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Captain Harold “Harry” Hart of the HMS Reliant stood on the deck of the French ship he and his crew had just captured, breathing heavily as he tried to not collapse in front of the entire ship. The French captain lay at his feet in bitter surrender, seemingly oblivious to the Reliant’s crew running about the deck of his ship. They had put up a rather bitter fight, refusing to surrender until Hart had his sword to the French captain’s neck. He was thrown out of his musings by the arrival of his second lieutenant.
“Mr. Rapson,” he spoke softly, not trusting his voice to hold steady if he pushed it any louder, “make sure the wounded are to be taken care of properly. No need for there to be any more unnecessary loss of life than there already is.” Rapson nodded his assent.
“Aye aye sir. Oh, and Mr. Kober said to tell you that there’s something strange down in the hold that you should take a look at, sir.” Hart let out a gust of breath, wondering if this was the reason for the belated surrender.
“Very well then. Mr. Rapson, you have the deck. Make sure this man knows to give me his parole unless he wants himself and his men to be confined below decks.” He gestured to the French captain before turning and heading below. As soon as he stepped off the stairs, he was confronted with his first lieutenant Kober, who was bouncing slightly with nervous anticipation. He began speaking quickly, his words rushing out on top of each other, easily becoming unintelligible. Hart raised a hand to stop him, before asking him to repeat what he had said.
“Begging your pardon, sir. Me and the rest of us found a room different than the rest. Covered wall to wall in metal, with a stove in the corner. We were wondering why they were trying to keep us out of there, but when we opened the crate in the room, there was no denying what it was sir. They were carrying a dragon egg. Mr. Monley says it’s right close to hatching.”
Kober led him towards the back of the frigate as he spoke, ducking into the aforementioned room. Hart glanced around the room impassively, taking note of a rather large wooden crate swathed in what seemed to be an old sail and was chained to the walls to keep it in place. The lid of the crate lay on the floor, allowing the group of men huddled around it to peer at its contents. They broke away as he approached, letting him get close to the crate. The egg’s surface was smooth as he grazed his fingers over it. He quietly marveled at its size before speaking.
“Mr. Monley, your opinion, sir?”
The only man who had remained at the crate’s side lifted his head, holding onto his side of the crate.
“It’s indeed a dragon egg, if that’s what you were thinking. I can’t imagine what they were doing with it all the way out here. The shell’s hardened too much already to last the journey to land.” He shook his head in disapproval.
“Hardened? And what exactly does that mean? Mr. Kober told me that you believed it to be close to hatching.”
Hart frowned as he looked at the egg again.
“Indeed it is, Captain. According to any bestiary, the egg will hatch within a week after the shell has hardened. You had best find someone to harness it, or else it might go feral. With old Boney testing our limits, we’d need all the chances of an upper hand that we can get.”
He broke off as one of the men approached him with a measuring cord and a notebook. Hart watched as he reached into the crate, scribbling down measurements into the notebook with a piece of graphite. As Monley grew more inventive with the amount of measurements he took, Hart backed away from the crate, gesturing to Kober and the newly arrived Rapson to follow him. The three men stepped out of the room, and Hart turned to face them.
“Well gentlemen, how long would you say it would take to reach Madeira?”
Kober looked thoughtful for a second before voicing his opinion.
“About 3 weeks I would say, sir.”
Rapson nodded in agreement.
“Aye, maybe a few days less even, if we get a good wind.”
Hart let out a deep sigh, a frown pulling at his face. They’d have to draw lots, to see who would harness the beast. Monley was right; it wouldn’t do to have it go feral. It would not do at all.
“Mr. Rapson,” he said abruptly, “See to it that the egg is safely transferred to the Reliant. Mr. Kober, I am leaving you in charge of this ship and her prisoners. My congratulations, Captain.”
He nodded to both of them before turning on his heel and marching back up the stairs. It didn’t take long for the men below to begin the transfer of the egg. Hart watched grimly as his men lifted the crate across the deck of the French ship and onto the Reliant, noting the looks of dismay on the faces of the French captain and his crew before tucking the image into the back of his mind. He nodded a farewell to Kober as he boarded the Reliant, still lost in his own thoughts. There was no other way; he would have to cast his name into the lot along with the rest of his crew. What sort of captain would leave such a duty to his crew without taking the same risk himself? Hart’s mind flashed to the first captain he had served under, whose cruelty horrified his 12-year old self and disgusted his current one. The guilty relief at the man’s death early in the journey stayed with him all through the years. He shook himself out of his reverie, giving the order to set sail for Madeira.
The next morning, he had Rapson gather all the officers in his cabin. As they shifted around uncomfortably in the overly-crowded room, he rose to his feet and cleared his throat, noticing with approval at the way they all immediately snapped to attention.
“Well gentlemen, as I’m sure you have heard, we captured a dragon egg yesterday.” He paused slightly, letting excited murmurs wash over the room. He did not begrudge them their excitement; after all, an unhatched dragon egg would fetch its weight in gold. Grimly, he pressed on. “However, according to Mr. Monley and his books, it seems that the egg is close to hatching. I understand what this would mean. England does not need another feral dragon. Therefore the duty of harnessing the beast must fall to one of us. Mr. Rapson here has a hat, and I expect each and every one of you to cast your name into the ballot, as I will.”
“Sir, when you said ‘each and every one’ does… that is…”
Robinson, one of the lieutenants, spoke up, his voice trailing at the end. He looked vaguely green at the gills, and did not seem likely to finish the trail of thought. Hart gave the boy a cold stare, though internally he sympathized with him. The thought of leaving the Navy was unthinkable, especially of leaving to join the Aerial Corps. He could not bear the thought of seemingly abandoning the career he had left home at the age of 12 to pursue. Over 20 years had passed since then, and the Navy had become his home since then. Becoming an aviator was not something he could easily ask of his men or himself.
At least in the Navy, one had the chance to put into dock, to start a family, to retire after a set amount of years. Being tied to a dragon was nothing like that. In the case of a feral dragon, one could feed them and leave them in the breeding grounds to sire more eggs; a harnessed one was nothing like it. The beast could not be controlled by anyone other than its captain and an entire crew of assistants. One was honor bound by duty to remain forever at the beast’s side. An aviator could not easily be parted from their dragon. Even to go into society was unthinkable. And so they lived outside society, and often outside the law. To lose an aviator was to lose the dragon. With England’s lack of high numbers of dragons, there was nothing to be done.
“Indeed Mr. Robinson, for only the vilest of cowards would abandon his duty, do you not think?” Hart glanced around the room, making sure that no one else would speak before being prompted. When he was satisfied, he continued. “However, all those who have family will naturally be exempt from the drawing.”
With this, he took one of the slips of paper set aside for the task and wrote his name with the fountain pen his mother had given him when he had become Captain of the Reliant. He put the paper into the hat Rapson carried, and stood to wait as his officers formed a line and cast their names into the hat. When they all had finished, he nodded at Rapson who then shook the hat before reaching in and pulling out a single slip of paper. He handed it over to Hart, who cleared his throat before calling out.
“Mr. Arden, you will be relieved of your regular duties until it is time for the egg to hatch. Mr. Monley will consult with you on the process of harnessing the dragon and what will happen afterwards. As for the rest of you gentlemen, you are dismissed. Mr. Arden, a word if you please.”
He waited until everyone except Arden had left, gesturing to the boy to take a seat by the desk. As the boy fidgeted in his seat, Hart sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. The entire situation was a large mess that would not go away no matter how much he wished it to do so. A dragon egg that was near hatching, a highly inexperienced boy chosen to harness it, and they were still two weeks out from Madeira at best.
“Sir? You… wanted to speak to me?” Arden’s hesitant tone brought Hart out of his silent fuming.
“I did indeed. Now, Mr. Arden, I’m sure that I do not have to impress upon you the gravity of your duty here, but it is always good to have a reminder, don’t you agree?” Hart felt a little bad, knowing that Arden was nervous beyond reason, that he was too green to be used to the scare tactics he occasionally used. He didn’t want to admit it to himself, but he knew that the words weren’t meant for Arden alone. Losing an inexperienced officer on a ship still meant losing an officer. And if he thought it better that the Navy lost an inexperienced boy rather than a captain, well, he had better adjust his thinking. A good captain should have known that he was just as expendable as any other man on his ship. Hiding the deeply running frustration from Arden, he sent the boy off with a wave of his hand and a curt word. Hart sank down into the chair Arden just vacated, pulled the seldom opened bottle of whiskey he kept stashed away towards him, and settled in for a night of regret.
A few days later, Hart was in his cabin, going over the maps of their trajectory. He heard a knock on the door, and bade whoever was outside to enter. Rapson walked in, looking extremely tense.
“Begging your pardon for intruding, sir. It’s just that the egg is about to hatch. Mr. Monley thought you would like to know.”
“Thank you Mr. Rapson, I’ll be there in a moment.”
He rolled up the maps, before heaving a sigh and heading up to the main deck, where already a crowd had been gathered. He nodded to Arden, the boy looking as if he was ready to throw himself overboard, taking the makeshift harness with him. The egg lay on the deck, its swaddling of sailcloth loosened slightly to give the animal room to break free of its shell. As they all watched, nervous anticipation curdling their blood, only made worse by each other’s sense of dread and morbid curiosity. After nearly 10 minutes of absolutely nothing happening, the first crack appeared with a loud noise. Hart clenched his jaw to conceal the fact that the noise startled him; Arden on the other hand jumped almost a foot in the air before laughing nervously. He slowly inched nearer to the egg, his knuckles clenched white around the harness. In quick succession, more cracks began appearing, but not as loudly as the first. Soon, they could easily see a glimpse of a wing here, a talon there. Then, with a wet splat, pieces of the eggshell flew across the deck as the dragon hatchling shook itself free over the remains of its confinement. Arden stepped forward nervously, holding the harness in front of him. The dragon ignored his fumbling attempts, and instead it started looking around the deck with a curious look in its eyes. Hart frowned, not wanting to admit that they might potentially have to carry a feral dragon all the way to Madeira. Before he could suggest having one of the others volunteer to harness the creature as a last attempt, an unfamiliar voice broke through his concentration.
“Why do you look unhappy?”
Hart’s eyes flicked towards the source of the voice. The dragon had moved the sit in front of him, tilting its head inquisitively as it peered up at him. He blinked in surprise as the wide dark blue eyes held his gaze.
“Forgive me, I did not mean to convey any undue emotion. My name is Harold Hart, may I ask yours?” Hart blurted out the first thing that came to mind, unable to stop himself as his childhood manners kicked in. The dragonet lowered its head thoughtfully.
“Name? I do not have a name as of yet. Do you have any suggestions?” Its guileless question pierced him swiftly, and he closed his eyes as the words he spoke sealed his fate.
“Galahad is a name I have always been fond of. Does that suit you?” Hart held out a hand to Arden, and the boy gave him the harness with shaking hands – though if they were shaking with relief or some other emotion, Hart could not say.
“Yes, that does suit me rather well. Galahad… I suppose that will be my name from now on. Very well Harold Hart, I am Galahad.” It bared its teeth at him, and Hart was alarmed for a second before he realized that the dragon was smiling.
“I am very pleased to meet you Galahad. Now, would you do me a kindness by letting me put this harness on you?” Galahad tilted its – his? Her? With a jolt, Hart realized he had not thought to ask – head at him.
“If you like. I am rather hungry however. Is there anything to eat?” Hart gestured at Monley who was fluttering nearby, holding a large pot of as much meat that they could spare, his notebook tucked into his elbow. Hart gently eased the hatchling into the harness, sitting down on the deck for easier access – noticing with relief that the dragonet was indeed male. Monley left the pot by his side, and sat down next to it. He pulled out his notebook from where he left it, and began sketching Galahad quietly. Before Hart could offer him the first piece of meat, Galahad turned to gaze at Monley.
“What are you doing?” Monley paused from his activity to look at Galahad.
“I’m making a sketch of you.” He turned the notebook so that the dragonet could see.
“It does not look like much.” Galahad harrumphed and turned his snout up, though his eyes flickered curiously across the page and the lines and curves of graphite. Monley laughed good-naturedly.
“Well, I’ve only just started. It’ll look much better when it’s finished, I assure you. May I have your permission to finish it?” Galahad hesitated a moment before answering.
“Very well, I suppose you may.” He turned back to Hart, who had been watching the exchange with amusement. “Now, you may feed me.”
Hart obligingly lifted the piece of meat once more, letting the dragonet nip it from his hand. They repeated the practice until the pot was empty, and Galahad’s belly was extended out into a curve. He let out a sigh, which turned into a belch. The look of surprise on his face drove Hart and Monley to laughter, after which they discovered that yes, a dragon could indeed pout convincingly.
The days passed by quickly, with Galahad growing more and more with each day. Soon enough, he would no longer be able to fit in Hart’s cabin, and they hurriedly made room for him to sleep on the deck. Thankfully, they were just able to bring him onto the deck before he grew too big to fit through the stairway. At the beginning of the second week after they found Galahad’s egg, they crossed paths with a storm. Hart could barely restrain himself from sitting idle as the crew worked on making sure they would make it through safely. He contented himself by making sure Galahad was strapped down to their patch of deck securely, and throwing a large tarp over the both of them so that they wouldn’t get too soaked by the rain. Galahad poked his nose out from the tarp, curiosity overcoming his aversion to the unknown of the storm.
“Where does all the water come from?” Hart was startled momentarily before kicking himself mentally. In the week he and Galahad had been together, the young dragon’s thirst for knowledge seemed insatiable. Hart had to pull out not only the books he had finished reading, but the books he hadn’t even started, just to keep Galahad occupied.
“Well, up there and down here,” Hart began. “I couldn’t explain to you the exact process, as I am no scientist, and even the scientists disagree on what it is exactly. But the agreed upon premise is that when there is a body of water, some of it will turn to vapor and rise up in the air to form the clouds. Then, when there is an excess of water in the clouds, it becomes rain. And thus the cycle begins again.”
At that very moment, Galahad let out a sneeze, wrinkled his nose and drew back under the safety of the tarp.
“Oh I do like the rain, but only if there wasn’t so very much of it. It makes one rather cold doesn’t it?” Hart patted Galahad’s side, smiling fondly.
“It can be enjoyable, if one is on land and under the cover of some sort of shelter. Having something hot to drink also helps. Perhaps when we reach Madeira I can have some tea made up for you, and we’ll see if you enjoy it. How does that sound my dear?” Galahad swiveled his increasingly large head towards Hart, a hopeful expression in his eyes.
“Oh, that does sound lovely! When shall we reach Madeira?” Hart kept on stroking Galahad’s side, the hide unbearably soft for its strength.
“Soon dear one, soon. Hopefully we won’t run too far off course because of the storm. We estimated that it would take us two weeks at the least to reach Madeira from where we captured the ship where your egg was being held. It has been over half that amount of time already, do not fret.”
The storm passed by uneventfully after that, having as it turned out, to have pushed them closer to Madeira rather than farther away. Their good luck seemed to have run out when the food stores sank dangerously low, due to the sheer amount of food Galahad consumed daily. Thankfully he showed a propensity towards fishing, letting Hart and Rapson – who had taken command of the ship after Hart had harnessed Galahad – breathe a sigh of relief. After that, it did not take long to reach Madeira. They managed to settle in, Hart having found a farmer – who was oddly keen to get as far away from the dragon behind Hart as he could – and together, Hart and Galahad stayed in that little cottage by the Atlantic Ocean. Soon enough, the orders came in for the two of them to head to Loch Laggan, where they would begin their training at the dragon covert located there.
As they flew nearer and nearer to the covert, Hart could feel Galahad tensing beneath him, nervousness pervading the air. He did not want to admit that it was affecting him as well. The admiralty had refused to tell him much about, well, anything. He had no idea who would be training them, or how. Hart dismissed the thought that the training master was a cruel man; it was no secret, his distaste for unnecessary punishment. Perhaps, the reason for the Corps’ reluctance to take a full grown man as a dragon captain rather than one of their own was due to unsavory traditions? No, it would not do. Hart shook his head violently, causing Galahad to turn his head around inquiringly. After Hart did a short dance of charades to convey that everything was alright, Galahad turned back around, intent on bringing the two of them safely to their destination. Hart turned back to his thoughts, but refused to follow his previous train of thought any further. Surely if anything was amiss, the Admiralty would put a stop to it. He resolved to put any fears behind him, determined to reserve judgement until he met with the man himself.
The journey took them three days; three days spent worrying over what turned out to be nothing to worry about. When they landed, Hart caught the arm of a young boy, perhaps 9 or 10 years of age.
“Pardon me, could you point me in the direction of the training master? We’ve only just arrived,” he gestured towards Galahad, who was leaning in over Hart’s shoulder. “And we need to report to him immediately.”
“Of course!” The young face peered up at him, and Hart realized with a start that the owner of the voice was a girl of near adolescence. Hart quickly hid his shock at seeing a young girl dressed as a boy. “Merlin’s over by the training grounds, you’ll find him easily enough!” Hart nodded his thanks, and headed in the direction she pointed in, too distracted to noticed the wide eyed gaze as she stared at Galahad padding his way behind Hart.
Reaching the training grounds, he noticed a dragon wheeling overhead.
“Watch for your surroundings! Lancelot, watch your surroundings!” A sudden voice called out, startling Hart from his observation. An old dragon was watching the other flying, apparently the Lancelot the old dragon was calling to. He was large, though not as large as Galahad might turn out to be, a muddy yellow-brown color with green markings, with a Scottish accent. He turned to look at Hart and Galahad, apparently satisfied that Lancelot was paying attention to his surroundings. “You are Captain Hart and Galahad I presume?”
“I am sir. That is, we are.” The old dragon hummed, not fazed by Hart’s ineloquence.
“Very well. I am Merlin, the training master here. You will report to me every morning at 7 o’clock for your training. When I have deemed you ready, you will then join Lancelot’s formation. Is that understood?” Hart nodded.
“Understood sir.”
“Good. Now, Captain, I want you to find Lieutenant Gary Unwin, he can show you around the covert and help you familiarize yourself with the place. Galahad, you can come with me to one of the clearings, and we’ll have someone remove the Captain’s belongings. They’ll be sent up to your room, Captain, so by the time you’ve finished with Lt. Unwin, you can find them there. I shall see you tomorrow morning, bright and early.”
They parted ways, Hart promising that he would come visit Galahad later. He made his way to the officers club, where he hoped he would find someone who could point him in Lt. Unwin’s direction.
When he reached the club, at the very moment he opened the door, a ball flew towards his face. Catching it before it could hit him in the face wasn’t difficult after his years in the Navy, but a loud cheer still went up around the room. A young man ran up to him, grinning cheerfully.
“Nice catch bruv! Haven’t seen you around. You a new transfer?” The utter casualness of the young man startled Hart immensely – the, rather attractive if he might say, young man wasn’t the only one, the rest of the officers not even fully dressed properly.
“Of a sort, yes. I am Captain Hart, on Galahad. Merlin sent me to find Lt. Unwin so that he could show me around the covert. If you would you point me in his direction, I would be much obliged.” With that, the young man’s easygoing nature disappeared.
“I’m Lt. Unwin. You’re the Navy bloke then,” he practically spit out. “Right, if that’s what Merlin said, then let’s go.” He brushed past Hart roughly, not bothering to button up his open shirt. Hart blinked, startled by Unwin’s sudden hostility. He quickly hurried to follow, as Unwin showed no signs of stopping to wait for him. They passed into the courtyard that intersected the training grounds and the officers club where Unwin came to a sudden stop.
“Right. So you know where the officers club is, you know where the training grounds are,” he pointed to a path nearer to the training grounds than the officers club that led to a wooded area. “You follow that, you’ll find a buncha different clearings where the dragons stay.” He pointed in the opposite direction, closer to the officers club this time. “You go that way, you’ll find buildings. Come on.” He started walking in the direction he just pointed out.
They came across various other aviators, Unwin nodding a greeting, but his thunderous expression was too much of a deterrent for them to approach the pair. Hart barely avoided crashing into Unwin’s back when he came to another quick stop. They were at an intersection surrounded by four buildings.
“Those two on the left are the residential halls and the baths, the baths are closest to us right now. On the right are the senior officers’ rooms and the mess hall, mess hall’s closest to us. Got it?”
“I believe so. Residential halls and the baths are next to each other, as are the mess hall and the senior officers’ rooms, with the residential halls facing the senior officers’ rooms and the baths facing the mess hall. Is there anything else you’d like for me to repeat Lieutenant Unwin.” Hart stressed the boy’s rank in a reminder that although he may be the interloper, he still outranked him. Unwin gazed stonily back at him, refusing to speak. “There is a reason for a chain of command, and I’m afraid while I do not know exactly what I have done to deserve your contempt, but it is no excuse for your utterly blatant disrespect of a senior officer. Manners maketh man Lt. Unwin, and I promise you that if your behavior continues unchecked, I will report it to those in command. Is. That. Clear?”
“Crystal, sir.” Unwin ground out.
“Good. Now, I’m sure the both of us have much better things to do with our time than stand around not enjoying each other’s company. Therefore, I’m sure you’d agree that it is best that we do not interact unless we are bound by duty. Do we have an accord?” Unwin stood up straighter, his shirt still undone, and touched his forelock.
“Yes, sir.” He was the picture of respectfulness, but there was something in his tone and body language that screamed disrespect. But since there was no outward disrespect, there was nothing to be done. He nodded to Unwin and headed to the residential halls.
Running into a servant when he entered the door, he was quickly shown his room, a small area in one of the towers that had a view of the central courtyard. Hart changed into a different set of clothes, intending to go find Galahad as he had promised. As he passed by the courtyard he could see Unwin surrounded by a gaggle of other aviators.
“Did you see him? Coming in like he did, that rich fucking snob from his ivory tower? Lord, I could just feel him judgin’ me as if I was nothing. You know what? Fuck ‘im. And the rest of those pricks with a silver spoon up their asses. Walking around like we wouldn’t be able to do as well as them, if not better, if we all only had the same opportunities. Society’s fucked bruv, and those assholes who buy into it are just as fucked.”
Hart supposed he shouldn’t be surprised by the vehemence in Unwin’s voice, not after the talking to he gave him, but it still made him hurry across the courtyard to seek out the welcoming company of his dragon – all the while ignoring the voice in the back of his head agreeing with Unwin’s sentiments.
The next month was spent in a blur of training and avoiding Unwin, whose company of acquaintances reached from Amelia, who worked in the smithy, to Roxanne Morton, the captain of Lancelot – the presence of women in the covert was surprising enough, but the fact that the Corps allowed women as captains was nothing short of shocking, even if one did find out that Lancelot’s breed refused to take any man as a captain –, to Alistair Brammer, the captain of Percival – one of the Corps’ largest dragon breeds – who also joined Hart in training, leaving Hart with barely anyone for company besides Galahad, Brammer, and an older captain by the name of Chester King, whose dragon Hart did not know. Even the young girl Hart has run into on that first fateful day had turned out to be Unwin’s younger sister. The avoidance of the other aviators was grating on occasion, but King would often draw him into games of chess. The presence of another man in the Corps with a background from the nobility was soothing in a way, that is, if Hart could learn to sit through an evening with the other man without hearing Unwin’s voice at the back of his mind denouncing the upper crust of society. The voice grew louder in triumph as Hart discovered who his dragon was:
Galahad had befriended the smaller dragon shortly after they arrived. He was always alone, never visited by his captain, never taken care of in the way any aviator should take care of his dragon, and much too adoring of the captain who disdained his very existence. Thankfully, Merlin increased their training regime, allowing Hart to break off his association with King peacefully.
Another month passed, when one morning when Hart and Galahad arrived for training, Merlin was conversing with an unidentifiable dragon.
“Ah Harry, Galahad. Right on time. There’s been a problem. I need you and Percival to go in on a quick support mission. One of Napoleon’s dragons and her captain have defected, but were injured during the process. I need you and Percival to find them and bring them here safely for treatment, understood?” Hart nodded, groaning internally. Since he was a newcomer to the covert, Merlin had practically every single officer rotate on duty aboard Galahad’s crew. This week, Unwin was in the position of his first officer. If the silent mockery hadn’t persisted, Hart would have said without a doubt that Unwin had actually been the best fit out of everyone.
“Understood sir. We shall depart immediately.” Sending one of the passing runners – Unwin’s sister, of all the luck in the world – to go alert Unwin of the situation, Hart worked out the logistics of the mission with Brammer. Galahad was much faster than the larger and heavier Percival, leaving the two men to agree that Galahad and Hart would go ahead, letting Percival and Brammer catch up with them when they could.
Approximately an hour and a half later, Hart regretted the decision immensely. The French dragon was smaller than Galahad, but her talons were impossibly sharp, her pain from the injuries she carried causing her to lash out even as her wings drooped and sagged with the effort of keeping herself, her captain, and her crew aloft. As Galahad tried to come from under her, to give her some measure of assistance, she struck him through his side, causing him to roar out in pain. Hart yelled through the speaking trumpet, attempting to convey to the other captain that they had come to help, wishing that he had paid attention when his friends in the Navy wanted him to learn French. Apparently his attempt was successful, and Galahad was able to support the smaller dragon.
It was too soon to breathe a sigh of relief however. When she had injured Galahad, the French dragon managed to cut through one of the straps of the harness, something that Hart realized none of the others could see. Quickly unstrapping himself from where he sat at the base of Galahad’s neck, he moved towards the rapidly fraying strap, ignoring Unwin’s shout of confusion, the words lost in the wind. Taking in the damage, Hart loosened the harness around his waist, continuing to ignore Unwin, who sounded closer and closer with every word. Buckling the frayed ends of the strap into his own harness, cautiously stepping out of it to further secure Galahad’s. Unwin reached him just as Percival’s signaling roar of arrival startled the French dragon, causing Galahad to swerve off balance – and throwing Hart over the edge in the process. For a few seconds, Hart felt his heart stop. A jolt of pain rushing through his arm made him focus on the fact that he was not falling thousands of meters to the ground. Unwin had managed to grab him by the arm before he could fall too far, a grim look on his face. Together, they pulled him back up onto Galahad’s back, yelling for Galahad to stop moving around, that Hart was safe, he hadn’t fallen. Hart scrambled back over to where he started, ignoring Unwin following him again, not caring that the young man could hear him murmuring consolations to Galahad. When he sat back down, Unwin settled behind him, and wrapped an arm around his waist.
“Don’t need you falling off again,” Unwin told him.
Afterwards, Hart could barely focus on anything other than Galahad, his worry over his dragon’s injuries causing everything else to immediately drop down on his list of priorities. He dimly registered Unwin taking charge upon their return to the covert, sending for the medic, Mr. Shaw, and a cow for Galahad. Shaw assured him that the injuries were not life threatening, but they would not be able to fly for two weeks at minimum. Hart thanked him absentmindedly, his attention caught up by the sight of the bandages wrapped around Galahad’s side. He gently stroked the soft skin of Galahad’s nose, taking comfort in the warmth he exuded. He stepped back slightly, allowing Galahad the space he needed to swallow down the cow tethered nearby. When Galahad finished with his meal, he nudged Hart sleepily.
“What is it my dear? Shall I bring you one of our books to read?”
“No. Thank you for the offer Harry. I am very tired however, and I would rather like very much to rest. But you have been with me all this time. Will you not go eat?” At Hart’s hesitation, he added, “If you do not feel hungry, then do it for my sake?”
“Very well,” Hart sighed. “When I have finished, would you like for me to stay with you tonight?”
Galahad rumbled a wordless assent as he settled down to rest, curling gingerly upon himself and lowering his head to rest on his forelegs. Hart was once again struck by how much he resembled an overgrown cat. Shaking himself out of his reverie, he went off in search of food, mentally scolding himself for acting as if Galahad would disappear once he turned his back. He stopped by Merlin’s cave to give his report. The old dragon waved off his apologies for coming late.
“Lieutenant Unwin has given me a preliminary account, and he did warn me that you might be running behind. Those of us at the Corps appreciate teamwork above all else, and a captain’s duty towards their dragon is a prime example. Bureaucracy can come later. Captain Brammer has given me his report as well, so I believe I have a good understanding of the events. I trust that Galahad has been treated, yes?”
“Thank you sir. And yes, he is doing well. Mr. Shaw has forbidden flight or any strenuous activity that might aggravate the wounds for the next two weeks. He has eaten, and is now resting. Are there any duties you wish for me to complete while Galahad is recovering?”
“No, no. I think keeping him occupied should be enough of a challenge for you. Though, when he is healed, I want you and Percival to join Lancelot’s formation. The news from the war has been steadily becoming worse and worse. Under the circumstances, we will have to speed things up considerably. Therefore, I need you to think about who you’d like to serve with you as your flight crew. Now go, and we shall discuss your choices tomorrow.”
Hart nodded and left, deep in thought. Soon enough, he ran into Unwin, who caught him by the arm before he could topple over from their collision.
“Ah, Lt. Unwin. I am much obliged to you for what you did earlier. I… was a little overcome by seeing Galahad in pain, and it affected my duties. Thank you.”
“It was nothing. Galahad’s a good dragon; none of us could fault you for doing what you did. Is he alright now?” Hart grimaced slightly.
“He will live, but he is not allowed to fly for at least two weeks. It will rankle him soon, hopefully I can soothe his frustration before it becomes too much for him to handle.” Unwin nodded at that, the dying light of the day catching on his face and giving it a golden glow that highlighted his green eyes.
“Aye, that it will. You’re good with him, so I wouldn’t worry so much, yeah?” He hesitated before charging on. “Sir,” and then stopped as a flush rose to his cheeks, his previous impudence with the title coming back to bite him. He began again, clearly determined to get his point across. “Captain Hart. I know my behavior has been less than exemplary, so to speak, but I hope that we can move past it and that it won’t have any bearing on any future relationship we may have.” The words were stilted in his mouth in comparison to his earlier informality, sitting stiffly as they came out.
“Your apology is accepted, and greatly appreciated Lt. Unwin. That does bring up a topic I wished to discuss with you, however.” Hart gathered his breath, choosing his next words carefully. “Merlin has advised me to officially choose my officers. Now, I’m not sure how it is amongst the aviators, but I do know that to refuse a promotion in the navy is considered an ill offence, often a punishable one. I would rather not put you in that position, but I must know if it wouldn’t be a difficulty for you if I put your name forward.”
“Oh no, sir! I… I would be greatly honored if you chose me. I mean, that is… Oh hang it all! Sir, I’m really sorry for acting the way I did, and I was a complete scrub! D’you really think we can work well together? After what I did, the way I treated ya?”
Hart could not stop himself from laughing. The boy’s outburst was a breath of fresh air in the face of his unnatural formality. The annoyance at the past month of dealing with the mocking perfection disappeared in seconds as Hart’s laughter faded away. A soft smile spread across his face, finally allowing himself to relax in Unwin’s presence. He noticed that Unwin had begun to shift nervously, and quickly spoke.
“Don’t worry yourself about it anymore, my boy. You’ve been honest with me now, and we can easily put the past month behind us. You have talent, and that talent can be nurtured into something that could have the capability to take the admirals by storm. And so, to answer your question, yes. Especially from what happened in today’s events, I do believe that we will work extremely well together. You’re an exceptional young man Lt. Unwin, and it would be an honor to have you as my first officer.”
A grin spread across Unwin’s young – and shockingly handsome now that Hart let himself admit it – face. He bounced slightly on his toes, a small happy thing. The boy was smaller than him, he noted with surprise. Unwin’s former insolence had him seemingly larger than he actually was, as if he would puff himself up like a balloon in order to try and make Hart feel like he was doing everything all wrong. Unwin chose that moment to clap him on the arm.
“You’re all right. I’m gonna try my best to not let you down Captain Hart.” Hart smiled back at him, his enthusiasm catching.
“We’re currently off duty. You may call me Harry.” Unwin squeezed the arm he was still gripping.
“Well then Harry, I’m Eggsy. Permission to speak freely?” Harry raised an eyebrow.
“I just gave you permission to use the name that only my closest friends may call me. Speak your mind Eggsy. Any time we are off duty, don’t be afraid to speak up.” Eggsy barked out a laugh, his head tilted back slightly, leaving his neck visible from where his neck cloth wasn’t tied properly.
“You’re in desperate need of a washing. Lord, you haven’t gone anywhere but Merlin’s cave since Galahad was treated, didn’t ya?” Harry blinked and looked down at himself. Finally noticing that he was still covered in the nearly dried black-brown blood of his dragon, he could feel the itchiness of dried blood and muck sticking to him. He smiled ruefully at himself, the very picture of an aviator in a scandalous state of dishevelment.
“So it would seem Eggsy, my boy. Walk with me to the baths? I would like to hear you opinion on my options for the rest of the crew.” Eggsy gestured for him to lead on, flushing slightly when they both realized that his hand was still gripping Harry’s arm, even after their entire conversation. Harry cleared his throat in embarrassment, not wanting to admit that he immediately missed the warmth Eggsy’s hand had exuded onto his arm. They started walking to the baths, close enough that their arms would brush on occasion as they talked. When they reached the baths, Eggsy fell silent, the presence of other aviators quieting his commentary on who he thought would fit Galahad’s crew. They settled in by a corner which lent an illusion of privacy, silently enjoying each other’s company, pretending that they weren’t sneaking looks at each other. When they finished, dressed in sleepwear and dry, and Harry had picked up a pillow and cover, they headed to Galahad’s clearing letting the silence sit between them. Galahad opened one eye and rumbled approvingly when he saw them together. The two of them settled under one of his wings, making sure to not jostle the wounds.
“Harry?” Eggsy whispered.
“Eggsy?” Harry whispered back teasingly.
“’M real glad we made up. Would have been awkward if it went on much longer.” Harry hummed in agreement. “Harry?”
“Yes Eggsy?” Eggsy seemed to deliberate with himself, looking as if he regretted speaking up a second time.
“I do like you, ya know.” Harry raised an eyebrow.
“And I like you as well. It really isn’t a difficult thing to admit, I honestly don’t know why you seem to have trouble with it.” He nudged Eggsy’s shoulder playfully to show he wasn’t being very serious at the moment. Eggsy just let out a grunt of frustration.
“No, I mean I like you like, ugh.” With that, he turned his head and kissed Harry. After a beat, he drew away. Harry pulled him back, kissing him more thoroughly this time.
“I meant it like that too. Now, it’s been a long day. Will you stay here with us, or are you going back to your own room?”
“Right now? I’d rather be with you, Harry.”
And they lay down to rest, all three; the dragon and his two men.