Archive of Our Own ^beta

The Vinsomer's wings are beautiful. Like the sails of the pirate ships that frequent the coasts of Rivain, they open to the sky, accepting the gifts of the sea and air to hold her aloft; from her Kingdom she presides over Lords and animals, alike.

Taash was careful, meeting her. Other people only look at her wings, teeth, claws; they cower, they hide— they see a monster. But that's not what she is. She is older than everything; than the cities and the ships, and the beasts of the sea. Her people existed before all of it.

So Taash gives her the respect she is due; brings her gifts and minds her territory. Others would rush to try and fell her; to steal her treasure and take the great lady from her skies. But Taash knows better, because they are patient, are observant— are willing to see her.

It's strage, to Taash, how easy it is for people to miss something so large, so grand, as a dragon, but hardly anyone really takes the time to look. To appreciate how beautiful, how intricate each individual scale is; to notice how carefully she arranges her horde; to watch the assiduousness of her eyes, on the hunt. They can't look past their own fear to see the grace, the delicacy of something so different from them.

Taash gets that.

People look at them and see their horns, and their height and their… everything, and they shrink away. They're already afraid, before even talking to them.

That can be useful, sometimes. But it's not all they are.

They feed the birds. They talk softly with Karash, or Lace. They spend long hours cleaning their jewelry, their weapons; silent and still.

But almost no one ever takes the time to discover them. They see Taash and decide who they are before even asking.

It's messed up.

It pisses them off, when people do that. But not in the same way they get mad at the Antaam, or the Venatori, exactly. It— they're angry because it's painful. It's not fair.

How can people they've never met decide they're scary? You can't ever know if something's a threat before learning it. You have to see how it moves and what it wants, first.

When they watch high dragons, Taash wonders if they feel that way, too. That so many people are misunderstanding them.

But dragons can't speak Trade— or, at least, Taash hasn't found any that do, yet.

So they try to explain, for them. They take careful, specific notes about each kind— just like Tama always insists. They try to answer whatever questions they're asked. But usually, they find people don't want to listen. They just want Taash to show up and deal with the dragons, for them.

Taash can do that. But it's sort of frustrating.

It's hard to tell people what they love about dragons. It's difficult to describe how they feel when they look up in the sky and see the arc of a high dragon's wing, or hear her call. It's even hard to talk about what fighting them feels like, for Taash; how, whatever kind of dragon they face— regardless of if the air is filled with lightning; fire; ice— they feel frissons of energy electrifying them— they feel alive, in a way they don't always.

Sometimes, they wish they could just grab people and put them inside their body, so that they could feel the way that Taash does; so that they could know how the smell and the sound and the soul of the dragon sings in their blood. It'd be so much easier than trying to describe it.

But they can't do that. So they have to try talking— even if it sucks.

It's easier with people who will listen— like Rook and everyone. Not all of them get it, but everyone tries, and it's nice to have people around them that want to understand.

Even though Rook acts kind of like a big, dumb puppy, sometimes, they respect Taash. They listen to them and follow their directions, and they try to get it— Taash can tell by the questions they ask, and the excited notes scrawled on their reports after dragon fights.

That's enough, somehow. The attempt.

They hope it's enough for the dragons, too— the gifts of food, the warnings to others about the particular habits of each one. There's no way it's perfect— Taash can't ask them what they want, after all. But they hope it's enough to show them that Taash is trying to see.