Arsa had decided to stay downstairs with his wounded allies and a resting Morgana. She explained to him that she didn’t sleep, but rather meditated during the night hours to rest herself. The witch resigned herself to her chair by the stained glass and appeared to retreat into her own mind.

The dwindling fireplace cast long, warm shadows across the room. Zaun was curled up on Arsa’s lap, asleep. The baby was snoring faintly like a purring cat. Arsa ran his hand gently across the tiny spines that poked from the creature’s back.

“How can something so small cause such a stir?” he whispered. “I suppose you can’t quite help it, can you?”

A soft groan broke the quiet, bringing Arsa’s attention swiftly to the cot in front of him. Acadian began stirring, the lines in his forehead creasing as he woke. Arsa quickly placed the back side of his hand against the man’s forehead, ushering him back down to the pillow.

“Don’t move too much,” he said softly. “You’re still hurt.”

Acadian blinked, his eyes darting around the room before landing lazily on Arsa’s face. He shifted beneath the quilt overtop of him and winced. “Not dead yet,” he said, his voice rough and dry.

Arsa smiled weakly, “Not for lack of trying. You didn’t have to… do what you did.”

Acadian scoffed, the air followed by a wheeze, then a cough. “You’d be dead if I didn’t. You and-” his voice trailed off. His eyes flicked around, then downward to Zaun. There was a flash of something in his expression. Something old and familiar.

Arsa’s hand paused right at Zaun’s ribcage. He searched Acadian’s eyes, finding a sadness behind them.

“You don’t have to save him,” Arsa said with a suggestion of sadness.

He didn’t have to, but the boy was very glad that he did.

Acadian’s jaw clenched and the muscles beneath his eyes tensed. He heaved himself up, ignoring Arsa’s attempt to steady him. His legs swung round and dangled off the cot.

“I wasn’t tryin’ to save it,” he said through gritted teeth. “I was tryin’ to save you.”

Arsa’s brow flicked together briefly. He took in a quick, determined breath.

“You could have pushed me aside or tackled the thing. You chose to shield us both. Why?”

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Acadian looked away from him, staring into the fire as if it would give him an answer. There was a long silence.

“I don’t know,” he admitted at last. He glanced back at Arsa, something unguarded in his eyes. “Maybe I’m losin’ my edge. Maybe I’m just tired of watchin’ people die.”

Arsa held his breath. In all the time he had been working beside him, he had never heard Acadian so vulnerable. There had always been a rigidity, a wall.

“You’ve always seemed so sure that dragons are nothing but monsters. But Zaun isn’t like that. He’s a baby. He’s innocent.”

Acadian’s lips twisted beneath his beard. He scoffed again, making himself cough.

“It’s their nature. They grow into it. It’ll snuggle up to you today, but give it a year or two. It’ll burn a city down.”

Arsa saw the look again. That old, familiar sadness. He knew the city Acadian was talking about. Elkstaaid. He stiffened, remembering the way he used the ghost of the tragedy to hurt Acadian only days ago. Arsa sighed, breathing out his ego.

“You can’t blame Zaun for that dragon’s crimes. He isn’t her. He can grow up and make choices. Just like we do.”

Acadian’s gaze snapped back to him, sharper this time. “That thing is not like us. What happens when it grows up? When it learns what it is and decides it is tired of being your pet? Would you be able to stop it then? Would you kill it if it turned?”

Arsa opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He looked down at Zaun, still sleeping in his lap. He felt an ache deep in his chest. It pained him to think of the creature’s beautiful violet eyes turning against him. To imagine Zaun as the beast Acadian feared. His eyes began to burn.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice hardly above a whisper. “I don’t know what I would do. But if we killed him, he would never have the chance to choose a better path.”

Acadian softened by only a fraction. He studied Arsa’s eyes, watching them gloss over. He looked down at Zaun, watching the way Arsa cradled him like a father holding his child.

“You really believe that,” he said, his voice rough with something that sounded like regret. “You think he can be different.”

“I do,” Arsa answered, his eyes emotional but unwavering.

The older elf closed his eyes and let out a slow, shuddered breath. “Then I can try to believe it too. For your sake.”

Arsa’s eyes brightened, hope spreading across his face. He pushed, but could not suppress his smile. “You don’t have to like him, Acadian. But if you could just… try.”

Acadian chuckled and rubbed the bridge of his nose, “You ask too much, boy.” There was no bite to his words, and when he opened his eyes again, there was a fatherly softness in his face.

Arsa smiled tentatively, “You haven’t done away with me yet.”

Acadian huffed and stared down at the dragon. His smile melted into a look of focus. He reached out, hesitating for a moment before letting his calloused hand fall onto Zaun’s back. His movement was stiff and uncertain, but not unkind. The creature stirred, lifting his tired head to blink sleepily up at him. Acadian turned his head slightly away as if warning the dragon not to try anything. Zaun gave a small chirp and began nuzzling against the old elf’s hand. Arsa’s smile grew wider, looking up at Acadian with immense gratitude.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

Acadian grunted, pulling his hand back and lowering himself back down into the blanket. “Get some rest, kid. You’re no good to anyone dead on your feet.”

Arsa nodded, carrying Zaun in the crook of his arm to an open armchair near the cots. He scratched the baby dragon back to sleep, allowing the warm relief to bloom in his chest.