A Golden Life

Something, a feeling of sorts, wakes you inadvertently. It’s not much trouble, however- this is about the time you wake up anyway. As you begin to move your body to get some proper circulation going, you find yourself taking deep gulps of air. Mmmmh. Air’s particularly good today. The fisherfolk must’ve brought in some good hauls recently. Fish used to stink to high heavens, really, but you get used to it living near the port. Just across the hills, the docks, and a pleasant sight it is. Aye, nowadays, the smell of fish is a rather welcome scent.

What isn’t, however, is whatever this sharp, slightly rank smell that’s running through your nostrils and is settling on your tongue uncomfortably. You smack your mouth a few times, trying to dispel it, to no avail. No, it smells like it’s not in your home…rather that it’s from outside and getting closer.

Ah. Actually, that’d explain it. Soon enough, your suspicions are confirmed as you hear two tiny voices approach. “I don’t like this…” Ach, he sounds young. Whatever reason a child could have to visit you, it’s not good. He’s the one that smells off, no less. “What if he was lying? I don’t-”

“Oh, come off it, relax. She’s a kind one underneath it all, not a worry! She’s a bit of a grump, but she’ll not deny you once she hears ya out!” Ah, that one sounds vaguely familiar. “Won’t harm a hair on your head!” Oh, yes. You recall this boy. Lennox, you think? He’s a bit of a cheeky one, but his mum cooked rather good pork. Unofficial town guide, the boy was. Bah, suppose you’ll see what’s all the hubbub, then. You give yourself a last stretch or two and make sure to be facing the entrance.

Sure enough, the two come in after a minute’s nerves, the boy you know doing so brazenly. He’s still got those horrid half-torn moccasins you told him to replace. He’s at least taken to washing his hair out, it seems. The younger, sickly one seems like he ought to be in a bit better shape- his textiles tell you he’s at least in some money, you think, though his tunic is a bit worn. Been on a bit of a journey, it seems. “Ahem! Pardon and hail to the madam of the house? We’re beggin’ your pardon, but we need your aid a bit terribly.”

Ugh. He does this so often. You allow yourself a bit of a sniff of annoyance as you amble into full view, your scales reflecting off the morning sun rather nicely, you think. It certainly fits the image the villagers have given you, at least. “Hmph. The boy there, then? He needs healing?”

The boy in question jumps slightly upon being addressed, and he- hells- he prostrates himself. “N-no ma’am Miss Paramecium the Golden, ma’am-”

“It’s Pencilia,” you curtly correct. You hated it when people got your (new) name wrong, even (especially?) after all these years as a full dragon. Kid’s clearly all nerves, though. No reason to let him see it too much.

Not that it seems to affect his fright any. “Ah! Y-yes ma’am! Right, well, it’s j-just; it’s not me! I’m hale, ma’am…”

“You aren’t,” you quickly correct as you lean down to get your nose closer to him. He seems like he wants to break off and run, but his friend holds him steady. “You’d be better off getting a check up by me, but your lungs sound off and you’re giving a scent…” you pause to take a better whiff. “...ah, reminiscent of early onset pneumonia. Deadly, if not treated proper. But curable.”

Both he and Lennox look aghast. But the boy steels his courage, for once. “N-no thank you lady Dragon! I- I’ll be looked at in due time, but- but my mum!” Ah, and there’s the reason. “She’s far worse, she is. Coughing up a fright, can’t focus, weakening by the day. We- we don’t know what the problem is with her, but we think it might be poison- a vicious one! My family’s traders, y’see, good ones, an-”

“Spare me yer life story,” you grumble, your annoyance plain in your face and likely tail. You’re not interested in such, never have been. “And you’ve no access to any healers nearer you? You ‘ad to come to me?” You don’t mind helping heal people, it’s kinda what you live for. But some things are just as well done away with via bed rest and careful nutrition and hardly need your personal attention save for the ‘prestige’ of being treated personally by The Golden Dragon, The Great Healer, The Shining Mercy. Ugh. You’d had plenty enough of nobles begging for your personal attention, thank you. “There’s a number o’ ailments that would fit your description. Several of those only last a fortnight at the worst.”

“I- but…Sire Reyna said you were the best there was! Said that his mate was the greatest healer on this or any other continent!” he exclaims. And THAT causes your heart to skip a beat momentarily.

“Reyna, you say?” you ask, shifting back closer to him as fond thoughts begin to circulate. “Reyna the Wanderer, to be precise? The Dragon-Knight?” He’d…not exactly let GO of his old name, but he’d little desire to have his old identity matched to his new form, grumpy about it as he was. You were less concerned about such, but decided to follow his lead on that one. You think it fit you, anywho.

“Aye, the very same!” the boy confirms excitedly. “T’was by his help we avoided death by banditry, it was! Thrashed them all! But they struck me mum with something before the last went down…” Ah, and now the fire’s dimmed again. “He- he said he’d see to the last of the group, but insisted I ride along ahead to gain your aid. He spoke very fondly of you, ma’am.”

That…that sounded so much like him. “...Ach…how ridiculous that drake…he’s too much.” you can’t help but mutter as your heart warms at the thought of his praises. If your voice got softer, you weren’t sure, but the way Lennox was grinning at you as you avoided direct eye contact for a moment said you needed to steel yourself, lest untoward rumors start up. Again.

Still, it’d been a while since you’d seen him. But still ever a sweetie, he is. A couple decades to let you do a bit of private research and have some ‘you’ time, and him to clean up some nastiness that yet remained back in his homeland was nice. It was! But hearing his name again…

With THAT thought in mind, you decide. “Fine.”

He blinks, and Lennox grins, looking at his friend. “Fine?”

“Yes,” you say, sighing. “I’ll see to your mother. Will you direct me there as we fly, then?”

“F-fly?!” he squeaks.

“Not to worry, she’s plenty safe!” Lennox assures. “It’s a thrill you’ll never get anywhere else- and a privilege to boot! Toldja it’d all work out!”

“I’m no steed, you arse!” you half grumble. A small gout of flame leaves you, but both you and he know it’s pure intimidation and nothing else. “Now, are you comin’ with or no?”

“Really?! I promise not to bug you or anything!” he says as he races over.

You doubt he’ll keep to that, but it might be a bit of fun to pretend to buck him a bit. Put a bit of proper fear back into him as you go to see to his friend’s unfortunate mother.

And, well, if you could go see your hubby afterwards…well, that’s just a quite nice bonus, isn’t it?

After making sure they’re on and secure (they aren’t the first people you’ve had to ferry, and you’ve some secure straps for the purpose), you spread your wings and take off. Pencilia, formerly Paracelsus, the Golden has another life to save, it seems.