an elaborate coif, pulling the loose strands away from the side of her face. Relena carefully schooled her features, though she wanted to scowl. She did not like having her hair done up in such severe styles. It made her look many years older than she was. But she trusted Meryth's hand; the woman had done her hair many times before.

I did not know...Father, I did not believe that it would Speak...it has been so long....

There was a quiet knock at the door, and one of the house pages shyly entered the room. "His Eminence, Advisor Weyridge, requests Her Highness make haste to the Grand Hall as soon as she is ready," the page said stiffly, bowing so that his hair fell into his face. Relena inclined her head graciously, dismissing the page. She glanced at Meryth's reflection in the mirror, and smiled ruefully. "I don't know if I'm ready for this," she admitted.

"Nonsense," said the older woman. "You'll do fine. You've all the grace of your mother, may her soul rest in peace, and all the strength of your father, may the gods bless his spirit. You've the best of both of their good strengths. You'll not disappoint any of us." She carefully secured Relena's circlet around her temples, patting and tucking her hair back into place. "Now go. Go make us all proud." She shooed the princess to the door of her suite.

Outside the suite, her personal guard, Noin, was already waiting for her. Relena smiled warmly at Noin. Although Noin had traveled from one of the nearest duchies to the castle to act as Relena's personal bodyguard, they were close enough in age that they had forged a close friendship with one another in a very short time span. Though Noin had the option of dressing as a lady-in-waiting normally would if she wanted, she typically preferred to wear clothing more suitable to the role of bodyguard, and today was no different. She was in full soldier regalia, wearing a more formal, feminine version of the elite guard's uniform complete with short-sword, its scabbard resting against her thigh.

Noin fell into step the proper pace behind Relena as they began walking toward the Grand Hall. A comfortable silence stretched between the two young women for a few heartbeats, until Noin finally spoke.

"You look...very nice, Your Highness," she said, eyeing Relena's attire.

Relena snorted in a most unladylike fashion. "I look like someone's grandmother, Noin," she said derisively. "And I feel ridiculous. I hope this ceremony does not last too long. These functions are always so stuffy, and I grow weary of dealing with all of those silly nobles, all trying to jockey into position for a chance at my hand."

Noin hid a chuckle behind a gloved hand. "I do not think that this will be like those social functions, Relena," she said, dropping the formal pretenses. The hallway was deserted, save them. Everyone else was in the Grand Hall. "You are welcoming warriors, not courtiers. It's a little bit different."

"Warriors, courtiers; they all have the same lineage and breeding. These are duke's sons, after all."

Noin nodded, silent for a moment, then smiled impishly. "Are you afraid of having your heart stolen by a lowly dragon-rider?"

Relena turned her head, giving her bodyguard a withering look. "I would think that the dragon-riders should garner more respect to gain a better title than lowly, don't you think?" But inwardly, she half-wondered on the concept. The dragon-riders...they were not normal dukes' sons. They had fought in battles, and had experienced more in their lives than silly social functions and the games of the nobles and courtiers. What would they be like?

The intricately-carved doors of the Grand Hall loomed suddenly before them. Relena laid one hand on one heavy door, its panels inlaid with a scene of a gold dragon in flight, and took a deep breath.

Father...lend me your strength... With that, she squared her shoulders and pushed the door open, stepping into the brightly-lit hall.

~*~

The Grand Hall, as well as Calon Gaer itself, had been designed with dragons in mind, so it was huge. In days past several hundred dragon-riders would answer the call of the Oracle, and the castle was designed to accommodate them and their riders. The castle was built with its back in the side of a cliff, and cliff-side nesting holes provided comfortable space for both dragon and rider.

The Hall itself, however, was particularly impressive. Because half of the hall was open to the elements, it could only be used during temperate weather. The half connecting to the castle was hewn from rough stone, with tall, stone pillars supporting the arching roof. Various bas-reliefs of the various species of dragons were carved into the pillars, inset with gems and precious metals as was warranted. Halfway across the room, the hall fanned out, the pillars stopped, and the roof opened up, which allowed for spectacular entrances of dragons, when they were feeling the need to be impressive...which was almost always.

Since the room was an open-air room, with little to no ceiling to protect from rain and wind, it had been built on high ground, and was mostly built from stone or other materials that were not easily affected by the elements. Anything wood or fabric had been designed to be easily removed, such as the King's throne on the dais, and the cloth banners suspended from the ceiling, each carrying the crest of the different houses of the kingdom.

Relena stood in a small room behind the throne dais, waiting to be introduced. She could hear the murmurs of voices out in the Hall...how many were dragon-riders? Occasionally she would hear an almost feral noise, almost like a growl or snarl, and wondered if those were the dragons, and wondered how many dragons were there, as well. She had no idea how many to expect. There had always been a great many, but it had been a long time since their services were needed....

She tried to keep her mind off of the task at hand by concentrating on the long history of the Grand Hall, from the stories that she had heard since she was a very young girl. The greatest number of dragons ever held in the Grand Hall at one time was 429, though there was easily room in the catacomb nests to comfortably accommodate up to 1,000 dragons and their riders. More metallic dragons than any other kind normally had riders, and chromatic dragons carried riders least of all...and the riders they did take on tended to be evil, mean-spirited people. The pillars supporting the flying buttresses that arched across the open area had had to be removed, because of a particularly embarrassing incident involving a gold dragon and a practical joke involving glue. The number of times portions of the stone room had had to be rebuilt due to damage from the dragons was twelve....

She was shaken from her introspection by the blare of horns, calling everyone to attention and drawing the voices to silence. She heard the caller's voice, loud and clear, echoing through the vast hall.

"Presenting Her Highness, the Princess Relena!"

Relena took a deep breath, carefully assumed the mask of calm serenity that she had taken so long to acquire, and exited the tiny room, climbing the small staircase to the dais. She stepped carefully up to the throne, and turned to face the assembly.

At first, once she had cleared the last step, and no longer ran the risk of tripping, she closed her eyes. She allowed for one brief, intense longing for her parents, then dispelled it. She tried to imagine hundreds of dragons, more than had ever been assembled before, as if to wish it so. When she had managed to convince herself that the hall was full of dragons and their riders, she let a small, satisfied sigh slip past her lips, and opened her eyes....

...only to be greeted by the vision of a Grand Hall full of courtiers, soldiers, and various other members of the castle collective...and only five dragons.

It took all of the training she had ever received for Relena not to lose her composure right then and there, in front of the entire assembly. Five?! There were only five dragon-riders?! She could feel the slow, cold tendrils of panic edging into her mind. Why, the smallest assembly of dragon-riders to the call of the Oracle had never been less than one hundred! What had happened?! How could they possibly meet the challenge that had awoken the Oracle with only five dragon-riders?!

Before her thoughts could turn more mutinous, she severely berated herself mentally. This is no time to lose your composure, she said to herself. Remember that even five dragons is still a formidable force, when faced with more mundane infantry and foot soldiers. Be thankful for what you have; don't waste time pining for what you expected. Relena immediately felt her resolve strengthening, and with it, her composure.

At her left sat her advisor, the Duke Weyridge. He had stood up when she entered, and returned to his seat when she herself sat down. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, and he smiled warmly at her. Just having him near her side put Relena at ease. Weyridge was a trustworthy and good man, and had always given her calm, rational advice whenever she had been in a jam. She trusted his good judgment now, as well.

Noin assumed her traditional stance on her right side, standing at attention. Relena knew that Noin would complain good-naturedly about her feet aching after the ceremony was over, but she also knew that Noin enjoyed the pomp and circumstance of these ceremonies more than she herself did.

The caller had waited until all on the dais were seated. As the murmur of the crowd slowly died down to a pattering of sound, the caller cleared his throat. Immediately, the five dragons, all of which stood near the dais with their riders, straightened up and focused their attention on the throne. Relena inclined her head politely, regarding each of the riders in turn. Then she turned her attention to the dragons standing just behind the youths, and suddenly had a difficult time paying attention to anything but the dragons.

The first dragon was huge; and seemed to be all wings and tail. Its scales were a bright, iridescent brown color, and its head was crowned with an arc of short, stubby horns. That must be a bronze dragon, she thought. Its head was held high, and it surveyed the room with an air of cool intelligence. Standing next to the beast's massive shoulder, Relena acknowledged a towheaded figure...the dragon's rider. Another dragon stood close to the bronze dragon; this one was a little bit smaller than the first, and a bright, brassy yellow color. Its eyes glittered with annoyed curiosity. The brass dragon's rider seemed much older than the bronze rider; perhaps almost middle-aged.

The caller cleared his throat again, and began speaking in a loud, clear voice. "May I present the Prince Quatre Raberba Winner and his dragon, Sandrock, of the duchy Qa'nirvenye, and his captain of the guard, Rasid Kurama, and his dragon, Forth!" The blonde youth bowed, followed by the other man, who was a great deal larger than he had seemed, at first. In fact, he was quite possibly the tallest man Relena had ever seen. But before she could think on this any longer, she was interrupted by the sound of the caller clearing his throat again, and she obediently moved her attention to the next dragon.

This one was about the same size as the brass dragon, but a bright, glittering green. It had a thick, wild mane of hair the same color as its scales, and the brush of hair ran the entire length of its body, ending in a puff of hair at the tip of its tail. An emerald dragon, thought Relena. Its rider was another youth, whose dark hair was pulled back severely into a tiny pigtail. He and his dragon both stood rigidly at attention, as if accustomed to such ceremonies.

"May I present the Prince Chang Wufei and his dragon, Nataku, from the duchy Ri Shin!" Wufei bowed stiffly, though his eyes did not quite carry the same level of respect that the action implied. Nataku seemed more interested in the other dragons.

A sudden flash of blindingly bright scales caught Relena's attention, and she found herself staring with unabashed curiosity at the next dragon. Its scales were the color of quicksilver; in fact, the entire dragon had the same fluid quality as the element. The dragon was smaller than the others and more delicate, and its tail was almost ridiculously long. The dragon was fidgeting, as though bored or nervous, and the light striking its skin was what had caught her eye. Relena noted with some apprehension the long, sickle-shaped claws at the tips of each wing. The mercury's rider leaned against the dragon's shoulder to calm his mount, flashing a rakish, devil-may-care grin at the princess.

The caller coughed, then regained his composure. "May I present the Prince Duo Maxwell, of the duchy Mir Estel, and his dragon, Deathscythe!" The youth bowed, his long braid flipping over his shoulder. His dragon cocked its head and eyed the princess curiously, its eyes sparkling with mischief. Relena noted that the patterns of dark scales on its face gave it a look of perpetual surprise, as though it were constantly discovering something new that could potentially be a plaything.

Almost reluctantly, she turned her attention to the last dragon. This one was slightly larger than the mercury dragon, though not as large as the others. Its scales had an iridescent quality; now green, now orange, now somewhere in between. A copper dragon, thought Relena. Its head was crowned with a pair of long, backward-pointing crests, and it eyed all it surveyed with a warm, curious expression. Next to the dragon stood a tall, lithe youth, whose long golden-brown hair partially obscured one eye. He seemed completely disinterested in his surroundings, yet somehow Relena knew that nothing escaped his consciousness.

The caller's voice rang out once more. "May I present the Prince Trowa Barton, of the duchy Alyhandriss, and his dragon, Heavyarms!" The tall youth bowed slightly, and his dragon also dipped her head. Well, what do you know, thought Relena with amusement. A dragon who knows how to behave in polite company.

Relena thought the introductions had been completed, but then she noticed that the caller seemed quite agitated. He kept glancing at his parchment scroll, then looking at the dragons assembled, then looking back at the scroll. A castle page dashed forward, and the two conversed in hushed, urgent tones. Several times she caught each surreptitiously counting the dragons, then consulting the scroll.

Finally, the caller stood up to his full height, and tugged at his collar nervously. "Y-your Highness," he said, his voice faltering for the first time during the ceremony. "...I regret to inform you that...well, you see, that is, there were supposed to be five dragon-riders--well, there are five, but the captain of Qa'nirvenye's guard doesn't really count, and I don't know--" He was interrupted by a sudden uproar from near the back of the Grand Hall. Five large heads whipped around on sinuous necks, and the Hall was filled with the sounds of challenging rumbles and hisses. Relena wondered what had gotten everyone so agitated.

Before she was able to think on this any longer, her thoughts were interrupted by an earsplitting roar, and the thundering clap of leathery wings. Her eyes were drawn to the sky, and she got her first glance at a rider-dragon in flight. Courtiers scattered in panicked disarray as the missing dragon made its entrance.

It sparkled and shone in a myriad shades of orange and yellow; its scales seemingly faceted. A topaz dragon, thought Relena. They're rare among dragon-riders for their disposition. Wonder what that says about its rider?

The topaz backwinged as it neared the dais, settling on the floor and striding forward aggressively. But though the nobles and other guests were only too willing to cede to the dragon's bulk, the other dragons weren't nearly so easily cowed. The mercury--Deathscythe, thought Relena--hopped forward with fluid agility, its head snaking forward to snap at the topaz. The long horns sprouting from the back of its skull bristled, telegraphing its annoyance at the disturbance.

But the topaz wasn't willing to back down, either. The two dragons circled each other, hissing and snarling, each searching for a weakness, and each waiting for the other to make the first move. The mercury dragon's head suddenly lashed forward with lightning speed, and Relena could hear the snap of its jaws as it bit at the other dragon. The topaz jumped backward, bellowing with rage and shaking its head in pain. It then stilled, and eyed the mercury with murderous intent, taking in a tremendous gulp of air...as if tanking up for something.... Relena's eyes widened; it wouldn't be so foolish as to--!

She had seen enough. Galvanized to action, she stood up, her fists clenched at her sides. She took a deep breath, summoning all of her courage, and thinking of what would happen were the topaz to unleash its breath weapon in the Grand Hall, she yelled.

"ENOUGH!!!"

Startled, the mercury dragon's head whipped around to stare at the princess. The topaz, too, was startled from its anger, and quickly released its breath harmlessly. But while the mercury at least had the decency to look abashed, stepping back to take its place next to the braided youth, the topaz seemed unconcerned by the turn of events. It moved forward to join the ranks, completely oblivious to the glares and looks of mistrust it was receiving from dragon and human alike.

The caller, who had hidden behind one of the pillars during the fracas, suddenly scrambled back into position. His voice faltered slightly at first, but soon regained his former confidence.

"May I present to you the last dragon-rider, the Prince Heero Yuy, of the Kah'legeth duchy, and his dragon, Wing!" It was then that she noticed the young man that had dismounted from the belligerent topaz. Though short in stature, his eyes were a cold, hard blue, and his hair was dark brown, and very tousled. His gaze seemed to bore right into her soul, and though she could not understand why, Relena found herself blushing. What was it about his gaze that unnerved her so?

She quickly calmed herself, for it was now her turn to speak. All heads turned to face her, and silence spread across the Hall like a fog.

"You have been called to service by the Oracle. The Oracle, which has not spoken for nearly 350 years, has ended its silence and called the dragon-riders to action. The strength of the dragons is needed once more. You, who have been selected as dragon-riders, must now fulfill your responsibility as dragon-riders and protect this kingdom, at all costs."

Silence spread across the room once more, this one longer than the first. Relena heard feet shuffling, and an occasional muted cough, but she did not know what else to say. How she wished that she had been more prepared, had more information....

The darkest youth, the one with the emerald dragon, finally cleared his throat, stepping forward. "What is it that the Oracle has called us to defend against? Surely it would have told us what we have to face. It wouldn't send us blindly into battle against an unknown enemy. Why have we been gathered here?"

In that question, in all its outward innocence, lay the root of many of Relena's fears and shortcomings on the whole mission. It was why she had dreaded this assembly, as she had dreaded meeting the dragon-riders, dreaded parlaying with the scholars, and dreaded calling in the Watcher from his sojourn. In a perfect world, she would not have to face these fears, but unfortunately, her world was far from perfect....

Realizing her audience was waiting for an answer, she lifted her eyes to meet those of the dragon-rider--Wufei, if she remembered correctly--and schooled her features into her most serene, most regal expression. It almost seemed like a farce, really, in light of what she had to say.

"I...don't know..."

TBC

[RDP]

Intriguing start, Sara! I must admit, I am not a fan of 3x4, but other than that, you have got me hooked.

When you wrote about the dragon-rider's lives, you did so with appropriate feeling, providing insight into their character, and creating an interesting chapter.

I especially liked the passage about Relena's thoughts and past. It gave a clue as to what was going on, and seemed pretty realistic.

The oracle...when Relena admitted that she didn't know what it was the dragons were to fight against... Nice way of ending the prelude, hinting at action and a cliffhanger of suspense.

I was wondering; did you think all of this up, or did you use some ideas from the Pern series by Anne McCaffrey? Some parts sound similar, but you seem to have a magical imagination.

Regardless, great fic! Does Ryuu no Hikou have a meaning?