Dragon Knights Fan Fiction ❯ A Suitable Bride ❯ Disillusion ( Chapter 8 )

[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]

You might remember the angst warning that has preceded each chapter. Well, this is what it's there for. I only hope that I get it right, but I've put off finishing it long enough. Here is the final chapter of A Suitable Bride. When you've finished reading it, maybe you'll pick up book 2 of Dragon Knights and look at it a different way. Unless you've thought the same as me, all along.

So thanks to everyone that's read this far. Thanks to Dee-chan, who read it all before the rest of you. Thanks to Morganeth Taren'drel, 2lz2signin, just a reader, Seto-Yugi's Grl, The Crimson Comet, arashi / snakespirit, wing_clover, neoscottie, KyouFan17, Ninetales122, Hikari of Darkness and Jadeyuy for all your comments, with special bows to golden-lover90, Jinsei, Sarah, Tigris-Lex, Millenia, mcjewelfiend and DemonandGoddess. Constructive comment is most humbly appreciated. Sorry it took this much longer than I'd hoped it would, but finishing was scary. I'm still not sure if I shouldn't go over the whole thing with a fine edit-comb and rewrite it to the same level.

For the final time, italics are her thoughts.

---

The runners, whose duty is to keep an eye on her, soon discover that her new hideout is the library. She has built herself a comfortable little corner and barely leaves it. The staff soon gets used to her presence, but never ask her to tidy, even though her stack of read and unread books is a constant thorn in the side of the librarian. Book after book, volume after volume, dust-induced coughing fit after dust-induced coughing fit, she reads on. The dry tomes hold all manner of historic data, but none of the ancient dragons seemed to have a writer's touch. The difficult prose is matched by a paucity of relevant information. Every action of the ancient Dragonlords is detailed, a book for each Lord, from birth, first demon-slaying, notable educational achievement, wittiest remarks, to death, as well as marriage to beautiful Lady X of the Dragoneyes, her only entry in the story of his life.

I wonder if they'll say the same about me? "Lord Lykouleon, noted tiddlywinks player and quietest snorer of the line of Dragonlords, married beautiful Lady Raseleane of the Dragoneyes, who bore him no children." ... Why did I think that? Of course I'll bear him children. That's all I'm here for!

She throws another book into the useless pile and sighs loudly. The librarian, who's been staring at her, but trying not to, mutters to himself, then walks over to her.

"Lady Raseleane? How goes your research? Have these books been of any help? Can I tidy them away now?" he says quickly, sifting through the volumes and cataloguing them mentally.
Given how fast he spoke, I doubt he's looking for an answer to all those questions.
"I'm trying to find some information on the former Dragonqueens. Do you have any books devoted to them?" she says sweetly. Hidden out the back, propping open the privy door, or being used as a footstool, perhaps?
"We have many books on the Dragonlords," he laughs, picking up several of her books. "The ones you have there are an interesting start, but there..."
"I'm not looking for information on the Dragonlords," she interrupts quickly. I don't want any more useless books on them. "I'm searching for writings of the Dragonqueens. Do you have anything?" She settles herself demurely on the edge of her seat, while the librarian thinks.
"We've quite a selection of romance novels. They were very popular with several of the Dragonqueens?" he offers timidly.
"That's not what I'm looking for either. Did they ... Do you have any diaries written by them?" she asks desperately. That way I could find out if they thought as I do and how they got pregnant and how to use the dragoneyes.
"Oh no," says the librarian, his recovered treasures now piled up to his nose. "Don't worry about that. Diaries are strictly private and we'd never have access to them. They could be full of embarrassing secrets and so on. We couldn't have anyone finding out that the Dragonqueen hated the King of Arinas, or that he smelled unpleasant, or anything like that. All personal items like diaries are destroyed when their owner dies. Keeping them on hand would be far too dangerous."
Raseleane's heart sinks into her stomach. "So you've nothing on the queens. Do you have anything about the Dragoneyes?" she asks dully.
"Ah, you'd know more about them than I would," he answers, placing the books on his desk, before returning to Raseleane. "Dragoneyes are a peculiarity. The only ones who have them are Dragonqueens, like yourself, so no-one's been able to experiment on them." What! "No autopsies are allowed on heads of state," he sighs sadly. "Then again," he says, perking up and grabbing another handful of books, "since the Dragonlord's poisonous, maybe that's a good thing."
"Ah, yes," she agrees. "Only I can touch his bo... blood."
"Sorry I couldn't help." He smiles kindly at her. "A dusty old library's no place for a beautiful young queen. I bet you're secretly glad to be out of here," he says, taking her hand and escorting her to the door. "You should be trying on dresses and holding balls, not wasting away here." As he firmly pushes her out of the library, he says, "If you ever change your mind about the romance novels, I can have them sent up to your room."

Following the fruitless search, she walks back to her rooms, along the Hall of Dragonlords. This cheerless corridor is decorated with paintings of the Dragonlords, staring eternally across the hall at pictures of their brides. Not that anyone looks at them. Each one is dustier than her mate, smaller and less colourfully painted. Raseleane glances at the row of portraits. In each of them, her eyes stare back. She never lingers in this place. Their painted eyes, lifeless mirrors of her own and a reminder of her future, give her shivers. Her own painting and the only record of her that would be kept for posterity, is being commissioned. Lykouleon's has long since been finished and hangs in his study, until the event of his death, whereupon it will be moved here. No fashion touches these portraits. It is as if they were painted at the same time, a few years, yet several lifetimes ago. Each one is identical, except for hair, or minor clothing differences. Maybe there's only one official painter, churning out portrait after portrait of the Dragonlords of Dragoon and still working off his original sketch of the first Dragonlord.

Back in her room, she notices a smouldering chill. Looks like it'll be a dismal night. She closes the open windows and bars the shutters. That darkens the room, so she lights a candle and carries it over to her dressing table. She sits on her soft, velvet chair and daintily picks up her hairbrush. Brushing her hair, she glances in the mirror and notices her eyes. Unique in the world, she's often stared at them, proud, confused and sometimes angry. You've directed my destiny. You've marked me out as the only one able to sleep with the Dragonlord. You've done everything to me. Her strokes falter, then stop. Moving the candle closer to the mirror, she sits forward too and stares into her eyes. She loses herself in them and attempts to connect with the souls of all those who bore Dragoneyes before her. "Please help me. Please, let me have a baby so that this can be over and Lykouleon can be happy." She waits. Her eyes don't glow. She doesn't feel warm inside. She can't feel new life sprouting in her. Nothing happens. She chokes back a sob and picks up the brush again. Why can't I figure out how to make you work? Why must I fail here?

There is a knock on the door and Raseleane lifts herself from her seat with a smile. Lykouleon! The perfect time. I really need to hold someone just now. However, the person waiting at the door is not her lover. He doesn't even wait for an invitation, before barging into her room. His nostrils flare and he flicks his hair, before turning tiredly to Raseleane.

"Lady Raseleane," he says, looking down and stroking his forehead. "I have a message from the Dragonlord for you."
"A message?" she says uncertainly. "Why would he send a message? Why isn't he here himself, Alfeegi?"

A cold feeling emerges from her stomach. Alfeegi was too busy to play messenger boy, in one of Lykouleon's romantic games. He was a terrible actor and he did not look well now.

"Lykouleon isn't here," he finally says, with an annoyed glance. He doesn't look at her and she plays an irritating game, to catch his eyes.
"Where is he?" she asks, weaving her head to follow his glances.
Alfeegi sighs heavily. He finally looks her in the eyes and she's shocked at his tired and sad expression. "I'm sorry. I don't want to be the one to have to tell you. Lykouleon, the Dragonlord, is leading an assault on the demon forces. They're weak right now and he thinks that he can deal them a huge blow." He folds his arms and thrums his fingers. "I'm sorry you had to find out this way."
Raseleane slumps against the wall. "What?" she croaks, her voice betraying the extent of her anxiety.
"He's taken the major part of the army and several levies and he's gone ... I'm not sure I can tell you of the details."
Raseleane slides a little down the wall and softly utters, "We were told that it would never happen again."
"Ah, yes." Alfeegi falls silent for a moment, his composure unsettled, until he stiffens suddenly. "You..."
"Yes," she interrupts. "Oh yes. How could we have forgotten?"
"He ... thinks he's doing the right thing," he says, in an attempt to placate her. His hands twitch, unsure whether a comforting touch is a good idea. Alfeegi, why did it have to be you?
"Tetheus?"
"He's gone, too. The Dragonlord needs him. He's the most experienced general Lykouleon has," Alfeegi answers.
"So that's what Kai-Stern's been preparing for? Why he's been so busy and hardly around?" Her voice goes more wistful and she starts to wander around her room, touching her familiar items.
Alfeegi swallows noticeably and follows her, a step behind always. "I know that it's hard when someone you love makes such a huge decision, without telling you, or asking your opinion..." he starts, as Raseleane kneels on her bed and crawls to its base.
"Love?" she asks, hugging the post of her bed and stroking its cold wood. "How can I love him? Love is a two-way thing. It's a giving of thoughts and a sharing of experiences and ideas." She presses her cheek against the bedpost and looks to Alfeegi. "He doesn't let me share anything of myself. I can tell you exactly what he'd do or say in any situation. He could barely tell you what I'd wear to my own wedding."
"Er," says Alfeegi, uncomfortable and worried now, about Raseleane. "I'm sure that when he comes back..."
"Why?" she says, staring at him, coldly. "What'll change?" Alfeegi gapes at her and she continues. "You don't magically become better overnight, or when you hit a certain age. You're not born sensitive, kind, or understanding. Everything you are, is as a response to the things that have happened to you. The hardships you endure make you stronger and the puzzles that you solve make you smarter." She pauses and her back stiffens. "What's happening to me? Am I losing all the strength and wits that I gained? Am I truly worth anything? In a few weeks will they find me incapable of walking or thought, just moving my mouth like a fish, waiting to be fed and blinking occasionally?"
"That's just ridiculous," he splutters, gesturing and frantically trying to think of a way to calm her down.
"I AM ridiculous. Look at me! Ignored, beautiful, powerless, a joke!" She crawls off the bed and throws her hands up in the air.
"You're still the queen," Alfeegi reminds her.
Raseleane laughs. "Really? Is it worth anything? It's never brought me anything good. No joy, just study. No happiness, just tests. No love, just duty and a husband who doesn't give a damn about me. And all this is just because - and this is the stupid bit - all this is just because I'm the only girl with Dragoneyes. Well, I'll tell you what," she says, walking straight up to Alfeegi, until they touch. Alfeegi flinches as she looks up at him. "I wish that I didn't have these stupid things. My life would be better."

Lost in bitterness, it takes Raseleane a while to notice what Alfeegi already has. The room has grown dark. Lively shadows flick and play, spreading from the space behind her, quenching the light. She can't turn, or move, just stare at Alfeegi's horrified face. A cold ball of ice forms, an inch behind her back. Wisps of frozen steam lick and caress her spine. The shadows congeal and congregate at her feet, where they swarm up her body. They cover her, moving against her body, rustling clothing, touching her. Tiny spidery legs whisper in and out of her hair, across her face, tattooing her pale skin. A dark veil drops over her eyes. Her mouth opens and nothing comes out. A shadowy pair of hands forms from the mess and strokes her hair. She feels their stronger touch pass up her arms, along her shoulders, caress her neck, across her face. Fingers brush her cheek, growing more solid with every passing moment. They flick over her eyes, then stab in deeply. Her body shakes. The scream that keeps building can't escape and Raseleane twists and struggles in the shadows' embrace. She can feel something inside her eyes, scrabbling around, digging, clawing at her. Finally, with a wet, sickly pop, that awful sensation fades, but she can feel a burning light travel down her cheeks. She opens her eyes and can see clearly again. Alfeegi is slumped before her, her body is hidden by shadows and a purple-clad hand is holding something round and sticky before her face: Two light orbs, covered in her own blood, stuck elegantly on two outstretched fingers.

The darkness congeals further behind her and a lump of shadow whispers into her ear.

"Wish. Granted."

---

Why did I decide to write this story? There's a scene in book 2, where Lykouleon has just rescued Raseleane from Nadil and the two of them are talking. She's just told him that she's barren and can't be his queen anymore. The next thing she says is what drove me to write her story. She said:

"Were you crying, my lord?"

I always read this as being the first time that she realised that Lykouleon cared for her. Why else would she be surprised that her husband was sad, when she'd been kidnapped by his enemy, tortured and rendered barren? Shydeman (or Shyrendora, I'll have to look it up) said "That woman shouldn't have used the dragoneyes" at one point and I wondered what that would have to do with Nadil. This is the conclusion I took. That her attempt to use the eyes, drew him here and angst is the one thing that can give you enough power to make a truly foolish wish.

There you go. Now you have ... a version, of the whole story. It fits my reading of the tale, but feel free to believe that their marriage was blissful and that her capture by Nadil had nothing to do with their good, current relationship. I believe that book two was followed by a good solid talk and Lykouleon involving Raseleane a lot more in his day to day life. After all, "He tells her everything". Now.

This story was edited to death, I finally got a beta reader and I'm just so proud that I can point to something and say, "I finished that!" I originally wasn't sure whether I'd include Lykouleon's battle to save her, but it doesn't fit in here. This is everything.

Now I'm a bit lost. This was the story burning inside me, for the last, dear lord, has it been a year? I don't know if it's successful or not, angst isn't my thing. Still, on the plus side, I turned my beta into a mad DK fan, so I must have done something right. Thanks Dee-Chan.

Since there's no more chapters, if anyone has questions, leave an email address and I'll get onto you. DemonandGoddess, I hope this clears up your misconception.

Oh yeah, the point! Basically, if you leave things as they are, then nothing will change. If you feel ignored in your relationship, then your lover isn't going to suddenly notice and make everything right. You have to act, to speak out. Don't bottle things up. If you can't say that you're unhappy, then you're not in a relationship. Raseleane's in awe of Lykouleon and is obsessed with her duty. She hides behind it, to a certain extent and never engages with the Dragonlord as a full partner in their relationship. She's a doormat, because she doesn't realise that she has the right to speak up. Basically, she's been trained to pander to his whims, but, deep down, that's not enough for her. She feels her wasted potential, grows bitter and well, summons the Demon Lord Nadil.

So if something's bothering you, speak up. You may be mistaken, or not have noticed something vital to your partner. Communication is a wonderful thing.