Wyrm

The water in the bathhouse was unbearable the first time he had bathed in it, but now it was exceptionally soothing. Wyrm no longer relied on others to wash him, which was an encouraging milestone in his recovery, but he could not deny that being bathed as if he were a king felt luxurious. Perhaps, when he had fulfilled his duty and become a ruler, he would have servants wash him. Or Barclay. Actually, there was no reason he could not order Barclay to wash him now. Though they had yet to bond, as mates, it was their duty to aid each other in their daily lives; including bathing.

Of course, bathing as a dragon was far more difficult than bathing as a human. As a dragon, one would have to roll around in sand to loosen grime and absorb any liquids, then bathe in a river or lake, sometimes under a falls, but that was uncommon. Not many falls are both large and gentle enough to bathe under. Wings, in particular, were a nuisance. Trying to spread them comfortably in the water was nearly impossible. A mate, who could scrub your scales and wash your wings, made the process so much easier.

Having a human's body hastened the process significantly, and even though he had only had it for less than a season, the former struggle was becoming a distant, unpleasant memory. Humans had such simple anatomy, at least on the outside. Not to say their anatomy was boring; his mate's anatomy was... quite spectacular...

"Wyrm?" A small voice asked.

Wyrm pulled himself from his thoughts to see a young monk in a red robe. He was bald, just like any other wyrm (a dragon cursed to be almost human) and if he would have patches of scales, Wyrm could believe he was one of his kind. Sadly, this little monk was human, though that did not create much of a barrier between their friendship.

The monk held out a small hand, "It's s time to practice walking."

Saim, the young monk, was around the age of 13, and was already deeply devoted to his faith. Wyrm liked that about him. He himself was raised to be a priest, as are all dragons born with golden scales, so he could easily relate to the child's dedication. Perhaps why they had become friends.

"Yes," Wyrm said, standing up slowly, "I'm ready to begin."

Whenever Wyrm felt his legs groan from his injuries, he was reminded not only of how, but why he was attacked. Not only were the golden scale dragons, the Golden, leaders in religion, but they lead the kingdom of dragons as well. It was their duty, and they could not defy it. All leaders contend with dissension, however, and resentment festers within rebellious circles until it becomes rage. Wyrm had been nearly killed by a mob of cursed dragons because of that rage.

Despite being rescued, the attack left him barely able to move. A healer monk of the same brotherhood as Saim, took him to the monastery to receive daily care and to monitor his recovery. He was recovering well, but every day was a fight to return to his former self. That fight, at least in part, took the form of mobility exercises. At first, it was simply lifting small objects and moving his legs. Lately, however, he had been learning to walk again.

Saim helped him out of the pool of hot spring water and onto the stone-tile floor where two more monks were waiting to help him into a stable stance. Once standing, Wyrm was handed a staff to lean on. It used to be that his legs would screech in pain, but that screech had quieted to a drone. Still there and still unpleasant, but no longer agonizing. He knew it would only be a matter of time before it screamed again and he'd be forced to sit down. However, that interval had been growing wider quickly, much to his delight. He limped back and forth across the bathhouse until he could no longer stand. He was guided down into a chair by the monks, but they smiled at him.

"Nearly a quarter of an hour," One gravely voiced monk said, pocketing an hour glass, "You have come far."

The monk, Fidio, was the largest of his brothers. Wyrm imagined he was quite tall when he was young, but now he was hunchbacked and reduced significantly in height. It must have been quite painful for him, but he never complained.

Fidio nodded, "You should be well enough to leave soon."

Wyrm perked up, "Truthfully? That is wonderful! Thank you, all of you," He smiled, and the monks smiled back, "I will need to speak to Barclay on the matter. Would you know if he is well enough to return to his occupation? We have not talked much on the topic, but I know he must have some anxiety about it."

The monk's faces dipped.

Fidio said, "Illunt has been seeing to him, but as I understand it, it is likely he will. However, Wyrm, are you certain you wish to return to him?"

Wyrm sighed, "I know your concerns are not without wisdom, but he does love me, and I do love him. Whatever he has done in the past, I know he will never let harm come to me again."

"But what about his soul?" Saim asked suddenly.

Wyrm tilted his head, "Whatever do you mean?"

The young monk stepped forward, "You say you love him, but have you even considered-"

"You speak out of turn, Saim," Fidio warned, "Silence yourself now, and speak no further on the matter."

For the first time since Wyrm had met the youth, Saim's eyes flared with defiance.

"And why should I silence myself when I give voice to a dire matter? Are we to abandon Barclay to damnation? Are we-"

"ENOUGH!" Fidio roared, "You have gone too far. Leave. You will be dealt with later. And do not think to run to the forest and hide. You will only make your punishment worse."

Tears began to well in Saim's eyes as he tried to hold a defiant stance. Then he turned sharply and ran towards the doors to the chapel. The sound of his sandals slapping the stone floor echoed through the hall. So did the bang of the heavy wooden door as it slammed shut. Fidio silently shook his head as the noise died away.

"The boy has changed for the worse, I fear," He said, "He is controlled by emotion, as are all children his age. Too many changes to his mind and body, and none who he can confide in. He leads himself to ruin, now."

Wyrm would likely have been more concerned over the state of his friend, but his thoughts were stuck on the boy's words.

His mind grappled with their meaning, but all he asked, mistaken, was, "Why would he believe I was abandoning Barclay? Does Saim think he is to stay?"

"No," Fidio replied, "This is a concern over faith. He has not been the most accepting of other's beliefs as of late."

"But he delighted in hearing my stories. I cannot see him resenting them in silence."

"I misspoke. He does enjoy hearing their tales and seeing their practices, but he does not respect them. He believes they are no more than fairy tales and make-believe. He has called our guests misguided more than once, and though we had hoped to correct him, he simply does not understand how one could respect a faith without joining it. Likewise, he believes all should share in our faith and abandon their own."

Wyrm frowned, "But do you not hold that belief yourself?"

"I could ask the same of you."

The half-bred priest thought about his answer, "No. My faith is for dragons, so to take in one who is not a dragon simply would not make sense."

Fidio nodded, "Our sentiments are the same, then. I see no reason to apply my beliefs to one who does not profit from them, nor do I see a reason to convert them if they are happy. Our faith is for us, so to take those who have no interest in it is illogical. Unfortunately, I believe that Saim cannot differentiate between his faith and happiness."

"I would assume you all held at least a similar sentiment."

"We find comfort and happiness in our worship, yes, but we understand that happiness lies in life, not faith. I can request a sermon be given on the matter if you would like to know more."

Wyrm thought about it, then shook his head, "No, I will not trouble you. I mean no offense, but human sermons are quite bland."

Fidio laughed, "Yes, I suppose they are."

"I pity Saim, nonetheless. I imagine he rarely interacts with others his age."

Fidio nodded, "That is true, sadly. He has met a few, but it is very rare, and he rarely finds commonality with them."

All who were left in the bathhouse had begun walking to the door, but Fidio stopped. Wyrm halted as well, and the monk waited until they were alone in the room.

Fidio spoke low, "He has become quite... peculiar, about, shall we say, romance. We have found scripts with scenes of 'romance' in his cell, supplied by the guards no doubt. Normally, such material is not allowed in the monastery, but the brotherhood deliberated on making an allowance and ultimately agreed that it would be healthier for him. I fear, however, we may have made a mistake. He has been acting strange ever since you and Barclay *ahem* the night before."

Wyrm felt his cheeks redden, an annoying compulsion of his new body. Barclay, who was his slave master and now his lover, had been very intimate that night, and Wyrm was to blame for the loudness of it. He tried to apologize, but Fidio waved him off.

"You are not to blame," He said, "It is just that... I'm worried what might happen during the next consummation ritual we host," The monk shook his head, "That is not of your concern, however. Now, I have some spirits I simply must get rid of. Consider it a gift for listening to my troubles."

The spirits in question were a potent brew, at least for Wyrm. His staggering as he walked across the monastery grounds that evening was not solely the fault of his legs. A monk helped him along until they reached his cell, but when Wyrm saw Barclay, he broke away to stumble into his arms.

"Slow down, my love," Barclay said, catching him as they collided.

"Barclay," Wyrm sighed with a smile, "My sweet mate. They said I am almost ready to leave. Isn't that wonderful?"

"Are you sure that's what they said?" Barclay asked, doubtfully.

Wyrm scowled, "I am sure, you can ask-"

When he turned to see the monk had already left.

"Huh, I suppose he had some place to be," Wyrm said, dismissively, "No matter. Oh Barclay, I love you. We should dance! I always wanted to dance as a human," He leaned his head into Barclay's chest and rocked slowly side to side as he sung,

"Head~ing out this morn~ing, into the sun

Ri~ding on the diamond waves, little darling one."

As he hummed the next verse, Wyrm's legs suddenly gave out, and Barclay had to quickly tighten his grip to keep him from falling.

Wyrm giggled and continued,

"Oh Annie, dreamboat Annie, ship of drea~ms"

Barclay gently guided him to his bed. He laid him down and pulled off Wyrm's boots. Then he helped him with his shirt and trousers, leaving only his briefs and stockings.

Wyrm giggled, "Are you so eager? Won't even bother to ask first?"

The huntsman sighed, "I'm helping you into bed. I don't want you hurting yourself while undressing in this state. I'm also examining your injuries. They say you can leave, but you still can't hold yourself up."

"I may not be able to stand, but I can do this."

Wyrm pulled Barclay into a kiss. The hunter was surprised at first, but the soft lips entranced him into a state of sublime pleasure. Wyrm's hands began to travel down until they reached Barclay's trousers. One hand slipped inside, reaching for Barclay's groin. He felt his thick penis, shrouded in fur, and rubbed it with his palm. It grew, gaining size and stiffness. Withdrawing his hand, Wyrm began to pull at his mate's trousers. Before they could fall away, however, Barclay took hold of one wrist and pulled his lips away.

"Someone is listening by the window," Barclay whispered.

Wyrm frowned, but when a thought occurred to him, he called out, "Saim? Are you spying on us?"

Slowly, the young monk rose into the frame of the window. His face was red and his head was turned away.

"What were you doing, Saim?" The huntsman said in a stern voice.

Saim took on a defensive tone, "I- I was only making sure you spoke about-"

"Do not lie, Saim," Wyrm warned, "Fidio and I spoke about your recent interests. Tell us honestly what you were doing."

The young monk tightened his expression and fidgeted restlessly, "I-... I was-... I truly only intended to eavesdrop, but then I saw you kiss and-... and I started touching myself."

It may have been his intoxication, but Wyrm's emotions came to him in an abrupt and unpleasant mixture. Anger, pity, disappointment, and a sudden sense of maturity. He was an adult, and though he wished he could treat Saim as a friend, he would have to treat him as a child now that he had acted so foolishly.

Barclay spoke first, "You've done something very wrong. Voyeurism is a filthy sin."

"I'm not a voyeur!" Saim protested, "I- I've never done this before..."

The boy's words were uncertain, and Wyrm sighed. Four score was the age in which you were no longer a wyvern or a drake, but a true dragon, and Wyrm could suddenly feel all 80 years of his life. He was twice the age of Barclay, though his new human form was a quarter of his true age at most. Perhaps that was why he still felt so young. Much of his home life and childhood had been erased from memory due to the curse, but there remained an unshakable feeling of entering adulthood. It would come and go, sure, but it was there nonetheless. Yet, he could not bring himself to scold Saim as an adult would. As Barclay seemed so ready to do. He wished he could treat the young monk as a friend, just as he had become so used to doing. Was there a middle ground? A way to correct, yet keep their friendship intact?

He said, "Saim, please come here," before he thought his approach through.

Saim shuffled his feet for a moment, then left from the view of the window.

"Why did you tell the boy to come here?" Barclay asked, almost in a hiss, "He should leave to be dealt with on the morrow."

Wyrm couldn't articulate an answer, try as he might. Instead, he pulled off his blanket and reached towards his shirt. Barclay took it and helped him to slide his lean frame back into it, finishing just as Saim entered. The young monk stood motionless as Wyrm was helped into a sitting position to better face him.

The cursed dragon priest started by asking, "Do you promise to tell the truth? All your honors lost should you lie?"

The young monk's eyes had a glint of rebellion, but it died as quickly as it came, replaced by defeat and regret.

"Yes, I promise," He said truthfully.

Wyrm nodded, "The monks did not teach you to touch yourself. Has anyone ever touched you in that way? The guards or another monk? A stranger?"

Wyrm wasn't entirely sure why he asked that until he realized there was no question more important. If he wished them to remain friends, he first needed to show he cared. And he did care. Talking to Saim, someone younger than him, felt familiar somehow. It harkened to a forgotten memory of his life before the curse.

"No," Saim answered, shaking his head, "I learned it from a book."

This was concerning, but the monks already knew of the books and deemed it acceptable. Perhaps this was better than leaving him confused once he discovered it on his own.

Wyrm continued, "Yes, I was told you keep books on such subjects. Who supplies you with these books? The guards?"

Saim nodded, "Yes. They buy them for themselves, but they let me read their old books before trading them for new ones. I'm not sure where they trade them or who they trade them with. I am sorry."

The boy tensed even more, breaking Wyrm's heart. He and Barclay would have to include this when they spoke to the monks, and hopefully there would be no more need for secrecy. Perhaps this was simply a part of dragon culture, but the priest of love would remind their students that, though the matter could be embarrassing, it was important they fully understand the proper and improper ways to share passion, or to have passions for yourself.

"And none have ever attempted to touch you, or asked you to touch yourself in front of them?" Barclay asked, his voice hard.

Saim shook his head, "I used to steal the books from them. When they caught me stealing, they agreed to let me read the books they were done with. I suppose they thought it was funny."

Wyrm nodded, "We believe you. Have you spied on any other couple while touching yourself?"

"No!" The young monk blurted out, but he returned to his demure state before speaking again, "No, I have not. It has never been my intention. This was the first time I committed the act, but that was not the reason I came."

"You were planning on listening to us speak, correct?" Barclay said.

"Yes."

Wyrm and his mate shared a look. The matter of mating or marriage would have to be addressed soon, but not now.

"Why do you worry yourself over our future?" Wyrm asked, "We will leave soon, and I cannot say we are likely to meet again."

Saim swallowed, "I... do not want you to part..."

Wyrm tilted his head, "Why would you think we would part? We are perfectly happy together."

The young monk became suddenly animated, "No! Not in life, but in death! I do not want your eternal souls to part!"

Barclay softly said, "Because we are of two different faiths and two different kinds. But you do not know that we will, you merely speculate."

"But I do! I do know for sure!" Saim all but shouted.

Wyrm frowned, "What makes you so sure?"

The boy's energy seemed to falter as he drew back, "I know because... It was in a book," Suddenly, his eyes began to water, and there was a hitch in his voice, "There was a young couple, and they were very much so in love, but when they died, she was all alone and they did not reunite," Tears started rolling down his cheeks as the hitch grew, "Sh- She waited, but she was all alone, b-because he did something bad, and he never told h-her, and- and-"

The young monk stopped talking and began to whimper. His shoulders shook and his sleeve darkened from wiping away tears. It was then that Wyrm fully understood who Saim was. More than a child, he was a child separated from the world entirely. Of course he would feel the need to convert others; his faith was all he ever knew.

Barclay stepped forward and pulled Saim into him. The whimpers turned into muffled sobbing as the large, bulky huntsman rubbed the young monk's back gently. As the sobbing slowed, Barclay guided him onto Wyrm's bed to sit next to him. Wyrm took the boy's small, rough hand in his and gently rubbed it.

"It's ok, Saim," Wyrm said, "We will be just fine, ok?"

The boy sniffled and nodded.

"Are you thirsty?"

He shook his head.

"Do you want to stay and hear a story? I know you like my stories."

Saim paused, then nodded. Barclay draped a blanket around the young monk as Wyrm began,

***

Long before you or I, there was a hardy, young Bronzen who fell in love with a beautiful Golden. They were in love, and the Bronzen would visit her in her father's temple every day.

But the father hated the Brozen, for he believed he was no match for his beautiful daughter.

One day, the Brozen came to give his mate a gift, a beautiful tail cuff made of braided cotton, but when he tried to see his beloved, her father stopped him.

"That paltry rag is not fit for my daughter," The father said, "You dare cover her golden scales with something so ugly?"

The Brozen left, and several days later returned with an anklet made of silver etched with the 3 prayers of love in the old tongue.

"I have spent all my gold on the most beautiful adornment I could find. Does this gift suffice?" He asked the father.

"Yes, it does," The father replied, "But look how filthy you are. How could I let you near my daughter, knowing you will only make her dirty."

The Brozen left, and several months later he returned with nary a speck on him.