Midas is king and he holds me so tight
It is turned back on him, and had he worn his human face, he would've smiled: a small, complicated thing, grudging affection. Does he, indeed? He doesn't like being put on the spot like this, prefers to be the one offering the support, the comfort. He is the beacon, he is the guide—a symbol. He'll be fine, he's always fine—He bends his great head to rub his scaled snout against a foreleg, enjoying the pleasant tug of scales on skin.
I was brought straight from a war, he finally says, spreading his wings before settling them more comfortably against his sides. It skews your perspective. The Order wasn't stupid; they knew of our weakness to fire. This wasn't my first time in an inferno.
He pauses, bending his head to the surface of the puddle to peer at the distorted, blue-eyed dragon. Mabel will hear him anyway, even though she's doing the bird equivalent of pacing around in the dewy grass. I'm too used to suppressing what I feel and just going on, pretending everything's fine. Hiding my fear, everything I worry about...
He shoves the tip of his nose into the shallow pool. It's cold against his scales. To tell you the truth, I'm devastated, and I'm pissed, and I'm tired. I've been fighting for years, I lost everything I held dear in the stasis, I lost my niece, I— He breaks off. He doesn't want to go there. I just don't know what to do with it. And for a moment he lets it linger around his projected voice, that hollow-eyed, tear-smeared sadness that he hadn't been able to hide when he came to the Infirmary, the bitter frustrations and the heartache. It lays heavy across his shoulders.
And now I have you, he says. As if it somehow explains things.
and turns me to gold in the sunlight
Aamu
