WHAT: An older Temeraire comes to visit from about 150 years in the future WHERE: The Dragon Covert WHEN: This weekend WARNINGS: Some internal worries surrounding mortality, but otherwise not too much STATUS: Complete
Temeraire woke, as usual, with stiffness all along his spine. Without even opening his eyes, he cleared his throat with a sound like looming thunder, yawned widely and stretched his wings to their limit, the membrane audibly creaking as his body undulated and little pops emanating from each individual vertebrae as the muscles around them strained. Only then did he blink sleep away, the corners of his eyes thick with crusty rheum.
He noticed nothing strange at first, as he was very warm and comfortable and there was no sign of danger, which might have brought him roaring to action at a terrifying speed most would not expect from a dragon of his age, and after all, this was Vallo. Things were strange often, practically on a weekly basis. But as he allowed himself to wake properly, in the slow way that suited a nice warm day when he had nothing in particular to do, it became clear that something was indeed odd.
He was lying in his pavilion, but it looked smaller - and for that matter, much newer - and while the Loch Laggan castle was perfectly visible just up the hill, there ought to be storage buildings in between, and there were not, and the great outdoor kitchen they had built a hundred years or so ago was also missing. Usually by now some members of his staff should have appeared, to help him bathe or at least rub him down, and make him breakfast, but there was no one at all. He yawned again. Typical. He wondered if it was he or the land itself which had moved in time; he supposed time - ha - would have to tell.
No need to solve the mystery right away; doubtless all would become clear. At least he had his great breastplate, still, about his neck, with a new chain of thick gold links studded all the way along its length with diamonds, and his talon sheathes also, so he cut an extremely stately, handsome figure, even if the deep black of his scales was starting to fade a little, and the edges of his wings turning translucent. He supposed all the colour would drain away eventually, and he would look just like Grandfather - a long ago memory now he could only vaguely recall - but not, he very much hoped, for a long time yet.
The first to greet him that morning was Lan Xichen, on his way down from the keep as would one day become a daily habit. In this time, though, it was a fresh beginning. His steps were still light and easy, his hair glossy black without even a thread of gray, and the large sack of tea in his sleeve was a new blend he’d brought down to have Temeraire try for the first time. Silver needle with a little hint of orange peel and spice, it would become one of their favorites for autumn years down the line.
“Good morning, A-Xiang,” Xichen said as he approached, and made the same very proper bow as he still did a hundred years later despite the protest his back would make. “You slept well, I hope?”
Temeraire stretched again, pleased as always to hear Lan Huan’s voice. “Good morning, old friend,” he said, turning his head - and his good eye - towards him. “Perfectly well, I thank you. I wonder if you have noticed things to be a little different, today?” He peered closer; as always it was difficult to make out facial details, but it seemed to him Huan was standing straighter than usual, and his hair was quite dark all over. He sniffed at him, as politely as possible, and there was a strange scent as well. Not unfamiliar. It was hard to describe, but the effect it had was to lift his heart in a way he had not felt for many years.
The day promised to be quiet – at least, Laurence hoped it would. There had been rather enough excitement these last few months, and Laurence was looking forward to a morning spent with his love and with his dragon, before Lan Xichen would be called away for work. While he’d given Lan Xichen’s new tea leaves a sniff when he’d brought them home, Laurence had no desire to try them, especially not so early in the morning. It was a strong cup of freshly brewed coffee that he had cradled in his hands when he finally came outside, dressed in his harness. He’d spoken with the surgeon, and he thought there would be no harm this morning in a very brief flight with Temeraire, perhaps just around the grounds of the covert, to see how his wings would hold up.
“Good morning,” he said, kissing Lan Xichen on the cheek as he approached and then turning his gaze to Temeraire. He opened his mouth, ready to tell Temeraire that they might go aloft once Temeraire had had his tea, or, if the dragon were very eager, while the tea was brewing, and then snapped it shut again.
Years ago, when they’d first gone to China, Laurence had met Lung Tien Chuan, Temeraire’s twin brother. There’d been a brief moment, before Laurence had properly looked at him, when he’d thought the dragon had been Temeraire, but a proper look had corrected the mistake: it wasn’t only that he’d lacked any of Temeraire’s distinctive scars, but he’d carried himself differently. And Laurence very suddenly had a very queer sense of deja vu.
This dragon also carried himself differently than Temeraire, though not entirely different. And there were a great many scars that Laurence didn’t recognize. But same, too, were many scars that Laurence did recognize – the terrible knot of scars in his chest, where the spiked cannonball had caught him on their way to China, and the others he’d had when he arrived in Vallo, which Laurence had no memories of. The terrible scars from his most recent fight, though these were much older than they had been last night. He still wore his breastplate, the one Laurence had bought for him when they’d still been training, before Temeraire had reached his full growth.
In fact, now that the initial shock had worn off, he realized that the dragon – Temeraire? – was, in fact, a great deal older than he had been the night before. He swallowed. “Temeraire?” he asked, tentatively, not entirely sure that Temeraire hadn’t been replaced entirely by some obscure member of his family.
“Hello Laurence,” Temeraire said, surprising even himself with his ability to stay calm under the circumstances. He had known as soon as he breathed in the air around Lan Xichen, a sensation of as much grief as it was joy, balancing out to somewhere in the middle, quite dreadful and wonderful at once. But he could not stop himself taking a step forward, his head coming forward to brush the tip of his nose against Laurence’s hand. He was gentle, as he had always been during Laurence’s final years, but it only took him a moment or two of inspection, with his good eye turned all the way towards him to realise there was no need. “Why, you are quite young,” he said, allowing at last the empty space in his heart to fill again, and dared to draw Laurence close, the great golden talon sheathes curving around his back, his whole body trembling a little as though he were a yearling once more. “You are here, after all. It has been… so very long.”
From the side, Lan Xichen watched with confused interest. Laurence was the same age that he always was. They all were. Or at least, he and Laurence were—Lan Xichen was beginning to notice the differences in Temeraire as well now, slower on the uptake due to not knowing Temeraire so long as Laurence had. Now that he looked properly, he could see that something was indeed off.
“What manner of magic has Vallo thrown at us now?” he asked, since Temeraire sounded as though he had it figured out.
It took a few moments for the words to get through to Temeraire at all, as he was rather distracted by looking Laurence all over, and rejoicing inwardly in the most contained way he could manage, but he did glance up eventually. “Oh, I have moved in time, I expect,” he said, in a manner only a veteran citizen of Vallo could say with such casual confidence. “About… a hundred and fifty years, by my estimation. Perhaps Vallo thought I might like a treat; it can be accommodating in that way, on occasion; most likely it is only temporary.” The words hurt a little even as he said them. He would have loved more than anything to stay here with Laurence another fifty years again, but he was a wise old beast who understood why he could not. Such a paradox would create a black hole, no doubt, or merely shatter the fabric of what little reality held Vallo together; still, he was glad to have it even just for whatever time it was possible.
“I am here,” Laurence said, softly, pushing his hands, and then his cheek against Temeraire’s muzzle for a moment, before stepping back to get a proper look at him. He seemed hale and hearty, for all his prodigious years, and Laurence was glad to see it.
He had known, had always known, that Temeraire would outlive him by a century, perhaps two – he was not sure of the lifespan of Celestials, though even common breeds lived for two centuries at least, provided they weren’t killed in action or through illness. He’d not expected the opportunity to see Temeraire in his old age, stately and dignified, and it gladdened him to see that even a century – or near enough, they couldn’t have much more than three score years left to them, if not a good deal less – after he and Lan Huan had been buried, Temeraire still seemed healthy.
“Look at you,” he said, warmly, proud. “It is the year 2022 at present, October. You are not too lonely, I hope?” He hoped, after all this time, Temeraire would have found a new companion to keep him company and to read to him when he liked, if not a human than perhaps another dragon, come later to Vallo.
That was indeed very early. Temeraire had only the vaguest memory of those days, full of excitement and adventure and occasional heartbreak. “Oh, not really,” he said, with sincerity, because there was a clear difference in his mind between mere loneliness and the empty place in his chest that he had lived with for over a hundred years. “I have plenty of friends, and there is the staff, and my students - and I still have Lan Huan, of course. Although,” he added, giving the man in question a pointed look. “He has been dropping some hints lately about old age, and the natural order of things, which I find quite defeatist.”
Lan Xichen had assumed from the time he decided he would spend his life with Laurence that he would also spend his life with Temeraire. Upon learning how long dragons lived, he had silently added it to his list of responsibilities: after Laurence passed on to the next life, it would fall to Lan Xichen to see that all was well with Temeraire. Barring any unfortunate accidents or disappearances–if all went according to the natural order of things, as he would apparently someday say–then he and Temeraire would need to look after each other when the man they both loved so dearly was gone. There had seemed to be no need to discuss it, not yet; all that would be so many years in the future, nothing to touch them any time soon. Why plan for death when they’d not even been able to plan a wedding?
Now the issue had come to stand right at their feet. Lan Xichen faced it, as he did all things, with serene calm.
“Cultivating to immortality has never been my goal in this life,” he said with an even smile. “Death follows life, and rebirth follows death, and that is indeed the natural cycle until enlightenment is achieved. If we have had some two hundred years together in your time, I expect I am indeed near ready to move on.”
“That sort of thing, yes,” Temeraire said, a hint of a twinkle in his great dark eye.
Laurence started, stricken, and could not help but throw a startled look Lan Xichen's way before he was able to gain control of himself once more. He'd not paid it much thought, not consciously, but he realized now that some part of himself had always believed he and Lan Xichen would grow old together, and would die someday separated only by a handful of years. Had he not said so in Serendipity Hills, all those months ago, that they would grow old together? But of course, Lan Xichen hadn't been a cultivator in Serendipity Hills, hadn't even known the word, he'd been a yoga instructor and Laurence the owner of a small café, and Laurence realized now that while they might spend however many more decades together, they'd not grow old together: he'd grow old alone, and then leave Lan Xichen to do the same.
He forced himself back to the matter at hand, shoving the thoughts from his mind. Temeraire, no doubt, had been longing to see him this last century or more, and Laurence would not deny him by dwelling on a future still a long way away.
"I'm glad," he said, his voice tight, and he cleared his throat, so that when he continued he sounded nearly normal again, "Very glad, that you have such a full life. I expect you to tell me all about it. Are you a professor then? That's splendid, my dear."
“Yes, though only the occasional classes now,” Temeraire confirmed, keeping his head very low so that he might both see and hear Laurence better. It was so very wonderful to have him so close, and so real. “I have gotten quite old myself, I’m afraid; not that I feel it at all, much,” he added, with stubbornness more typical of his younger self. “But I have, shall we say, a cadre of PhD students and some older academics, and we spend most of our time studying the related worlds. And those unrelated, of course, although that subject is considerably murkier.”
Lan Xichen saw the flinch in Laurence’s expression, but he didn’t know it for anything other than being reminded generally of his own mortality. He stepped in closer to Laurence to place one hand on his arm and offer some small comfort.
“You sound like my shifu,” Lan Xichen replied with a smile that came much more easily than Laurence’s. “Lan Qiren would also–hah.” He stopped and shook his head, realizing the mistake. “I apologize — if you are from so far in the future, you have heard any tale I would tell of Lan Qiren. I will strive not to repeat myself.”
It was not, Laurence reminded himself, a betrayal. Lan Xichen had made no indication that he'd meant to keep the information from Laurence, had seemed, instead, that he'd already expected Laurence to know, and of course it would not arise naturally in a conversation, neither of them yet forty and with a long time to go before such a conversation would become relevant. Still, he didn't know if he could keep it from his face, were he to look Lan Xichen's way, and while he might hide it from Temeraire – minute facial expression changes were not easily visible at his size, and Temeraire had always responded more to changes in tone or posture to be indicate a change in mood – he didn't not think Lan Xichen would miss it. That didn't stop him from laying a hand overtop of Lan Xichen's, though, and leaning into his touch.
"I have not heard all the stories of your old shifu, and I hope that you'll indulge me, sometime," he said.
"It sounds as though you've managed to lead a fulfilling life, though, dear heart. Are you happy?"
“Oh,” Temeraire said, hesitant; it would be very poor form to lie outright to Laurence, for the first time seeing him again in so long, but so say otherwise would be hurt him, and that he could not bear to do either. “I will not pretend it was not difficult,” he said eventually, in a low voice. “For a while. But I am content, Laurence, be assured, and Lan Huan and the others have been a great comfort to me.” He nuzzled at Laurence’s arm for a moment before adding, “And I do not mind hearing stories over again either,” to Lan Xichen, “especially as my memory is not as sharp as it once was - I will admit to the two of you and no one else.”
“Shall we have tea, then?” Lan Xichen asked, bringing the large bag out from his sleeve. He carried on with equanimity, because though he could see that something was not quite right with Laurence, he could also see that Laurence did not mean to show it. Courtesy therefore demanded that he ignore the matter for now and wait to raise it until they were in private.
“I made a new blend that I thought we might like to try while Will enjoys his coffee. It is a very fine silver needle with a touch of orange peel and clove; I thought it would suit the chill that has begun to make its way into the morning.”
“I’m glad,” Laurence said, stroking Temeraire’s muzzle, no longer as soft as it had been, but comforting enough. He wanted, terribly, to ask after Lan Xichen as well, but he couldn’t; not with Lan Xichen here, and not with him gone, either. It seemed in exceptionally poor taste to ask how he was carrying on, if he’d taken another lover afterward – Laurence thought he’d like him to, but wasn’t quite sure – if he, too, was content, or if he regretted…
No, Laurence couldn’t ask.
“You don’t mind, I hope,” Laurence said, as he climbed onto Temeraire’s foreleg and took his regular seat in the crook of Temeraire’s elbow, coffee cradled in his hands. “I’m sure you must have some great stories for us.”
“Oh Laurence, of course I do not mind,” Temeraire said, his heart bursting with happiness to have Laurence back in his rightful place once more. He sounded, for a brief moment, almost exactly like the dragon of only ten years whom Laurence remembered, and he included Lan Xichen in his wide, dark gaze as well as he said, “I would like nothing more than to take tea and talk with the two of you, I could imagine nothing more wonderful in the world.”