The Romanian Assignment

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            By six o’clock, Mareille had unpacked, taken a short nap, and freshened up. She set out to explore the manor for the hour she had until dinner, but Eris was mewling pitifully underfoot, and Mareille knew that the cat would not stop until she was fed, so they went in search of the kitchens. Following Charlie’s advice, she followed the scent of roasting meat and vegetables down the set of stairs nearest her room to a hallway filled with the sound of a man’s deep voice accompanied by a much higher one. They were belting out a bawdy tune about a highland lass who liked to wear nothing beneath her skirts and Mareille laughed heartily when she entered the kitchen to find a man ladling broth over a side of beef and a house elf kneading a large amount of dough singing together. The man was small and wiry, rather weedy looking with happy hazel eyes. Longish brown hair was captured in a leather thong at his nape and he wore leather cording around his wrists as well. The house elf was the happiest Mareille had ever seen, and the cleanest, with a fresh white bit of sheet wrapped around him. “AAAAAND SHE WAS A HIGHLAND DREAM,” they finished.

            “Bravo! Bravo!” Mareille cried, laughing. The house elf beamed at her and the man gave her a roguish smirk, “That was wonderful; so tawdry!” she praised.

            “The long awaited lady Healer appears!” announced the man jovially, “Ferrigan McDougal, at your service ma’am, and this dashing young fellow is my faithful friend, Hubie, house elf extraordinaire!” the house elf bowed deeply to her.

            “Wonderful to meet you both, Hubie, Ferrigan. I am Mareille Welborne but please call me Mareille. Everything smells fantastic in here, is there anything I can help with?”

            “You can taste this,” Ferrigan carved off a small slice of beef and offered it to her, “but there’s not a chore in the world I would put you to in this kitchen today, lady, tonight we celebrate you!”

            Mareille took the proffered morsel and whimpered, “that’s bloody amazing! Ouch!” Eris had jumped onto Mareille’s shoulder and dug her claws in, “right, sorry, my cat’s a little bit starving, what can I feed her?”

            In no time at all, Ferrigan produced a plate of fish for the cat and a pot of tea for Mareille, set the vegetables to peel themselves and sat down to talk to Mareille as their dinner finished itself. They spent the better part of the hour engaged in hilarious conversation, Ferrigan telling her stories of the other men she was to meet. Ferrigan was not just the cook, but a regular dragon keeper who happened to love to cook, he left the pits early every day so that he would be able to prepare a decent meal.  Mareille enjoyed herself thoroughly, and felt any reservations she had about taking this assignment slipping away. When Hubie began to port dishes into the adjoining dining hall, Mareille ignored both of their protests and helped the house elf to set the long table for eleven. At ten to seven, Charlie was the first to arrive in clean clothes with damp hair. He looked delicious to her with his shirt sleeves rolled up, revealing the taut muscles of his forearms and his hair brushed rakishly off his forehead. Soon after, the other men began to file into the dining room. Charlie introduced them one by one,

            “Mareille, I’d like you to meet Gabriel, he’s one of the best keepers in the world. Gabe this is Mareille Welborne, our new healer,” Gabriel was a towering black man with a wide smile and long braided hair. He greeted Mareille cordially, and when he reached out to take her hand, she caught a glimpse of a tattoo on his chest. Garrett was next, also very tall, with wavy light brown hair and an easy-going attitude. He was very polite and respectful to her, expressing his gratitude at her presence. Mahir, the oldest of the keepers was a wizard from Arabia and wore loose, flowing clothing of a beautiful material Mareille did not recognize. He was the resident expert on Middle Eastern dragons. He met her with a kind, fatherly smile. Gunnar, from the far north was another monster of a man, he had extraordinarily long blonde hair, pieces of which were braided and bounded, and an intricate tattoo of a dragon on his neck. He was quiet but not unfriendly, his presence commanded respect—his presence, and the twelve inch blade worn at his waist. Accompanying him was Mikhail, a short, burly Romanian wizard with dark, close cropped hair. He was also polite but very shy, blushing when Mareille asked him to use her first name. Liam entered, carrying the side of beef which he promptly dropped on the table and then gathered Mareille up in an affectionate hug, laughing as Charlie’s eyes darkened behind her. Ferrigan brought in the last of the food, setting it on the table and another man followed him, carrying a great flagon of wine, this man’s hair was very dark, long, and loose. He very badly needed a shave and his cheeks and jaw were liberally dusted with new beard growth, but not enough to hide the glyphs tattooed on his cheeks and collar. His eyes were hauntingly dark and when he looked at her, Mareille felt as though he were looking inside her, right through her skin. Charlie introduced him as Hadrian, the man who could not be deceived. The men took their places at the table and Mareille commented that they were one short. Liam snorted,

            “Aye, that’d be Lukah we’re missing, rotten poufta’s probably making himself pretty for you, Mari, he’s always late,” and he began to tuck in to his meal with relish. Most of the table laughed and followed suit so Mareille could see no reason to object. She was absorbed in conversation with Garrett and Charlie about her Healer training when Lukah finally appeared. A strapping blonde man nearly as tall as Charlie strutted in and sat lazily across from her.

            “Well look who finally showed up,” Ferrigan laughed and clapped the new comer on the back, “eat up man, the food’s not getting any fresher. Mareille, here’s your last man, Lukah. Luke this is Healer Welborne.”

            “So good to meet you, Lukah,” said Mareille pleasantly.

            “The pleasure is all mine, I assure you,” he gave her a hard, measuring look. She could feel him trying to intimidate her but refused to look away. Raw, seething lust filled his eyes as she met his challenge. “I feel much safer knowing that you are here to see to us,” he said softly, then turned to request the vegetables from Mikhail. Disconcerted, Mareille turned to gauge Charlie’s reaction but his face was unreadable. He met her eyes for a moment, then continued their conversation with Garrett as though it had never been interrupted. Dinner passed pleasantly and uneventfully, and after it was cleared, they all retired to the courtyard to enjoy the summer air. Lukah and Charlie played a game of wizard’s chess which was of great interest to Mareille since Ferrigan had told her they were both formidable players and their matches were always worthwhile. Gunnar and Mikhail sharpened knives while speaking in hushed tones. Hadrian read a letter his eagle owl brought him. Mahir observed all in silence, absentmindedly stroking Eris who had curled up in his lap. As the hour grew later, Mareille decided it was finally time to retire and bid the men goodnight, made her way to her room.

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            The rest of the men had long since retreated to the manor by the time Charlie’s queen finally smashed in the head of Lukah’s king. Lukah chuckled gamely in concession of defeat and rose to leave to when Charlie, face clouded said in a deadly undertone, “you will never do that to her again, Lukah. I told you the way it was going to be before she got here and you will not look at her like that ever again. Am I clear?”

            Lukah looked down on Charlie for a long moment before he finally said, “I saw the way you were looking at her, and I wonder if you can abide by your own rules, Charles? Good night,” and with that he walked away, leaving Charlie looking down at the shattered remains of the white king.

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            Over the next few weeks, Mareille fell into a pleasant routine. She woke early and ate breakfast in the kitchen, usually with Hubie for company. She would then head down to the brewery next to the infirmary for a few hours where she made her own remedies and potions from ingredients produced from the garden. Usually by noon, one or more of the men would have some sort of injury that needed treating and they would pop in for a quick fix. Broken bones were more or less a daily occurrence in the dragon pits and Mareille needed to be able to get the men back on their feet as soon as possible. After that, Mareille usually walked the half mile to the pits with her kit to treat the wounds that the keepers weren’t willing to go to the infirmary for. Around six, she’d return to the manor with Ferrigan to help him prepare dinner, and after dinner they all relaxed.

The pits were really a shallow valley on the other side of the mountain from the manor. Almost entirely gravel and rock, there was nothing left for distressed dragons to burn when they lost their tempers—with the exception of their keepers. Hollowed out pits and caverns were carved by the bodies of many dragons spending great amounts of time lying there. A large stone building, which may have once been a fortress, stood sentry at the near end of the pits, which was where the keepers kept the majority of their equipment.

            Mareille avoided Lukah as much as she could, for whenever she was around him she could feel his eyes following her and undressing her maliciously. Instead, she tried to be as near Charlie as possible, because she liked his company and he made her feel wonderful. Being near him was not always feasible, however, because Charlie, as head keeper, usually worked with the most violent dragons in the most dangerous circumstances, which he flatly refused to allow her anywhere near. So, she spent the majority of her time in the pits with Garret, Ferrigan, and the wyrmlings. There was a never ending supply of abandoned or orphaned baby dragons being sent to the central camp of the Romanian division to be raised, and baby dragons were incredibly needy.

“They’re so precious!” she’d exclaimed the first time Charlie took her to the nursery end of the pits where four little dragons were scuffling around and one was trying very hard to fly. The little white and grey dragon’s face was wrinkled up like a little old man as he concentrated on getting his wings to flap as one. Charlie watched as Mareille laughed joyfully as it made its way toward her, she held out one dragonskin gloved arm to catch it, brushing a stray lock of hair out of her face with the other. The little dragon reached out its sharp talons and grabbed onto her arm triumphantly, then looked at her, big silver eyes glowing with pride. She petted it gently behind the horn nubs with one finger and it nuzzled into her hand affectionately. “I think you’ve made a friend,” Charlie smiled at her, “he’s new, an orphaned Frostwing from Norway. Gunnar’s brother sent him down just a few days ago. Would you like to name him?”

Mareille looked at him as though he’d just given her an early Christmas present, the wyrmling on her arm was making tiny sounds as he tried to roar, “I think I’ll call him Commodore,” she said decisively, “he seems like he’d take command, doesn’t he?”

“He seems like he’ll bite your head off without a second thought in a few years,” a cool voice said from behind her, “he is, after all, a dragon, and you are, after all, a piece of meat.” Lukah walked idly by, followed by several lengths of chain, enchanted to float along behind him. Mareille’s smile shattered. Charlie reached out and tucked the stray lock of hair behind her ear again, grazing her cheek with her gloved thumb as he did so. Her breath caught audibly and their eyes met for a long, meaningful moment.

“Never mind him,” Charlie said kindly, “they’re great when they’re tykes. Commodore it is.”

Now she spent nearly every afternoon with Commodore and the other wyrmlings, feeding them and brushing their scales or whatever other tasks Garrett and Ferrigan set her too, all the while keeping her eyes open for a glimpse of Charlie.

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            Charlie was sitting on top of a dragon. One of the oldest in the pit, Vittorios was especially resistant to magic and it took all of the keepers to stupefy him so that Charlie could check the top of him. He sat astride the enormous green dragon’s neck examining every individual scale for malady, he was working as quickly as he could—he did not want to be sitting on top of Vittorios when the dragon awoke. A strong gust of wind brought him the cheerful sound of Mareille’s laughter, and he stopped working to gaze out over the pit, searching for her. She was standing alone on a mound of gravel, a wyrmling on her arm, rogue strands of hair flying around her face in the wind.

            “She’s a good woman,” Mahir’s lyrical voice distracted him, the older man was sitting on the dragon’s right haunch, examining scales, “I don’t know why you’re fighting it, boy, she’s a good woman and you deserve her.”

            Charlie sighed, “I told the men to look on her as a sister, or one of the team. She’s off limits to them, so she’s off limits to me.”

            “She’s not your sister, and she is one of the team but she isn’t one of the men. She’s a woman, and she watches you. She knows you’re a man, so why fight it?”

            Charlie worked on in thoughtful silence. Mahir continued, “None of the men would begrudge you, all of us see the way you two dance around one another. Your sense of honor is admirable, and a boon to your character, we know you and respect you, no one would think less of you for it.”

            “It would complicate things,” said Charlie.

            “So would any woman.”

            Charlie considered this, waiting for Mahir to go on, but the other man simply pulled out his knife and sawed at a bad scale.

            “Lukah dogs her,” Charlie said finally.

            “I know. He sees her as prey. He is a danger to her. We’re all watching him.”

            “He’s been a good companion for a long time…”

            “Enter a woman, and he is no longer such a good companion. She’s a good woman,” Mahir repeated, “don’t fight it any longer. There’s nothing more natural in the world than falling in love with a good woman. Make the girl yours and there will be nothing Lukah can do to her. And if he does…he’ll get eaten by a dragon.”

            Charlie smiled to himself. Mahir was right, he was falling for her. Every morning he walked by the brewery to listen to her humming to herself, every day when she made her way down to the pits he sought her out because just seeing her made his whole day better. He went to her with every cut and burn because hearing her voice murmur incantations and feeling her hands apply salves made his blood boil. Each evening when she sat down next to him for dinner and spent the whole time speaking animatedly with everyone about everything, he felt his affection for her grow, and every night, when he lay down to sleep he pictured her lying in her enormous bed just across the hall, and then pictured himself in that bed with her, he barely slept at all. Even then, his body was stirring at the mere thought of her in bed, with her hair down, and moonlight pouring over her…Mahir was certainly right, he was a fool for fighting it, and something needed to be done.

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